The Saxons: A Drama of Christianity in the North — John Shaqi
The Saxons: A Drama of Christianity in the NorthSchoonmaker, Edwin Davies
Religion
The Saxons: A Drama of Christianity in the North
Schoonmaker, Edwin Davies
Drama
RUDOLPH--Can you or I or chief hasten the day
Wherein Val-father's voice shall wake the North?
What man can say unto the lightning, "Leap"?
Of Woden's race, a million summer leaves,
We are, as it were, the winter mistletoe,
A lone green sprig with barren woods all round.
Can we shake off the snow and say, "Appear,"
To the young race asleep within the trees?
Cry out above the dragon winter, "Die"?
You cannot hurry in its growth one leaf.
Yet you would thrust a sword in Oswald's hands,
Thinking to hurry Prophesy along.
If naked strength can save us, why not chief's?
Why Oswald, if the battle is to be now?
Without the aid of Woden, he is naught.
FRITZ--Without it, naught, and with it, everything.
RUDOLPH--Val-father calls to-day then?
FRITZ-- Wiglaf's ears
Are where the whispers of the dead go by.
RUDOLPH--Heard he the word, "to-day"?
FRITZ-- And Wiglaf's eyes
Blazed glee-fire and his lips spake Woden's word:
"In him shall be the strength of all your dead."
RUDOLPH--In Oswald?
FRITZ-- In the seed of Wittikind.
"The seed of Wittikind shall put forth a sprout
Shall make the whole North green."
RUDOLPH-- The "seed" of.
FRITZ-- Yes.
RUDOLPH--There, Fritz, is where the whole great purpose turns.
FRITZ--Eh?
RUDOLPH--Prophesy, you see, walks in the air.
No man can say on whom it will lay its hand.
FRITZ--Why?
RUDOLPH--Would not Oswald's seed be Wittikind's?
Do you not see that some child still unborn,
The issue of Oswald's loins, may be the one
To take the sword that Woden will hand down?
Meanwhile, suppose the Christians hear of this.
Their spies are all about us.
(_Dropping his voice and pointing to the bridge._)
Who knows?
FRITZ--(_After looking under it._) No.
RUDOLPH--Suppose they once get rumor of it. Then
Suppose they torture Wiglaf for the rest.
Will not a thousand trumpets sound the chase?
Will they not beat the forest through and through,
Set fire to it, and when the stag appears
Shall breed the fawn shall grow the golden horns--
(_As though drawing back a bow-string and letting
spring the arrow._)
Then what? What then?
FRITZ-- We--
RUDOLPH-- We--?
FRITZ-- We have our swords.
RUDOLPH--We have them now.
FRITZ-- And we can keep them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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