Glen. "Beyond all question. If impairing time "Has not effac'd the image of a place "Once perfect in my breast, there is a wild "Which lies to westward of that mighty rock, "And seems by nature formed for the camp "Of water-wafted armies, whose chief strength "Lies in firm foot, unflank'd with warlike horse; "If martial skill directs the Danish lords, "There inaccessible their army lies
"To our swift-scow'ring horse, the bloody field
"Must man to man, and foot to foot be fought."
Lady R. How many mothers shall bewail their
sons!
How many widows weep their husbands slain !
Ye dames of Denmark! e'en for you I feel,
Who sadly sitting on the sea-beat shore,
Long look for lords that never shall return.
Glen. Oft has th' unconquer'd Caledonian sword
Widow'd the North. The children of the slain
Come, as I hope, to meet their fathers' fate.
The monster war, with her infernal brood,
Loud yelling fury and life-ending pain,
Are objects suited to Glenalvon's soul.
Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death;
Reproach more piercing than the pointed sword.
Lady R. I scorn thee not, but when I ought to
Nor e'er reproach, but when insulted virtue
Against audacious vice asserts herself.
I own thy worth, Glenalvon; none more apt
Than I to praise thine eminence in arms,
And be the echo of thy martial fame.
No longer vainly feed a guilty passion;
Go and pursue a lawful mistress, Glory.
Upon the Danish chiefs redeem thy fault,
And let thy valor be the shield of Randolph.
Glen. One instant stay, and hear an alter'd man.
When beauty pleads for virtue, vice abash'd
Flies its own colors, and goes o'er to virtue.
I am your convert; time will show how truly;
Yet one immediate proof I mean to give.
That youth, for whom your ardent zeal to-day
Somewhat too haughtily defied your slave,
Amidst the shock of armies I'll defend,
And turn death from him with a guardian arm.
"Sedate by use, my bosom maddens not
"At the tumultuous uproar of the field."
Lady R. Act thus, Glenalvon, and I am thy friend;
But that's thy least reward. Believe me, sir,
The truly generous is the truly wise;
And he who loves not others lives unblest.
[Exit LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA. Glen. Amen! and virtue is its own reward! I think that I have hit the very tone In which she loves to speak. Honey'd assent, How pleasant art thou to the taste of man And woman also! flattery direct Rarely disgusts. They little know mankind Who doubt its operation; 'tis my key, And opes the wicket of the human heart. How far I have succeeded now I know not, Yet I incline to think her stormy virtue I lull'd awhile; 'tis her alone I fear; Whilst she and Randolph live, and live in faith And amity, uncertain is my tenure. "Fate o'er my head suspends disgrace and death "By that weak hair, a peevish female's will. "I am not idle; but the ebbs and flows "Of fortune's tide cannot be calculated.”
That slave of Norval's I have found most apt;
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The Danes are landed.
Lord R. Aye, no inroad this
Of the Northumbrian bent to take a spoil;
No sportive war, no tournament essay
Of some young knight resolved to break a spear,
And stain with hostile blood his maiden arms.
The Danes are landed; we must beat them back,
Or live the slaves of Denmark.
Lady R. Dreadful times!
Lord R. The fenceless villages are all forsaken; The trembling mothers and their children lodg'd' In wall-girt towers and castles, whilst the men Retire indignant. Yet, like broken waves, They but retire more awful to return.
Lady R. Immense, as fame reports, the Danish host
Lord R. Were it as numerous as loud fame reports,
An army knit like ours would pierce it thro';
Brothers that shrink not from each other's side,
And fond companions, fill our warlike files;
For his dear offspring and the wife he loves,
The husband, and the fearless father arm.
In vulgar breasts heroic ardor burns,
And the poor peasant mates his daring lord.
Lady R. Men's minds are temper'd, like their
swords, for war;
"Lovers of danger, on destruction's brink,
"They joy to rear erect their daring forms.
"Hence, early graves; hence, the lone widow's
"And the sad mother's grief-embitter'd age." Where is our gallant guest ?
Lord R. Down in the vale
I left him, managing a fiery steed,
Whose stubbornness had foil'd the strength and
Of every rider. But, behold, he comes,
In earnest conversation with Glenalvon.
Enter NORVAL and GLENALVON.
Glenalvon, with the lark arise; go forth,
And lead my troops which lie in yonder vale;
Private I travel to the royal camp;
Norval, thou goest with me. But say, young man!
