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 Boadicea, a play in four acts; poems for 
 
 3 1924 013 459 213 
 
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BOADICEA 
 
BOADICEA 
 
 A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 
 
 POEMS FOR RECITATION, ETC. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. AYLMER GOWING 
 
 [EMILIA AYLMER (bLAKe\ 
 
 AUTHOR OF "BALLADS OF THE TOWER," "SITA AND OTHER 
 
 POEMS FOR RECITATION," " GODS OF GOLD," " MERELY 
 
 PLAYERS." "A TOUCH OF THE SUN," ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO. L TD - 
 
 Paternoster House, Charing Cross Road 
 
 1899 
 
CHISWICK PRESS !— CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AMD CO. 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. 
 
To my Old Friend, 
 SIR EDWIN ARNOLD, K.C.I.E., C.S.I. 
 
 AND 
 
 TAMA KUROKAWA, HIS WIFE. 
 
 Emilia Aylmer Gowing. 
 
 " Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart : so doth the sweetness of 
 a friend by hearty counsel." — Proverbs, xxvii. 9. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BOADICEA I 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 The Rescue of Khartoum 87 
 
 The Wreck of the "Aden " 96 
 
 Martin Sprague 104 
 
 The Passing of Gladstone 109 
 
 A Christmas Carol in 
 
 "Speranza," Lady Wilde 113 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Armenia 114 
 
 The Queen's Message 115 
 
 Isabel, Lady Burton 116 
 
 Song. From the German 117 
 
 In Days Gone by 118 
 
BOADICEA. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 ROMANS : 
 Paulinus Suetonius, Governor of Britain. 
 Julius Agrippa, a tribune. 
 Lucius Cornelius, a centurion. 
 Adonis, afreedman of Julius Agrippa. 
 Paris, a gymnast. 
 
 BRITONS : 
 
 Madoc, Arch-druid of Britain. 
 
 Cariovalda, a bard. 
 
 VORTIGERN, a warrior. 
 
 Boadicea {widow of Prasutagus), Queen of the Iceni 
 
 Guenebra, 
 Ena, 
 
 > her daughters. 
 
 Romans, Britons, Soldiers, Priests, Priestesses, Bards, 
 Attendants, etc., etc. 
 
 Scene: Britain in A.D. 62. 
 
BOADICEA. 
 
BOADICEA. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene i. — A Hall in the Royal residence of Boadicea. 
 
 Throne at back, C. 
 
 Enter Cariovalda and Vortigern. 
 
 Car. Well, Vortigern, fresh from the Roman colony ? 
 
 Vor. Yes; to-day beneath Queen Boadicea's roof; three 
 days ago in London. Hard riding, that ! 
 
 Car. And what 's the news in London ? The British Rome ! 
 
 Vor. Our little Island, they say, shall be esteemed the 
 brightest gem the Master of the world has set in his Imperial 
 diadem. 
 
 Car. We Britons love no masters. 
 
 Vor. True; we choose rather to be our own lords, for 
 good or evil, as the gods will. 
 
 Car. Do you know, this day Queen Boadicea receives the 
 envoy of the Roman Governor ? 
 
4 Boadicea 
 
 Vor. How ? And where ? 
 
 Car. Here ; in this, her ancestral hall ; upon the throne. 
 'Twill be a scene in the world's history ; we shall see it pass 
 before our eyes. 
 
 Vor. Cariovalda, you, a bard, are a man of peace. Let 
 love, not hate, be the issue of this day. Our Queen has two 
 fair daughters .... 
 
 Car. And what of them ? 
 
 Vor. One of them a Roman has looked upon with eyes of 
 love. 
 
 Car. What, the proud Guenebra ? 
 
 Vor. I speak not of the haughty elder-born ; 
 The young and gentle Ena is beloved 
 By a centurion of the Roman host, 
 Lucius Cornelius. 
 
 Car. Fair may this befall, 
 
 And tune our discords to sweet notes of joy ! 
 Yet fear I lest this harmony of hearts 
 Grate harshly on the Royal ear ; our Queen 
 Abhors the stranger. 
 
 Vor. You are privileged 
 
 To speak in secret with the great and fair. 
 You, tell the Lady Ena that to-day, 
 
Boadicea 5 
 
 An hour ere sunset, by the blasted oak 
 That stands alone amidst the woodland glade, 
 Three bowshots from the highway, there and then, 
 Cornelius waits for her. 
 
 Car. I mark the tryst. 
 
 But what is this Cornelius ? 
 
 Vor. Such as man 
 
 Should fear and woman trust. Amongst her sons 
 Not Rome, nor yet our Albion, could choose out 
 His parallel in honour ; no, not one ! 
 
 Car. Then shall the Lady Ena meet him there. 
 Here comes the Roman envoy with the Queen. 
 See, Madoc, the Arch-druid ! 
 
 Enter Queen Boadicea attended; Guenebra and Ena, her 
 daughters ; Madoc, the Arch-druid ; Adonis, the Roman 
 envoy. Roman soldiers, Britons, etc. Boadicea sits 
 upon the throne. 
 Boad. Sit you there, 
 
 My daughters ; you have act and part with me 
 In this great business. 
 
 [They sit beneath her on the steps of the throne. 
 [To Adonis.] Sir, you are from Rome, 
 
6 Boadicea 
 
 Whom we are bound to hear, if not in hate, 
 
 Still less in dread. Speak, is it peace between us ? 
 
 Adon. Peace and protection, and release from cares 
 Whose burden wrongs your sex, I bring you, Queen, 
 With greeting from the Roman Governor, 
 Paulinus Suetonius. 
 
 Boad. Bear him back 
 
 His greeting. True it is, a widow, lorn, 
 Most sorrowful of women that do live, 
 I hide away my grief within my heart, 
 And in the public cares forget my own ; 
 Proved not unequal to the lofty task 
 Country and children have imposed on me. 
 You know, Prasutagus my husband's will 
 Did, wisely or unwisely, name co-heir 
 Your Roman Caesar with my daughters here. 
 The half his kingdom and his wealth are yours ; 
 The rest we hold, our right. 
 
 Adon. Your wealth we grant 
 
 To each an equal part ; but, for the kingdom, 
 Know you the lords of Rome will share no rule, 
 However great, with women. Since the gods 
 Gave you no son, this land of the Iceni 
 
Boadicea 
 
 Passes to us, your masters. 
 
 Boad. Roman, know 
 
 We will not ape your customs : Britain's sons 
 Obey the sceptre swayed by woman's hand ; 
 Our right gives strength to bear our dignities. 
 
 Adon. We will not have it so ; 'twere best give up 
 What we have power to take. 
 
 Madoc. Are these the men 
 
 Who rule the world with boastings ? These, forsooth, 
 Spare such as yield and trample down the proud ! 
 Ay, crush the widow and the fatherless. 
 But we have men in Britain ! lives there one 
 Who bears a spark of valour in his breast 
 That will not take their part ? Our manhood stands 
 Ready to help the weak against the strong. 
 
 Adon. What long-robed railer preaches war with us ? 
 I'll take my answer from the Queen alone. 
 
 Boad. Stay, noble Madoc, we will speak them fair. 
 Stranger, would you despoil us, we have not 
 Wherewith to tempt your greed : can Roman Caesar, 
 Lord of a thousand marble palaces, 
 Blazoned with gold and jewels, envy us 
 Our forest roof, shut out in this cold Isle 
 
8 Boadicea 
 
 And border of the world ? But that we have 
 We dearly prize, our freedom. Push us not 
 To desperate defence. 
 
 Adon. 'Tis Rome's proud boast 
 
 To conquer and subdue a haughty race 
 Subject to her alone. Earth's utmost verge 
 Measures the limit of her eagles' flight, 
 Unscathed by mortal weapons. Rich you are 
 In sturdy manhood to provoke our souls, 
 And beauty to allure. What wealth I note 
 Of love in your fair daughters, fairer self, 
 Beautiful Queen ! 
 
 Boad. Away with mockery ! 
 
 My love and beauty, sacred to the dead, 
 Plight with no second an adulterous vow ; 
 My daughters, too, are home-bred, and may not 
 Match with the alien. 
 
 Adon. True ; our nuptial rites 
 
 Might be profaned — but there are shorter ways 
 Than solemn marriage to a Roman's will. 
 
 Boad. What do you mean ? 
 
 Madoc. Who art thou ? Answer us, 
 
 Foul scoffer, with the language of a slave 
 
Boadicea 
 
 Beneath the roof of kings. 
 
 Adon. What matter who ? 
 
 The freedman of a Roman citizen, 
 Adonis, Nero's friend — your master here. 
 
 Boad. How, slave, does Rome insult us ? 
 
 Madoc. I will make 
 
 Him fitting answer. Queen, you are betrayed ! 
 Does Suetonius send his bondmen hither 
 Ambassadors to Britain ? We appeal 
 To Caesar ; be his messenger to us 
 A warrior of renown, and we will treat 
 As princes with your prince. 
 
 Adon. I come not here 
 
 To thrust and parry with a meddling priest, 
 But charged with Caesar's will, and by his power 
 Claim what you cannot choose but yield, or else 
 The worse event for you. 
 
 Madoc. Yield ! Come ye then 
 
 And take what we refuse ! But we are men 
 Sprung from our British earth : six feet of that, 
 Heavy with curses of our country's gods, 
 We'll yield each Roman foe, to hold for ever ! 
 
 Boad. And I, a woman, widowed, husbandless, 
 
io Boadicea 
 
 Call down the vengeance of the eternal Judge 
 Upon the invader of my desolate hearth ; 
 Ay, upon every Roman of ye all ! 
 
 Ena. Hold, mother, mercy ! Not on all, not all ! 
 
 Boad. How say'st thou, Ena ? Girl, dost thou not hate 
 Thine and thy nation's foes ? 
 
 Ena. Not all alike. . . . 
 
 Not every Roman is our enemy : 
 And if they were — their women weep for them 
 As we for those we love. Not from our lips 
 Should fall the words of cursing. 
 
 Car. She speaks well. 
 
 Be patient, Royal Queen, and we may find 
 A better way to end these fierce debates 
 Than the red field of blood. 
 
 Boad. I'll hear no more 
 
 Of coward counsels ! Take thy answer, slave, 
 And bid thy master in the name of me, 
 The Britons' Queen, defiance ! Hand to hand 
 We'll pay him tribute freely, blood for blood ! 
 Hence from our sight ! 
 
 Adon. Proud Queen, we'll meet again ! 
 
 \General confusion*- Scene closes in. 
 
Boadicea 1 1 
 
 Scene 2. — A Forest. 
 
 Enter Julius Agrippa and Soldiers, meeting Lucius 
 
 Cornelius and Soldiers. A halt. 
 
 Agri. Ho, Centurion ! What duty are you bound upon ? 
 How, 
 Lucius Cornelius, my good friend ! I'm right glad to see you ! 
 
 Corn. My duty, Agrippa, keeps me in this neighbourhood, 
 waiting the result of our General's mission to the British 
 Queen. 
 
 Agri. We shall fight for 't ; that 's pretty sure. 
 
 Corn. I fear so, Tribune. 
 
 Agri. Fear so ! A centurion fear to fight barbarians ! Oh, 
 ho ! My Cornelius is in love with some fresh-coloured girl of 
 Britain. Come, tell us what she is ? A savage princess, eh? 
 
 Corn. A princess — yes. 
 
 Agri. What, hast thou looked upon the proud Guenebra ? 
 
 Corn. Admiringly, but not with love ; her sister, the gentle 
 Ena, has my heart. Could there be peace between our 
 nations, I would dare to offer her a Roman's hand. 
 
 Agri. Ha, ha, ha ! You mean marriage ! Not I ! But if 
 ever mortal knew what 'tis to desire royal beauty, I am the 
 man, Julius Agrippa ! The conqueror of a hundred Roman 
 dames. But I never dreamed of folly like thine ! Wed a 
 
1 2 Boadicea 
 
 barbarian, oh, Juno ! ./Eneas never did the like for Dido, 
 nor Mark Antony for Cleopatra, and these were royal queens. 
 
 Corn. But Ena is a pure maiden of Britain ; her truth and 
 love are more than kingdoms to her dower. Worthier is she 
 than any frail queen to hold a Roman to his faith. 
 
 Agri. Has faith to do with fancy ? I have heard 
 These blue-eyed damsels of the western isles 
 Do catch men with a look ; but in my life 
 I never heard that they could keep them long. 
 Go we together ? 
 
 Corn. No ; I'll ask your leave 
 
 For two hours' absence, Tribune. I would be, 
 An hour ere sunset, by the blasted oak, 
 To meet fair Ena. 
 
 Agri. Fair befall the tryst ! 
 
 Go along, merry tippler ! I do love 
 To catch your shamefaced wisdom tripping so ! 
 But leave your men with me. We'll meet to-night. 
 
 [Exit Lucius Cornelius. 
 
 Agri. There goes a lover ! Happily despatched, and much 
 to the profit of my pleasures, for here comes my Mercury, 
 my Cupid's wing, my good creature, Adonis. 
 Enter Adonis. 
 
Boadicea 1 3 
 
 Well, my liberty man, my uncaged bird, what news ? What 
 answer from the British Queen to our General's demands ? 
 Aught to the purpose, eh ? 
 
 Adon. One word will give you my message, Tribune. 
 
 Agri. And that word is ... . 
 
 Adon. War. 
 
 Agri. So I expected, and took heed for all. 
 The scornful lustre of Guenebra's eyes 
 Must shine upon our feast to-night ; no need 
 For ceremony now ; such is my will. 
 
 Adon. Not to be questioned, Tribune, by a man 
 Born in your house, a slave. How would you, sir, 
 I go to work ? How seize the royal maid ? 
 
 Agri. Listen ; this evening by the blasted oak 
 Young Ena and her Roman lover meet ; 
 And surely will Guenebra not far off 
 O'erlook their tryst ; for I have oft observed 
 The sisters grow together, though unlike, 
 As buds the violet 'neath the lily's sheen ; 
 And wending homeward through the thickening night, 
 We'll pluck them for the garland of our cup. 
 Choose the fit men, and see that it be done. 
 
 Adon. Who is the Roman lover ? 
 
14 Boadicea 
 
 Agri. Ha ! I had 
 
 Forgotten him — Cornelius. Why the fool 
 Purposes marriage. 
 
 Adon. This comes of his sect, 
 
 A Galilean. 
 
 Agri. Where could he have learned 
 
 That Jewish superstition ? 
 
 Adon. Know you not 
 
 His father in Judea held command ? 
 
 Agri. Was that so, truly ? Let the son beware 
 He cross not my fixed purpose. Is 't not known 
 Caesar abhors all Christians ? I am glad 
 This man is one. 'Tis time we were astir. 
 Ho ! for the blasted oak. We race for joy 
 'Gainst sallow-visaged wisdom. Venus wins ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 3. — The blasted oak. Lucius Cornelius, Ena. 
 Guenebra at back, watching. 
 
 Ena. Am I not come to thee ? Doth not my life 
 Hang on thy lip, and feed upon thine eye ? 
 Even though my mother's curse should cut me off. 
 
