Randolph has liv'd too long; his better fate Had the ascendant once, and kept me down; When I had seiz'd the dame, by chance he came, Rescu'd, and had the lady for his labor; I 'scap'd unknown; a slender consolation! Heaven is my witness that I do not love To sow in peril, and let others reap The jocund harvest. Yet I am not safe; By love, or something like it, stung, inflam'd, Madly I blabb'd my passion to his wife, And she has threaten'd to acquaint him of it. The way of woman's will I do not know; But well I know the Baron's wrath is deadly. I will not live in fear; "the man I dread "Is as a Dane to me;" he is the man Who stands betwixt me and my chief desire. No bar but he-she has no kinsman near; No brother in his sister's quarrel bold; And for the righteous cause, a stranger's cause, I know no chief that will defy Glenalvon.
Stranger. [within.] Oh, mercy! mercy! Enter SERVANTS and a STRANGER at one door, and LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA at another.
Lady R. What means this clamor? Stranger! speak secure ;
Hast thou been wrong'd? have these rude men presum'd
To vex the weary traveler on his way?
First Serv. By us no stranger ever suffer'd wrong;
This man with outcry wild has call'd us forth: So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears. Enter LORD RANDOLPH and NORVAL, with swords drawn and bloody. Lady R. Not vain the stranger's fears! fares my lord? Lord R. That it fares well, thanks to this lant youth,
Lord R. I ask'd that question, and he answer'd
But I must know who my deliverer is.
[To the STRANGER. Norv. A low-born man, of parentage obscure, Who nought can boast but his desire to be
A soldier, and to gain a name in arms.
Lord R. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobled By the great King of kings! thou art ordain'd And stamp'd a hero by the sovereign hand Of Nature! blush not, flower of modesty As well as valor, to declare thy birth.
Norv. My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike lord; And heaven soon granted what my sire denied. This moon which rose last night, round as my shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light, A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills, Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled For safety and for succor. I, alone, With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd The road he took, then hasted to my friends Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe. I met advancing. The pursuit I led, We fought and conquered. Ere a sword was drawn
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief, Who wore that day the arms which now I wear. Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard That our good King had summon'd his bold peers To lead their warriors to the Carron side, I left my father's house, and took with me A chosen servant to conduct my steps- gal-Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master. Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers, And, heaven-directed, came this day to do The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Whose valor saved me from a wretched death! As down the winding dale I walk'd alone, At the cross-way four armed men attack'd me; Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp, Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph low, Had not this brave and generous stranger come, Like my good angel, in the hour of fate,
And, mocking danger, made my foes his own. They turn'd upon him; but his active arm Struck to the ground, from whence they rose no more,
The fiercest two; the others fled amain, And left him master of the bloody field. Speak, Lady Randolph; upon beauty's tongue Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold. Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord. Lady R. My lord, I cannot speak what now feel.
My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heav'n, And to this noble youth, who, all unknown To you and yours, deliberated not, Nor paus'd at peril, but, humanely brave, Fought on your side, against such fearful odds. Have you yet learn'd of him whom we should thank,
Whom call the saviour of Lord Randolph's life?
Lord R. He is as wise as brave. Was ever tale With such a gallant modesty rehears'd? My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter now A nobler list, and in a monarch's fight Contend with princes for the prize of fame. I will present thee to our Scottish King, Whose valiant spirit ever valor lov'd. Ha! my Matilda! wherefore starts that tear? Lady R. I cannot say; for various affections, And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell; Yet each of them may well command a tear. I joy that thou art safe, and I admire
On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke, And bless'd the wonder-working hand of heaven. Lord R. Pious and grateful ever are thy thoughts!
My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the way. Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon, In honor and command shall Norval be.
On him intent you gazed, with a look Much more delighted than your pensive eye Has deigned on other objects to bestow.
Lady R. Delighted, say'st thou? Oh, even there mine eye
Found fuel for my life-consuming sorrow.
I thought that had the son of Douglas liv'd,
Norv. I know not how to thank you. Rude I He might have been like this young gallant
In speech and manners; never till this hour Stood I in such a presence; yet, my lord, There's something in my breast which makes me bold
To say that Norval ne'er will shame thy favor. Lady R. I will be sworn thou wilt not. Thou shalt be
My knight, and ever, as thou dids't to-day, With happy valor guard the life of Randolph. Lord R. Well hast thou spoke. Let me forbid reply. [TO NORVAL.
