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 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 foretell
And certify a part of thy narration;
With which, if the remainder tallies not,

An instant and a dreadful death abides thee.

Lady R. Ha! dost thou say so? Then perhaps
he lives!

Pris. Not many days ago he was alive.
Lady R. Oh, heav'nly Power! 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 searth thy soul. Anna. "Permit me, ever-honored! Keen impatience,

"Tho' hard to be restrain'd, defeats itself."

Lady R. Pursue thy story with a faithful tongue, To the last hour that thou didst keep the child. Pris. Fear not my faith, tho' I must speak my shame.

Pris. Then, thus abjur'd, I'll speak to thee as Within the cradle where the infant lay,

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 labor, 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 person
lost;

But looking sad and earnest on the waters,

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, travel'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 cwn secret, but my anxious wife,
Foreboding evil, never would consent.
Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and beauty,
And as we oft observed, he bore himself
Not as the offspring of our cottage blood,
For nature will break out; mild with the mild,
But with the forward 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, and when a desperate band

By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and Of robbers from the savage mountains came

round,

A basket; soon I drew it to the bank,

And nestled curious there an infant lay.

Lady R. Was he alive?

Pris. He was.

Lady R. Inhuman that thou art!

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 !

How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests No wonder, Anna, that my bosom burn'd.

spar'd?

Pris. I am not so inhuman.

Lady R. Didst thou not?

Anna. My noble mistress, you are mov'd too much;

Anna. Just are your transports; "ne'er was woman's heart

"Proved with such fierce extremes. High-fated dame!"

But yet remember that you are beheld

By servile eyes; your gestures may be seen Impassion'd strange; perhaps your words o'erheard.

This man has not the aspect of stern murder;
Let him go on, and you, I hope, will hear
Good tidings of your kinsman's long-lost child.
Pris. 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 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. Well dost thou counsel, Anna; heav'n
bestow

On me that wisdom which my state requires!
Anna. "The moments of deliberation pass,
And soon you must resolve. This useful man
"Must be dismiss'd in safety, ere my lord
"Shall with his brave deliverer return."

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 vain.
I am indeed the daughter of Sir Malcolm;
The child thou rescu'dst from the flood is mine.
Pris. Blest 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 thee
Sir Malcolm's house deserved not, if aright
Thou told'st the story of thine own distress.

Pris. Sir Malcolm of our Barons was the flower,
The fastest 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 judg'd my master,
And God so love me as I love his race!

Lady R. His race shall yet reward thee.
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 clifts of Carron?

Pris. I remember

The cottage of the clifts.

Lady R. 'Tis that I mean;

There dwells a man of venerable age,

Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks
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 arms,
Spurned the low dunghill where his fate had
thrown him,

And tower'd up to the region of his sire!

Anna. How fondly did your eyes devour the
boy!

Mysterious nature, with the unseen cord
Of powerful instinct, drew you to your own.
Lady R. The ready story of his birth believ'd,
Suppress'd my fancy quite; nor did he owe
To any likeness my so sudden favor.
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 your-
self

In public, lest your tenderness break forth,
And in observers stir conjectures strange.
On" For if a cherub in the shape of woman

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 hath told. No more but this, and thou
Shalt live in honor 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 should'st meet
Him whom thou call'st thy son, still call him so;
And mention nothing of his nobler father.

Should walk this world, yet defamation would, "Like a vile cur, bark at the angel's train—” To-day the baron started at your tears.

Lady R. He did so, Anna! well thy mistress
knows,

If the least circumstance, mote of offense,
Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would be
With jealousy disorder'd. But the more

It does behove me instant to declare
The birth of Douglas, and assert his rights.
This night I purpose with my son to meet,
Reveal the secret, and consult with him;
For wise is he, or my fond judgment errs.
As he does now, so look'd his noble father,
Array'd in nature's ease; his mien, his speech
Were sweetly simple, and full oft deceiv'd
Those trivial mortals who seem always wise.
But, when the matter match'd his mighty mind,
Up rose the hero; on his piercing eye
Sat observation; on each glance of thought
Decision follow'd, as the thunderbolt

Pris. Fear not that I shall mar so fair an har- Pursues the flash. rest,

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 in his arms;
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 th' assassin you suspected,

Tho' chance combin'd some likelihoods 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 STRANGER and SERVANTS.
My faithful Anna, dost thou share my joy?
I know thou dost. Unparallel'd event!
Reaching from heav'n to earth, Jehovah's arm
Snatch'd from the waves, and brings to me my

son!

Judge of the widow and the orphan's father!

Anna. That demon haunts you still;
Behold Glenalvon.

Lady R. Now I shun him not.
This day I brav'd him in behalf of Norval,
Perhaps too far-at least my nicer fears
For Douglas thus interpret.

Enter GLENALVON.

Glen. Noble dame!

The hov'ring Dane at last his men hath landed;
No band of pirates, but a mighty host,
That come to settle where their valor conquers-
To win a country, or to lose themselves.

Lady R. But whence comes this intelligence,
Glenalvon?

Glen. A nimble courier sent from yonder camp,
To hasten up the chieftains of the North,
Inform'd me as he pass'd, that the fierce Dane
Had on the eastern coast of Lothian landed,
"Near to that place where the sea-rock immense,
Amazing Base, looks o'er a fertile land.