Boadicea 1 5 
 
 Say, can we part ? 
 
 Corn. I fear me that we must ; 
 
 Unless, forsaking all, thou cling to me. 
 I stand upon a rock, whilst thou beneath, 
 Cast upwards by the mighty wave of war, 
 One moment on my breast, the next, drawn down 
 Into the deep sea's heart, mayst rise no more 
 From shipwreck of thy people. 
 
 Ena. Oh, my country ! 
 
 My mother — sister — must I lose them all ? 
 And wilt thou lend thy hand to aid such things ? 
 
 Corn. I am a soldier in the grip of Rome, 
 Sworn to obey ; and Rome and all her power, 
 A feather-weight upon the balance, held 
 By Him Who gave Rome empire ; on the wings 
 Of Roman eagles shall His name go forth 
 And win the world to Him. Great is the end 
 Foreknown of heaven to Britain, though the woe 
 Be sharp in passing. 
 
 Ena. Fearful are thy words ! 
 
 Not like thyself. Yet wert thou changed, unkind, 
 Thou couldst not change my love, all thine for ever. 
 A maid of Britain brings her chosen lord 
 
1 6 Boadicea 
 
 A heart as single as the heavenly light ; 
 To take of him, as love-gifts, sword and shield, 
 Javelin and war-horse ; for at home, abroad, 
 She bears her part with him in life and death, 
 And when he dies, his grave is her true heart. 
 So did my mother love, and 'tis my fate 
 So to love thee. 
 
 Corn. Oh, take away from me 
 
 The thought of what thou art, what golden band 
 Of Royalty encircles that sweet brow ; 
 Are we not heart in heart, for ever one ? 
 Then come away with me ! 
 
 Ena. How shall I leave 
 
 My mother in her sorrow ? Half my heart 
 Bleeds with keen anguish cleft for her sake . . . half 
 Flies on strong wings of love toward thee, its lord. 
 If thou dost love me, end this strife. 
 
 Corn. I will ! 
 
 Once more I shall endeavour, plead for peace 
 'Twixt Roman and Briton : wherefore are we foes ? 
 Both bred of Trojan fathers, suckled both 
 With freedom as with mother's milk ; both born 
 To lead the world's great battles ; why should we 
 
Boadicea \ 7 
 
 Hate one another, brothers of one blood ? 
 Ena. The heavens take pity on us ! 
 
 Corn. My beloved, 
 
 Plight me thy troth, and I, a Christian man, 
 Sworn to the Cross that shall subdue the world, 
 Through Love that rules in heaven, for love's sake 
 Will think thy Britain Eden ! 
 
 Ena. Take the heart 
 
 I could not keep, the life I can but lose, 
 Who only live in thee. . . . Oh, me ! how strange 
 The words upon my lip without my will ! 
 My mother, country, and my country's gods, 
 All my past days eclipsed, amid the dark 
 Trembling, and overborne with fear, I come . . . 
 Keep me, for I am thine ! 
 
 Corn. As mine own soul ! 
 
 Guen. [Advancing.] Sister, what dost thou ? Come away, 
 depart. 
 Look, where the sun has set. Ah, time is swift, 
 And ye are happy ! Bid the Roman go. 
 
 Corn. Take back the maiden to her mother's breast, 
 And trust a Roman's vow ; if all else fail, 
 The eagle that I guard shall shelter her, 
 
 c 
 
1 8. Boadicea 
 
 Thee, and her mother. Ere a single hair 
 Of this fair head shall suffer harm, my heart 
 Shall pour its last drop on your British earth. 
 Farewell, Guenebra. . . . Dearest love, one kiss ! 
 Heaven guard thee safe until we meet again ! 
 
 [Exit Cornelius. 
 
 Guen. Can there be honour in a Roman's love ? 
 Truth in a Roman's vows ? Would heaven I knew ! 
 
 Ena. What say'st thou, sister ? 
 
 Guen. I, too, love . . . but thou 
 
 Art happier than I. 
 
 Ena. If thou dost love 
 
 Against the bent of custom, kindred, birth, 
 Are we not sisters ? Thee I deemed by pride 
 Safe from the thrill of passion, and the pain. 
 Unlock thy heart to me ; I listen. 
 
 Guen. Sister, 
 
 The eye of man had never bent my pride ; 
 For glory, not for love, my soul athirst 
 Dreamed of its mate, a conqueror of men, 
 An equal of the gods. A Roman's crest 
 Darkened my mother's threshold ; dost remember 
 Julius Agrippa ? Like a god of war, 
 
Boadicea 19 
 
 Speaking us gently, though upon his brow 
 Sat awe and stern command ? I feared him not . . . 
 When men were faint with fear . . . but when his eye 
 Floated in light of love on me, I sank 
 Self-conscious, as a foolish, chidden child. 
 
 Ena. My darling sister ! 
 
 Guen. Speak of it no more. 
 
 Hence, let us homewards. 
 
 Ena. Look, oh look ! A light 
 
 Flashes beneath the moon ... A Roman armed ! 
 
 Guen. It is himself! 
 
 Enter Julius Agrippa. 
 
 Agri. Guenebra, I am here. 
 
 Why dost thou start so wildly ? 
 
 Guen. Is't for me 
 
 Thy steps bend hither ? If it be so, then, 
 I pray thee, let me go. 
 
 Agri. Not till this world 
 
 Break from the grasp of Rome ! My beautiful, 
 Thou'rt mine ! I love thee ! [Seizes her arm. 
 
 Guen. What, against my will ? 
 
20 Boadicea 
 
 Enter Adonis with Roman soldiers. 
 
 Agri. Fairest, those eyes betray thy lips ; I know 
 Thou dost not hate me ; though thy tongue forbid, 
 Thy charms, thy tears compel with stronger spells 
 Thy lover to thy feet. Come, come with me ! 
 
 Ena. Sister, we are surrounded by armed men, 
 Set upon women ! ... As you are a man, 
 Forbear rough violence. Know, sir, that I, 
 Pledged to a Roman, claim a Roman's right 
 To honour and respect, as woman's due. 
 
 Agri. Pledged to a Roman ! Then we'll woo you both 
 In Sabine fashion. Bear away these brides ! 
 
 Ena. \Strugglingwiththe'$><&&vsxs?{ Sister . . . oh, saveme ! 
 
 Guen. Stand you back . . . the hare 
 
 Resists the hounds in vain. We follow him, 
 Your master. Hear me, Roman, it is true 
 That I have loved thee ; in thy power I am, 
 To pay my love with bondage, chains or death ; 
 Do as thou wilt with me, but on this maid 
 Beware no Roman set profaning eye, 
 Lest all the land arise, and blood for shame 
 The alien shall repay ... for honour, lives ! 
 
Boadicea 1 1 
 
 Come, sister : . . . Thus enforced, we follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt March. Military music. 
 
 Enter Vortigern followed by Cariovalda. 
 
 Car. This is the place. There, fire fell down from heaven : 
 The thunder-rifted oak puts forth its leaves, 
 Green budding round the ruin at its core, 
 Like hope fresh springing from a broken heart. 
 Here was the place of tryst. . . . See, what is that ? 
 
 [Picks up a golden crown. 
 A golden circlet from the Princess' hair ! 
 I am afraid some dark and cruel snare 
 Has caught our doves lone wandering from their home. 
 Oh, woe ! 'Twas I who limed the springe, beguiled 
 By Roman craft. 
 
 Vor. Hist ! Listen ! I can hear 
 
 The tramp of Roman soldiers shake the ground ; 
 Yonder they march away. 
 
 Car. Here comes the Queen 
 
 In desperate search. . . . What will she say to me ? 
 
 Enter Boadicea attended. 
 Boad. What tidings of my daughters ? 
 
22 Boadicea 
 
 Car. [Showing the circlet.'] Only this. 
 
 Boad. Lost, lost, betrayed ! Why didst thou let them go ? 
 Speak not to me ! the gods pluck out thy tongue 
 That never whispered me a word in time. 
 Know'st not I am a mother ? The she-wolf, 
 Robbed of her young, will turn and rend her kind ; 
 Shall I be patient rather ? I could bear 
 With loss of all but children ; answer not. 
 Give me my daughters ! 
 
 Car. Yet be comforted j 
 
 They live. . . . 
 
 Boad. Live ! Rather would I see them dead, 
 
 Here on the ground ; yes, I that bore them, I, 
 Than yield them living to the Roman's power ! 
 Up to the rescue ! To the ends of earth 
 Follow me, Britons, I will find them out, 
 My children ; dead or living, bring them back. 
 Ho ! to the rescue, to the rescue, all ! 
 
 [Britons shout. General movement. 
 
 Tableau. End of Act I. 
 
23 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene i. — A British Encampment. Madoc, Cariovalda, 
 Vortigern, and an assembly of Britons. 
 
 Madoc. Here shall we meet, unfettered as the winds 
 Soughing amidst the pine-tops, where the storm 
 Brews his own keen wrath-blast. From the vault of heaven 
 Do everlasting eyes look down on us, 
 Poor passion-shaken dust ! ... Ye men of Britain, 
 Hear me, the gods' arch-priest, whose oracles 
 Speak in the brave of soul ! Up, help your Queen ! 
 
 {Shouts, " We will ! we will ! " and clashing of arms 
 against shields. 
 
 Madoc. Peace ! Hush the clamour of your shields and 
 spears ; 
 Listen to me. Your Queen is sunk in silence ; 
 But hear the cause. Centurions fill her halls, 
 And Roman soldiers wreak their butcheries 
 Among her people. Her, our Royal Queen, 
 They bound and scourged ... ay, like the vilest slave ! 
 What think ye, men of Britain, of this shame ? [Murmurs. 
 
24 Boadicea 
 
 Yet worse have I to tell : the Queen hath 'scaped 
 Bleeding, yet stainless from the Roman's grasp ; 
 Not so her daughters ; rise and rescue them ! 
 
 Vor. Oh, Madoc, I would answer thee a word, 
 For the two maidens' sake ; our hostages 
 To Rome . . . too dear for danger. Ransom them 
 By terms of peace. 
 
 Madoc. War, war with perjured Rome ! 
 
 No tribute shall she wring but drops of blood 
 From hearts that know the taste of liberty ! 
 
 Vor. Yet in Ostorius' time the land had rest . . . 
 
 Madoc. Ostorius, true ; he was a noble foe ; 
 We paid him tribute when Caractacus, 
 Britain's great champion, made the Roman proud 
 By his captivity. We taught our masters 
 How to exact of us, dumb sheep, whose fleece 
 Being yielded could not ransom skin or flesh ; 
 Ay, with the harvest was the seed consumed 
 By all-devouring usury ; gold we lacked, 
 Till bought of Rome to render back to Rome, 
 The cost, most precious lives ; to see our sons, 
 The pith and marrow of our manhood, nursed 
 By British mothers, sold to slavery, 
 
Boadicea 25 
 
 And mingled with the legions' ranks, to fall 
 In alien battles. No, yield all, or none. 
 
 Vor. Who leads us, then, to war ? 
 
 Madoc. The Queen ! 
 
 Vor. The Queen ! 
 
 Why comes she not amongst us ? 
 
 Madoc. Her great grief 
 
 Lies heavy on her. Would she were aroused 
 From hopeless apathy. 
 
 Car. Look there, she comes, 
 
 The shadow of her greatness ! 
 
 Enter Boadicea. Shouts, " Hail, our Queen ! " 
 
 Madoc. Oh, Boadicea, Warrior-Queen, arise ! 
 The men of Britain call on thee, their chief, 
 To lead their hosts in arms 'gainst perjured Rome. 
 
 Boad. Is 't war with Rome ? Give men the work-of men ; 
 I am a woman . . . shamed. 
 
 Madoc. We know thy soul 
 
 Heroic, strong beyond the strength of man ; 
 Three hundred thousand wait upon thy word ; 
 Think of thy wrongs and speak ; the immortal gods 
 Taste not a joy to match with thy revenge ! 
 
26 Boadicea, 
 
 Boad. No ; I can taste of only misery, 
 Burning desire of death. But give me pain, 
 Anguish of body to assuage the fire 
 Devouring round my heart ! Thou dust of earth, 
 Cover my face, that eyes of men and gods 
 See not my shame. Yield, clay, and hide my head, 
 Here where I cast me down to rise no more ! 
 
 [Sinks on the ground. 
 
 Vor. Nay, Queen, remember yet, our last, sole hope 
 Is bound in thee. 
 
 Boad. Thou Roman slave, away ! 
 
 Hence, miserable scoffer ! Thou a man ? 
 A Briton ? . . . Lo, thy mien, thy very speech 
 Brands thee degenerate ; sure thy dam played false 
 With some lewd fox of Rome . . . Thou hast betrayed 
 My virgin daughters to the like . . . Begone ! 
 
 Car. Go, go ! she cannot bear thee in her sight ! 
 Seek out the maidens in the Roman camp ; 
 Bring news of them ... or else return no more. 
 
 [Exit VORTIGERN. 
 
 Madoc. At the great bidding of the gods I speak : — 
 Arise, O Queen, look up ; though deep thy grief, 
 One woman's sorrow must not crush this land. 
 
Boadicea 27 
 
 Rise from the earth. 
 
 Boad. No ; what have I to do 
 
 Beneath the sun, but lay me down and die ? 
 The Roman rods have bruised my spirit within, 
 Rome on my heart hath rolled a rock of stone : 
 Why should I taste the bitterness of life ? 
 Death's sting is past and done. 
 
 Madoc. Yet life has woes 
 
 Beyond thine own ; I, even I, will speak, 
 Whom the high gods have made their minister 
 To suffer for my people ! I, the last 
 Of slaughtered thousands. Know'st thou not, even now, 
 Paulinus hath a Roman shambles set 
 In Mona's sacred isle ? The blood of priests 
 And virgin priestesses hath quenched the fires 
 Kindled for sacrifice. I am alone, 
 My wife, my children slain ; I live to wreak 
 Heaven's wrath upon the Roman ! 
 
 Boad. Would my girls 
 
 Had perished ! Death were fairer than their shame. 
 
 Madoc. The more thy need, thy power to grasp revenge ! 
 
 Boad. Man, wilt thou gird at me, by heaven's red bolt 
 Smitten so sore ? 
 
28 Boadicea 
 
 Enter Yortigern. 
 
 Vor. I bring you happy news, 
 
 The lost is found ; Guenebra lives . . . 
 
 Boad. Ha, lives ! 
 
 Sayest thou my Guenebra lives ? But how ? 
 
 Vor. Seeking, I met her, from the Roman camp 
 Newly escaped, with terror in her looks ; 
 No word she answered me, but on her lips 
 The cry of " Mother " hung. 'Twere best alone 
 You two should meet ; so bid the people go. [Exit. 
 
 Madoc. Warriors, Guenebra's found, and she who bore 
 Would clasp her to a mother's breast . . . retire . . . 
 Their grief is sacred . . . Wait upon the hour ! 
 
 {Exeunt Britons, murmuring. 
 
