The neighbouring grove to this lone chamber lends !
I've loved it from my childhood. How long since
Is it, that standing in this compass'd window
The blackbird sang us forth; from yonder bough
That hides the arbour, loud and full at first
Warbling his invitations, then with pause
And fraction fitfully as evening fell,
The while the rooks, a spotty multitude,
Far distant crept across the amber sky.

But hark! what strain is this? No blackbird's song, Nor sighing of the sycamore!

Edwin,

Some friend,

As if the key-note of our hearts divining,
Accordant music ministers. Hist! Hist!

(A Song from without.)

God speed thee, false day,

With thy gauds and thy splendour;

Thy glare frights away

All that's truthful and tender.

Give place then above

To the star that of old

Lit the glances of Love
When his secret was told.

Elgiva. It dies away.

Edwin.

It is but distant more.

(Song resumed.)

On the bosom of Night

Lie the tresses of Truth,

But its moments take flight

With the light steps of Youth.

Make the most of the least,

For too soon comes the warning,
When announced in the East

Is the grey-headed Morning.

Edwin. Come, follow it; but, stop-let me leap down And help you from the window-sill. So quick!

If you are light of foot as Atalanta,

You ought like her to give your Love the start.

[Exeunt.

Enter the QUEEN MOTHER and DUNSTAN from opposite sides. Queen Mother. So, well-so, well.

my Lord;

It may be so,

But mercy on my soul! if she should prosper !
Dunstan. To bed, to bed; 'tis late.

Queen Mother.

But if she should!

Dunstan. The sky is clear; the air is still; the blue Of yonder firmament is pure and soft.

God rules the night. Saw'st thou the falling star?

SCENE VI.-A Court in front of the Palace. Enter the CHIEF HUNTSMAN followed by other Huntsmen, a BUGLEMAN, and Hounds.

Chief Huntsman. What! none astir? By the Lord! the King lies long :

Young blood, sirs-ay, it tingles when it wakes,
And yet it sleeps the soundest. Ranger! Churl !
What! down, sir, down! Oh, flatteries of dogs!
We're courtiers all. Come, Uthric, where 's thy horn?
We'll sound them a reveillée.

Prithee, wake not the moon ;

Bugleman. Another whiff, then.

'Tis but a half hour gone since she turned pale

And went to bed.

3rd Huntsman. This dog is full of fleas.

2nd Huntsman. Excuse him; he has been amongst

the monks.

[Horn winds.

Chief Huntsman. Who's here? Earl Sidroc. You are first, my lord.

Enter EARL SIDROC.

Sidroc. I'm risen this hour; a snuff of the dawn for me!

My nose doth love it better than a nosegay.

Chief Huntsman. Right, my good lord. You see her there, sir-Elf;

Oh, the best bitch! She holds them all together;
Relay or vauntlay 'tis the same to her;
Endways she runs it still and orderly.
Sidroc. She is a good one.

Sound another call.

To keep the King's dogs waiting is unmannerly. Bugleman. Most true, my Lord!-I am not what

I was !

Plague of this asthma ! Better have the mange!

[Winds a recheat.

Enter ATHULF, followed by a Page.

Athulf. Set forward with the dogs-the King desires it.

[Exeunt Chief Huntsman and his train. And hark ye, we shall hunt to-morrow too;

Here-boy! Tell whom it may concern, to-morrow
The King gives leave that I should ride Greymalkin.
I'll wear my hunting suit of green and gold.
See that Greymalkin is brought here betimes,
For we start early.-Grace be with thy thoughts,
And peace with grace, and joy be with thy heart,
Sidroc the sober!-Go thy way, my boy.

[Exit Page.

Hast thou a moral ready? Come, a moral. Sidroc. For what? Greymalkin, or the green and gold?

Athulf. Neither—they serve-they come but second

now

Appliance-means.

Sidroc.

No more-why that is well.

Athulf. Am I a coxcomb ?

Sidroc.

Who can answer that?

Thou wast not yesterday; but lo! at Court
If but a man shall stoop his head a minute,
Leaps a bespangled monkey on his back
And grins at all beholders.

Athulf.

Oh, my soul !

Be not coxcombical I beg of thee!
For I am lifted in mine own conceit,
That is most certain.

Sidroc.

I lament thy rise.

But come-discourse it orderly; by what beck
Of Fortune's crookedest finger wast thou led
Up this ridiculous ascent? The King?

Some special favour?

Athulf.

But that is nothing.

Sidroc.

Pooh! The King is kind,

Nothing good, I grant you.

The sun that striking in upon thine hearth

Puts out thy fire, may yet too weakly shine
Itself to yield thee warmth: true, you say well,
The King is nothing. What less chilling light
Has beamed upon thy fancy?

Athulf.

By my soul, I know not that I shall not be ashamed To tell my story. As I went to Court Late yesterday, the Queen, who saw me, sent Commanding my attendance. A long hour I waited, conning in the Troy-Town Chamber The stories in the tapestry, when appeared The Princess, with that merry Child Prince Guy. He loves me well, and made her stop and sit, And sate upon her knee, and it so chanced That in his various chatter he denied That I could hold his hand within mine own So closely as to hide it; this being tried, Was proved against him; he insisted then I could not by his royal sister's hand Do likewise: Starting at the random word And dumb with trepidation, there I stood

Some seconds as bewitched; then I looked up
And in her face beheld an orient flush

Of half-bewildered pleasure: from which trance
She with an instant ease resumed herself,
And frankly with a pleasant laugh held out
Her arrowy hand.

Sidroc.

What could she less? a hand

To have and hold is something; but to hold
And not to have-but end your tale-this hand-
Athulf. I thought it trembled as it lay in mine,
But yet her looks were clear, direct, and free,
And said that she felt nothing.

Sidroc.

What felt'st thou ?

Athulf. A sort of swarming, curling, tremulous tumbling,

As though there were an ant-hill in my bosom.
-I said I was ashamed.-Sidroc, you smile;
If at my folly, well! But if you smile
Suspicious of a taint upon my heart,

In this its first affection, far you stray

From the fair truth; I could no more commingle
Impure imaginations with my love

Than with my prayers.

Sidroc. No, no, I did not smile.

Proceed, I pray you,-speak it; of this hand

The issue in experiment? the proof?

This lesser quantity-this in majore

Was it containable?

Athulf.

I proved it not.

More manly, wise and courteous I deemed it
Not to press hard an opportunity

Or wring it dry, but something leave behind
In warrant that no greedy grasping heart
Was mine, that on a light and trivial token
Feeding might grow in self-encouragement
Too fast to fatness.

Sidroc.
I conceive your counsel;
Not all devouring was your policy;
Something you left for bait.

с