Where didst thou learn so to discourse of war,
And in such terms as I o'erheard to-day?
War is no village science, nor is phrase
A language taught amongst the shepherd swains.
Norv. Small is the skill my lord delights to praise
Hear from whence it came.
Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote
And inaccessible, by shepherds trod,
In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand,
A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains.
Austere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the shepherds' alms.
I went to see him, and my heart was touch'd
With rev'rence and with pity. Mild he spake,
And, ent'ring on discourse, such stories told
As made me oft revisit his sad cell.
For he had been a soldier in his youth;
And fought in famous battles, when the peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Against th' usurping Infidel display'd
The blessed Cross, and won the Holy Land.
Pleas'd with my admiration and the fire
His speech struck from me, the old man would shake
His years away, and act his young encounters; Then, having show'd his wounds, he'd sit him down,
And all the live-long day discourse on war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshal'd hosts;
Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use
Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line,
The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm.
For all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.
Lord R. Why did this soldier in a desert hide
Those qualities that should have grac'd
camp?
Norv. That, too, at last I learn'd. man! Returning homewards by Messina's port, Loaded with wealth and honors bravely won, A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they foughtThe stranger fell, and with his dying breath Declar'd his name and lineage! Mighty Power! The soldier cried, My brother! Oh, my brother! Lady R. His brother!
Norv. Yes, of the same parents born;
His only brother. They exchang'd forgiveness;
And happy, in my mind, was he that died,
For many deaths has the survivor suffer'd.
In the wild desert on a rock he sits,
Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks,
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate.
At times, alas! not in his perfect mind!
Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost;
And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch,
To make sad orisons for him he slew.
Lady R. To what mysterious woes are mortals born!
In this dire tragedy were there no more
Unhappy persons? Did the parents live?
Nore. No; they were dead; kind heav'n had clos'd their eyes
Before their son had shed his brother's blood. Lord R. Hard is his fate; for he was not to
There is a destiny in this strange world,
Which oft decrees an undeserved doom;
Let schoolmen tell us why. From whence these
souls
Trumpets at a distance.
Offi. My lord, the trumpets of the troops of Lorn;
The valiant leader hails the noble Randolph.
Lord R. Mine ancient guest! does he the war
Has Denmark rous'd the brave old knight to arms?
Offi. No; worn with warfare he resigns the sword.
His eldest hope, the valiant John of Lorn,
Now leads his kindred bands.
Lord R. Glenalvon, go.
With hospitality's most strong request
Entreat the chief.
[Exit GLENALVON.
Offi. My lord, requests are vain. He urges on, impatient of delay, Stung with the tidings of the foe's approach. [Exit.
Lord R. May victory sit on the warrior's plume! Bravest of men! his flocks and herds are safe; Remote from war's alarms his pasture's lie, By mountains inaccessible secur'd; Yet foremost he into the plain descends, Eager to bleed in battles not his own. Such were the heroes of the ancient world; Contemners they of indolence and gain; But still for love of glory, and of arms, Prone to encounter peril, and to lift Against each strong antagonist the spear. I'll go and press the hero to my breast. [Exit. Lady R. The soldier's loftiness, the pride and
Investing awful war, Norval, I see,
Transport thy youthful mind.
Norv. Ah! should they not?
Blest be the hour I left my father's house!
I might have been a shepherd all my days,
And stole obscurely to a peasant's grave.
Now, if I live, with mighty chiefs I stand;
And, if I fall, with noble dust I lie.
Lady R. There is a gen'rous spirit in thy breast
That could have well sustained a prouder fortune.
"This way with me, under yon spreading beech,"
Since lucky chance has left us here alone,
Uuseen, unheard, by human eye or ear,
I will amaze thee with a wond'rous tale.
Norv. Let there be danger, lady, with the secret, That I may hug it to my grateful heart, And prove my faith. Command my sword, my life; These are the sole possessions of poor Norval. Lady R. Know'st thou these gems? Norv. Durst I believe mine eyes,
I'd say I knew them, and they were my father's. Lady R. Thy father's say'st thou ah! they
Norv. I saw them once, and curiously inquir'd Of both my parents whence such splendor came? But I was check'd, and more could never learn. Lady R. Then learn of me, thou art not Norval's son.
Norv. Not Norval's son !
Lady R. Nor of a shepherd sprung.
Norv. Lady, who am I then?
Lady R. Noble thou art;
For noble was thy sire!