 Enter Guenebra and Vortigern. 
 
 Guen. Mother, my mother ! 
 
 Boad. Come to me, my child ! 
 
 Wilt thou shrink back from me ? I am thy mother. 
 
 Guen. No more thy daughter ! Thou wilt hate me now, 
 That was thy first-born. 
 
 Boad. Is there help for thee ? 
 
 Guen. Mother, thou hast a dagger's point for him. . . . 
 For me. too ... I have loved him ... let me die ! 
 
Boadicea 29 
 
 Boad. If this be so, my daughter, why, oh, why 
 Art thou alive ? 
 
 Guen. Enough ! I trusted him 
 
 Who paid my faith with shame, my love with hate. 
 Cast me away to death ! 
 
 Boad. Come to my heart ; 
 
 Here is a sorrow greater than thine own ! 
 Thy sister . . . What of Ena ? 
 
 Guen. I know nothing. 
 
 Julius Agrippa from the Roman camp 
 Dismissed me, in my frenzy of despair. 
 They march towards London ; if she be not dead, 
 Ena is still among them. 
 
 Boad. We will follow. 
 
 Madoc, come hither. Call the people back ; 
 I do remember me, I am their Queen ! 
 My Ena, would I knew that thou wert dead, 
 Thou whom I loved the most ! 
 
 Car. Nay, there is hope 
 
 For Ena, lady ; she, amongst our foes 
 Hath a defender. 
 
 Boad. What said Vortigern ? 
 
 Was't not through him my children were undone? 
 
30 Boadicea 
 
 Enter Britons ; they range themselves round the Queen. 
 
 Madoc. Speak, Princess, and command thy people's lives. 
 
 Boad. Hear me, my people ; look upon your Queen. 
 Ye men of Britain, from our common foe, 
 The abhorred Roman, I have borne such wrong 
 As ... no, I cannot speak of that ... my heart 
 Would burst in silence rather . . . one yet lives, 
 Born of my blood, within the Roman's power, 
 Ena, my youngest. We will rescue her. 
 I lead you to the battle, I, your chief, 
 Yea, as a man ! Unsexed by such foul wrong 
 As murders pity in this breast of mine 
 That beats for vengeance only ! May this hand 
 Wither, if I recoil from blood, or spare 
 The foe that cries for mercy ! Though my feet 
 Trample their dead, and wade in Roman gore 
 Till o'er my forehead rise its purple sea, 
 'Twill not wipe out the burning blush of shame. 
 As ye are men, avenge me ! [Shouts. 
 
 Vor. Ay, we will. 
 
 Boad. Thou? . . . No, not thou ! Thou shaltnot come 
 with us, 
 Thrice perjured traitor ! 'Tis such deeds as thine 
 
Boadicea 3 1 
 
 Have cleft the heart of valour's oak in twain, 
 Undone our country. Oh, were we at one, 
 Banded to hold our Britain 'gainst the world, 
 No Roman prows should vex our sea-girt isle, 
 No foul invading foot should ever stand 
 On the white cliffs of Albion ! Nor one slave 
 Taint with his breath our native air. 'Twas we 
 Hurled back great Caesar, baffled, from our shores, 
 Who held the world in chains, while we were free ! 
 From traitors in our midst, defend us, gods ! 
 With open foes ourselves know how to deal ! 
 Thou, Madoc, art a judge to purge this land 
 From foul revolt. . . . Make answer, Vortigern ! 
 
 Madoc. Speechless with guilt, already self-condemned, 
 Thy doom is death. \To Vortigern. 
 
 Car. Unspeak that sentence, Queen ; 
 
 Make room for mercy here, and sate revenge 
 Upon a million lives ! 
 
 Boad. So be't. Enough 
 
 Of slaughter is to come. This wretch shall live, 
 For fear a brother's blood offend the gods, 
 And turn aside their wrath awaked on Rome. 
 Pass judgment, priest, but not upon his life. 
 
 [Music of harps. 
 
32 Boadicea 
 
 Madoc. Hear and tremble, Vortigern, 
 On thy head thy guilt return ! 
 Boadicea's royal name, 
 By thy treachery brought to shame, 
 Set infection in thy breath ; 
 Living, call in vain on death ! 
 On thy quenched hearth, Vortigern, 
 Sacred fire no more shall burn. 
 To thy prayer just Heaven denies 
 Hope, with right of sacrifice. 
 Rot and perish ! All foul things 
 Live of thy dead flesh, their stings 
 Suck a venom of thy spirit ; 
 Thou, no other life inherit ! 
 From thy people thou'rt cut off, 
 Be the Roman's scorn and scoff! 
 Hence, accursed ! Heaven and Earth 
 Loathe the sun that saw thy birth ! 
 
 Tableau. — Scene closes in. 
 
Boadicea 33 
 
 Scene 2. — Atrium in Julius Agrippa's villa on the banks 
 of the Thames, London. Curtains down at back. 
 
 Enter Adonis and Paris. 
 
 Adon. Yes, to-night, our noble patron, Julius Agrippa, 
 feasts his friends. Light heels in the ascendant, my nimble 
 Paris, a tight-rope dance overhead ! There 's a chance for 
 thee, my sword of Damocles ! Brace up the patron's nerves. 
 
 Par. What makes him out of humour with idleness ? The 
 fog in London, or is he in love ? 
 
 Adon. Thou hast hit it. This last nourisher of spleen, 
 provoked by a local Venus, a barbarian Helen, a pretty 
 subject for a quarrel ! 
 
 Par. With the Britons ? That 's very kind of us now ! 
 A pack of bull-dogs that fight for the very love of it ! If we 
 gave them no amusement that way, they 'd fall out and kill 
 one another to the last man. 
 
 Adon. We can spare their men, but, by all the Graces ! 
 we '11 keep some of their women alive. You look to your 
 antics, man, and make our barbarian princess Ena merry. 
 That 's the way to come in the patron's good graces. 
 
 Par. I make myself a show to amuse a barbarian ! I'm 
 aDOve that. Does the patron take ffie for a wild beast? 
 
 D 
 
34 Boadicea 
 
 However, if 'tis the last patrician whim, I must sweat to cure 
 his sick fancy. 
 
 Adon. That 's well. So ! the feast is served up. Vanish, 
 slave ! [Looking off. 
 
 Par. Slave ! Do you mean ? 
 
 Adon. I mean, out of the way ! and stay there till you're 
 wanted. 
 
 Par. I'm as good as you, Adonis. You've been a slave 
 before to-day, and the stuff of it 's in you yet. 
 
 Adon. Begone ! or 'twill be the worse for thee. [Exit 
 Paris.] Flouted by that scum of the earth ! That 's my 
 respect, in Julius Agrippa's service. And a hard yoke his 
 fickle favour is ... to be loved and hated within one 
 hour ; Guenebra proved that fortune. Now, her sister Ena, 
 his friend's betrothed, is the sport of his fancy. Well, my 
 liberty is worth something. That gives me dominion over 
 this stubborn race of Britain, to vex them. Yes, that is my 
 part ; to subdue them may set my betters hard. But I'll 
 none of their women. Heigh ho ! for supper ! That 's the 
 pleasure to live for ; ho, supper, ho ! [Exit. 
 
Boadicea 35 
 
 Curtains open at back on Scene 3 ; the Triclinium. A 
 banquet. Julius Agrippa and guests discovered, re- 
 clining at table. Attendants. Adonis waiting. 
 
 Agri. A Roman villa on the banks of Thames ! 
 Like you my taste, friends ? Think we are at home 
 By yellow Tiber ! See yon snowy swan 
 Glassing her image in the glittering stream, 
 Like beauty in the mirror of our eyes, 
 And live for pleasure ! Seize the happy hour 
 'Neath this pale sun of Britain. Here 's the fire 
 Shall set your veins aglow, the red Falernian ! 
 Ho, for our games ! We feast our eyes to-night 
 With feats of manly skill ; keep lovely woman 
 For second course ; we've some fair dancing girls. 
 
 Paris enters, and performs on a rope above the heads of the 
 banqueters. A noise without. 
 
 Agri. Who 's there without ? Adonis, go and see. 
 Invite them in. [Exit Adonis.] Some madcaps at their 
 
 pranks ; 
 The more the merrier. 
 
36 Boadicea 
 
 Enter Lucius Cornelius and Vortigern. 
 
 Agri. What, thou, Cornelius? 
 
 I thought thou wert in camp . . . but welcome here, 
 This is your place, by me. 
 
 Corn. No, Tribune, no ! 
 
 My business brooks no dallying. Answer me, 
 What have you done with Ena ? Her I seek. 
 
 Agri. Indeed, sir ? Look around ; where she may be 
 You know as much as we. 
 
 Corn. Is this a lie ? 
 
 Thou 'rt ready at invention, Vortigern, 
 Speak what thou knowest. 
 
 Vor. From the Roman camp 
 
 Her sister fled, alone. 
 
 Agri. His word 'gainst mine ! 
 
 Is this to be endured ? Send back the slave 
 Whipped for desertion. 
 
 Vor. Noble Roman, save me 
 
 From my own countrymen ! Release the maid ! 
 
 Agri. What, is she in my keeping ? Best then join 
 Our feast , Cornelius, come! 
 
 Corn. This is no time ; 
 
Boadicea 3 7 
 
 All Britain is in arms ; the fiery sign 
 
 From rugged Caledonia to the edge 
 
 Of undiscovered ocean in the West, 
 
 Has gathered every man ; their rallying cry, 
 
 Revenge and rescue of the Royal maid ! 
 
 This ground beneath our feet already shakes 
 
 With thunder of their chariots, and the tramp 
 
 Of horsemen, and the air we breathe is thick 
 
 With clang of arms and shouts of men ; their hosts 
 
 Swoop down on London. 
 
 Agri. How can they approach 
 
 But they must first o'erwhelm the Roman Province, 
 Crush the Ninth Legion ? 
 
 Corn. That is done, and more ! 
 
 One of a few, I live to tell the tale. 
 
 Agri. Comes Suetonius to the rescue ? 
 
 Corn. Ay ; 
 
 But he abandons London ; his command 
 Rallies his forces round him ; not enough 
 Our strength to hold this city 'gainst the foe, 
 Whom we must conquer in the open field. 
 Our duty calls at once to quit the town. 
 
 Agri. To-morrow . . . 
 
38 Boadicea 
 
 Corn. Tribune, it must be to-day 
 
 Agri. Then take my charge ; lead forth our men at once ; 
 I will make ready quick and follow you. 
 
 Corn. But, Tribune . . . 
 
 Agri. I have spoken ; thou art bound 
 
 Under authority. 
 
 Corn. [Aside.] Against my will. 
 How hard the Roman soldier's murderous work 
 Strives 'gainst the spirit of a Christian man. 
 
 [Exeunt Cornelius and Vortigern. 
 
 Agri. Go then, with happy fortune ! Occupation 
 Keep thee at distance till to-morrow ! Friends, 
 We play to-day. 
 
 Adon. But danger is around. 
 
 Agri. What 's that to me ? Should I forego my purpose? 
 No, man ; our name protects us ; fenced with stone, 
 Our watch-towers set upon the river's banks, 
 We dwell above invasion's panic fears ; 
 Retreat we when we may ! Be merry, friends, 
 You love to look on beauty ? You shall see 
 My captive in these wilds. Bring Ena hither. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 Cornelius thought to break my wild bird's cage. . . . 
 
Boadicea 39 
 
 How did he know ? Adonis, answer that, 
 111 keeper of my secret. 
 
 Adon. Pardon me ; 
 
 My honourable patron has not told 
 A single lie upon his own behalf 
 In all this business. Your lips are clean ; 
 I soil mine for you ; 'tis my humble service. 
 
 Enter Ena and Attendants. 
 
 Agri. Here comes my pearl of Britain. Welcome, sweet ! 
 Look up, and let me see you, fair and bright. 
 Nay, smile ; we love not tears. 
 
 Ena. [Aside.] Alone, past help, 
 
 Past rescue ! Oh, Cornelius, oh, my love, 
 Hast thou forsaken me ? 
 
 Agri. Canst thou not speak ? 
 
 A marble maiden ! Here is wine for thee, 
 Drink, know the taste of joy, the thrill of love, 
 Commend me to the kisses of thy lips ! 
 
 Ena. Where is my sister ? Thou false-hearted Roman, 
 What hast thou done with her ? 
 
 Agri. What 's that to thee ? 
 
 I love thee. 
 
40 Boadicea 
 
 Ena. Traitor, I have heard thee swear 
 
 A thousand oaths, Guenebra was thy love ; 
 I'll hear no more. 
 
 Agri. Beware ! I am thy lord, 
 
 And thou the captive of my sword ; obey ! 
 
 Ena. The daughter of a king ... no slave of thine ! 
 
 Agri. Oh, ho ! my Princess ! You shall be much envied 
 Of Roman ladies, as Agrippa's love. 
 
 Ena. Respect in me a Roman's wife ; I am 
 Cornelius' betrothed. 
 
 Agri. 'Twixt cup and lip 
 
 We'll snatch from him the bridal kiss . . . 
 
 Ena. [Rushing to the altar of the Penates.] Away ! 
 Upon the altar of thy household gods, 
 If aught there be yet holy in thine eyes, 
 I am safe. . . . Oh, spare me, as I am a maid, 
 Defenceless, in thy power ! 
 
 Agri. My goddess thou ! 
 
 Forbid with words, and with attractive tears 
 Use exquisite compulsion ! Thou art mine. 
 
 Ena. No, I am free ! Thou tak'st me not alive ! 
 Another step, and on your marble floor 
 I dash me down to death. 
 
Boadicea 41 
 
 Agri. Close in around ! 
 
 Prevent her . . . Ha ! 
 
 [Guests rise ; attendants approach the altar. 
 Ena. A moment, and 'tis done ! 
 
 [Ena flings herself down on the pavement. 
 Agri. [Bending over her.~\ Stone-still ; what, hast thou left 
 me, baffled, mocked 
 With the possession of those marble charms ? 
 Why wouldst thou die ? [A light is seen from the river. 
 
 Look, look, a gleam of fire 
 Upon the river . . . See, the heavens aglow 
 With blaze of burning. Did you hear that sound ? 
 Noise and confusion of the bloody strife ! 
 
 [A cry within, " Fly, fly ! " 
 Fly for your lives, the Britons are upon us ; 
 Bear her away with us. 
 
 Adon. Impossible ! 
 
 On with our comrades, join the Roman ranks 
 Retreating from the town ; 'tis life or death ! 
 
 [Exeunt in confusion; enter Britons shouting; 
 they commence pillaging, and some bring torches 
 to set fire to the building. 
 
42 Boadicea 
 
 Enter Boadicea, attended. 
 
 Boad. Hold, for your lives ! The town is in our hands ; 
 Burn not, nor slay ; give place to no revenge ; 
 Seek first my daughters. [Sees Ena lying on the ground. 
 