We are thy debtors still; thy high desert O'ertops our gratitude. I must proceed, As was at first intended, to the camp. Some of my train, I see, are speeding hither, Impatient, doubtless, of their lord's delay. Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall see The chosen warriors of thy native land, Who languish for the fight, and beat the air With brandished swords.
Norv. Let us begone, my lord.
And pair'd with him in features and in shape; In all endowments, as in years, I deem, My boy with blooming Norval might have num- bered.
Whilst thus I mused, a spark from fancy fell On my sad heart, and kindl'd up a fondness For this young stranger, wand'ring from his home, And like an orphan cast upon my care. I will protect thee (said I to myself) With all my power, and grace with all my favor. Anna. Sure heav'n will bless so generous a re- solve.
You must, my noble dame, exert your power; You must awake, devices will be fram'd, And arrows pointed at the breast of Norval. Lady R. Glenalvon's false and crafty head will work
Against a rival in his kinsman's love,
If I deter him not; I only can.
Bold as he is, Glenalvon will beware How he pulls down the fabric that I raise.
Lord R. [to LADY R.] About the time that the I'll be the artist of young Norval's fortune.
Into the wounds that fester in your breast, For earthly consolation cannot cure them!
Lady R. One only cure can heaven itself bestow; A grave-that bed in which the weary rest. Wretch that I am! Alas, why am I so? At every happy parent I repine! How blest the mother of young gallant Norval! She for a living husband bore her pains, And heard him bless her when a man was born. She nurs'd her smiling infant on her breast, Tended the child, and rear'd the pleasing boy • She, with affection's triumph, saw the youth In grace and comeliness surpass his peers; Whilst I to a dead husband bore a son, And to the roaring waters gave my child.
Anna. Alas, alas! why will you thus resume Your grief afresh? I thought that gallant youth Would for a while have won you from your woe.
""Tis pleasing to admire! most apt was I "To this affection in my better days; "Tho' now I seem to you shrunk up, retir'd "Within the narrow compass of my woe. "Have you not sometimes seen an early flower 'Open it's bud, and spread it's silken leaves "To catch sweet airs, and odors to bestow; "Then, by the keen blast nipt, pull in it's leaves, "And tho still living, die to scent and beauty? "Emblem of me; affliction, like a storm, "Hath kill'd the forward blossom of my heart!" Enter GLENALVON.
Glen. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble Randolph ?
Lady R. Have you not heard, Glenalvon, of the
Who, with a gentleness which duty blames, Have hitherto conceal'd what, if divulg'd, Would make thee nothing; or, what's worse than that,
An outcast beggar, and unpitied too! For mortals shudder at a crime like thine.
Glen. Thy virtue awes me. First of womankind! Permit me yet to say, that the fond man Whom love transports beyond strict virtue's bounds,
If he is brought by love to misery, In fortune ruin'd, as in mind forlorn, Unpitied cannot be. Pity's the alms Which on such beggars freely is bestow'd; For mortals know that love is still their lord, And o'er their vain resolves advances still, As fire, when kindled by our shepherds, moves Thro' the dry heath against the fanning wind. Lady R. Reserve these accents for some other ear,
To love's apology I listen not.
Mark thou my words, for it is meet thou shouldst. His brave deliverer Randolph here retains. Perhaps his presence may not please thee well; But at thy peril practice aught against him. Let not thy jealousy attempt to shake And loosen the good root he has in Randolph, Whose favorites I know thou hast supplanted. Thou look'st at me as if thou fain wouldst pry Into my heart. "Tis open as my speech. I give this early caution, and put on The curb, before thy temper breaks away. The friendless stranger my protection claims; His friend I am, and be not thou his foc. [Exit. Glen. Child that I was, to start at my own
And be the shallow fool of coward conscience! I am not what I have been, what I should be. The darts of destiny have almost pierc'd My marble heart. Had I one grain of faith In holy legends and religious tales,
I should conclude there was an arm above That fought against me, and malignant turn'd, To catch myself, the subtle snare Ï set. Why, rape and murder are not simple means ! Th' imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse; And the intended murder introduc'd
A favorite to hide the sun from me; And, worst of all, a rival. Burning hell!
