My lord! my life! my husband!-mighty God!| Glen. What dost thou doubt of? What What had I done to merit such affliction?

Anna. My dearest lady, many a tale of tears With subjects intricate? Thy youth, thy I've listen'd to; but never did I hear

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
Hlas 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
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.

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;

Whilst thus I mus'd, a spark from fancy fell
On my sad heart, and kindled up a fondness To love's apology I listen not.

For this young stranger, wand'ring from his Mark thou my words: for it is meet thou

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

secret,

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.

[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.
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,
To catch myself, the subtle snare I set.
Why, rape and murder are not simple means!
The imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse;
And the intended murder introduc'd
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

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?
Curb'd, 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.
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 spurned from him.
I've known a follower's rankled bosom breed
Venom most fatal to his heedless lord. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-The sume.
Enter ANNA.

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

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

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

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,
Angels and seraphs, who delight in goodness, For these, I say: be stedfast to the truth;
Forsake your
skies and to her couch descend! Detected falsehood is most certain death.
There from her fancy chase those dismal forms
That haunt her waking; her sad spirit charm
With images celestial, such as please

The blest above upon their golden beds..

Enter Servant.

Sero. 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
His 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.
Anna. 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.
[Exit.

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!

child

But torture soon shall make you speak the truth.
Behold, the lady of lord Randolph comes:
Prepare yourself to meet her just revenge.

[Anna removes the Servants, and

returns.

Pris. Alas! I'm sore beset! let never man,
For sake of luere, 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 1
charge thee speak

The truth direct; for these to me foretel
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 per-
son lost;

Enter LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA. Anna. Summon your utmost fortitude, before

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.

How couldst thou kill what waves and tem

pests spar'd?

Pris. I am not so inhuman.

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

The tear stands in thine eye; such love from

My poverty hath sav'd my master's house! The needy man who has known better days, Lady R. Thy words surprise me: sure thou One whom distress has spited at the world, dost not feign! 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

thee

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 holy hermitage appears
Among the cliffs of Carron?

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, 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

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

so;

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 be, 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, Pris. Fear not that I shall mar
so fair a
Foreboding evil, never would consent.
harvest,
Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and By putting in my sickle ere 'tis ripe.
beauty;
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

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?

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,
Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks

mine.