carry on in his own person his plans for the total
reduction of Scotland. But as his frame weakened,
as he became the victim of almost continual pain,
all the darker and fiercer passions of his nature gained
yet more fearful ascendency. The change had been
some time gathering, but within the last twelve months
its effects were such, that his noblest, most devoted
knights, blind as their affection for his person rendered
them, could scarce recognize in the bloodthirsty, ambitious
tyrant they now beheld their gallant, generous, humane,
and most chivalric sovereign, who had won golden opinions
from all sorts and conditions of men; who had performed
the duties of a son and husband so as to fix the eyes
of all Europe on him in admiration; who had swayed
the sceptre of his mighty kingdom with such a powerful
and fearless hand, it had been long since England
had acquired such weight in the scale of kingdoms.
Wise, moderate, merciful even in strict justice as
he had been, could it be that ambition had wrought
such change; that disease had banished every feeling
from his breast, save this one dark, fiend-like passion,
for the furtherance of which, or in revenge of its
disappointment, noble blood flowed like water—the
brave, the good, the young, the old, the noble and
his follower, alike fell before the axe or the cord
of the executioner? Could it indeed be that Edward,
once such a perfect, glorious scion of chivalry, had
now shut up his heart against its every whisper, lest
it should interfere with his brooding visions of revenge;
forgot each feeling, lest he should involuntarily sympathize
with the noble and knightly spirit of the patriots
of Scotland, whom he had sworn to crush? Alas!
it was even so; ruthless and tyrannical, the nobles
he had once favored, once loved, now became odious
to him, for their presence made him painfully conscious
of the change within himself; and he now associated
but with spirits dark, fierce, cruel as his own—men
he would once have shunned, have banished from his
court, as utterly unworthy of his favor.
It was, then, in a royally-furnished chamber, pleasantly
overlooking the river Eden and the adjoining country,
that about a week after the events narrated in the
preceding chapter, King Edward reclined. His couch
was softly and luxuriously cushioned, and not a little
art had been expended in the endeavor to lighten his
sufferings, and enable him to rest at ease. The
repeated contraction of his countenance, however, betrayed
how impotent was even luxury when brought in contact
with disease. The richly-furred and wadded crimson
velvet robe could not conceal the attenuation of his
once peculiarly fine and noble form; his great length
of limb, which had gained him, and handed down to posterity,
the inelegant surname of Longshanks, rendered his
appearance yet more gaunt and meagre; while his features,
which once, from the benignity and nobleness of his
character, had been eminently handsome, now pale, thin,
and pointed, seemed to express but the one passion