Implacable resentment was their crime,
And grievous has the expiation been.

Lord R. Thy grief wrests to its purposes my words.

I never ask'd of thee that ardent love
Which in the breasts of fancy's children burns.
Decent affection and complacent kindness
Were all I wish'd for; but I wish'd in vain.
Hence with the less regret my eyes behold
The storm of war that gathers o'er this land:
If I should perish by the Danish sword,
Matilda would not shed one tear the more.
Lady R. Thou dost not think so: woful as
1 am,

I love thy merit, and esteem thy virtues.
But whither goest thou now?

Lord R. Straight to the camp,
Where every warrior on the tiptoe stands
Of expectation, and impatient asks
Each who arrives, if he is come to tell,
The Danes are landed.

Lady R. O, may adverse winds

Far from the coast of Scotland drive their fleet!
And every soldier of both hosts return
In peace and safety to his peaceful home!
Lord R. Thou speak'st a woman's, hear a
warrior's wish;

Right from their native land, the stormy north
May the wind blow, till every keel is fix'd
Immoveable in Caledonia's strand!
Then shall our foes repent their bold invasion,
And roving armies shun the fatal shore.
Lady, farewell: I leave thee not alone;
Yonder comes one whose love makes duty
light.
[Exit.

Enter ANNA.

Anna. Forgive the rashness of your Anna's love:

Urg'd by affection, I have thus presum'd
To interrupt your solitary thoughts;
And warn you of the hours that you neglect,
And lose in sadness.

Lady R. So to lose my hours

Is all the use I wish to make of time. Anna. To blame thee, lady, suits not with my state:

But sure I am, since death first prey'd on man,

Never did sister thus a brother mourn.
What had your sorrows been if you had lost,
In early youth, the husband of your heart?
Lady R. Oh!

Anna. Have I distress'd you with officious love,

And ill-tim'd mention of your brother's fate?
Forgive me, lady: humble though I am,
The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune:
So fervently I love you, that to dry
These piteous tears, I'd throw my life away.
Lady R. What power directed thy uncon-
scious tongue

To speak as thou hast done? to name-
Anna. I know not:

[tremble,
But since my words have made my mistress
I will speak so no more; but silent mix
My tears with hers.

Lady R. No, thou shalt not be silent. I'll trust thy faithful love, and thou shalt be Henceforth the instructed partner of my woes. But what avails it? Can thy feeble pity Roll back the flood of never-ebbing time?

Compel the earth and ocean to give up Their dead, alive?

Anna. What means my noble mistress? Lady R. Didst thou not ask, what had my sorrows been,

If I in early youth had lost a husband?
In the cold bosom of the earth is lodg'd,
Mangled with wounds, the husband of my
youth;

And in some cavern of the ocean lies
My child and his-

Anna. Oh! lady most rever'd!
The tale wrapt up in your amazing words
Deign to unfold.

Lady R. Alas! an ancient feud,
Hereditary evil, was the source

Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed
That my brave brother should in battle save
The life of Douglas' son, our house's foe;
The youthful warriors vow'd eternal friend-
To see the vaunted sister of his friend, [ship.
Impatient, Douglas to Balarmo came,
Under a borrow'd name. My heart he gain'd;
Nor did I long refuse the hand he begg'd:
My brother's presence authoris'd our mar-
riage.

Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings
of down,
[call'd
Had o'er us flown, when my lov'd lord was
To fight his father's battles; and with him,
In spite of all my tears, did Malcolm go.
Scarce were they gone, when my stern sire
was told,

That the false stranger was lord Douglas' son.
Frantic with rage, the baron drew his sword,
And question'd me. Alone, forsaken, faint,
Kneeling beneath his sword, falt'ring, I took
An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would
Wed one of Douglas' name. Sincerity!
Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave
Thy onward path, (although the earth should
gape,

And from the gulf of hell destruction cry,)
To take dissimulation's winding way!
Anna. Alas! how few of women's fearful
Durst own a truth so hardy!

Lady R. The first truth

[kind

Is easiest to avow. This moral learn,
This precious moral, from my magic tale.-
In a few days the dreadful tidings came
That Douglas and my brother both were slain.
My lord! my life! my husband!-mighty God!
What had I done to merit such affliction?

I've listened to; but never did I hear

Anna. My dearest lady, many a tale of tears

A tale so sad as this.

Lady R. In the first days

Of my distracting grief, I found myself-
As women wish to be who love their lords.
But who durst tell my father? the good priest
Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient

tutor,

With his loy'd Malcolm, in the battle fell:
They two alone were privy to the marriage.
On silence and concealment I resolv'd,
Till time should make my father's fortune
mine.

That very night on which my son was born,
My nurse, the only confidante I had,
Set out with him to reach her sister's house:
But nurse nor infant have I ever seen,
Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour.
Anna. Not seen nor heard of! then perhaps

he lives.

