and when the ship was going through the water with all the stress of oars and sails, she struck upon a rock, called the Catee-raze, with such violence that several planks were started, and she instantly began to fill. A boat was immediately lowered, and the Prince was escaping in it, - which he might easily have done, for the shore was at no great distance, when his sister, whom there had been no time to take off, or who in the horror of the moment had been forgotten, shrieked out to him to save her. It was better to die than turn a deaf ear to that call he ordered the boat to put back and take her in; but such numbers leapt into it at the same time that the boat was swamped and all perished. The ship also presently went down with all on board: only two persons, the one a young noble, son of Gilbert de Aquila, the other a butcher of Rouen, saved themselves: by climbing the mast, and clinging to the top, they kept their heads above water. Fitzstephens rose after the vessel had sunk, and might have taken the same chance of preservation; but calling to mind, after the first instinctive effort, that he had been the unhappy `occasion of this great calamity, and dreading the reproaches, and perhaps the punishment that awaited him, he preferred present death as the least evil. The youth became exhausted during the night; and commending his poor companion to God's mercy with his last words, he lost his hold, and sunk. The butcher held on till morning, when he was seen from the shore and saved; and from him, being the only survivor, the circumstances of the tragedy were learnt. 53.-THE WRECK OF THE WHITE SHIP. SCENE FIRST. REV. J. WHITE. Barfleur-near the Harbour. Enter Prince William: Countess de la Perche-Lords, Ladies and Minstrels. Servitors with golden flagons. A confused noise of revelry is heard before they enter. Prince (crowned with vine-leaves.) faintness o'er the sky, As if it paled to think its joy was over, Here stand! There comes a At sight of the white moon o'er yonder hill. Countess. Moonlight is sweetest ever on the sea. A brimming cup, brave friends, and then on board!— Prince. Sing, Eustace, with a voice Fit for our bacchanal ears. We listen. Sing. Eustace sings. The sea foams white o'er rock and shoal, And gathers to a heap, Where the wild wind pipes, and the waters roll, And high o'er the Godwins leap. I hate the sea with land on our lea, II. A foam I know more dazzling white Than waves o'er rock and shoal; That dances and leaps with bound more light Tis the bright wine in our bowl.— I hate the sea with land on our lea, A merrier life for me! III. No rock lurks here, no shoal is found In all this ocean wide! But yet if there's one that is born to be drown'd- I hate the sea with land on our lea, A merrier life for me. Prince. Ill omen'd croaker, with your rock and shoal, That drowns the flush that wine and joy had given. You heed not what an idle minstrel sings. Countess. No, William; I should fear if he were pilot; His hand would scarcely guide the helra so surely As now it guides the tune along the chords Prince (looking to the harbour.) Hark! mirth on board-'Tis right; I wish, dear brother, Countess. Prince. We saw, when gorged, coil up its glossy length Countess. (alarmed.) Dreaming of fresh food And ready for the spring. Stay here the night You are too happy; too o'erjoyed, my brother; So crowned with these deep vine leaves that their spirit Has slipt within, and your poor soul lies sleeping Half buried 'neath the clusters of Champagne ! Prince. Then cover it all over! for no King E'er rested 'neath so rich a canopy! But here the Pilot comes. (Enter Pilot). What weather, master, Pilot (flustered with wine.) I call it not weather at all— 'Tis but the corpse of weather, wanting breath, As wanting breath man's but the corpse of man So as you said, sir-(takes a flagon from servitor and drinks.) Milksoppy weather-weather only fit For painted boats; weather, where little maids When I was anything else. Have you been long a pilot ? Countess. And know the sea? Never a time. Pilot. As if I had married her like the Doge of Venice; And rule her better ;-and care less for her frowns Than e'er a husband in the realm of France [Music and dancing heard on board. Prince. Away! the sound of merry feet on deck Beats the pulsed air to music-Your fair hand;Sister-your heart holds a divided blood Drawn from two founts, one kingly, one a churl's- And glow 'mid terror like a rose in snow Countess (with an effort.) The daughter of a King knows nought of terror: Come, brother; and the lightest step and voice The Castle in Dover-Henry-Hubert of Chester. Henry. So long detained, and not a wind in heaven To stir the pear-tree blossom. Hubert. Pleasure, sir, Heeds not of wind-Along the shores of France And dance, or sitting round some babbling fountain Henry. "Twould please me better If William cared to share our troubles more To taste his pleasures less. Once more, I pray you, Go to the toppling cliff and watch their coming. We sit in judgment here, and it were fit Our heir should help this arm now feeble grown, To bear the upright sword. [Exit Hubert. Enter Arnulf of Lancaster.-Yvo his son, bound; guards, &c.— Is there no hope? No throb of pity for a father's grief Within that heart filled with a father's joys? Henry. Arnulf of Lancaster, if lowlier state Were ours, we might have ears to hear the throb; But there's a tumult in the soul of kings That drowns all voices save the trumpet tongue Of justice; we have doom'd your son to death. Yvo. As Heaven bears witness 'twas no treasonous aid I promised to your Norman rebels. Henry. That Rests with the Judges who with searching eyes Viewed the whole cause; their voice pronounced you guilty. It fits not the King's office to withstand The course of RIGHT, which as a mighty river, Now greyed with age as I am; we were young death: Together, and our sons were friends and playmates ;- The unbending scale, let Yvo owe his life To mercy to the sweet companionship "Tween him and princely William. Henry. But to shew you that his heart I would, sir king, I had known how hard your heart I pray you think of this [they are retiring. I cannot bend Henry. Enter Hubert-hurriedly-a Mariner. Hubert. Oh sir, prepare encase your soul in steel For fierce and biting as a falchion's blade The dreadful news I bring Hubert. Oh worse !-imprisoned in such binding chains That nought shall loose them till the judgment day! Henry. How? dead? Hubert. Even so-Here stands a man whose tongue Shall frame the words mine has no power to utter Henry. (to the Mariner.) Speak, and be bold; stand not in breathless awe; There is no greatness in a sonless King. Mariner. 'Tis grief not fear. Last night the crescent moon Looked down on a calm deep without a wave Doubtful of which was heaven and which was sea: On the smooth water glided the White Ship My lord the Prince and Countess de la Perche- -Headed the band Of Knights and noble ladies in the dance; On the now reeling ship, and at the side -Her clasp'd hands raised within the calm moon light, Henry. Thank God for that! Mariner. And back he forced the boat,- |