Norv. I will believe
Oh, tell me farther! Say, who was my father?
Lady R. Douglas!
Norv. Lord Douglas, whom to-day I saw?
Lady R. His younger brother.
Norv. And in yonder camp?
Lady R. Alas!
Norv. You make me tremble-sighs and tears! Await the poor man's valor. Oh, my son! Lives my brave father?
Lady R. Ah! too brave indeed!
He fell in battle ere thyself was born.
Norv. Ah, me, unhappy! ere I saw the light?
But does my mother live? I may conclude,
From my own fate, her portion has been sorrow.
Lady R. She lives; but wastes her life in con-
stant woe,
Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost.
The noblest blood of all the land's abash'd,
Having no lacquey but pale poverty.
Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas!
Too long hast thou been deem'd a peasant's child.
The wanton heir of some inglorious chief
Perhaps has scorn'd thee in the youthful sports;
Whilst thy indignant spirit swell'd in vain!
Such contumely thou no more shalt bear;
But how I purpose to redress thy wrongs
Norv. You that are skill'd so well in the sad Must be hereafter told. Prudence directs
story
of my unhappy parents, and with tears
Bewail their destiny, now have compassion
Upon the offspring of the friends you lov'd!
Oh! tell me who, and where my mother is!
Oppress'd by a base world, perhaps she bends
Beneath the weight of other ills than grief;
And, desolate, implores of heav'n the aid
Her son should give. It is-it must be so—
Your countenance confesses that she's wretched.
Oh, tell me her condition! Can the sword-
Who shall resist me in a parent's cause?
That we should part before yon chiefs return.
Retire, and from thy rustic follower's hand
Receive a billet which thy mother's care,
Anxious to see thee, dictated before
This casual opportunity arose
Of private conference. Its purport mark;
For, as I there appoint, we meet again.
Leave me, my son! and frame thy manners still
To Norval's, not to noble Douglas' state.
Norv. I will remember.
Lady R. At hand conceal'd he lies,
Lady R. Thy virtue ends her woe! My son! An useful witness. But beware, my son, my son!
Norv. Art thou my mother?
Of yon Glenalvon; in his guilty breast
Resides a villain's shrewdness, ever prone
Lady R. I am thy mother and the wife of Doug-To
las!
[Falls upon his neck.
Norv. Oh, heav'n and earth, how wondrous is
my fate!
Art thou my mother? Ever let me kneel!
Lady R. Image of Douglas! Fruit of fatal love!
All that I owe thy sire, I pay to thee.
Norv. Respect and admiration still possess me,
Checking the love and fondness of a son.
Yet I was filial to my humble parents;
But did my sire surpass the rest of men,
As thou excellest all of womankind?
false conjecture. He hath griev'd my heart. Norv. Has he, indeed? Then let yon false Glenalvon
[Exit.
Lady R. There burst the smother'd flame!
Oh, thou all-righteous and eternal King,
Who father of the fatherless art call'd,
Protect my son! Thy inspiration, Lord!
Hath fill'd his bosom with that sacred fire,
Which in the breasts of his forefathers burn'd!
Set him on high like them, that he may shine,
The star and glory of his native land!
Lady R. Arise, my son! In me thou dost be- Then let the minister of death descend,
The poor remains of beauty once admired;
The autumn of my days is come already,
For sorrow made my summer haste away.
Yet in my prime I equal'd not thy father;
His eyes were like the eagle's, yet sometimes
Liker the dove's; and as he pleas'd, he won
All hearts with softness, or with spirit aw'd.
Norv. How did he fall? Sure 'twas a bloody
field
When Douglas died. Oh, I have much to ask!
Lady R. Hereafter thou shalt hear the length-
en'd tale
Of all thy father's and thy mother's woes.
At present this: thou art the rightful heir
Of yonder castle, and the wide domains
Which now Lord Randolph, as my husband, holds.
But thou shalt not be wrong'd; I have the power
To right thee still; before the king I'll kneel,
And call Lord Douglas to protect his blood.
Norv. The blood of Douglas will protect itself.
Lady R. But we shall need both friends and
favor, boy,
To wrest thy lands and lordship from the gripe
Of Randolph and his kinsman. Yet I think
My tale will move each gentle heart to pity,
My life incline the virtuous to believe.
Norv. To be the son of Douglas is to me
Inheritance enough. Declare my birth,
And in the field I'll seek for fame and fortune.
Lady R. Thou dost not know what perils and
injustice
And bear my willing spirit to it's place.