Lady R. No. It was dark December; wind and rain Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay

U

This man with outcry wild has call'd us forth; So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears. Enter LORD RANDOLPH and NORVAL, with their Swords drawn and bloody.

Lady R. Not vain the stranger's fears! how fares my lord?

Lord R. That it fares well, thanks to this gallant youth, Whose valour sav'd 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, [come, Had not this brave and generous stranger 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

I feel;

My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heaven, 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 not learn'd of him whom we should thank ?

Whom call the saviour of Lord Randolph's life? Lord R. I ask'd that question, and he answer'd not;

But I must know who my deliverer is.

[TO NORVAL. Nor. 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 [dain'd

By the great King of kings; thou art or-
And stamp'd a hero, by the sovereign hand
Of nature! Blush not, flower of modesty
As well as valour, to declare thy birth.

Nor. 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 1 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 shep-
herds fled

For safety and for succour. 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,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.
We fought and conquer'd. 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;
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these
towers,

And, heaven dírected, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Lord R. He is as wise as brave. Was ever
With such a gallant modesty rehears'd? [tale
My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter now
A nobler list, and in a monarch's sight
Contend with princes for the prize of fame.
I will present thee to our Scottish king,
Whose valiant spirit ever valour lov'd.
Ah! 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
Him and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy
safety:

Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own.
Obscure and friendless he the army sought,
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Resolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his sword
To gain distinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt, unknown he might have per-
ish'd,

And gain'd, with all his valour, but oblivion.
Now grac'd by thee, his virtues serve no more
Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope,
He stands conspicuous; fame and great re-

nown

Are brought within the compass of his sword. On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke, And bless'd the wonder-working Lord of heaven.

Lord R. Pious and grateful ever are thy thoughts! [way. My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon, In honour and command, shall Norval be. Nor. I know not how to thank you. Rude I am 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 [favour. To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy Lady R. I will be sworn thou wilt not. Thou shalt be

My knight, and ever, as thou didst to-day, With happy valour guard the life of Randolph. Lord R. Well hast thou spoke.

forbid reply;

Let me

We are thy debtors still. Thy high desert
[To NORVAL.

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 brandish'd swords.

Nor. Let us be gone, my lord.

Lord R. [To LADY R.] About the time that the declining sun

Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hill suspend,
Expect us to return. This night once more
Within these walls I rest; my tent I pitch
To-morrow in the field. Prepare the feast.
Free is his heart who for his country fights:
He in the eve of battle may resign
Himself to social pleasure: sweetest then,
When danger to a soldier's soul endears
The human joy that never may return.

[Exeunt LORD R. and NOR. 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
Of love and fondness.
[hours

Wretch that I am! Alas! why am I so?
At every happy parent I repine.
How bless'd the mother of yon happy Norval!
She for a living husband bore her pains,
And heard him bless her when a man was

Your grief afresh? I thought that gallant Would for a while have won you from your On him intent you gazed, with a look [woe. Much more delighted, than your pensive eye Has 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, [favour. With all my power, and grace with all my Anna. Sure, heaven will bless so gen'rous a

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-

Glen. I have; and that the villains may not scape,

With a strong band I have begirt the wood.
If they lurk there, alive they shall be taken,
And torture force from them the important
secret,

Whether some foe of Randolph's hired their
Or if
Lady R. That care becomes a kinsman's love.
[swords,
I have a counsel for Glenalvon's ear.

[Exit ANNA. Glen. To him your counsels always are commands.

Lady R. I have not found so; thou art known

to me.

Glen. Known!

Lady R. 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 R. Is guilt so bold? and dost thou
make a merit

Of thy pretended meekness? this to me,
Who, 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. [shouldst.
Mark thou my words: for it is meet thou
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 lookest 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.
[Exit.

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.

[ACT IN. The darts of destiny have almost plerc'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 I set. The imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse; Why, rape and murder are not simple means! And the intended murder introduc'd A favourite to hide the sun from me; This were thy centre, if I thought she lov'd And, worst of all, a rival. Burning hell! him! "Tis certain she contemns me; nay, commands [me, In his behalf. And shall I thus be brav'd? And waves the flag of her displeasure o'er me, Infernal fiends, if any fiends there are Curb'd, as she calls it, by dame Chastity? Rise up, and fill my bosom with your fires. More fierce than hate, ambition, and revenge, Darkly a project peers upon my mind, Like the red moon when rising in the east, Cross'd and divided by strange colour'd clouds. I'll seek the slave who came with Norval hither,

And for his cowardice was spurn'd from him. I've known a follower's ranksed bosom breed Venom most fatal to his heedless lord. [Exit.

ACT III.

Enter SERVANT.

a heart,