 Oh, my child, my child ! 
 Ena, look up . . . thou 'rt pale . . . and cold . . . No, no ! 
 Not dead ! not dead ! What have they done with thee ? 
 Tell it to me, thy mother ! Silent, still . . . 
 Ah, they have killed thee ! Ye are merciless, 
 Ye gods who shape our doom ! . . . My men, go forth, 
 Warriors of Britain, kill, kill, burn, and slay 
 All ye find living ; show no mercy, none 
 To child or mother, for they spared not mine ! 
 Crush ye the adder in the egg, the babes 
 Of Roman fathers suckling at the breast ; 
 And she who bears such fruit beneath her heart, 
 Let her not live ; the pangs of death, not birth, 
 Bring forth the issue of this hideous hour ! 
 Kill, burn, destroy, I will have blood, blood, blood ! 
 
 [Exeunt Britons with shouts. 
 
 Boad. [Beside Ena.] Ye gods, I thank you I have suffered ; 
 these 
 
Boadicea 43 
 
 My foes shall suffer now. The scourge, the flame, 
 Torments less keen than mine ! I will requite 
 Beforehand what my country may endure 
 From Romans yet. Woe to the vanquished, woe 
 To Britain's enemies ! The firm-built towers 
 On this free soil by haughty Julius set, 
 As badges of our servitude, shall fall, 
 Stone upon stone, till furrowed fields remain 
 Where London was ! And London be no more : 
 That name for ever perish ! . . . Ha, she stirs ! 
 
 [Ena revives. 
 My cry has roused the heart that beats on mine. 
 
 Ena. Release me ; I would rather die than live, 
 Cornelius false to me . . . ah, lost, betrayed ! 
 Romans, where am I ? 
 
 Boad. On thy mother's breast ; 
 
 My maiden, speak to me. 
 
 Ena. Oh, mother, mother ! 
 
 Here let me weep my sorrow out . . . my heart 
 Is broken . . . thou dost love me yet ? 
 
 Boad. {Embracing her.\ Mine own ! 
 
 Oh, ye immortals who look down on this, 
 Cast back upon my foes the wrongs I bear, 
 
44 Boadicea 
 
 And I will glut upon my bosom-pangs 
 Sweetened by hate. No mercy, spare not, strike, 
 Give me my great revenge and let me die ! 
 
 [Tableau. Flames rise ; Britons come on, shouting. 
 
 End of Act II. 
 
45 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene i, — The Roman camp near Verulamium. The tent of 
 Paulinus Suetonius. An altar of turf, etc. 
 
 Julius Agrippa, Adonis. 
 
 Agri. So Paulinus Suetonius has returned from his expedi- 
 tion to the West . . . too late to save London, but soon 
 enough to cross my purposes. 
 
 Adon. Will the General be curious in putting questions as 
 to the manner of our marching out of the town ? 
 
 Agri. That he will ; here, in his own tent, our chief holds 
 the inquiry to-day. I shall be called to a strict account. 
 Why did I not march out with my legions? Why linger 
 behind, like a fool, to be chased before a woman's army ? 
 Oh, shame, shame ! 
 
 Adon. Before a woman, truly, a man should not retreat, 
 or — run away . . . unless, indeed, he run away with, not 
 from. That 's the particle of difference. 
 
 Agri. Truly, Cornelius will accuse me to the General. 
 How shall I meet his. evidence against me? 
 
46 Boadicea 
 
 Adon. How ? by a counter-charge, to be sure. Denounce 
 him as a Christian, a contemner of the gods of Rome . . . 
 
 Agri. The gods of Rome ! Heaven save the mark ! 
 Each mortal man of us is to himself a divinity. 
 
 Adon. A most free and enlightened hero-worship ! But 
 do you accuse Cornelius of defection from that national and 
 established creed, and his damnation, and your acquittal, 
 will be made safe. 
 
 Agri. Hush, man! Here comes Suetonius, with my 
 enemy . . . and the arch-traitor, Vortigern. 
 
 Enter Paulinus Suetonius, attended; Lucius Cornelius, 
 Vortigern, etc. Suetonius takes his seat under the tent. 
 
 Suet. How hardly may the yoke of Rome be set 
 On this rebellious brood of Britain's isle ! 
 But, comrades, how is this ? While I break down 
 With steel and fire their superstition's hold 
 In Western Mona, you, surrounded here 
 By colonized lands, and veterans, whose homes 
 Have made a Roman Britain, . . . foot by foot, 
 Have wellnigh yielded all ? Barbarian hordes, 
 Sprung native of the soil, have risen up, 
 
Boadicea 47 
 
 Like land-devouring seas to push us out 
 As aliens and usurpers. All my power 
 Mocked by their woman-chief in your defeat ! , 
 I've heard, on seventy thousand Roman lives 
 Fell slaughter, in the sack of London town. 
 Corn. That is too true. 
 
 Suet. Then who shall bear the blame ? 
 
 Corn. Why, we ourselves ; this stubborn island race 
 Bend to no master's will ; led they may be, 
 Not driven to submission. More than life 
 They treasure freedom's jewel, most of all, 
 The honour of their women ; wronged in that, 
 Britain outmatches Rome. 
 
 Suet. Who stands accused 
 
 Amongst us of such wrong ? 
 
 Corn. Julius Agrippa. 
 
 He bore by force the daughters of the Queen 
 Into the Roman camp. In London town, 
 Ena was with him ; for this cause, Agrippa 
 Hung back from duty. Ask yon trembling slave 
 Who planned the vile assault ! 
 
 Suet. Stand forth, Adonis ; 
 
 Answer the truth, for thee we can compel 
 
48 Boadicea 
 
 By torture, to supply Agrippa's silence, 
 Inviolate, as a citizen of Rome. 
 
 Adon. Noble Paulinus, thus enforced by fear, 
 I will confess, 'twas I who did conduct 
 The Lady Ena to my master's house. 
 
 Corn. Thou wretch, why didst thou so, thou a freed man ? 
 
 Adon. He has set free my body, not my spirit ; 
 I did his hest. 
 
 Agri. Well, sirs, and if he did ? 
 
 Say that fair Ena followed me for love, 
 Should I not hide it, for the damsel's sake ? 
 
 Corn. Villain, 'tis false! the, maiden's love is mine; 
 She is wooed and won in honour as my wife, 
 Clear of suspicion as of taint. Being such, 
 Who dares asperse her fame ? 
 
 Agri. And if not hers, 
 
 Thine lies within my censure. 
 
 Corn. Vortigern, 
 
 Bear witness, though unwilling, as a foe ; 
 Thou knowest best, on my part all was faith, 
 On his, dishonour. 
 
 Vor. To my shame I speak, 
 
 Most noble General ; for all these wrongs 
 
Boadicea, 49 
 
 I am to blame, who thought no ill to be 
 
 A messenger of honourable love 
 
 To Lady Ena from this warrior. 
 
 That night both maids were borne away, I knew 
 
 Guenebra by Agrippa was beloved, 
 
 Wronged, scorned, and hated after ; I was made 
 
 My people's curse, by ban of fire, for this, 
 
 A Roman's crime. Remorse, not fear of death, 
 
 Compels the truth from me. I have spoken all. 
 
 Agri. If that be so, Cornelius, thee I charge 
 Thou hast contrived this trick to slander me. 
 Thou art my enemy ; but thee I know 
 A false contemner of thy country's gods, 
 A traitor to the majesty of Rome ; 
 Caesar's authority thou laugh'st to scorn ; 
 Thou art a Christian. 
 
 Corn. 'Tis most true, I am : 
 
 No traitor. Though the Emperor of Rome 
 Cannot compel the worship of my soul 
 Due to the King of Kings, as earthly lord 
 I yield him duty with my blood, my life ; 
 These, as by oath of service I am bound, 
 I render unto Caesar. 
 
 E 
 
50 Boadicea 
 
 Suet. I will have 
 
 No half allegiance. We should be at one, 
 Here, in this Roman camp, a little troop 
 Hedged in by myriads. Here on British ground, 
 Do Caesar's name and fortune stand with us ; 
 Yonder the altar raised by martial hands 
 To Hercules, and Caesar the Divine : 
 In token of obedience, offer there 
 Thy incense to thy country's gods ... if not, 
 Thou art no Roman soldier ! 
 
 Corn. All commands 
 
 Will I obey, save this ; a Roman dies 
 In his obedience. Could I serve with these 
 True soldiers of the eagles, once proved false 
 To the high majesty of heaven, whose word 
 Stands above Caesar's ? 
 
 Suet. Sacrifice, or die ! [Murmurs. 
 
 Who stirs ? No mutiny, or I decree 
 Every tenth man to share Cornelius' death. 
 
 [Cries, " Sacrifice, comrade, sacrifice ! " 
 
 Corn. My countrymen, I will not sacrifice- ! 
 Look to thyself, Paulinus, what art thou, 
 To speak our lives away with breath of thine-? 
 
Boadicea 5 l 
 
 Beware ! Thy cruelty, in Rome itself, 
 
 Links to thy name the echo of a curse, 
 
 Spoken with abhorring even in Nero's ear. 
 
 Not on the bosom of this land, the nurse 
 
 Of dauntless men, may thine oppression thrive 
 
 To tread down conscience, the immortal spark 
 
 Of heaven's free light, which owns no Lord but Him 
 
 Who made His image in the living soul ! 
 
 See thou assail not that, nor shed more blood, 
 
 A Roman's, at thy will. 
 
 Suet. Enough of words ! 
 
 To me thou ow'st obedience ; yield, or die ! 
 
 Vor. Hear me, dread lord ! within the' British camp 
 Are many Roman captives, bound in chains; 
 Ready for sacrifice ; then send Cornelius 
 On thy behalf, to treat for their release, 
 Putting his life in jeopardy for theirs, 
 Rather than shed, thyself, a Roman's blood. 
 
 Suet. By Bacchus f the barbarian reasons well ! 
 Cornelius, we promote thee to this mission 
 On our affairs in Hades. Vortigern, 
 Go thou as guide to our ambassador. 
 
 Vor. Noble Paulirtus, spare me ! 'Twere the same 
 
52 Boadicea 
 
 You cast me bound among devouring wolves, 
 As thus to meet my countrymen. 
 
 Suet. Obey, 
 
 My gentle savage, 'twill be best for thee. 
 
 Agri. In Rome we're not so tender of men's lives, 
 But we might find thee some uncouth, rare beast 
 To cope with i' th' arena ; put in force 
 Your new philosophy, to die for truth. 
 
 Corn. I bear a Roman's life upon this hazard 
 To ransom many lives ; thou answer me 
 One honest word, Agrippa, ere I go : 
 Tell me of Ena. 
 
 Agri. I was never held 
 
 A guardian of young maids. 
 
 Corn. Unworthy Roman ! 
 
 Thou art the cause of all . . . . How long, just heaven, 
 Wilt thou look on, and stay me from revenge ? 
 Come, Vortigern. [Exeunt Cornelius and Vortigern. 
 
 Agri. This is a woman's war, 
 
 To vex the air with words, my General, 
 111 answer him with deeds, and prove myself 
 Worthy, in battle, of the charge I hold. 
 
 Suet. So be it, Tribune ; we'll prepare for fight, 
 
Boadicea 53 
 
 Our supreme cast with Fate. Great Julius came 
 
 To gather honour on this barren isle, 
 
 His conquest of the sea, an ornament 
 
 To hang on Fortune's neck. We, having kept 
 
 No footing past the trenches round our camp, 
 
 Sell life to win back honour, life and all ! 
 
 \Shouts. Scene closes in. 
 
 Scene 2. — A Retreat in a Forest. Madoc, Cariovalda. 
 
 Madoc. Bid to this solemnity every Druid and every Bard 
 they have left alive. To-night we purge the land with 
 sacrifice to the god of thunder. Make ready the altars with 
 the sacred fire, kindled from the sun. 'Tis blood must feed 
 them, blood ! Five hundred Roman prisoners shall embrace 
 their doom. 
 
 Car. Must all die, all ? Have you no thought for what 
 revenge they will exact of us should fortune again fall over 
 to the Roman ? 
 
 Madoc. No thought but this, to make-broad the breach of 
 heart-hatred that divides us, wide as life from death. Away, 
 prepare with haste ! Here in the forest recess I await the 
 
54 Boadicea 
 
 Queen. Afterwards I'll join you at the great Stone Circle, 
 Go! 
 
 Car. 'Tis sore against the grain. \Exit. 
 
 Madoc. [Looking off.] Lo there, tmeonquered Britain's 
 Majesty ! 
 She seems no woman, but a burning flame, 
 A spirit o'erwrought with passion ; at this strait 
 She must not blench ; I'll prove her to the soul. 
 
 Enter Boadicea. 
 
 Boad. Blood, and still blood ! For ever flows the stream 
 Around me -where I stand. . • ■ Oh, horrible ! 
 Will ye not let me rest, ye branding shames 
 That lash me to revenge ? Here at my heart 
 The fire will not burn out ; no hideous sights 
 Sate its hot wrath with havoc, sack and flame, 
 Though we have left proud London but a heap 
 Of dust and ashes. . . . Ha, the mother's cry 
 Cleaves through me . . . they have torn her from her 
 
 babe. . . . 
 Warriors of Britain, will ye slay the child ? 
 'Tis more than I can bear. . . . Stay, mercy, stay ! 
 I am a mother and most miserable. 
 
Boadicea 55 
 
 Madoc. Oh, Boadicea, I have seen thee, Queen, 
 Shine, meteor-like, a flash of flaming hair 
 Above the sea of battle ; winged with fear, 
 The thunder of thy chariot-wheels led on 
 Fierce Victory's race, and 'neath thy horses' hoofs 
 Mingled thy foes with dust ! Thou who bear'st sway 
 O'er man, art thou but woman ? 
 
 Boad. Once, once more 
 
 To taste the rapture of revenge, and die ! 
 
 Madoc. Not yet ; one struggle still, to extirpate 
 This Roman gangrene from our land's pure life ; 
 Think nothing done while that remains to do. 
 But steel thy bosom firm as Fate. To-night, 
 We'll pale the stars with fires of sacrifice, 
 And feast the gods with cries of men, devote 
 To burning death. Thy place is there, to show 
 A brow undaunted as the augury 
 Of victory to-morrow ! Thou, our Queen, 
 Who bear'st a heart so great to live or die, 
 One with thy people. " 
 
 Boad. That I will, I will ! 
 
 This crown I wear, my daughters' heritage, 
 Bows to no mortal foe. 
 
56 Boadicea 
 
 Modoc. Thy daughters, Queen, 
 
 False and unnatural ! By our holy laws, 
 Death were their dower, for kisses with our foes 
 Exchanged by maids of Britain. Ena bears 
 A heart attaint with Rome's impiety, 
 The superstition of an alien race. 
 Break that to mild obedience ; bid her heed 
 She worship these alone, her father's gods, 
 War, slaughter, and revenge ! 
 
 Boad. Go, fetch my child ! 
 
 [Exit Madoc. 
 Can this be true ? My darling, Ena, turned 
 Against me, in my sore extremity ? 
 No, I will not believe it, cruel priest ! 
 
 Enter Ena. 
 
 My own one, is it thou ? 
 