Yonder they come. How do bad women find
Unchanging aspects to conceal their guilt,
When I, by reason and by justice urg'd,
Full hardly can dissemble with these men
In nature's pious cause!
Enter LORD RANDOLPH and GLENALVON.
Lord R. Yon gallant chief,
Of arms enamor'd, all repose disclaims.
Lady R. Be not, my lord, by his example sway'd;
Arrange the business of to-morrow now,
And when you enter, speak of war no more.
Lord R. 'Tis so, by heav'n! her mien, her voice,
her eye,
And her impatience to be gone, confirm it.
Glen. He parted from her now, behind the
mount,
Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along.
Lord R. For sad, sequester'd virtue she's re-
nown'd!
Glen. Most true, my lord.
Lord R. Yet this distinguish'd dame
Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day,
Alone to meet her at the midnight hour.
This assignation, [shows a letter] the assassin freed,
Her manifest affection for the youth,
Might breed suspicion in a husband's brain,
Whose gentle consort all for love had wedded;
Much more in mine. Matilda never lov'd me.
Let no man, after me, a woman wed
Whose heart he knows he has not; tho' she brings
A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry,
For, let her seem like the night's shadowy queen,
Cold and contemplative, he cannot trust her;
She may, she will, bring shame and sorrow on
him:
The worst of sorrows and the worst of shames! Glen. Yield not, my lord, to such afflicting thoughts,
But let the spirit of an husband sleep,
Till your own senses make a sure conclusion.
This billet must to blooming Norval go;
At the next turn awaits my trusty spy;
I'll give it him refitted for his master.
In the close thicket take your secret stand;
The moon shines bright, and your own eyes may judge
Of their behavior.
Lord R. Thou dost counsel well.
Glen. Permit me now to make one slight essay
Of all the trophies which vain mortals boast,
By wit, by valor, or by wisdom won,
The first and fairest in a young man's eye,
Is woman's captive heart. Successful love
With glorious fumes intoxicates the mind!
And the proud conqueror in triumph moves
Air-born, exalted above vulgar men.
Lord R. And what avails this maxim?
Glen. Much, my lord!
Withdraw a little; I'll accost young Norval,
And with ironical derisive counsel
Explore his spirit. If he is no more
Than humble Norval, by thy favor rais'd,
Brave as he is, he'll shrink astonished from me.
But if he be the fav'rite of the fair,
Lov'd by the first of Caledonia's dames,
He'll turn upon me as the lion turns
Upon the hunter's spear.
Lord R. 'Tis shrewdly thought.
Glen. When we grow loud, draw near. But let my lord
His rising wrath restrain.
[Exit RANDOLPH
'Tis strange, by heav'n!
That she should run full tilt her fond career,
To one so little known. She, too, that seem'd
Pure as the winter stream, when icc embossed
Whitens it's course. Even I did think her chaste,
Whose charity exceeds not. Precious sex!
Whose deeds lascivious pass Glenalvon's thoughts!
[NORVAL appears.
His port I love, he's in a proper mood
To chide the thunder, if at him it roar'd.
Has Norval seen the troops?
With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale,
And as the warriors mov'd, each polish'd helm,
Corslet or spear glane'd back his gilded beams.
The hill they climb'd, and halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, tow'ring, they seem'd,
An host angelic, clad in burning arms.
Glen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host
In sounds more lofty, speaks of glorious war.
Norv. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine
Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.
Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deeds
Have rank'd you with the great; but mark me, Norval
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To gall your pride, which now I see is great.
Norr. My pride?
Glen. Suppress it as you wish to prosper.
Your pride's excessive. Yet for Randolph's sake
I will not leave you to its rash direction.
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men,
Think you they will endure a shepherd's scorn?
Norv. A shepherd's scorn?
Glen. Yes, if you presume
To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
What will become of you?
Nore. If this were told
Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Glen. Ha! Dost thou threaten me?
Nore. Didst thou not hear?
Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Had not been question'd thus. But such as
Nore. Whom dost thou think me?
Glen. Norval.
Nore. So I am
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?
Glen. A peasant's son, a wand'ring beggar-boy, At best no more, even if he speaks the truth. Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?
Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie; and false as hell
Is the vainglorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. Nore. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, and bedrid old,
Perhaps I should revile; but as I am
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race who strive not but with deeds.
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor,
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
I'd tell thee-what thou art. I know thee well.'
Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born to
command
Ten thousand slaves like thee?
