Oft, as blown back by the rude breath of fear, Into the wounds that fester in your breast! Lady Rand. One only cure can heaven itself be stow; A grave that bed in which the weary rest. How blest the mother of yon gallant Norval! And heard him bless her when a man was born: Whilst I to a dead husband bore a son, 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. On him intent you gazed, with a look Much more delighted, than your pensive eye Lady Rand. Delighted, say'st thou ? Oh ! even there mine eye Found fuel for my life-consuming sorrow. I thought, that had the son of Douglas lived, ger, And pair'd with him in features and in shape. My boy with blooming Norval might have number'd. Whilst thus I mused, a spark from fancy fell I will protect thee, (said I to myself) With all my power, and grace with all my favour. Anna. Sure heaven will bless so generous a re solve. You must, my noble dame, exert your power: Against a rival in his kinsman's love, Bold as he is, Glenalvon will beware Though now I seem to you shrunk up, retired Hath kill'd the forward blossoms of my heart. Enter GLENALVON. Glen. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble Randolph ? Lady Rand. Have you not heard, Glenalvon, of the base Glen. I have: and that the villains may not With a strong band I have begirt the wood : Lady Rand. That care becomes a kinsman's love. I have a counsel for Glenalvon's ear. [Exit ANNA. Glen. To him your counsels always are com mands. Lady Rand. I have not found so: thou art known to me. Glen. Known! Lady Rand. And most certain is my cause of knowledge. Glen. What do you know? By the most blessed cross, You much amaze me. No created being, Yourself except, durst thus accost Glenalvon. Lady Rand. Is guilt so bold? and dost thou make a merit Of thy pretended meekness? This to me, 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. kind! First of woman Permit me yet to say, that the fond man In fortune ruin'd, as in mind forlorn, Which on such beggars freely is bestow'd : To love's apology I listen not. Mark thou my words; for it is meet thou should'st. Perhaps his presence may not please thee well; And loosen the good root he has in Randolph ; |