But I must follow: this revolving day
Awakes the memory of her ancient woes.

[Exit Anna. Glen. [Solus.~] So! Lady Randolph shuns me:

by and by

I'll woo her as the lion wooes his bride.
The deed's adoing now, that makes me lord
Of these rich vallies, and a chief of power.
The season is most apt: my sounding steps
Will not be heard amidst the din of arms.
Randolph has lived too long: his better fate
Had the ascendant once, and kept me down:
When I had seized the dame, by chance he came,
Rescued, and had the lady for his labour.
I 'scaped unknown: a slender consolation!
Heaven is my witness that I do not love
To sow in peril, and let others reap
The jocund harvest. Yet I am not safe:
By love, or something like it, stung, inflamed,
Madly I blabb'd my passion to his wife,
And she has threaten'd to acquaint him of it.
The way of woman's will I do not know:
But well I know the baron's wrath is deadly.
1 will not live in fear: the man I dread
Is as a Dane to me; ay, and the man

Who stands betwixt me and my chief desire.
No bar but he; she has no kinsman near;
No brother in his sister's quarrel bold;
And for the righteous cause, a stranger's cause,
I know no chief that will defy Glenalvon. [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE,—A Court, $c. as before.

Enter Servants and a Stranger at one door, and Lady Randolph and Anna at another.

Lady Hand. What means this clamour? Stranger, speak secure; Hast thou been wrong'd? have these rude men

presumed To vex the weary traveller on his way?

1 Serv. By us no stranger ever suffer'd wrong: This man with outcry wild has call'd us forth; So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears.

Enter Lord Randolph and a Young Man, with their swords drawn and bloody.

Lady Rand. Not vain the stranger's fears!—

How fares my lord? Lord Rand. That it fares well, thanks to this

gallant youth,

Whose valour saved 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,
Had not this brave and generous stranger come,
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 Rand. My lord, I cannot speak what now

I feel.

My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heav'n;
And to this noble youth, who, all unknown
To you and yours, deliberated not,
Nor paused at peril, but humanely brave
Fought on your side, against such fearful odds.
Have you yet learn'd of him whom we should thank?
Whom call the saviour of Lord Randolph's life?

Lord Rand. I ask'd that question, and he answered not: But I must know who my deliverer is.

[ To the Stranger.

Strung. 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 Rand. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobled

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

Strung. 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 I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike lord:
And heav'n soon granted what my sire deny'd.
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,