This were thy centre, if I thought she lov'd him!
'Tis certain she contemns me; nay, commands me;
And waves the flag of her displeasure o'er me, In his behalf. And shall I thus be brav'd, Curb'd, as she calls it, by dame chastity? Infernal fiends, if any fiends there are More fierce than hate, ambition and revenge, Rise up and fill thy bosom with your fires, "And policy remorseless! Chance may spoil "A single aim; but perseverance must "Prosper at last. For chance and fate word;
"Persistive wisdom is the fate of man." Darkly a project peers upon my mind, Like the red moon when peering in the east, Cross'd and divided by strange color'd clouds. I'll seek the slave who came with Norval hither, And for his cowardice was spurned from him. I've known a follower's rankled bosom breed Venom most fatal to his heedless lord.
A Court, etc., as before. Enter ANNA.
Anna. Thy vassals, Grief! great Nature's order break,
And change the noon-tide to the midnight hour. Whilst Lady Randolph sleeps, I will walk forth, And taste the air that breathes on yonder bank. Sweet may her slumbers be! Ye ministers Of gracious heaven who love the human race, Angels and seraphs who delight in goodness! Forsake your skies, and to her couch descend! There from her fancy chase those dismal forms That haunt her waking; her sad spirit charm With images celestial, such as please
The bless'd above upon their golden beds.
Serv. One of the vile assassins is secur'd. With dreadful imprecations he denies We found the villain lurking in the woods; All knowledge of the crime. But this is not His first essay: these jewels were conceal'd In the most secret places of his garment; Belike the spoils of some that he has murder'd. Anna. Let me look on them. Ha! here is a heart,
The chosen crest of Douglas' valiant name! These are no vulgar jewels. Guard the wretch. [Exit ANNA.
Enter SERVANTS with the PRISONER. Pris. I know no more than does the child un
Of what you charge me with.
First Serv. You say so, sir?
But torture soon shall make you speak the truth. Behold the lady of Lord Randolph comes; Prepare yourself to meet her just revenge.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA. Anna. Summon your utmost fortitude, before You speak with him. Your dignity, your fame, Are now at stake. Think of the fatal secret, Which in a moment from your lips may fly.
Lady R. Thou shalt behold me, with a desp'rate heart,
Hear how my infant perish'd. See, he kneels. [The PRISONER kneels. Pris. Heav'n bless that countenance, so sweet and mild!
A judge like thee makes innocence more bold. Oh, save me, lady, from these cruel men, Who have attack'd and seized me; who accuse Me of intended murder. As I hope
For mercy at the judgment-seat of heav'n, The tender lamb, that never nipp'd the grass, Is not more innocent than I of murder.
Lady R. Of this man's guilt what proof can ye produce?
First Serv. We found him lurking in the hollow Glynn.
When view'd and call'd upon, amaz'd, he fled. We overtook him, and inquir'd from whence And what he was; he said he came from far, And was upon his journey to the camp. Not satisfied with this, we searched his clothes, And found these jewels, whose rich value plead Most powerfully against him. Hard he seems, And old in villainy. Permit us try
His stubbornness against the torture's force.
Pris. Oh, gentle lady! by your lord's dear life, Which these weak hands, I swear, did ne'er assail; And by your children's welfare, spare my age! Let not the iron tear my ancient joints, And my gray hairs bring to the grave with pain. Lady R. Account for these-thine own they cannot be;
For these, I say, be steadfast to the truth; Detected falsehood is most certain death.
[ANNA removes the SERVANTS and returns. Pris. Alas, I'm sore beset! let never man, For sake of lucre, sin against his soul! Eternal justice is in this most just!
I, guiltless now, must former guilt reveal. Lady R. Oh! Anna, hear!-once more I charge thee, speak
The truth direct; for these to me foretell And certify a part of thy narration; With which, if the remainder tallies not,
An instant and a dreadful death abides thee.
Lady R. Ha! dost thou say so? Then perhaps he lives!
Pris. Not many days ago he was alive. Lady R. Oh, heav'nly Power! Did he then die so lately?
Pris. I did not say he died, I hope he lives. Not many days ago these eyes beheld Him, flourishing in youth, and health and beauty. Lady R. Where is he now?
Pris. Alas, I know not where.