 Ena. My dearest mother, 
 
 Why grieve alone ? Come, let me comfort thee. 
 
 Boad. What know'st thou, girl, of comfort? I have done 
 With peace for ever. Nothing left but this : 
 To conquer and to die ! 
 
 Ena. Why wilt thou speak 
 
Boadicea 57 
 
 So bitterly to me ? Could my great love . . . 
 
 Boad. What is love worth, apart from duty, honour ? 
 Hatest thou whom I hate ? Wilt curse with me 
 The name of every Roman ? 
 
 Ena. No, I cannot ! 
 
 Those eyes forbid, which bound me, heart and soul, 
 Once and for ever ! 
 
 Boad. Most unhappy child ! 
 
 Speak'st thou of thy betrayer, of Cornelius, 
 Who gave thee to his friend ? 
 
 Ena. That may be so ; . . . 
 
 And yet, the foul thought wrongs him ; of his lips 
 I have been taught to conquer hate with love ; 
 Bitter the rind though sweet the fruit that bears 
 The heavenly balm, forgiveness ! 
 
 Boad. Answer not 
 
 Thy mother so, my girl. Oh, mock me not, 
 Soul-sick with thirst of vengeance for thy wrong. 
 By the sharp pang that brought thee to this world, 
 Cast out that man, that Roman, from thine heart ! 
 
 Ena. Must I believe the worst of him, unheard ? 
 
 Boad. Thou lov'st him well ? 
 
 Ena. Oh, mother, ask me not : 
 
58 Boadicea 
 
 Sweet love has turned to poison ; all life's joy 
 Sinks in despair . . . and yet I feel I love ! 
 
 Boad. Worse than thy sister ; she has suffered wrong, 
 But thou, seduced in heart, hast given consent 
 To thy own soul's pollution. Ye just gods, 
 Who tend on mortal love with nature's gifts 
 Of immortality, why was I made 
 A mother, bles twith woman's crown of joy ? 
 I envy her who never bore a child ! 
 For never was I humbled till this day, 
 And to the earth ye have struck down my pride 
 In this, my daughter ! 
 
 Ena. Mother, hear me, mother 1 . . . 
 
 Boad. Speak not to me, most miserable girl : 
 Thy words are sharper than the Roman lash 
 That cut my flesh with lighter pangs than thou, 
 Searing my soul with wroth-love and hot shame ! 
 Provoke me not to anger, lest I call 
 Upon thy head the curse of Nero's name, 
 The mother-slaughterer ! 
 
 Ena. Oh, curse me not ! 
 
 My mother, my own mother, do not curse 
 The wretched life thou gav'st me. . . . Take it back 
 
Boadicea 59 
 
 And end my misery and thy wrath together : 
 But kiss me ere thou kill'st me ! 
 
 Boad. Off, away ! 
 
 Thou 'rt none of mine : my bosom casts thee out, 
 Thou handmaid of the Roman. . . . Oh, my shame ! 
 
 [Exit Boadicea. 
 
 Ena. Cold earth, be kinder than a mother's breast 
 Made hard by pride ; be pitiful to me . . . 
 I have no mother, none . . . Oh, take me, Death ! 
 
 Enter Guenebra. 
 
 Guen. What dost thou, weeping there upon the ground, 
 Calling on Death ? 
 
 Ena. Oh, sister, is it thou ? 
 
 Guen, Call me not sister ; thou hast turned away 
 Agrippa's heart from me, his plighted wife, 
 Who am cast off to shame . . . 
 
 Ena. Was that my fault, 
 
 When I did love Cornelius ? 
 
 Guen. Come then, now, 
 
 And see Cornelius perish. He is ta'en, 
 And all the Roman captives are to die 
 At the great sacrifice ! 
 
60 Boadicea 
 
 Ena. Cornelius die ! 
 
 Guen, Ay, would Agrippa too might share his doom, 
 Since thou hast taught him falsehood ! 
 
 Ena. Say not that ! 
 
 Are we not sisters ? I, like thee, most wretched ; 
 Come to the sacrifice ; he may be saved, 
 And I may die for him. Come ! Come with me ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 3. — A Druidical Circle in a forest of oaks. Fires 
 lighted for sacrifice. Madoc, Cariovalda, Boadicea, 
 Guenebra, Ena ; Druids, Bards, Priestesses, Warriors, 
 Women, Roman Captives. 
 
 Madoc and Druids advance in procession to the great 
 Altar. Harps. 
 
 Madoc. Oh, Queen and people, warriors of Britain, 
 Hear by my voice the will of the high heavens, 
 Big with your coming fate ! We sacrifice, 
 This night, to him who casts the thunderbolt, 
 And the strong god of war. We give of earth's 
 Most precious things, the blood of brave men's lives, 
 Poured out upon the ground and burned with fire ; 
 An offering of life for life to hell, 
 
Boadicea 6 1 
 
 That so this land and nation may be saved. 
 
 Boad. So, willingly at need shall mine be poured. 
 Lives there a Briton, born of this dear land, 
 But bears as stout a heart to die for her ? 
 
 Madoc. Romans, stand forth ! 
 
 [Tke Roman -prisoners advance. 
 These captives, ta'en in war, 
 Red-handed, are already doomed to die. 
 Bind them upon the cromlechs. Where is he 
 Who bears us greeting from the lords of Rome ? 
 Lucius Cornelius. 
 
 Enter Lucius Cornelius and Vortigern. 
 
 Corn. [Advancing.] Here! 
 
 Madoc. Art come among us, 
 
 Brought by the conduct of yon caitiff wretch, 
 Aweary of thy life, and lacking heart 
 To end it with a blow ? Thou meetest here 
 Me, as thy enemy, and offended Fate, 
 The sternest foe to man ! Yet, hadst thou brought 
 Thy red right hand hot with our children's blood, 
 By custom of this British land 'tis just, 
 Ere we condemn, to hear. What canst thou urge 
 
62 Boadicea 
 
 To stay the doom of death ? 
 
 Corn. For these' men's lives, 
 
 Which you would pour like water on the ground, 
 I come as the ambassador of Rome 
 To treat with you. My life is in your hands, 
 Though sacred, aS a herald's, freely given 
 A ransom for my comrades. 
 
 Madoc. We will hold 
 
 No terms with Rome, to set a price on shame, 
 But purge the land with fire, till ye repay 
 Blood for dishonour. 
 
 Corn. That can be atoned 
 
 By gentler counsels. Join in marriage bonds 
 With citizens of Rome ; that title brings 
 Fit honour to the daughters of a king ; 
 Let Ena be my wife . . . 
 
 Ena. [Apart.] He loves me true ! 
 
 Corn. Consent to this, I'll hold Agrippa bound 
 By contract to Guenebra. 
 
 Boad. Wed with ye 
 
 Our daughters ! Join our hands in unity ! 
 Deemed I my blood could ever mix with thine, 
 I'd drain its life out from that trembling form 
 
Boadicea 63 
 
 Which clings about my feet ! Die, daughter, die, 
 
 Upon the altar of our country's gods, 
 
 Rather than live, the abhorred invader's mate \ 
 
 Corn. These are the gods ye worship,, wrath and 
 hate! 
 To these would ye devote my blood, to these 
 Who turn sweet nature in a mother's breast 
 To gall of cruelty ! False, false as hell, 
 Such gods shall perish ! Now another Light 
 Hath risen to rule the world in truth and love. 
 
 Madoc. Die, die upon the altar, thou blasphemer ! 
 We will not hear of Rome's idolatries, 
 Whose temples close around their gods of stone ; 
 Here, in the noon of night, beneath the gloom 
 Of the primeval oaks, our mysteries keep 
 The worship of our fathers, paid to Him 
 Who built the everlasting vault, and spake, 
 Kindling the lights of heaven ! To Him we yield 
 The sacrifice of blood. 
 
 Corn. Know better Whom 
 
 Ye seek in ignorance, than to mar His gift, 
 The spark divine of life ! 
 
 Madoc. No more, thou diest ! 
 
64 Boadicea 
 
 Ena. [Falling at Madoc's feet] Oh, hear me, thou dread 
 minister of wrath, 
 My last, last hope can only cling to thee ! 
 If thou hast loved, have pity on my love ; 
 Spare but one life that 's all the world to me ! 
 Give me Cornelius ! 
 
 Madoc. Damsel, thou dost mind me 
 
 I had a daughter, tender as thyself, 
 A virgin priestess ; when I saw her die, 
 Slain by the Roman, then my heart grew stone 
 Hard as yon cromlechs. Speak no more. He dies. 
 
 Ena. No, take my life for his ; if blood must flow, 
 Mine, pure and royal, shall appease your gods. 
 
 Madoc. Thine pure and royal ! Faithless and profane, 
 Our unpolluted altars spurn thee back ! 
 Heaven's curses for thy country's ruin fall 
 On thee and on thy shame ! 
 
 Ena. No ; as I am 
 
 A Christian maid ! 
 
 Boad. What, thou a Christian too ? 
 
 Ena. I am, and dare to die with him I love ! 
 
 [Ena clings to Cornelius. 
 
 Boad. Unnatural ! Separate, lest horror blast 
 
Boadicea 65 
 
 The vision of mine eyes. Is this my child 
 Clasped in a Roman's arms ? Tear them apart ! 
 
 Madoc. Wretch! Wouldst thou drag her to her death 
 with thee ? 
 Part, at the high gods' bidding. Fear the breath 
 That rends the thunder-cloud, the Arch-druid's curse, 
 Fraught with the fury of the eternal Powers 
 Who shall dissolve thee in their elements, 
 Scatter thy dust upon the winds of heaven, 
 Lost and annihilate. Begone and die ! 
 
 Ena. Slay us together, for we will not part ; 
 I have no fear to perish in yon flame, 
 Made strong to suffer all with him, through love 
 Immortal as our souls. Stern priest, thy power 
 Bars not heaven's bliss from those whose trust is there. 
 
 Corn. The dove defies the eagle ; such our hope 
 As arms the weak to conquer death with joy ; 
 The tender virgin to o'ercome proud man ; 
 Such shall the mothers be of Britain's sons, 
 A proud Imperial race to rule the world ! 
 
 Car. Oh, royal Queen and Mother, shut not out 
 The voice of blessing from thine ear and heart ; 
 Thou too, so fair, hast known the charm of love, 
 
 v 
 
66 Boadicea 
 
 Fed on earth's bliss, that dream of shadows, blent 
 With light divine such as heart knows not of . . . 
 For man's poor, fleeting life is like the bird 
 That droops her wing beneath thy open door, 
 Wooed by thy fire with momentary warmth, 
 Through rain and tempest beating cold without, 
 Ere she pass on from winter into winter, 
 From dark of birth to death. 
 
 Boad. Old man, 'tis life 
 
 Harrows the soul, not death. [To Ena.J Thou, who hast 
 
 bowed 
 My head to earth with shame, who art my child . . . 
 I will not slay the life of thy young heart ; 
 Live, Ena ; . . . He shall live ... I am thy mother ! 
 
 Ena. Forgive me, sweet my mother, ... or if not, 
 Hide me, thou earth, in my dead father's grave. 
 
 Boad. That look! ... his look! Oh, turn away thine 
 eyes, 
 They are thy father's ! [Embracing Ena. 
 
 Corn. What shall countervail 
 
 Mercy and truth ? By these shall Britain stand 
 Undaunted, in the glorious days to be ! 
 The God of battles, heaven and earth's dread King, 
 
Boadicea 67 
 
 Shall fight upon her side ! 
 
 Madoc. ' Give me a sword, 
 
 For I will fight with weapons as a man, 
 No longer vex with words, a robed priest, 
 While ye are up and doing, and the gods 
 Whose voice I am, make mock of my gray head, 
 And curse that killeth not my country's foes. 
 But these my hands shall slay them ! Ho, a sword ! 
 Boad. [To Cornelius.] Warrior of Rome, we meet again 
 . . . to-morrow. 
 We will not slay, save in the battle strife. 
 Go back to those who sent thee ; bid them know 
 What hearts we bear in Britain. Go, but hear . . . 
 Bring forth a warrior's arms and shield for me, 
 I too will fight till death ! My chariot, ho ! 
 Bards, sound your harps ! And thou, our prophet-chief, 
 Madoc, lift up the song of Victory ! 
 
 [Shouts and clashing of arms. Bards play on their, 
 harps. 
 Madoc. [Speaks to music] Queen and people of this land 
 Turn again and take your stand ; 
 Sure as shines to-morrow's sun 
 On the battle lost and won, 
 
68 Boadicea 
 
 Sure as they who dare to die 
 From dark Fate pluck Victory, 
 Men of Britain's dauntless strain, 
 Never fought nor bled in vain ! 
 Earth commingling with their blood 
 Teems with an heroic brood, 
 Born to bring the tyrant low, 
 Bred to trample down the foe. 
 Fallen is Rome ! The heavens' smile 
 Lights the world from Britain's Isle; 
 Bears o'er farthest ocean wave 
 Hope and freedom for the slave . . . 
 Thou Unknown and awful Power, 
 Swiftly speed the avenging hour ! 
 Hand that shapes the days to come, 
 Haste to break the yoke of Rome ! 
 Burst through night, triumphant day, 
 Till the world shall pass away ! 
 [During Madoc's incantation Boadicea's war- 
 chariot comes on. She ascends it, arming herself 
 with sword, spear and shield. 
 JBoad. Romans, ye war against women ; not we 
 Render to captives our wrongs ... all are free ! 
 
Boadicea 69 
 
 This is our answer to Rome ; Right is Might ! 
 
 Here for rude Nature's rough justice we fight. 
 
 Here to the strong we hurl back blow for blow ; 
 
 Britons, a woman leads on 'gainst the foe ! 
 
 God above all unto Thee do we seek, 
 
 Send forth thy power through the arm of the weak ! 
 
 Warriors, shout the battle-cry ! 
 
 Forward ! Death or Victory ! [Shouts, clash of arms. 
 
 Tableau. End of Act III. 
 
7o 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene i. — The British encampment near Verulamium. 
 Madoc, Boadicea, looking out. 
 
 Boad. Look where they stand, in yonder narrow pass, 
 Hard by their fenced town of Verulam ; 
 All that are left of them on Britain's earth, 
 Which burns the invader's foot . . . How few they seem ! 
 
 Madoc. Ten thousand, at the most. 
 
 Boad. And these are all 
 
 The nation fierce of brow and strange of tongue 
 Brings against us ? Go, count the stars of heaven, 
 And weigh the sands upon our sea-swept shores, 
 To tell our countless hosts ! And these are all 
 Yet left to conquer ! 
 
 Madoc. All . . . and yet not all. 
 
 The spirit of the ages strives this day, 
 Or with us, or against us. 
 
 Boad. Know'st thou not, 
 
Boadicea 7 1 
 
 When Britain rose in arms to avenge my wrong, 
 
 How there were heard strange, hideous sounds by night, 
 
 While in the Roman temple, face to earth, 
 
 Their idol, Victory, fell ? And down the Thames 
 
 Floated a vision on the waters' face, 
 
 Fire, carnage and the utter rout of Rome ? 
 
