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men!

Tell 'em-with this I murder'd her I lov'd; Rev'rence this hero, and conduct him safe. The noblest and most virtuous among wo

[Dies.

Ner. Direct me, great inspirer of the soul! The soul of innocence, and pride of truth : How I should act, how judge in this distress! Tell 'em I laid my empire at her feet: Amazing grandeur! and detested rage! Tell 'em I plung'd my dagger in her blood: Ev'n I, amidst my tears, admire this foe, Tell 'em 1 so ador'd- and thus revengd her. And mourn his death, who liv'd to give me [Stabs himself.

[Curtain falls.

woe.

na

HOME. John Home, a native of Scotland, born in the vicinity of Ancrum, in Roxburgshire, in 1724, after the usual course of education for the church, was ordained and inducted to the living of Athelstaneford, and was the successor of the Rev. Mr. Blair, author of The Grave. In the rebellion of 1745 he took up arms in defence of the existing government, Ho was present at the battle of Falkirk; where he was taken prisoner, and, with five or six other gentlemen, escaped from the castle of Down. After the rebellion he resumed the duties of his profession. Having a lural inclination for the Belles Lettres, which he had cultivated with some care; he wrote his tragedy of Douglas, and presented it to the managers of tho Edinburgh Theatre. Ils reception will be easily imagined from the following anecdote. During the representation a young and sanguine Scoichman, in the pil, transported with delight and enthusiasm, cried out on a sudden with an air of triumph, “Weel lods; hwar's yeer Wolly Shokspeer nou !" (where is your William Shakspeare now). The author being a clergyman, the resentmoni of the elders of the kirk, and many other zealous members of that sect was inflamed, not only against him, but the performers also; on whom, together with him, they freely, denounced their anathemas in pamphlets and public papers.

The latter indeed it was out of their power greatly to injure ; but their rod was near falling very heavy on the anthor, whom the assembly repudiated, and cut off from his preferments. In England, however, he had the good fortune to meet with friends, and being through the interest of the Earl of Bule and some other persons of distinction, recommended to the notice of his present majesty, then Prinoe of Wales, his Royal Highness was pleased to bestow a pension on him; thus, sheltering him under his own patronage, he put it out of the power of either bigotry, envy, or malevolence to blast his laurels. Mr Home afterwards pursued his poetical efforts, and produced more dramatic pieces, which were brought on the stage in London; but Douglas must always stand as his master-piece in dramatic writing. never aflerwards resumed his clerical profession, which he had abandoned in 1757 ; but enjoyed a place under government in Scotland. Mr. Home, always the friend and patron of merit, as far as his circumstances would admit, was the means of bringing the celebrated poems of Ossian to light. While Macpherson was schoolmaster of Ruthven in Badenoch, he occupied his leisure hours in collecting, from the native, but illiterate bards of the mountains of Scotland, fragments of these inimitable poems; a few of them he translated, and inserted in a weekly Miscellany, then publishing at Edinburgh. The beauty of these pieces soon allracted the notice of Mr. Home, Dr. Robertson and Dr. Blair; and they resolved to sent Macpherson on a journey all over the Highlands, at their expence, tu collect the originals of those poems, which have since been a subject of so much controversy. Mr. Home died at Manchester-house near Edinburgh, Sept. the 4th 18c8.

Не

DOUGLAS.

This piece was first produced at Edinburgh, 1756; and the success it met with, induced our author to offer it to the London managers; where, notwithstanding all ihe influence exerted in its favour, it was refused by Garrick.

Mr. Rich, however, accepted it, and it was acted the first time at Covent-garden, March the 14th 1757 ; where its real worth soon placed it out of the reach of critical censure. 'The plot was suggested by the pathetical old Scotch ballad of Gil (or Child) Morrice, reprinted in the third volume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, and it is founded on the quarrels of the families of Douglas and other of the Scots clans. This tragedy has a great deal of pathos in it, some of the narratives are pleasingly affecting, and the descriptions poetically beautiful. On its first appearance Hume gave bis opinion, that is was one of the most interesting and pathetic pieces ever exhibited in any thcatre. He declared, that the author possessed the true theatric genius of Shakspeare and Olway; but we must remember, that the author was a Scotchman, consequently such extravagant praise requires no comment. Gray however had so high an opinion of this first drama of Mr. Home, that in a letter to a friend in 1757, he says, “I am greatly struck with the tragedy of Doug!us, though it has infinite faults: the author seems to have retrieved the true language of the Stage, which had been lost for these hundred years; and there is one scene (between Matilda and the Old Peasant) so masterly, that it strikes me blind to all the defects in the world." To this opinion every reader of taste will readily subscribe. Johnson blames Mr. Gray for concluding his celebrated odo with suicide; a circumstance borrowed perhaps from Douglas, in which lady Randolph, otherwise a blameless character, precipitates herself, like the Bard, from a cliff, into clernity.

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ACT I.

Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan. Scene I.— The Court of a Castle, surrounded Are e'er permitted to review this world,

Oh, Douglas! Douglas! if departed ghosis with Woods.

Within the circle of that wood thou art, Enter LADY RANDOLPH.

And with the passion of immortals hear'st Lady R. Ye woods and wilds, whose me- My lamentation: hear'st thy wretched wife lancholy gloom

Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost. Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn, The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart, Who perish'd with thee on this fatal day. Farewell awhile: I will not leave you long; But Randolph comes, whom fate has made For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells, Who from the chiding stream, or groaning oak, To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead.

my lord,

mourn:

me

my words.

Enter LORD RANDOLPH.

Anna, Have I distress'd you with officious Lord R. Again these weeds of woe! say,

love, dost thou well

And ill-tim'd mention of your brother's fate? To feed a passion which consumes thy life? Forgive me, lady: humble though I am, The living claim some duty; vainly thou The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune: Bestow'st thy cares upon the silent dead. So fervently I love you, that to dry. Lady R. 'Silent, alas! is he for whom I These piteous tears, I'd throw my life away.

