Page:Elfrida, a Dramatic Poem - Mason (1752).djvu/27

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Would hide its lustre? he would bid it blazeConspicuous, in the front of that fair wreathWhich binds his brow. Happly this AthelwoldMay have espous'd some other. 'Sdeath he durst not.My former feats in arms must have inform'd him,That Orgar, while he liv'd, would never proveA traytor to his honor. If he has—This aged arm is not so much unstrungBy slack'ning years, but just revenge will brace it.And, by yon awful heav'n—But hold, my rage.I came to scrutinize this matter, coolly.Hence, to conceal the father and the earl,This pilgrim's staff, and scrip, and all these marksOf vagrant poverty.
CHORUS (within.)Hail to thy living light, ambrosial Morn!All hail thy roseat ray!
ORGAR.But hark, the sound of sweetest minstrelsyBreaks on my ear. The females, I suppose,Whom Athelwold has fixt my child's attendants;That, when she 'wails the absence of her lord,Their lenient airs, and sprightly-fancied songs,May steal away her woes. See, they approach:I'll wait the cadence of their harmony,And then address them with some feigned tale. [He retires.

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