 What mean these portents, if the gods retract, » 
 
 Our cause half won ? 
 
 Madoc. I cannot answer thee ; 
 
 The gods are mute, and all things pass away. 
 
 Boad. Here we stand firm ! Yon chariots bar retreat, 
 Borne down with tender freight of women, babes, 
 Age-stricken parents, all the hearts of men 
 Most cleave to . . . Here we conquer or we die ! 
 
 Madoc. Here, too, I cast my mortal lot, a man, 
 With all my countrymen. Too old to change, 
 Though the gods fail me, I will keep my oath ! 
 Me, when a boy, my warrior father swore 
 To everlasting hate of butchering Rome ; 
 He fell in battle, and my mother's vow 
 Devoted me a priest to the high gods ; 
 Vain service ! For their marble heaven looked on, 
 While, like the forest patriarch despoiled, 
 
72 Boadicea 
 
 Stroke upon stroke, all my fair branches fell, 
 Lopped from the old oak's heart : now all are reft, 
 The withered trunk must feel the bitter axe 
 Gnaw at its root. But in my fall I'll crush 
 The hands that maimed me ! 
 
 Boad. Even so, I feel 
 
 I am going to my death ; for that I long 
 With passion, as a bride ! To do some deed 
 Shall give this body of my earthly pain 
 Back to the elements, and wing my dust 
 To every corner of this British land, 
 While my free soul among the immortals lives, 
 And Boadicea's name, in honour shrined, 
 Dwells in my country's heart. 
 
 Madoc. That name shall shine 
 
 O'er Britain like a star ! 
 
 Boad: I will not live 
 
 To grace the triumph of that fiend-like man, 
 Paulinus Suetonius. Never hand 
 Of Roman dame shall point me out with scorn 
 To mocking churls ; and boast, " Yon fair-haired slave 
 Was once a Queen in Britain ! " No, lest might 
 Of brutal strength o'erbear me, and I fail 
 
Boadicea 7Z 
 
 Of death in battle, give me poison, thou, 
 Such as thou keepest for the utmost need . . . 
 Give it me ! 
 
 Madoc. [Giving a phial.] Here ; in this is liberty ; 
 In thy own hand abides thy life or death ; 
 No man hath power on thee or thine. 
 
 Boad. My children . . . 
 
 What, kill them too? 
 
 Madoc. The gods require not that 
 
 Of thee, their mother. By thy death alone 
 This land shall live. [Madoc goes up through the camp. 
 
 Ena enters. 
 
 Ena. My mother, where art thou ? 
 
 Thou goest to the battle. Take me with thee. 
 
 Boad. Then come with me ; perchance to see the man, 
 The Roman whom thou lovest, with his sword 
 Thrust my heart through. 
 
 Ena. No ; first this breast of mine 
 
 Shall yield the dearest drop of life for thee ! 
 
 Boad. Thou shalt not come . . . Entreat me not, my 
 child ! 
 
 Ena. I am not worthy even to die for thee ? 
 
74 Boadicea 
 
 Boad. Nay, I would have thee live, if I must die, 
 That the great name of Britain's royal blood 
 Perish not from the land, but live and reign 
 Enthroned in the Islands of the sea ; 
 Life of my life, live thou ! 
 
 Ena. Oh me, my mother ! 
 
 The clans are gathering at the battle call ! 
 
 Enter Madoc and Guenebra. 
 
 Guen. Mother, look, yonder looms the eagle's swoop ! 
 
 Madoc. Turn, Royal Lioness, and rend thy foes ! 
 Stand forth among thy people as a Queen, 
 With these, thy daughters ! Speak, and we will hear 
 And follow thee to death or victory ! 
 
 Enter a number of British warriors. Boadicea ascends 
 a hillock. 
 
 Boad. Ye men of Britain, 'tis your use and wont 
 To strive in battle led by woman's hand ; 
 But now avenge me, not indeed as sprung 
 From royal lineage, for my kingdom reft 
 And wealth despoiled, but as a most poor woman, 
 Avenge my body's outraged dignity, 
 
Boadicea 75 
 
 Torn with the lash ; my daughters' innocence 
 To foul pollution shamefully betrayed. 
 The Roman's greed, insatiable, abhorred, 
 Reveres nor age nor tender virginhood ; 
 But yet, the gods are with our just revenge ! 
 One Legion dared to meet with us in arms, 
 And perished ! In their camps the rest are hid, 
 Or scattered round for flight. They cannot bide 
 The shouts and clangour of your thousands met ; 
 How then the charge and struggle, man to man ? 
 Think of your countless hosts, your cause for war, 
 To vanquish or to die ! Such my resolve, 
 A woman's ; men who will may live as slaves. 
 
 [Shouts; clash of arms. Boadicea and her 
 
 daughters mount a chariot, and exeunt omnes. 
 
 Noises of a battle. 
 
 Enter Vortigern. 
 Vor. I know not whither I go, nor how I live ; 
 There, every man of Britain stands, save me, 
 Who count not as a man ; for I have lost 
 All man should live for, all but a shamed life 
 Too vile to cast away in Britain's cause. 
 
J6 Boadicea 
 
 Lo, yonder Boadicea stands, a Queen 
 On her war-chariot. . . . See, she speaks, she moves, 
 Her daughters by her side, from rank to rank 
 Throughout the British host, with eye, hand, tongue, 
 Kindling the fire of each heroic heart. 
 
 [Shouts and noises of battle. 
 
 Enter Ena. 
 
 Ena. Parted for ever from my mother's side ! 
 The battles rages. . . . Hist ! the tramp, the rush ! 
 The wail of women ! Nearer sound the cries . . . 
 Who's there? 
 
 Vor. A wretch, unfit to live or die. 
 
 Ena. Vortigern! 
 
 Vor. Ay. 
 
 Ena. See, see, the thin bright line 
 
 Of steel and purple, like a sword's sharp edge 
 Spotted with blood ; 'tis thus the Romans fight. 
 Merciful heaven ! They cleave us through and through ! 
 Mother ! Cornelius ! . . . Ah, I see no more ! 
 
 [Hides her eyes. 
 
 Vor. Fly, lady, fly ! The Romans are upon us ! 
 
Boadicea 77 
 
 Enter Agrippa and Roman Soldiers. 
 
 Agri. Halt there ! For plunder of the British camp ; 
 Each man secure his treasure. . . . Here is mine ! 
 
 [He goes to seize Ena. She escapes from him to 
 
 VORTIGERN. 
 
 Ena. [To Vortigern.] Defend, or kill me, as thou art a 
 
 man! 
 Vor. Lady, I will, as true as I have life 
 From Britain's earth ! 
 Agri. Stand back, barbarian slave ! 
 
 Vor. Look on thy death, thou Roman ravisher ! 
 
 [Exeunt fighting. 
 Ena. Where is Cornelius ? Pitying heaven, forgive ! 
 Look on me, save me ! 
 
 Enter Agrippa. 
 
 Agri. I have killed the slave ! 
 
 Fair Ena, come with me. 
 
 Enter Cornelius. 
 
 Corn. Not while I live ! 
 
 Ena. Cornelius ! Ah, saved, saved ! 
 
 [Rushes to Cornelius. 
 
78 Boadicea 
 
 Agri. Yield up that maid, 
 
 The captive of my sword ! 
 
 Corn. My wife betrothed . . . 
 
 I hold her safe from thee. Thou, keep thy own ; 
 Is not Guenebra fair ? 
 
 Agri. My mind is changed ; 
 
 I love not, but in gentle Ena's eye 
 There's something it would please me to subdue. 
 
 Corn. Touch not my right ! 
 
 Agri. Thou Galilean hound ! 
 
 Yield up the girl ! 
 
 Corn. Then take her with my life ! 
 
 Heaven is above the power of Rome, and thine ! 
 
 [They fight ; Agrippa falls. 
 So falls the conqueror in his hour of pride, 
 Who shows no mercy to a vanquished foe ! 
 Here is thy refuge, Ena, on my breast ; 
 Here may'st thou weep for mother, native land, 
 All that thou lovest hitherto ... all lost ; 
 Yet all shall be repaid with love and faith : 
 As on a rock, let thy heart anchor here ! 
 
 Ena. Fond hope will cling to life and strive with grief, 
 So sweet our love, so strong, so loth to die ! 
 
Boadicea 79 
 
 Look ! the Arch-druid from the field of blood 
 Staggers with faintness of a deadly wound ! 
 
 Enter Madoc. 
 
 Madoc. No, I come back unhurt, that sought for Death 
 And found it not ; my brain is like a sea 
 Swollen 'neath the moon's strong influence. I am drunk 
 With the fierce wine of war. My charioteer 
 And horses slain, I fell to earth, o'erturned, 
 And rose again to gaze upon the wreck 
 Of the lost army. . . . Why, O sun, is light 
 Left to the wretched ? Why, my life to me, 
 Bitter in soul ? 
 
 Corn. Take comfort at my hand ; 
 
 I offer thee protection. 
 
 Madoc. Who art thou 
 
 That mockest at calamity ? This land 
 Hath graves to give her sons, whose deeds shall stand 
 As landmarks by the everlasting sea, 
 As the great stones on Britain's shores upreared 
 Show to the mariner where dwells the race 
 Indomitable, of this ocean-Isle, 
 Crowned with a circlet by the boundless sea. 
 
So Boadicea 
 
 Mysterious monuments shall tell, this land 
 Bred giants in her youth, and wonder of it 
 Shall long perplex the puny heirs of Time ! 
 Take back thy scorn ; of thee, my enemy, 
 I will have nothing. 
 
 Ena. [To MadocJ Prophet of our fate, 
 Canst tell me of my mother ? What of her ? 
 
 Madoc. Look with thine eyes ! There, where her chariot 
 comes. 
 
 Ena. My mother lives ! ... Oh me ! she faints ... her 
 head 
 Falls backward . . . She sinks down upon the ground 
 Into my sister's arms. . . . Oh, mother ! mother ! 
 
 [Ena rushes out. 
 
 Corn. Oh, Boadicea ! What rash hand hath dared 
 Profane that ornament of victory, 
 Thy royal person, by the law of war 
 Most sacred to us all ? 
 
 Madoc. No hand of man 
 
 Hath touched that royal life, too proud to brook 
 Shame and captivity ; so dies a Queen, 
 Unconquered to the last. Ye clouds of heaven 
 Melt with your tears the blood-congealed earth, 
 
Boadicea 8 1 
 
 And veil with black the pale and awe-struck sun, 
 Before the majesty of such a death ! 
 
 Corn. \To Roman soldiers.] Comrades, stand back ; 
 offend not with your eyes 
 A woman's agony . . . nobler in her fall 
 Than Roman Caesar, sovereign of the world ! 
 
 Enter Boadicea, supported by Guenebra and Ena. 
 
 Ena. What ails thee, mother ? Hath some arrow's point 
 Touched the sweet fountain of thy life so near ? 
 Oh, yet look up and speak ! . . . Thou'rt wrung with pain ! 
 
 Boad. So sharp, so bitter anguish, those who love 
 Would wish my pains quick end. . . . 
 
 Madoc. [Advancing.] How fares it, lady ? 
 
 Boad. Oh, I have tasted of the deadly plant 
 Whose flower is blue of heaven, whose root is hell. 
 I could not conquer Fate, so this is best . . . 
 Say, have I kept my word, to do or die ? 
 
 Ena. My mother die . . . Could none help this ? Not 
 one 
 In all our Britain ? 
 
 Boad. What men could they did. 
 
 My Britons bravely died ! Not conquered yet, 
 
 G 
 
82 Boadicea 
 
 But slain they lie, their faces to the foe, 
 Defiant in grim death ! . . . I keep my oath 
 To yield to him, the lord of all that live, 
 Not stoop to mortal conqueror . . . Oh, me ! 
 
 Madoc. Break forth and rain, thou passion of mine eyes, 
 That dropped no tear till now ! Did I look on, 
 And could not save, wife, sons and daughter slain, 
 Now, now to die of grief? Cut off this hand, 
 That mixed the cruel poison ! When thou'rt gone, 
 No eye of man shall ever more behold 
 This aged, ruined form, for oh, thy pangs 
 Wring a last drop of human agony 
 Here, from my stone-cold heart ! Break, break at last ! 
 
 Boad. Guenebra, look ! There lies the Roman dead, 
 Who did thee wrong. The gods are just ! 
 
 Guen. Oh, mother ! 
 
 Speak not of him ! The music of my life 
 Lies hushed in silence. 
 
 Boad. Fare thee well for ever, 
 
 Sweet air of Britain ! Earth and sky, farewell. 
 Breezes of ocean, free as light, that bear 
 Our Island's manhood o'er the farthest seas, 
 No more shall ye revive me with your breath ! 
 
Boadicea 83 
 
 Far depths of forests, where, a huntress Queen, 
 
 Red deer and grisly wolf, and fiercer bear, 
 
 Knew me and feared . . . my wind-swift steeds of war, 
 
 And chariot winged with thunder ... I have done 
 
 With all beneath the sun . . . oh, motherland, 
 
 For thee I taste cold death. [Faints. 
 
 Ena. Thou shalt not die ; 
 
 Mother, come back to me ! 
 
 Boad. [Reviving^ Who calls again ? 
 
 I hear a voice I knew ere thou wast born 
 Whisper me, Come ! . . . Oh, husband of my youth ! 
 Wilt woo me to thine arms, and thrill my veins 
 With bridal tremors through the dark of death ? 
 To join thee in some ecstasy of bliss 
 Past mortal rapture . . . Take me to thy breast, 
 And kiss me to my everlasting peace ; 
 For one soft sigh breathed low upon thy heart 
 Were more than all the weary load of greatness, 
 To weigh against the burden of my grief ! 
 My spirit feels thy spirit through the flesh 
 Dissolved in dews of death. 
 
 Ena. Thy blessing yet ! 
 
 Forgive the love that strove with thy great love, 
 
84 Boadicea 
 
 Here, in my breaking heart .... Forgive me, mother ! 
 Boad. A Roman by thy side ! 
 Etta. He prays for thee 
 
 To heaven's high King, whom here thou hast not known . . . 
 Thou shalt, hereafter ! [.Soft music. 
 
 Boad. Oh, ye clear blue depths, 
 
 The veil is rent ... I see the eternal Light 
 Shine forth in truth and freedom o'er this land ! 
 The harps, the songs of triumph call my soul . . . 
 All's well . . . one struggle more ... I sink, I faint . . . 
 [Starting up.] Hark ! hark ! the. battle-cry ! Charge, 
 
 Britons, charge ! 
 Just Heaven, defend the right ! Up, Victory ! 
 
 [Music of harps ; Boadicea falls dead. Guenebra 
 leans over her. Ena looks in her mother's 
 face, while Cornelius leads her away. 
 Then, with a cry, she falls into his arms. 
 
 Tableau. Curtain. 
 
POEMS AND SONNETS. 
 
87 
 
 THE RESCUE OF KHARTOUM. 
 
