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Are now at stake. Think of the fatal secret, Which in a moment from your lips may fly. Lady R. Thou shalt behold me, with a desperate heart,

Hear how my infant perish'd. See, he kneels. Pris. Heaven bless that countenance, so sweet and mild!

A judge like thee makes innocence more bold.
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,
The tender lamb, that never nipt the grass,
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 hollow glen.

When view'd and call'd upon, amaz'd he fled; We overtook him, and enquir'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 valué plead

Most powerfully 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,

[assail, Which these weak hands, I swear, did ne'er And by your children's welfare, spare my age! Let not the iron tear my ancient joints, And my gray hairs bring to the grave with pain.

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

For these, I say: be steadfast to the truth;
Detected falsehood is most certain death.

[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 fortel
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 Malcom, 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
Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran
To where the circling eddy of a pool,
Beneath the ford, us'd oft to bring within
My reach whatever floating thing the stream
Had caught. The voice was ceas'd; the per-
son lost;

But, looking sad and earnest on the waters,

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Pris. He was.

Lady R. Inhuman that thou art! How couldst thou kill what waves and tem pests spar'd?

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 heads, and wonder who could
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 heaven! 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. Thou riddler, speak

Direct and clear; else I will search thy soul. Pris. Fear not my faith, though I must

speak my shame :

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, travell'd to the north,
Bought flocks and herds, and gradually
brought forth

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,
With his own secret: but my anxious wife,
Foreboding evil, never would consent.
Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and
beauty;

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

name?

Pris. My name is Norval; and my name he bears.

Lady R. 'Tis he! 'tis he himself! It is my

son!

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.

Lady R. With thee, dissimulation now were | For such a gift! What does my Anna think
Of the young eaglet of a valiant nest?
How soon he gaz'd on bright and burning

vain.

I am indeed the daughter of Sir Malcolm; The child thou rescu'dst from the flood is mine.

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

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

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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 heaven 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

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?

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
[so;
Him, whom thou call'st thy son, still call him
And mention nothing of his nobler father.
Pris. Fear not that I shall mar so fair a
harvest,

meet

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 hither.

[Exeunt PRISONER and SERVANTS. My faithful Anna! 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

arms,

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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, least 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

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their sons!

How many widows weep their husbands slain!
Ye dames of Denmark, even 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

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Glen. One instant stay, and hear an alter'd | Brothers that shrink not from each other's

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 show how truly:
Yet one immediate proof I mean to give.
That youth, for whom your ardent zeal to-day
Somewhat too haughtily defied 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 unbless'd.
[Exit LADY RANDOLPH.
Glen. Amen! and virtue is its own reward:
I think that I have hit the very tone
In which she loves to speak. Honey'd assent,
How pleasant art thou to the taste of man,
And woman also ! flattery direct
Rarely 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:
While she and Randolph live, and live in faith
And amity, uncertain is my tenure.
The slave of Norval's I have found most apt;
I show'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 ob-
served

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.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-The same.

Enter LORD RANDOLPH, attended.

[Exit.

Lord R. Summon a hundred horse, break of day,

To wait our pleasure at the castle gate.

Enter LADY RANDOLPH.

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 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 now he comes,
In earnest conversation with Glenaĺvon.
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: [man,
Norval thou goest with me. But say, young
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,"

by 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

Lady R. Alas, my lord, I've heard unwel- The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land.

come news;

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,

[back,

And stain with hostile blood his maiden arms.
The Danes are landed: we must beat them
Or live the slaves of Denmark.
Lady R. Dreadful time!
Lord R. The fenceless villages are all for-
saken;
[lodg'd
The trembling mothers and their children
In wall-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:

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,

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:
For all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.
Lord R. Why did this soldier in a desert
hide
[camp?
Those qualities that should have grac'd a
Nor. That too at last I learn'd. Unhappy

man!

Returning homewards by Messina's port,
Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won,
A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea

my life:

Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought: | And prove my faith. Command my sword, The stranger fell, and with his dying breath Declar'd his name and lineage. Mighty power! [ther! The soldier cried, my brother! Oh, my broLady R. His brother!

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Offi. My lord, the trumpets of the troops of Lorn!