Nore. Villain, no more;
Draw and defend thy life. I did design
To have defied thee in another cause;
But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrong.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH.
Lord R. Hold, I command you both. The man that stirs
Makes me his foe.
Nore. Another voice than thine
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous condescending!
Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!
Norv. Now you may scoff in safety.
[Sheaths his sword.
Lord R. Speak not thus,
Taunting each other; but unfold to me
The cause of quarrel, then I judge betwixt you.
Norv. Nay, my good Lord, tho' I revere you
much,
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.
I blush to speak; I will not, cannot speak
Th' opprobrious words that I from him have
borne.
To the liege-lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage; but even him
And his high arbitration I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord-
Honor, sole judge and umpire of itself.
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,
Revoke your favors, and let Norval go
Hence as he came, alone, but not dishonor'd.
Lord R. Thus far I'll meditate with impartial
voice;
The ancient foe of Caledonia's land
Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields.
Suspend your purpose till your country's arms
Repel the bold invader; then decide
The private quarrel.
Glen. I agree to this.
Norv. And I.
Enter SERVANT.
Serv. The banquet waits.
Lord R. We come.
[Exit RANDOLPH and SERVANT. Glen. Norval,
Let not our variance mar the social hour,
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph.
Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate,
Dong. Kneel not to me-thou art my father
still;
Thy wish'd-for presence now completes my joy.
Welcome to me, my fortunes thou shalt share,
And ever honor'd with thy Douglas live.
Norv. And dost thou call me father? Oh, my
son!
I think that I could die to make amends
For the great wrong I did thee. "Twas my crime
Which in the wilderness so long conceal'd
The blossom of thy youth.
Doug. Not worse the fruit,
That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot,
I learned some lessons which I'll not forget
When I inhabit yonder lofty towers.
I, who was once a swain, will ever prove
The poor man's friend; and, when my vassals bow,
Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas.
Norv. Let me but live to see thine exaltation!
Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place,
And those unfriendly towers.
Doug. Why should I leave them?
Norv. Lord Randolph and his kinsman seek your life.
Doug. How know'st thou that?
Norv. I will inform you how.
When evening came, I left the secret place
Appointed for me by your mother's care,
And fondly trod in each accustom'd path
That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I rang'd,
I was alarm'd with unexpected sounds
Of earnest voices. On the persons came;
Unseen I lurk'd, and overheard them name
Each other as they talk'd, Lord Randolph this,
And that, Glenalvon; still of you they spoke,
And of the lady; threat'ning was their speech,
Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy Tho' but imperfectly my ear could hear it.
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.
Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment;
When we contend again our strife is mortal.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discov'ry; And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.
Doug. Revenge! for what?
Norv. For being what you are
Sir Malcolm's heir; how else have you offended?
When they were gone, I hied me to my cottage,
And there sat musing how I best might find
Means to inform you of their wicked purpose.
But I could think of none; at last, perplex'd,
I issued forth, encompassing the tower
With many a weary step and wishful look.
Doug. This is the place, the centre of the Now Providence hath brought you to my sight,
Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood.
How sweet and solemn is this midnight scene!
The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way
Thro' skies where I could count each little star.
The fanning west wind scarcely stirs the leaves;
The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed,
Imposes silence with a stilly sound.
In such a place as this, at such an hour,
If ancestry can be in ought believ'd,
Descending spirits have convers'd with man,
And told the secrets of the world unknown.
Enter OLD NORVAL.
Norv. 'Tis he. But what if he should chide me
hence-
His just reproach I fear.
[DOUGLAS turns and sees him.
Forgive, forgive,
Canst thou forgive the man, the selfish man,
Who bred Sir Malcolm's heir a shepherd's son ?
Let not your too courageous spirit scorn
The caution which I give.
Doug. I scorn it not.
My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness;
But I will not suspect the noble Randolph.
In our encounter with the vile assassins,
I mark'd his brave demeanor; him I'll trust.
Norv. I fear you will, too far.
Doug. Here, in this place,
I wait my mother's coming; she shall know
What thou hast told; her counsel I will follow:
And cautious ever are a mother's counsels.
You must depart; your presence may prevent
Our interview.
Nore. My blessing rest upon thee!
Oh, may heav'n's hand, which sav'd thee from the
And from the sword of foes, be near thee still :
Turning mischance, if aught hangs o'er thy head,
All upon mine!
[Exit.
Doug. He loves me like a parent,
|