Thy wished-for presence now completes my joy.
Welcome to me; my fortunes thou shalt share,
And ever honour'd with thy Douglas live.
Old Nor. And dost thou call me father! Oh, my
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 learn'd some lessons, which I'll not forget,
When I inhabit yonder lofty towers.
I, who was once a swain, will ever prove
The man's friend;
poor
and, when vassals bow,
Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas.
Old Nor. 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?
Old Nor. Lord Randolph and his kinsman seek your life.
Doug. How know'st thou that?
Old Nor. 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 ranged,
I was alarm'd with unexpected sounds
Of earnest voices. On the persons came.
Unseen I lurk'd, and heard 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,
Though but imperfectly my ear could hear it.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery,
And ever and anon they vow'd revenge!
Doug. Revenge! for what?
Old Nor. 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.
Now Providence hath brought you to my sight,
Let not your too courageous spirit scorn
The caution which I give.
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 demeanour; him I'll trust.
Old Nor. 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.
Old Nor. My blessing rest upon thee!
Oh, may Heaven's hand, which saved 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!
Doug. He loves me like a parent;
And must, shall not, lose the son he loves,
Although his son has found a nobler father.
Eventful day! how hast thou changed my state!
Once on the cold and winter-shaded side
Of a bleak hill, mischance had rooted me,
Never to thrive, child of another soil;
Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale,
Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers.
Ye glorious stars! high heaven's resplendent host!
To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,
Hear and record my soul's unalter'd wish!
Dead or living, let me but be renown'd!
May Heaven inspire some fierce gigantic Dane,
To give a bold defiance to our host;
Before he speaks it out I will accept :
Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH.
Lady R. My son! I heard a voice
Doug. The voice was mine.
Lady R. Didst thou complain alone to nature's ear, That thus in dusky shades, at midnight hours,
By stealth the mother and the son should meet ?
[Embraces him. Doug. No; on this happy day, this better birth-day, My thoughts and words are all of hope and joy. Lady R. Sad fear and melancholy still divide The empire of my breast with hope and joy. Now hear what I advise
Doug. First, let me tell
What may the tenour of your counsel change.
Lady R. My heart forebodes some evil!
Doug. 'Tis not good-
At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon,
The good old Norval in the grove o'erheard
Their conversation: oft they mention'd me,
With dreadful threat'nings; you they sometimes
named;
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery :
And ever and anon they vow'd revenge!
Lady R. Defend us, gracious heav'n! we are be-
tray'd;
They have found out the secret of thy birth.
It must be so. That is the great discovery.
Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own,
And they will be revenged. Perhaps even now,
Arm'd and prepared for murder, they but wait
A darker and more silent hour, to break
Into the chamber, where they think thou sleep'st.
This moment, this, heav'n hath ordain'd to save thee!
Fly to the camp, my son!
Doug. And leave you here?
No to the castle let us go together:
Call up the ancient servants of your house,
Who in their youth did eat your father's bread,
Then tell them loudly, that I am your son.
If in the breasts of men one spark remains
Of sacred love, fidelity, or pity,
Some in your cause will arm.
To drive those spoilers from my father's house.
Lady R. Oh, Nature, Nature! what can check thy
Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas!
But rush not on destruction: save thyself,
And I am safe. To me they mean no harm.
Thy stay but risks thy precious life in vain.
That winding path conducts thee to the river.
Cross where thou see'st a broad and beaten way,
Which, running eastward, leads thee to the camp.
Instant demand admittance to Lord Douglas;
Show him these jewels which his brother wore.
Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel the truth,
Which I, by certain proof, will soon confirm.
Doug. I yield me, and obey: but yet my heart
Bleeds at this parting. Something bids me stay
And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read
Of wondrous deeds by one bold arm achieved.
Our foes are two; no more: let me go forth,
And see if any shield can guard Glenalvon.
Lady R. If thou regard'st thy mother, or rever'st
Thy father's memory, think of this no more.
One thing I have to say before we part:
Long wert thou lost; and thou art found, my child,
In a most fearful season.
I have great cause to dread. Too well I see
Which way the current of thy temper sets;
To-day I've found thee. Oh! my long-lost hope.
If thou to giddy valour givest the rein,
To-morrow I may lose my son for ever!
The love of thee, before thou saw'st the light,
Sustain'd my life when thy brave father fell.
If thou shalt fall, I have not love nor hope
In this waste world! My son, remember me!
Doug. What shall I say? How can I give you com-
fort?
The god of battles of my life dispose
As may be best for you! for whose dear sake
I will not bear myself as I resolved.
But yet consider, as no vulgar name
That which I boast sounds amongst martial men,
How will inglorious caution suit my claim?
The post of fate unshrinking I maintain.
My country's foes must witness who I am.
On the invaders' heads I'll prove my birth,
Till friends and foes confess the genuine strain.
If in this strife I fall, blame not your son,
Who, if he live not honour'd, must not live.
Lady R. I will not utter what my bosom feels.
Too well I love that valour, which I warn.
Farewell, my
son! my counsels are but vain,
And as high heaven hath will'd it, all must be.
Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path :
[Just as they are separating,
Enter from the wood, LORD RANDOLPH, and GLE
|