The valiant leader hails the noble Randolph.
Lord R. Mine ancient guest! does he the
warriors lead?
[arms?
Has Denmark rous'd the brave old knight in
Offi. No; worn with warfare, he resigns the
sword.

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 GLENALVON.
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.

[Exit with OFFICER. Lady R. The soldier's loftiness, the pride

and pomp

Investing awful war, Norval, I see,
Transport thy youthful mind.

Nor. Ah! should they not?
Bless'd be the hour I left my father's house!
I might have been a shepherd all my days,
And stole obscurely to a peasant's grave.
Now, if I live, with mighty chiefs I stand;
And, if I fall, with noble dust I lie.

Lady R. There is a generous spirit in thy breast, [tune. That could have well sustain'd a prouder forThis way with me; under yon spreading beech, Unseen, unheard, by human eye or ear, I will amaze thee with a wondrous talé. Nor. Let there be danger, lady, with the secret,

That I may hug it to my grateful heart,

These are the sole possessions of poor Norval.
Lady R. Know'st thou these gems?
Nor. Durst I believe mine eyes,

I'd say I knew them, and they were my father's. Lady R. Thy father's, say'st thou? ah, they were thy father's!

Nor. I saw them once, and curiously inquir'd [came. Of both my parents, whence such splendour But I was check'd, and more could never learn.

Lady R. Then learn of me-thou art not Norval's son.

Nor. Not Norval's son?

Lady R. Nor of a shepherd sprung.
Nor. Who am I then?
Lady R. Noble thou art,
For noble was thy sire.

Nor. I will believe

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Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost. Nor. You that are skill'd so well in the

sad story

Of my unhappy parents, and with tears
Bewail their destiny, now have compassion
Upon the offspring of the friends you lov'd;
Oh, tell me who and where my mother is!
Oppress'd by a base world, perhaps she bends
Beneath the weight of other ills than grief;
And, desolate, implores of heaven the aid
Her son should give. It is, it must be, so-
Your countenance confesses that she's
wretched.

Oh, tell me her condition! Can the sword-
Who shall resist me in a parent's cause?
Lady R. Thy virtue ends her woe-My son !
my son!

I am thy mother, and the wife of Douglas!
[Falls upon his neck.
Nor. Oh, heaven and earth! how wondrous
is my fate!

Art thou my mother? Ever let me kneel!
Lady R. Image of Douglas! fruit of fatal
All that I owe thy sire I pay to thee. [love!
Nor. Respect and admiration still possess

me,

Checking the love and fondness of a son:
Yet I was filial to my humble parents.
But did my sire surpass the rest of men,
As thou excellest all of womankind?

Lady R. Arise, my son. In me thou dost behold

The poor remains of beauty once admir'd.
Yet in my prime I equall'd not thy father;
His eyes were like the eagle's, yet sometimes
Liker the dove's; and, as he pleas'd, he won
All hearts with softness, or with spirit aw'd.
Nor. How did he fall? Sure 'twas a bloody
field
[ask!
When Douglas died! Oh, I have much to

Lady R. Hereafter thou shalt hear the | Arrange the business of to-morrow now,

lengthen❜d tale

Of all thy father's and thy mother's woes.
At present this-Thou art the rightful heir
Of yonder castle, and the wide domains,
Which now Lord Randolph, as my husband,

holds.

But thou shalt not be wrong'd; I have the power [kneel, To right thee still. Before the king I'll And call Lord Douglas to protect his blood. Nor. The blood of Douglas will protect itself.

Lady R. But we shall need both friends and favour, boy,

To wrest thy lands and lordship from the gripe Of Randolph and his kinsman. Yet I think My tale will move each gentle heart to pity, My life incline the virtuous to believe.

