The human joy that never may return.
[Exeunt Lord Randolph and Norval.
Lady R. His parting words have struck a
fatal truth.

Oh, Douglas! Douglas! tender was the time
When we two parted, ne'er to meet again!
How many years of anguish and despair
Has heaven annex'd to those swift passing hours
Of love and fondness.

Wretch that I am! Alas! why am I so?
At every happy parent I repine.
How blest the mother of yon 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 awhile have won you from your woe.
On him intent you gazed, with a look
Much more delighted, than your pensive eye
Hlas deign'd 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,
He might have been like this young gallant
stranger,

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
number'd.

Whilst thus I mus'd, a spark from fancy fell
On my sad heart, and kindled 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
favour.

Anna, Sure, heaven' will bless so gen'rous
a resolve.

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.
I'll be the artist of young Norval's fortune.
Enter GLENALVON.

Glen. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble
Randolph ?

Lady R. Have you not heard, Glenalvon,
of the base-

I have a counsel for Glenalvon's ear.

Lady R. And most certain is my cause o
knowledge.
By the mos

Glen. What do you know?
blessed cross,

You much amaze me. No created being,
Yourself except, durst thus accost Glenalvon
Lady R. Is guilt so bold? and dost thou

make a merit

Of thy pretended meekness? this to me,
Vho, with a gentleness which duty blames,
Have hitherto conceal'd, what, if indulg'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 wo-

mankind!

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
Through the dry heath before 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, practise ought against him:
Let not thy jealousy attempt to shake
And loosen the good root he has in Randolph,
Whose favourites I know thou hast supplanted.
Thou look'st at me, as if thou 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 foe.

[Exil.

Glen. Child that I was to start at my own
shadow,

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, Glen. I have; and that the villains may not To catch myself, the subtle snare I set.

'scape,

Why, rape and murder are not simple means! With a strong band I have begirt the wood. The imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse; If they lurk there, alive they shall be taken, And the intended murder introduc'd

And torture force from them the important A favourite to hide the sun from me;
And worst of all, a rival. Burning hell!
Whether some foe of Randolph's hir'd their This were thy centre, if I thought she lov'd

Or if

secret,

swords,

Lady R. That care becomes a kinsman's love.

him!

'Tis certain she contemns me; nay, commands

me,

Is not more innocent than I of murder.
Lady R. Of this man's guilt what proof
can ye produce?

1 Serv. We found him lurking in the hol-
low glen.

And waves the flag of her displeasure o'er me, The tender lamb, that never nipt the grass,
In his behalf. And shall I thus be brav'd?
Cd, 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 my bosom with your fires.
Dorkly a project peers upon my mind,
Like the red moon when rising in the east,
Cross'd and divided by strange colour'd clouds.
Fl seek the slave who came with Norval hither,
And for his cowardice was spurned from him.
fre known a follower's rankled bosom breed
Venom most fatal to his heedless lord. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE L-The same.
Enter ANNA.

Anaa. Thy vassals, grief, great nature's or-
der break,

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 search'd his clothes,
And found these jewels, whose rich value plead
Most pow'rfully against him. Hard he seems,
And old in villany. 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 grey hairs bring to the grave with
pain.

Lady R. Account for these; thine own they
cannot be :

And change the noontide 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,
Acels and seraphs, who delight in goodness, For these, I say: be stedfast to the truth;
Fake your skies and to her couch descend! Detected falsehood is most certain death.
There from her fancy chase those dismal forms
Trat haunt her waking; her sad spirit charm
With images celestial, such as please
The blest above upon their golden beds.

Enter Servant.

Sere. One of the vile assassins is secur'd,
We found the villain lurking in the wood:
With dreadful imprecations he denies
All knowledge of the crime. But this is not
Has 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.
dana. 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.

Enter Servants, with a Prisoner. Pris. I know no more than does the

unborn

Of what you charge me with. 1 Serv. You say so, sir!

[Exit.

child

[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 forctel And certify a part of thy narration, With which, if the remainder tallies not, An instant and a dreadful death abides thee. Pris. Then, thus adjur'd, I'll speak to you as just

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 labour, 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 You speak with him. Your dignity, your fame, Of one in jeopardy, I rose, and ran Are now at stake. Think of the fatal secret, To where the circling eddy of a pool, Which in a moment from your lips may fly. Beneath the ford, us'd oft to bring within Lady R. Thou shalt behold me, with a des-My reach whatever floating thing the stream Had caught. The voice had ceas'd; the person lost;

Battorture 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, be-
fore

perate heart,

Hear how my infant perish'd. See, he kneels.