 "Remember Gordon," — fourteen springs have heard the 
 
 deathless name 
 Thrill through our hearts with glow of pride, with flush of 
 
 burning shame, 
 Since whelmed from ambush in the hour of midnight's deepest 
 
 gloom 
 The hero died for England's love, alone in lost Khartoum. 
 
 In Egypt, they had not forgot — while through the earnest 
 
 years 
 His comrades turned to vengeful swords the trampled peasants' 
 
 shears ; 
 Slatin the slave, once forced to look on Gordon's gory head, 
 Risen, as living, from the grave, the gathered armies led. 
 
 The desert yields their path, subdued by stress of strenuous 
 
 hands ; 
 With iron ways and fiery wings they bridge the parching 
 
 sands ; 
 
88 The Rescue of Khartoum 
 
 Through deadly dust, through midnight chills, through arrows 
 
 of the sun, 
 They bear the brunt, nor swerve, nor halt, until the goal is 
 
 won. 
 
 At last ! our horsemen breast the height and scan the depth 
 below ; 
 
 A great dark sea with crest of white rolls on the advancing 
 foe; 
 
 Tap, tap, as 'twere the woodman's axe — ha, nearer ! thud 
 and thrum — 
 
 Now, rapture to the eager ear — there booms the great war- 
 drum. 
 
 The silver river's band of light winds round our envied 
 
 prize ; 
 Gate of old Nilus, Omdurman behind their banners lies ; 
 There rises bold their citadel, the murderous Mahdi's tomb, 
 And far away, we see, or dream, the palm-trees of Khartoum. 
 
 To-morrow sees the deadly strife ; in arms all night we lay ; 
 We watched the heaven's kindling light, the rose-red flush 
 from gray ; 
 
The Rescue of Khartoum 89 
 
 Behind our heads the foot of morn has topped the distant 
 
 hill: 
 The silent wrath that holds our hosts bids pulse and heart 
 
 Stand still. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! upon the river — there ! the gunboats' roar 
 
 began : 
 They hurled with whirring blasts of death the doom of 
 
 Omdurmah : 
 The battle-fire was in our veins : fixed motionless and 
 
 dumb, 
 We panted 'neath the breath of war, the unuttered word, 
 
 " they come ! " 
 
 The straining ear is mocked, as 'twere with whisper of a 
 
 sound — 
 Faint echoes from the far away run low along the ground — 
 A voice of many waters breaks, and rises to a roar, 
 The thunder of the wind-swept waves against an iron shore. 
 
 They are coming on ! their banners flash like clouds of black 
 
 and white : 
 Across our line, their myriads deploy from left to right : 
 
90 The Rescue of Khartoum 
 
 The pied-clad desert sons of steel are moving straight and 
 
 fast— 
 They are coming on ! ha, nearer yet, we face our foe at 
 
 last! 
 
 Now 'tis the hour ; the avenger waits ; above the encounter 
 
 stands 
 Kitchener, and his ready staff to fly with his commands : 
 White steed and white-clad warrior to friend and foe from 
 
 far 
 Gleam radiant o'er the embattled field as victory's bright 
 
 star. 
 
 Out of the desert space they come, a vast, fierce tidal wave, 
 Three miles of men, set broad and square, the bravest of the 
 
 brave, 
 Armed with desire of mortal stroke — for him who faithful 
 
 dies 
 Shall black-eyed maidens kiss to life in bowers of Paradise. 
 
 They rise, a vision weird and strange, as wrought by magic 
 
 charms, 
 A vision of the ages old, the wild man's savage arms, 
 
The Rescue of Khartoum 91 
 
 The grim Crusader's coat of mail, the helmet of the knight, 
 The Arab spear and sword of proof, — a maze that mocked 
 our sight. 
 
 Fire ! bugle sound and shouts of men let loose the lightning 
 
 flash; 
 The air is thick with leaden hail, the bullets leap and crash ; 
 The iron throats of cannon speak their messages that kill : 
 Unbroken lines on lines rush on — then shuddering, sink 
 
 stone still. 
 
 They covered that dread harvest field, white robes besprent 
 
 with red, 
 The fluttering garb of warrior priests, the shrouds of heroes 
 
 dead; 
 Proud martyrs to the darkest cause that ever stained earth's 
 
 breast, 
 Till silence, and the breath of morn whispered their spirits 
 
 rest. 
 
 " Lancers advance, by Surgham Hill, on, on to Omdurman ! " 
 The Sirdar's messenger brings word, and ready, every man, 
 They mount, they scour the river plain — the Arabs bide 
 
 unseen 
 Lurking in ambush, ten to one, down in the deep ravine. 
 
92 The Rescue of Khartoum 
 
 Three hundred showed beyond them, the wily foe's decoy; 
 
 The bugles sound, the Lancers charge, on, on, with shouts 
 
 of joy ! 
 Three thousand lie in wait — too late we see the fell surprise ; 
 
 Earth opens 'neath our feet — up starts cold steel with savage 
 
 cries. 
 
 Down, down into the trap of death the onset rushed and 
 
 fell- 
 Through slaughtering swords they shore a path out of that 
 
 pit of hell, 
 Where those who stumbled rose no more, and struggling up 
 
 the side 
 The wounded charger spent his strength to save his lord, 
 
 and died. 
 
 " Rally, fall in ! " yelled mangled lips, half choked with flow- 
 ing blood : 
 
 "Through them again !" — The chief restrained ; the troop, 
 dismounted, stood : 
 
 Back, back their carbines drive the prey 'neath battery and 
 gun: 
 
 Three thousand fall away and melt like snow beneath the 
 sun. 
 
The Rescue of Khartoum 93 
 
 Once more the proud Khalifa leads his braves, unconquered 
 
 yet; 
 His flag of menace darkly looms, in shuddering earth deep 
 
 set; 
 His horsemen ride to win or die — red carnage checked the 
 
 race, 
 Where children of the land stood up and met them face to 
 
 face. 
 
 Are these the swarthy sheep, somewhile the Mahdi's fence- 
 less prey, 
 
 By stout Macdonald led to grace " the Stricken Field " this 
 day? 
 
 Whirled at his word in martial round where'er there lived a 
 foe, 
 
 Till 'neath the sable standard's folds the last of all lay low. 
 
 To Omdurman ! we storm the walls compact of blood and 
 
 shame, 
 The stronghold of the merciless, of deeds without a name ; 
 Where Christian women's cries rise up from dens of greed 
 
 and lust, 
 Where men drag on a life in death, subdued to eat the dust. 
 
94 The Rescue of Khartoum 
 
 We come ! the captive's life-long chains are shivered with a 
 
 stroke ; 
 The women lift their trampled necks and spurn dishonour's 
 
 yoke; 
 O'er land and river freedom breathes once more her glorious 
 
 peace, 
 The joy of ancient days revived with honour and increase. 
 
 The savage sounds of strife were hushed, as by a magic 
 
 spell ; 
 The blest relief of Sabbath rest on war's wild spirit fell ; 
 We stood as brothers, dark and white, where Gordon faced 
 
 his doom, 
 To honour with observance due his burial in Khartoum. 
 
 Old friend, true comrade of the dead, the Sirdar lifts his 
 
 hand : 
 England and Egypt's banners flash above the enfranchised 
 
 land: 
 The shouts of men, the cannons' boom, the martial strains 
 
 of pride 
 Melt into mournful notes for him who lone, forsaken, died. 
 
The Rescue of Khartoum 95 
 
 All through his wild-grown garden, beneath the drooping 
 palm, 
 
 Floated the breath of holy words, the solemn funeral psalm ; 
 
 Scottish and English Churchmen meet, and join in heart- 
 warm prayer, 
 
 The priest beloved, the man of God with crown of snowy 
 hair. 
 
 They plead for days of peace restored, to heal the wounds of 
 
 years, 
 While heroes bow their silent heads, nor shame to weep hot 
 
 tears : 
 Dark men and women mingle keen the wailing of Khartoum 
 With muffled drum and Coronach above our Gordon's tomb. 
 
9 6 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE "ADEN." 
 
 June gfA, 1897. 
 
 Told by a Survivor. 
 
 Shall I taste again of the warm sweet breath 
 
 Of the air on our English earth ? 
 A traveller taught in bonds of death 
 
 What the life God gave is worth. 
 
 Oh, joy of rescue ! What words could tell 
 
 Of the woes that fell on me, 
 As a prey snatched out of the jaws of hell 
 
 From the heart of the cruel sea ! 
 
 Do you bid me speak of our freight of lives ? 
 
 A frail and tender band 
 From the far, far East, our babes and wives 
 
 Home-bound for the dear old land. 
 
The Wreck of the " Aden " 97 
 
 Upon the highway of the deep, 
 
 One direful day in June, 
 As a murderer roused from treacherous sleep 
 
 We met the dread Monsoon. 
 
 He smote the breast of the heaving main, 
 
 He seized with a demon's grip, 
 And lashed with rods of wind and rain 
 
 Our tempest-tortured ship. 
 
 She fought for her life and held her way, 
 
 While the dim reluctant sun 
 Withheld his hope-reviving ray 
 
 From dawn till night begun. 
 
 No pause, no rest for the sinews spent 
 
 In strife with the hungry seas ; 
 No hush to the moan of our dearest, pent 
 
 In nameless miseries. 
 
 'Twas in the cold, despairing hour 
 
 Before the gray day-break, 
 When phantoms upon the soul have power 
 
 Half slumbering, half awake — 
 
98 The Wreck of the " Aden " 
 
 A crash — that sleeping, ay, and dead, 
 Might hear through night's dark womb, 
 
 Aroused from rest each weary head, 
 As it were the trump of doom. 
 
 A crash ! — a horrid grinding sound, 
 
 Like the groan of a parting life, 
 In anguish of a deadly wound 
 
 Beneath the assassin's knife. 
 
 As one sore smit with a human grief 
 
 The poor ship strove no more, 
 Fast fixed by the thrust of the hidden reef 
 
 That pierced her to the core. 
 
 " On deck ! on deck ! " came the shout from aboye ; 
 
 And every soul, aware 
 Of the chasing death, a frighted drove, 
 
 Fought madly up the stair. 
 
 The women shrieked as our lights went out ; 
 
 From the dreadful dark below 
 They were huddled on deck, like the rabble rout 
 
 From battle, before the foe. 
 
The Wreck of the " Aden" 99 
 
 Thick night in her blackest pall of fear, 
 
 Enclosed us like a wall ; 
 We saw no face, we could only hear 
 
 Each wild imploring call. 
 
 Pale, from the portal of the East, 
 
 The faint and struggling day 
 Swept through the swirl of seething yeast 
 
 Across the water-way. 
 
 " Lower the boats ! " came the word of hope — 
 
 The three to port were gone — 
 Three left — upon the surges' slope 
 
 We launched them, one by one. 
 
 Down, down, how many rushed and fell 
 
 To make for the far-off shore — 
 Poor souls, we waved them a sad farewell, 
 
 And we never saw them more. 
 
 With strained hands locked in death-like grip, 
 
 We wretches left behind 
 Clung for dear life to the battered ship 
 
 'Neath the lash of wave and wind. 
 
ioo The Wreck of the " Aden " 
 
 Up rose the eager seas athirst ; 
 
 Green monsters, clammy cold, 
 Through shrinking flesh and marrow pierced 
 
 And crushed in their snaky fold. 
 
 They wrench the mother's arms apart 
 
 And ravish from her breast 
 The babe asleep upon her heart, 
 
 To deeper, colder rest. 
 
 Husband and wife from their last embrace 
 
 The ruthless waves forbid — 
 One left to live with the haunting face 
 
 No kindly earth has hid. 
 
 Still with me dwells our Captain's look : 
 
 I see his stout heart fail, 
 As with shivering fear his strong knees shook 
 
 And his daring brow waxed pale. 
 
 All silent there, or answering wild, 
 
 Before my eyes he stands ; 
 He babbles like a lisping child, 
 
 And for ever wrings his hands. 
 
The Wreck of the "Aden" 101 
 
 Three times did a vision, a ship's pale ghost, 
 
 Come up from the dim sky-line ; 
 And our voices rose with the cry of the lost — 
 
 But they passed and made no sign. 
 
 We watched the silent, vanishing ships 
 
 Unmoved by our despair ; 
 Had God forgotten the parching lips 
 
 Now past the power of prayer ? 
 
 Deep and stern came the muttered oath 
 
 . Of men who had hoped in vain ; 
 For the heart within us was hot and wroth 
 With bitter loss and pain. 
 
 Yet an angel came down with healing tears 
 On the day we honoured our Queen ; 
 
 Not for sovereign sway through the golden years 
 Of her glory that hath been. 
 
 Not for pride of empire o'er seas and lands 
 
 Beyond our living ken, 
 O'er subject nations built up by hands 
 
 Of dauntless Englishmen : 
 
102 The Wreck of the "Aden " 
 
 Oh, woman's heart ! not thus, not thus 
 Were our souls drawn out to thine, 
 
 Our mother, in sorrows one with us 
 Poor waifs of the restless brine ! 
 
 Our own, by the touch of our human joys, 
 
 By the broken spirit's sigh, 
 Those about to perish lift up their voice 
 
 And bless thee ere they die. 
 
 When the jubilant song and prayer were heard 
 Through all thy boundless realm, 
 
 The thrill of their passion and worship stirred 
 The prey that the waves must whelm. 
 
 Then a dawn of hope o'er our darkness broke — 
 
 From the far horizon dip 
 Rose the small white cloud of a trailing smoke 
 
 O'er the path of a rescuing ship — 
 
 She comes — my God, a boat, a boat ! — 
 Arms reach us, strong and brave ; 
 
 Through the whirl of water and wind we float 
 From out our deep sea grave — 
 
The Wreck of the " Aden " 103 
 
 So the wreck of the "Aden " passed from sight 
 
 With the stress we would fain forget ; 
 And in England, many a happy night, 
 Safe from the sea, in dear home's delight, 
 We may tell the story yet 
 
ic>4 
 
 MARTIN SPRAGUE. 
 A Fireman's Story. 
 
 Have you heard the fame of our comrade, sirs 
 
 Young Martin Ernest Sprague ? 
 Do you mind the tale of that gallant life, 
 
 With more than a memory vague ? 
 
 As the sparks fly upward, the noble deed 
 
 Was carried far and fast 
 On many a Up, and the name stands there, 
 
 On our roll of honour, last. 
 
 A crash like thunder was heard that night 
 'Midst the rush and roar of the Strand ; 
 
 The terror-blanched faces were scattered and fled 
 Through clouds of smoke and sand. 
 
 Was it crime or earthquake ? burst followed burst, 
 
 And a mighty ruin fell 
 Of havocked houses and human forms 
 
 In smoking heaps, pell mell. 
 
Martin Sprague 105 
 
 A cry of women ! A panic flight 
 
 Of children, wild with fear ; 
 A mournful train of the wounded borne 
 
 To ready succour near. 
 
 Behind them flashed red tongues of flame 
 
 Athirst for living prey : — 
 Fast bound and buried beneath the wreck 
 
 The fated victims lay. 
 