Lady R. Oh, fate, I fear thee still. Thou riddler, speak
Direct and clear; else I will searth thy soul. Anna. "Permit me, ever-honored! Keen impatience,
"Tho' hard to be restrain'd, defeats itself."
Lady R. Pursue thy story with a faithful tongue, To the last hour that thou didst keep the child. Pris. Fear not my faith, tho' I must speak my shame.
Pris. Then, thus abjur'd, I'll speak to thee as Within the cradle where the infant lay,
As if you were the minister of heaven, Sent down to search the secret sins of men. Some eighteen years ago, I rented land
Of brave Sir Malcolm, then Balarmo's lord; But falling to decay, his servants seiz'd All that I had, and then turn'd me and mine (Four helpless infants, and their weeping mother,) Out to the mercy of the winter winds. A little hovel by the river's side Receiv'd us; there hard labor, and the skill In fishing, which was formerly my sport, Supported life. Whilst thus we poorly liv'd, One stormy night, as I remember well, The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof; Red came the river down, and loud and oft The angry spirit of the water shriek'd.
At the dead hour of night was heard the cry Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran To where the circling eddy of a pool, Beneath the ford, us'd oft to bring within My reach whatever floating thing the stream Had caught. The voice was ceas'd; the person lost;
But looking sad and earnest on the waters,
Was stow'd a mighty store of gold and jewels; Tempted by which, we did resolve to hide From all the world this wonderful event, And like a peasant breed the noble child. That none might mark the change of our estate, We left the country, travel'd to the north, Bought flocks and herds, and gradually brought forth
Our secret wealth. But God's all-seeing eye Beheld our avarice, and smote us sore. For, one by one, all our own children died, And he, the stranger, sole remain'd the heir Of what, indeed, was his. Fain then would I, Who with a father's fondness lov'd the boy, Have trusted him, now in the dawn of youth, With his cwn secret, but my anxious wife, Foreboding evil, never would consent. Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and beauty, And as we oft observed, he bore himself Not as the offspring of our cottage blood, For nature will break out; mild with the mild, But with the forward he was fierce as fire, And night and day he talk'd of war and arms. I set myself against his warlike bent, But all in vain, and when a desperate band
By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and Of robbers from the savage mountains came—
A basket; soon I drew it to the bank,
And nestled curious there an infant lay.
Lady R. Inhuman that thou art!
Lady R. Eternal Providence! What is thy name?
Pris. My name is Norval, and my name he bears.
Lady R. "Tis he! 'tis he himself! It is my son! Oh, sovereign mercy! "Twas my child I saw !
How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests No wonder, Anna, that my bosom burn'd.
Pris. I am not so inhuman.
Lady R. Didst thou not?
Anna. My noble mistress, you are mov'd too much;
Anna. Just are your transports; "ne'er was woman's heart
"Proved with such fierce extremes. High-fated dame!"
But yet remember that you are beheld By servile eyes; your gestures may be seen Impassion'd strange; perhaps your words o'er-
This man has not the aspect of stern murder; Let him go on, and you, I hope, will hear Good tidings of your kinsman's long-lost child. Pris. The needy man who has known better days, One whom distress has spited at the world, Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon To do such deeds as make the prosperous men Lift up their hands, and wonder who could do them." And such a man was I; a man declin'd, Who saw no end of black adversity; Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not Have touch'd that infant with a hand of harm.
Lady R. Well dost thou counsel, Anna; heav'n bestow
On me that wisdom which my state requires! Anna. "The moments of deliberation pass, And soon you must resolve. This useful man "Must be dismiss'd in safety, ere my lord "Shall with his brave deliverer return."
Pris. If I, amidst astonishment and fear, Have of your words and gestures rightly judg'd,
Thou art the daughter of my ancient master; The child I rescu'd from the flood is thine.
Lady R. With thee dissimulation now were vain. I am indeed the daughter of Sir Malcolm ; The child thou rescu'dst from the flood is mine. Pris. Blest be the hour that made me a poor| man!
My poverty hath sav'd my master's house!
Lady R. Thy words surprise me; sure thou dost not feign;
The tear stands in thine eye. Such love from thee Sir Malcolm's house deserved not, if aright Thou told'st the story of thine own distress.