[The Prisoner kneels. But looking sad and earnest on the waters, Pris. Heaven bless that countenance so sweet By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and

and mild!

round,

A judge like thee makes innocence more bold. A basket: soon I drew it to the bank,

Oh, save me, lady, from these cruel men,

Who have attack'd and seiz'd me; who accuse
Me of intended murder. As I hope
For mercy at the judgment-seat of heaven.

And nestled curious there an infant lay.

Lady R. Was he alive?

Pris. He was.

Lady R. Inhuman that thou art!

Pris. Bless'd be the hour that made me a poor man;

How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests spar'd?

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

Pris. I am not so inhuman. 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 Sir Malcolm's house deserv'd not; if aright Thou told'st the story of thy own distress. Pris. Sir Malcolm of our barons was the flower;

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. Ha! dost thou say so! then per-
haps he lives!

Pris. Not many days ago he was alive.
Lady R. Oh, God of heav'n! 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.
riddler, speak
Direct and clear; else I will search thy soul.
Pris. Fear not my faith, though I must
speak my shame;

The safest 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 judge my master!
And God so love me as I love his race!

Lady R. His race shall yet reward thee.
On thy faith

Thou 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 cliffs of Carron?

Within the cradle where the infant lay,
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, travelled to the north,
Bought flocks and herds, and gradually brought
forth

Pris. I remember the cottage of the cliffs.
Lady R. 'Tis that I mean:

There dwells a man of venerable age,
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 hast told. No more but this, and thou
Shalt live in honour 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 shouldst

meet

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, And mention nothing of his nobler father.
With his own secret: but my anxious wife,
Foreboding evil, never would consent.
Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and
beauty;

Him, whom thou call'st thy son, still call him

And, as we oft observ'd, he bore himself,
Not as the offspring of our cottage blood;
For nature will break out: mild with the mild,
But with the froward 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; for when a desperate band
Of robbers from the savage mountains came-
Lady R. Eternal Providence! What is thy

so;

Pris. Fear not that I shall mar so fair a
harvest,

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 on his arm;
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 the assassin you suspected,

Though chance combin'd some likelihood
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

Oh, sovereign mercy! 'twas my child I saw!
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. I
Lady R. With thee dissimulation now

were vain.

hither.

[Exeunt Prisoner and Servants. My faithful Anna! dost thou share my joy? know thou dost. Unparallel'd event! Reaching from heav'n to earth, Jehovah's arm Snatch'd from the waves, and brings me to my son!

I am indeed the daughter of sir Malcolm;
The child thou rescu'dst from the flood is Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father,

mine.

Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks

To win a country, or to lose themselves.
A nimble courier, sent from yonder camp,
To basten up the chieftains of the north,
Inform'd me as he pass'd, that the fierce Dane
Had on the eastern coats of Lothian landed.
Lady R. How many mothers shall bewail To wait our pleasure at the castle gate.

SCENE I-Flourish of Trumpets.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH, attended.
Lord R. Summon a hundred horse, by break
of day,

Lady R. Immense, as fame reports, the Da-Those qualities that should have grac'd a camp? Nor. That too at last I learn'd. Unhappy man!

nish host!

Lord R. Were it as numerous as loud fame

reports,

Returning homewards by Messina's port, An army knit like ours would pierce it through: Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won, Brothers that shrink not from each other's side, A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea And fond companions, fill our warlike files: Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought: For his dear offspring, and the wife he loves, The stranger fell, and with his dying breath The husband, and the fearless father arm: Declar'd his name and lineage. Mighty pow'r! In vulgar breasts heroic ardour burns, The soldier cried, My brother! Oh, my brother! And the poor peasant mates his daring lord. Lady R. His brother! 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
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:

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 its phrase
A language taught amongst the shepherd swains.
Nor. Small is the skill my lord delights to
praise

In him he favours. 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, entering 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 the 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,

.

Nor. 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. In this dire tragedy were there no

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 Glenalcon.
Offi. My lord, requests are vain.
He urges on, impatient of delay,
Stung with the tidings of the foe's approach.
Lord R. May victory sit upon the warrior's

plume!
Bravest of men! his flocks and herds are safe;
Remote from war's alarms his pastures lie,
By mountains inaccessible secur'd:
Yet foremost he into the plain descends,
Eager to bleed in battles not his own.
I'll go and press the hero to my breast.

And all the live-long day discourse of war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'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: Nor. Ah! should they not?
For all that Saracen or Christian knew Bless'd be the hour I left my father's house!
Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known. I might have been a shepherd all my days,
Lord R Why did this soldier in a desert And stole obscurely to a peasant's grave.
Now, if I live, with mighty chiefs I stand;

[Exit with the Officer.
Lady R. The soldier's loftiness, the pride
and pomp
Investing awful war, Norval, I see,
Transport thy youthful mind.

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