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And make him wear these jewels in his arms, Which might, I thought, be challenged, and sobring To light the secret of his noble birth. [LADY RANDolph goes towards the SERVANTs. Lady R. This man is not th' assassin you suspected, Though chance combined some likelihoods against him. 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. [Ereunt STRANGER and SERVANTs. My faithful Anna 1 dost thou share my joy: I know thou dost. Unparallel'd event Reaching from heaven to earth, Jehovah's arm Snatch'd from the waves, and brings me to my son! Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father, 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 gazed on bright and burning arms, . Spurn'd the low dunghill where his fate had thrown him.
And tow'r'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 believed,
Suppress'd my fancy quite; nor did he owe,
To any likeness my so sudden favour :
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 yourself
In public, lest your tenderness break forth,
And in observers stir conjectures strange.
To-day the baron started at your tears.
Lady R. He did so, Anna! well thy mistress knows.
If the least circumstance, mote of offence,
Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would be
With jealousy disorder'd.
Anna. That demon haunts you still: Behold Glenalvon.
Lady R. Now I shun him not. This day I braved him in behalf of Norval: Perhaps too far; at least my nicer fears For Douglas thus interpret. [Exit ANNA.
Glen. Noble dame! -
The hov'ring Dane at last his men hath landed;
No band of pirates; but a mighty host,
That come to settle where their valour conquers;
To win a country, or to lose themselves.
Lady R. How many mothers shall bewail their sons!
How many widows weep their husbands slain!
Ye dames of Denmark, ev’n 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 thy 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 crests redeem thy fault,
And let thy valour 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 colours, and goes o'er to virtue.
I am your convert; time will shew how truly:
Yet one immediate proof I mean to give.
That youth for whom your ardent zeal to-day,
Somewhat too haughtily, defy'd your slave,
Amidst the shock of armies I'll defend,
And turn death from him with a guardian arm.
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.
[Erit LADY RANDolph.
Glen. [Solus.] Amen! and virtue is its own re-
I think, that I have hit the very tone
In which she loves to speak. Honey'd assent,
How pleasing art thou to the taste of man,
And woman also flattery direct
Seldom 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
Is lull'd awhile; 'tis her alone I fear:
Whilst she and Randolph live, and live in faith
And amity, uncertain is my tenure.
That slave of Norval's I have found most apt:
I shew'd him gold, and he has pawn'd his soul
To say and swear whatever I suggest.
Norval, I'm told, has that alluring look,
"Twixt man and woman, which I have observed
To charm the nicer and fantastic dames,
Who are, like Lady Randolph, full of virtue.
In raising Randolph's jealousy, I may
But point him to the truth.. He seldom errs,
Who thinks the worst he can of womankind. [Erit.
Flourish of Trumpets.
Enter LoRD RANDolph, attended.
Lord R. Summon an hundred horse by break of day, To wait our pleasure at the castle gate.
Lady R. Alas! my lord ' I've heard unwelcome
The Danes are landed.
Lord R. Ay, no inroad this
Of the Northumbrian, bent to take a spoil;
No sportive war, no tournament essay
Of some young knight, resolv'd 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 lodged In well-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 through : 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 ardour burns, And the poor peasant mates his daring lord. Lady R. Men's minds are temperd, like their swords, for war. Hence, early graves; hence the lone widow's life; 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 skill 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 that lie in yonder vale:
Private I travel to the royal camp : w
Norval, thou go'st 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 2
War is no village science, nor its phrase
A language taught among the shepherd Swains.