Nor. To be the son of Douglas is to me
Inheritance enough! Declare my birth,
And in the field I'll seek for fame and fortune.
Lady R. Thou dost not know what perils
and injustice

Await the poor man's valour. Oh, my son!
The noblest blood of all the land's abash'd,
Having no lackey but pale poverty.
Too long hast thou been thus attended, Doug-
las!
[child:
Too long hast thou been deem'd a peasant's
The wanton heir of some inglorious chief
Perhaps has scorn'd thee in thy youthful

sports,

Whilst thy indignant spirit swell'd in vain.
Such contumely thou no more shalt bear :
But how I purpose to redress thy wrongs
Must be hereafter told. Prudence directs
That we should part before yon chief's return.
Retire, and from thy rustic follower's hand
Receive a billet, which thy mother's care,
Anxious to see thee, dictated before
This casual opportunity arose

Of private conference. Its purport mark;
For, as I there appoint, we meet again.
Leave me, my son, and frame thy manners still
To Norval's, not to noble Douglas' state.
Nor. I will remember. Where is Norval
That good old man?

[now,

Lady R. At hand conceal'd he lies, A useful witness. But beware, my son, Of yon Glenalvon; in his guilty breast Resides a villain's shrewdness, ever prone To false conjecture. He hath griev'd my heart.

Nor. Has he, indeed? Then let yon false Glenalvon

Beware of me.

[Exit.

Lady R. There burst the smother'd flame. O, thou all-righteous and eternal King! Who father of the fatherless art call'd, Protect my son! thy inspiration, Lord! Hath fill'd his bosom with that sacred fire, Which in the breasts of his forefathers burn'd: Set him on high, like them, that he may shine The star and glory of his native land!Yonder they come. How do bad women find Unchanging aspects to conceal their guilt, When I, by reason and by justice urg'd Full hardly can dissemble with these men In nature's rious cause?

Enter LORD RANDOLPH and GLENALVON.

Lord R. Yon gallant chief,

Of arms enamour'd, all repose disclaims. Lady R. Be not, my lord, by his example sway'd.

And when you enter, speak of war no more.

[Exit.

Lord R. "Tis so, by heaven! her mien, her voice, her eye,

And her impatience to be gone, confirm it. Glen. He parted from her now. Behind the mount,

Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along. Lord R. For sad sequester'd virtue she's re

nown'd.

Glen. Most true, my lord.

Lord R. Yet this distinguish'd dame
Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day,
Alone to meet her at the midnight hour.
This assignation, [Shows a letter.] the assas-
sin freed,

Her manifest affection for the youth,
Might breed suspicion in a husband's brain,
Whose gentle consort all for love had wedded:
Much more in mine. Matilda never lov'd me.
Let no man, after me, a woman wed,
Whose heart he knows he has not, though she
bring

A mine of gold, a kingdom, for her dowry; For let her seem, like the night's shadowy queen,

Cold and contemplative-he cannot trust her; She may, she will, bring shame and sorrow on him;

The worst of sorrows, and the worst of shames! Glen. Yield not, my lord, to such afflicting thoughts,

But let the spirit of a husband sleep,
Till your own senses make a sure conclusion.
This billet must to blooming Norval go:
At the next turn awaits my trusty spy;
I'll give it him refitted for his master.
In the close thicket take your secret stand,
The moon shines bright, and your own eyes
may judge

Of their behaviour.

Lord R. Thou dost counsel well.

Glen. Permit me now to make one slight essay:

Of all the trophies, which vain morta's boast,
By wit, by valour, or by wisdom, won,
The first and fairest in a young man's eye
Is woman's captive heart. Successful love
With glorious fumes intoxicates the mind,
And the proud conqueror in triumph moves,
Air-borne, exalted above vulgar men.

Lord R. And what avails this maxim?
Glen. Much, my lord.

Withdraw a little; I'll accost young Norval,
And with ironical, derisive counsel
Explore his spirit. If he is no more
Than humble Norval, by thy favour rais'd,
Brave as he is, he'll shrink astonish'd from me:
But, if he be the favourite of the fair,
Lov'd by the first of Caledonia's dames,
He'll turn upon me, as the lion turns
Upon the hunter's spear.

Lord R. "Tis shrewdly thought.

Glen. When we grow loud, draw near. But let my lord

His rising wrath restrain.- [Exit RANDOLPH. 'Tis strange, by heaven!

That she should run full tilt her fond career To one so little known. She, too, that seem'd Pure as the winter stream, when ice, em

boss'd,

Whitens its course. Even I did think her chaste,

Whose charity exceeds not. Precious sex! Whose deeds lascivious pass Glenalvon's thoughts!

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