 Captain and men, we came at call 
 
 To battle with the foe, 
 And wrest from the crush of the ruined mass 
 
 The wretches pent below. 
 
 Our work was done — and a warning word 
 
 Bade fly the deadly fall 
 Of tottering rafters above our heads, 
 
 And tumbling roof and wall. 
 
 Too late ! too sudden-swift the shock — 
 
 Another earthquake's sound, 
 And both struck down, by my Captain's side 
 
 I lay on the heaving ground. 
 
ro6 Martin Sprague 
 
 He rose with battered helm, and turned, 
 
 Like a mariner tempest-tossed, 
 As the smoke and dust-clouds lifted slow, 
 
 To count how many lost. 
 
 He told our numbers, man by man ; 
 
 And, as he called the roll, 
 Swift answer followed upon each name 
 
 From every living soul. 
 
 Ay, save one only — Martin Sprague — 
 
 A pause — and the silence ran 
 Through the blood in our veins, till it froze with fear 
 
 For the buried living man. 
 
 Who cared for himself? We flung in our lives, 
 
 If haply we might free 
 Our comrade, swallowed up beneath 
 
 A mountain of debris. 
 
 They brought the lightning-kindled lamp 
 
 From the pleasure house of song, 
 And beneath its search as keen as day 
 
 We toiled the slow night long. 
 
Martin Sprague 107 
 
 At last ! a faint and distant moan 
 
 Replied from the hollow deep, 
 And we force our way through the narrow rifts 
 
 Where a snake might hardly creep. 
 
 Joy, joy ! once more we looked on his face — 
 
 Where his body, wedged in pain, 
 Lay moveless through two awful hours 
 
 While we wrought with might and main. 
 
 Ay, two hours yet in the grips of Death — 
 
 And released in the early morn, 
 We lifted him tenderly back to life 
 
 Like a helpless babe new-born. 
 
 Deft nurses moved about his bed, 
 
 As in dreamy peace he lay, 
 Past cure, past hope for this fading world, 
 
 That long, long parting day. 
 
 With the sweetest, strongest bonds of earth 
 
 The heroic spirit was bound ; 
 With honour's garland about his brow 
 
 Of youth by valour wound ; 
 
io8 Martin Sprague 
 
 With nature's treasures, love's closest, best 
 Delights to our bosom given ; 
 
 The wife, the mother, the babe he left, 
 When he passed to God at even. 
 
io9 
 
 THE PASSING OF GLADSTONE. 
 
 "And the greatest of these is love." 
 
 What mighty son of honour, England's chief, 
 
 By conquering Time laid low, 
 Bears to his rest a stricken nation's grief 
 
 And praise of friend and foe ? 
 
 The voices of the birds, the tender breath, 
 
 The heart-beat of sweet spring, 
 Hushed him to peace, with glory crowned by death 
 
 Above an earthly king. 
 
 Not by the matchless brain, the word of power 
 
 To charm the human will, 
 Shall light and Freedom's hope, the Future's dower 
 
 Grow with his spirit still : 
 
1 1 o The Passing of Gladstone 
 
 Nay, by the better treasure from above, 
 
 The heart within his breast, 
 Drawn to earth's utmost bourne, wherever love 
 
 Might sorrow with the oppressed, 
 
 By this, the garland of renown he bears 
 
 Among us shall endure, 
 A memory embalmed in widows' prayers 
 
 And blessings of God's poor. 
 
 And thou, his wife of youth and age, left lone 
 
 Beneath thy setting sun, 
 Deem not this parting — he shall live, thy own 
 
 For ever, two made one. 
 
Ill 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 " The whole earth is at rest, and is quiet ; they break forth 
 into singing." — Isaiah, xiv. 7. 
 
 Hail, Christmas, hail ! Creation's blest surcease 
 From pain and woe, bright birth-night of the King, 
 
 When tongues of men and angels, tuned to peace, 
 Break forth and sing. 
 
 Our spirit gathers to Thy holy rest, 
 
 As pants on weary wing the homing dove 
 
 O'er pathless wild and water, towards her nest 
 Upborne by longing love. 
 
 On her, frail carrier of some word of Fate, 
 One hope, the message of the lost, is hung ; 
 
 Dear bird of God, sent forth to seek her mate 
 And find her tender young. 
 
H2 A Christmas Carol 
 
 Famished, forespent, she falters on the way, 
 Sinks, fluttering down upon the friendly shore ; 
 
 There hands of love her hunger-pangs allay, 
 And she spreads wing once more. 
 
 Lo, as the wandering bird, content to bide 
 
 Her hour of weakness, lights on quivering wing, 
 . Our human heart, this happy Christmastide 
 Gives pause to sorrowing. 
 
 Again, again shall passion's broken bond 
 Knit soul to soul with balm of healing kiss, 
 
 When Nature's yearning, in the Light beyond 
 Divinely fades to bliss. 
 
 Joy, Christmas, joy ! Bright birthday of the King ; 
 
 From pain and woe, Creation's glad release ; 
 The Christ is born, and earth and heaven sing, 
 
 Hail to the Prince of Peace ! 
 
"3 
 
 " SPERANZA "—LADY WILDE. 
 
 True friend of many days ! In joy and woe 
 Partaker of my heart's deep secret — gone 
 Whither I, too, would follow ! Nevermore 
 Our souls may mingle, nor thy word of fire 
 Bid me good courage in faint Nature's path 
 Borne on and upward to eternity. 
 Proud Hecuba of sorrows, in thy arms 
 Could woman's anguish weep its bitter fill, 
 Touched by thy kiss with sweet compassion's balm. 
 Oh, rich in mother-love unquenchable 
 Our human spark of everlasting flame, 
 Caught from the breath of God ! Ay, it is well 
 He takes thee to His breast, to bind the wounds 
 Of earth's rough battle, as thy hand has bound 
 The broken-hearted, in thy mortal day. 
 
ii4 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 ARMENIA. 
 
 Nations and kings who bear the name of Christ, 
 
 Arise ! Your brothers of the land of Paul 
 Perish in fiendish torments, sacrificed 
 
 Like oxen slaughtered in the butcher's stall. 
 Have we no answer but submission tame 
 
 To still the cry that knocks on hearts of stone ? 
 Armenia's daughters crushed in blood and shame 
 
 Move ashen lips of death towards God's high throne, 
 The outraged wife beholds with closing eyes 
 
 Her husband hacked and severed joint from joint, 
 Lingering in anguish, while their infant dies 
 
 Spitted upon the murderous bayonet's point. 
 How long, how long will heaven look on and bear 
 Our callous patience, cold to their despair ? 
 
"5 
 
 THE QUEEN'S MESSAGE. 
 February 14TH, 1896. 
 
 O Sovereign brow of England's Majesty 
 
 Engirt with sorrow's crown ! What timeless frost 
 Of war's dread feet with sudden chill has crossed 
 
 The sunshine of thy home ? So fade and die 
 
 Life's flowers and glories, like a passing sigh ; 
 
 And thou, our Queen, must yield the bitter cost, 
 The priceless harvest of thy dearest, lost, 
 
 To the vast garners of eternity. 
 
 Ay, thou canst feel the touch of heavenly balm 
 
 Through hearts that break, like thine, above the dust 
 Of earth to earth resigned, God's tender trust 
 For all that live, for thee and for thy child, 
 True to the last, by faith assured and calm, 
 
 Through quenchless hope of all things reconciled. 
 
n6 
 
 ISABEL, LADY BURTON. 
 
 " Husband, I come ! — I hear the call, I run 
 To meet the tinkling of his camel bells, 
 The dear dream-music, hope and memory's spells 
 
 Enravishing my happy spirit, won 
 
 To brighter journeyings beyond the sun 
 
 Where faith with love's imagination dwells, 
 Where joy's new song in other language tells 
 
 The blessing of us twain in God made one." 
 
 Fairest of women, time nor grief could dim 
 
 Thine eyes' blue radiance, or the smile that passed 
 Through nature's travail to the light beyond ; 
 The eternal heavens claim thee, by the bond 
 Of like to like, in bliss re-knit with him 
 
 Thy soul's desire from girlhood till the last 
 
ii7 
 
 SONG. 
 
 From the German. 
 
 These flowers that breathed their sweetness on thy breast 
 
 And fell forgotten in the dust to die, 
 Could they once more on thy red lip be pressed 
 
 Would thrill again with life's brief ecstasy ; 
 Couldst thou with love-warm tears the leaves bedew, 
 
 The fallen bud would bloom in summer joy, 
 And all the glory of its stem renew, 
 
 Crushed in his wanton sport by some rude boy. 
 Oh, might thy dear remembrance touch the dead, 
 
 On the cold forehead could thy tears rain hot, 
 Thy kiss fall sweetly on the silent head — 
 
 It should not lie forsaken and forgot, 
 Nor the swift soul, too eager, fleet away, 
 But rest awhile love's anguish to allay. 
 
n8 
 
 IN DAYS GONE BY. 
 
 "I go hence like the shadow that departeth, and am driven 
 away as the grasshopper." — Psalm cix, 22. 
 
 The deathless glory of a vanished sun, 
 The pulse of life, the thrill of joy past joy, 
 Time has no power upon me to destroy, 
 
 My treasures, from the strife of passions won ! 
 
 Once and for evermore what 's done is done, 
 Though all things pass beyond me like a dream 
 Of shadows cast upon a rushing stream 
 
 Whose visions fade in darkness, one by one. 
 
 Yet, 'neath the eternal spirit's fiery kiss 
 The transient image bodies forth again 
 
 Love's dear dead face I knew in days gone by; 
 Could all the vast hereafter yield but this 
 Sweet fruit of heart's desire to lips of pain, 
 Our souls would flash together with a cry. 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 GODS OF GOLD. 
 
 F. V. White and Co. 
 
 "Mr. Gladstone perused 'Gods of Gold' with much interest, an 
 with cordial admiration of its bold and effective Christian development, 
 tempered only with a lingering desire that a saintly character might 
 have reached a happier fate, and a slight grudge against the eventual 
 hisband." 
 
 World. — " In ' Gods of Gold ' Mrs. Aylmer Gowing brings into con- 
 trast and contact the frivolous west and the outcast east of London. It 
 is written with connaissance de cause in both phases of life in the present 
 day. The story is admirably constructed, and remarkable for its un- 
 forced variety." 
 
 Literary World. — " ' Gods of Gold ' is a story that the patrons of the 
 subscription libraries will hail with unqualified approval. " 
 
 Vanity Fair. — " Mrs. Aylmer Gowing is known to us chiefly by her 
 poems for recitation, but she shows us in ' Gods of Gold ' that she can 
 give us a good story." 
 
 MERELY PLAYERS. 
 
 F. V. White and Co. 
 
 AthencBum. — "There is more than average promise about Mrs. 
 Aylmer Gowing's second venture in fiction. Her story of the imagina- 
 tive and emotional, but pure-hearted and womanly actress, drawn by 
 the bent of her genius to the stage, from the unpromising environment 
 of a Nonconformist parsonage, is, if a little idealized, no bad repre- 
 sentation of the best class of our actresses. The figure of the indulgent 
 and liberal-minded pastor, her father, is also life-like and pathetic. 
 There is a sufficient and well-managed love-story, and the wider life of 
 London society is touched with knowledge." 
 
World. — " ' Merely Players ' is not only a capital story, with a 
 number of characters drawn with remarkable finesse and knowledge of 
 human nature, as represented in various grades of society, it is really a 
 good turn done to the stage. Between the absurdities of Ouida's actor 
 and singer folk, and the mercenary vice and degrading vulgarity de- 
 scribed in some recent novels as the atmosphere in which the profession 
 live, the writer of this clever and engrossing story intervenes with im- 
 partiality and the conscious authority of personal knowledge of her 
 subject." 
 
 Publishers' Circular. — " 'Merely Players' is undeniably a powerful 
 novel. The book is both pleasant and well written, thoroughly up-to- 
 date, and at the same time wholesome in tone." 
 
 A TOUCH OF THE SUN. 
 
 T. Burleigh. 
 
 Truth. — " 'A Touch of the Sun ' is chiefly notable for a clever study 
 of a Eurasian girl. This subtle and superb young person removes her 
 English rival from her path by encouraging her passion for a native 
 prince, who abducts her, and immures her in his Indian harem, where 
 she is supremely happy in the sole possession of her lord's heart." 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — "The story devolves upon the jealousies of an 
 Eastern harem, and the tragic efforts of a girl's relatives to rescue her 
 from a life of which they can only guess the bitter disappointments." 
 
 World. — " This is an Anglo-Indian story of a new kind. A romance 
 of the East and West, not like any other romance within our knowledge ; 
 it takes us into the very heart of Mohammedan life." 
 
 Echo. — " Interesting from start to finish." 
 
 Athenceum. — "The Oriental and the European conceptions of the 
 tender passion are well contrasted." 
 
 Morning Leader. — " Even to read about Aimee Hildebrand is to feel 
 young again. " 
 
 Literary World. — " Imaginative, and touched with Oriental romance 
 and colour." 
 
POEMS FOR RECITATION. 
 THE CITHERN. 
 
 Saturday Revinv. — " Many of the terse, stirring, and dramatic poems 
 in this volume are admirably adapted to the platform reciter, and should 
 prove very effective if delivered by practised elocutionists." 
 
 Graphic. — " The more ambitious pieces, such as ' Nebuchadnezzar,' 
 are the most satisfactory— elevation of subject seems to have had a good 
 effect on the author's style." 
 
 Mr. George R. Sims writes : " Many thanks for the book of splendid 
 recitations which you so kindly sent me, and which I have read with 
 great interest and enjoyment." 
 
 BALLADS OF THE TOWER. 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — " In ' Ballads of the Tower ' Mrs. Aylmer Gowing 
 displays a facility of versification and no inconsiderable depth of feeling. 
 Her poems, by reason of their vigorous phrasing and unaffected pathos, 
 are well adapted for recitation, and their themes are judiciously selected 
 from the stories of oppression and suffering recorded in the gloomy 
 annals of the grim old London Tower. " 
 
 Saturday Review. — " He must be a very inexperienced or ungifted 
 reciter who fails to impress an audience in such stirring ballads as ' Lady 
 Jane Grey,' ' The Two Young Princes,' to cite two from a capital col- 
 lection." 
 
 The Queen. — ' ' Her verse goes straight on with a sustaining roll in 
 it. She remains mistress throughout of that clear diction which is so 
 important in all writing of which the prime appeal is to the ear. " 
 
 SITA AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Literary World. — "In her collection of poems for recitation, Mrs. 
 Aylmer Gowing has provided some stirring verses. But if we must 
 
point to a poem that is successful above its fellows, we think ' Sita ' 
 bears off the palm." 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — "Strong feeling and gentle sentiment embodied 
 in themes great and small supply the materials of this graceful little 
 brochure." 
 
 " Mr. Gladstone begs to think Mrs. Aylmer Gowing for the poems, 
 which he has been reading with much pleasure, and hopes that they 
 may receive the appreciation they deserve. " 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS :— CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT. 
 CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.