Even on this awful verge, methinks I go,
Like a chid infant, from his passing term
Of short disgrace, back to his father's presence.
(holding up his hands with a dignified exultation.)
I feel an awful joy!—Farewel, my friends!
Selred, we've fought in many a field together,
And still as brothers been; take thou, I pray,
This token of my love. And thou, good Wolfere,
I've ever priz'd thy worth, wear thou this ring.
(to the other two chiefs, giving them also tokens)
And you, brave chiefs, I've ever loved you both,
And now, my noble Hereulf,
Of all the youth to whom my soul e'er knit,
As with a parent's love, in the good cause,
Thee have I found most fervent and most firm;
Be thine my sword, which in my native hall,
Hung o'er my noble father's arms thou'lt find,
And be it in thy hands what well thou know'st
It would have been in mine. Farewel, my friends!
God bless you all!
(They all crowd about him, some kissing his hands, some taking hold of his clothes, except Hereulf, who starting away from him, throws himself upon the ground in an agony of grief. Ethelbert lifts up his eyes and his hands as if he were muttering a silent blessing over them.)
First Pr. This may not be! down with those impious hands!
Dar'st thou, foul heretick, before the face
Of hallow'd men, thus mutter prayers accurst?