Lady R. "Then must this western army march to join

"The warlike troop that guard Edina's tow'rs?

Norv. Small is the skill my lord delights to
praise

In him he favors. 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, ent'ring 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 th' 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,

And all the live-long day discourse on war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshal'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
Those qualities that should have grac'd
camp?

Norv. That, too, at last I learn'd.

man!

a

Unhappy

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

Enter an OFFICER.

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 war-
riors lead?

Has Denmark rous'd the brave old knight to arms?
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.
[Exit.
Lord R. May victory sit on the warrior's plume!
Bravest of men! his flocks and herds are safe;
Remote from war's alarms his pasture's lie,
By mountains inaccessible secur'd;
Yet foremost he into the plain descends,
Eager to bleed in battles not his own.
Such were the heroes of the ancient world;
Contemners they of indolence and gain;
But still for love of glory, and of arms,
Prone to encounter peril, and to lift
Against each strong antagonist the spear.
I'll go and press the hero to my breast. [Exit.
Lady R. The soldier's loftiness, the pride and

pomp

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

Norv. Ah! should they not?

Blest 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 gen'rous spirit in thy breast That could have well sustained a prouder fortune. "This way with me, under yon spreading beech,"

Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought-Since lucky chance has left us here alone,

The stranger fell, and with his dying breath
Declar'd his name and lineage! Mighty Power!
The soldier cried, My brother! Oh, my brother!
Lady R. His brother!

Norv. 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. To what mysterious woes are mortals
born!

In this dire tragedy were there no more
Unhappy persons? Did the parents live?

Nore. No; they were dead; kind heav'n had

clos'd their eyes

Before their son had shed his brother's blood.

Uuseen, unheard, by human eye or ear,
I will amaze thee with a wond'rous tale.

Norv. Let there be danger, lady, with the secret,
That I may hug it to my grateful heart,
And prove my faith. Command my sword, my life;
These are the sole possessions of poor Norval.
Lady R. Know'st thou these gems?
Norv. 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!

Norv. I saw them once, and curiously inquir'd Of both my parents whence such splendor came? But I was check'd, and more could never learn. Lady R. Then learn of me, thou art not Norval's son.

Norv. Not Norval's son !

Lady R. Nor of a shepherd sprung.

Norv. Lady, who am I then?

Lady R. Noble thou art;

For noble was thy sire!

Norv. I will believe

Lord R. Hard is his fate; for he was not to Oh, tell me farther! Say, who was my father?

Norv. You make me tremble-sighs and tears! Lives my brave father?

Lady R. Ah! too brave indeed!
He fell in battle ere thyself was born.

Norv. Ah, me, unhappy! ere I saw the light?
But does my mother live? I may conclude,
From my own fate, her portion has been sorrow.
Lady R. She lives; but wastes her life in con-

stant woe,

Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost.

Await the poor man's valor. Oh, my son!
The noblest blood of all the land's abash'd,
Having no lacquey but pale poverty.
Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas!
Too long hast thou been deem'd a peasant's child.
The wanton heir of some inglorious chief
Perhaps has scorn'd thee in the 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

Nore. You that are skill'd so well in the sad Must be hereafter told. Prudence directs

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 heav'n 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?

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.
Norv. I will remember. Where is Norval now?
That good old man.

Lady R. At hand conceal'd he lies,
But beware, my son,

Lady R. Thy virtue ends her woe! My son! An useful witness. my son!

Nore. Art thou my mother?

Lady R. I am thy mother and the wife of Doug-
las!
[Falls upon his neck.

Norv. Oh, heav'n and earth, how wondrous is
my fate!

Art thou my mother? Ever let me kneel!

Lady R. Image of Douglas! Fruit of fatal love!
All that I owe thy sire, I pay to thee.

Norv. 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?

Of yon Glenalvon; in his guilty breast
Resides a villain's shrewdness, ever prone
To false conjecture. He hath griev'd my heart.
Norv. Has he, indeed? Then let yon false
Glenalvon

Beware of me.

[Exit.

Lady R. There burst the smother'd flame!
Oh, 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!

Lady R. Arise, my son! In me thou dost be- Then let the minister of death descend,

hold

The poor remains of beauty once admired;
The autumn of my days is come already,
For sorrow made my summer haste away.
Yet in my prime I equal'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.
Norv. How did he fall? Sure 'twas a bloody
field

When Douglas died. Oh, I have much to ask!
Lady R. Hereafter thou shalt hear the length-
en'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
To right thee still; before the king I'll kneel,
And call Lord Douglas to protect his blood.

Norv. The blood of Douglas will protect itself.
Lady R. But we shall need both friends and
favor, 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.

Norv. 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

And bear my willing spirit to it's place.
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 pious cause!

Enter LORD RANDOLPH and GLENALVON.
Lord R. Yon gallant chief,

Of arms enamor'd, all repose disclaims.
Lady R. Be not, my lord, by his example sway'd;
Arrange the business of to-morrow now,
And when you enter, speak of war no more.

[Exit.

Lord R. "Tis so, by heav'n! 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 assassin 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