Pris. Sir Malcolm of our Barons was the flower, The fastest friend, the best, the kindest master; But, ah! he knew not of my sad estate. After that battle where his gallant son, Your own brave brother, fell, the good old lord Grew desperate and reckless of the world; And never, as he erst was wont, went forth To overlook the conduct of his servants. By them I was thrust out, and them I blame. May heav'n so judge me as I judg'd my master, And God so love me as I love his race!
Lady R. His race shall yet reward thee. thy faith
Depends the fate of thy lov'd master's house. Rememb'rest thou a little lonely hut, That like a holy hermitage appears Among the clifts of Carron?
Pris. I remember
The cottage of the clifts.
Lady R. "Tis that I mean;
There dwells a man of venerable age,
Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks For such a gift! What does my Anna think Of the young eaglet of a valiant nest? How soon he gaz'd on bright and burning arms, Spurned the low dunghill where his fate had thrown him,
And tower'd up to the region of his sire! Anna. How fondly did your eyes devour the boy!
Mysterious nature, with the unseen cord Of powerful instinct, drew you to your own. Lady R. The ready story of his birth believ'd, Suppress'd my fancy quite; nor did he owe To any likeness my so sudden favor. But now I long to see his face again, Examine every feature, and find out The lineaments of Douglas, or my own. But most of all I long to let him know Who his true parents are, to clasp his neck, And tell him all the story of his father. Anna. With wary caution you must bear your- self
In public, lest your tenderness break forth, And in observers stir conjectures strange.
On" For if a cherub in the shape of woman "Should walk this world, yet defamation would, "Like a vile cur, bark at the angel's train-” To-day the baron started at your tears.
Who in my father's service spent his youth; Tell him I sent thee, and with him remain, Till I shall call upon thee to declare, Before the king and nobles, what thou now To me hath told. No more but this, and thou Shalt live in honor all thy future days; Thy son so long shall call thee father still, And all the land shall bless the man who sav'd The son of Douglas, and Sir Malcolm's heir. Remember well my words; if thou should'st meet Him whom thou call'st thy son, still call him so; And mention nothing of his nobler father.
Lady R. He did so, Anna! well thy mistress knows,
If the least circumstance, mote of offense, Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would be With jealousy disorder'd. But the more
It does behove me instant to declare The birth of Douglas, and assert his rights. This night I purpose with my son to meet, Reveal the secret, and consult with him; For wise is he, or my fond judgment errs. As he does now, so look'd his noble father, Array'd in nature's ease; his mien, his speech Were sweetly simple, and full oft deceiv'd Those trivial mortals who seem always wise. But, when the matter match'd his mighty mind, Up rose the hero; on his piercing eye
Sat observation; on each glance of thought Decision follow'd, as the thunderbolt
Pris. Fear not that I shall mar so fair an har- Pursues the flash. rest,
By putting in my sickle ere 'tis ripe;
Why did I leave my home and ancient dame? To find the youth, to tell him all I knew, And make him wear these jewels in his arms; Which might, I thought, be challeng'd, and so bring
To light the secret of his noble birth.
[LADY RANDOLPH goes towards the SERVANTS. Lady R. This man is not th' assassin you suspected,
Tho' chance combin'd some likelihoods against
He is the faithful bearer of the jewels To their right owner, whom in haste he seeks. "Tis meet that you should put him on his way, Since your mistaken zeal hath dragg'd him hither. [Exeunt STRANGER and SERVANTS. My faithful Anna, dost thou share my joy? I know thou dost. Unparallel'd event! Reaching from heav'n to earth, Jehovah's arm Snatch'd from the waves, and brings to me my son!
Judge of the widow and the orphan's father!
Anna. That demon haunts you still; Behold Glenalvon.
Lady R. Now I shun him not. This day I brav'd him in behalf of Norval, Perhaps too far-at least my nicer fears For Douglas thus interpret.
The hov'ring Dane at last his men hath landed; No band of pirates, but a mighty host, That come to settle where their valor conquers- To win a country, or to lose themselves.
Lady R. But whence comes this intelligence, Glenalvon?
Glen. A nimble courier sent from yonder camp, To hasten up the chieftains of the North, Inform'd me as he pass'd, that the fierce Dane Had on the eastern coast of Lothian landed, "Near to that place where the sea-rock immense, "Amazing Base, looks o'er a fertile land.
Lady R. "Then must this western army march to join
"The warlike troop that guard Edina's tow'rs?
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