Lady R. What power directed thy unChildless, without memorial of his name,

conscious tongue He only now in my remembrance lives. To speak as thou hast done? to Lord R. 'Time, that wears out the trace of Anna. I know not: deepest anguish,

But since my words have made my mistress Has past o'er thee in vain.

tremble, Sure thou art not the daughter of sir Malcolm: I will speak so no more; but silent mix Strong, was his rage, eternal his resentment: My tears with hers. For when thy brother fell, he smild to hear Lady R. No, thou shalt not be silent. That Douglas' son in the same field was slain. I'll trust thy faithful love, and thou shalt be Lady R. Oh! rake not up the ashes of my Henceforth the instructed partner of my woes fathers :

But what avails it? Can thy feeble pity Implacable resentment was their crime, Roll back the flood of never-ebbing time? And grievous has the expiation been. Compel the earth and ocean to give up Lord R. Thy grief wrests to its purposes Their dead alive?

Anna. What means my noble mistress? I never ask'd of thee that ardent love

Lady R. Didst thou not ask, what had my Which in the breasts of fancy's children burns.

sorrows been, Decent affection and complacent kindness If I in early youth had lost a husband ? Were all I wish'd for; but I wish'd in vain. In the cold bosom of the earth is lodgid, Hence with the less regret my eyes behold Mangled with wounds, the husband of my The storm of war that gathers o'er this land:

youth; If I should perish by the Danish sword, And in some cavern of the ocean lies Matilda would not shed one tear the more. My child and hisLady R. Thou dost not think so: woful Anna. Oh! lady most rever'd! as I am,

The tale wrapt up in your amazing words I love thy merit, and esteem thy virtues. Deign to unfold. But whither goest thou now?

Lady R. Alas! an ancient feud, Lord R. Straight to the camp,

Hereditary evil, was the source Where, every warrior on the tiptoe stands Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed, of expectation, and impatient asks

That my brave brother should in battle save Each who arrives, if he is come to tell The life of Douglas' son, our house's foe: The Danes are landed.

The youthful warriors vow'd eternal friendship. Lady R. O, may adverse winds,

To see the vaunted sister of his friend, Far from the coast of Scotland drive their Impatient, Douglas to Balarmo came, fleet!

Under a borrow'd name.--My heart he gain'd; And every soldier of both hosts return Nor did I long refuse the band he beggd: In peace and safety to his pleasant home! My brother's presence authoriz'd our marriage. Lord R. Thou speak'st a woman's, hear a Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings warrior's wish:

of down, Right from their native land, the stormy north, Had o'er us flown, when my lov'd lord was May the wind blow, till every keel is fix’d

call'd Immoveable in Caledonia's strand!

To fight his father's battles; and with him, Then shall our foes repent their bold invasion, In spite of all my tears, did Malcolm go. And roving armies shun the fatal shore. Scarce were they gone, when my stern sire Lady, farewell: I leave thee not alone;

was told, Yonder comes one whose love makes duty That the false stranger was lord Douglas' son. light.

[Exit

. Frantic with rage, the baron drew his sword,

And question'd me. Alone, forsaken, faint, Enter Anna.

Kneeling beneath his sword, falt'ring, I took Anna. Forgive the rashness of your Anna's An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would love;

Wed one of Douglas' name. Sincerity! I'rgd by affection, I bave thus presum'd Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave To interrupt your solitary thoughts; Thy onward path! although the earth should And warn you of the bours that you neglect,

gape, And lose in sadness.

And from the gulf of hell destruction cry, Lady R. So to lose my hours

To take dissimulation's winding way., Is all the use I wish to make of time.

Anna. Alas! how few of women's fearful Anna. To blame thee, lady, suits not with

kind my state:

Durst own a truth so hardy! But sure I am, since death first prey'd on man, Lady R. The first truth Never did sister thus a brother mourn. Is easiest to avow. This moral learn, What bad your sorrows been if you had lost, This precious moral, from my tragic tale.-In early youth the husband of your heart ? In a few days the dreadful tidings came Lady Ř. Oh!

That Douglas and my brother both were slain.

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

hast thou to do 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

beauty, A tale so sad as this.

Cannot be question'd: think of these good Ludy R. In the first days

gists; Of my distracting grief, I found myself- And then thy contemplations will be pleasing. As women wish to be who love their lords. Anna. Let women view yon monument of But who durst tell my father? the good priest

woe, Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient Then boast of beauty: who so fair as she? tutor,

But I must follow; this revolving day With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell: Awakes the memory of her ancient woes. They two alone were privy to the marriage.

[Erit. On silence and concealment I resolvid, Glen. So-Lady Randolph shuns me; byTill time should make my father's fortune mine.

and-by That very night on which my son was born, I'll woo her as the lion wooes his brides. My nurse, the only confidaní I had, The deed's a doing now, that makes me lord Set out with him io reach her sister's house: Of these rich valleys, and a chief of pow'r. But nurse, nor infant have I ever seen, The season is most apt; my sounding steps Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour. Will not be heard amidst the din of arms. Anna. Not seen nor heard of! then perhaps Randolph has liv'd too long; his better fate he lives.

Had the ascendant once, and kept me down: Lady R. No. It was dark December; wind When I had seiz'd the dame, by chance he and rain

came, Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay Rescu'd, and had the lady for his labour: The destin'd road, and in its swelling flood I 'scap'd unknown; a slender consolation ! My faithful servant perish'd with my child. Heav'n is my witness that I do not love Oh! had I died when my lor'd husband fell! To sow in peril, and let others reap Had some good angel op'd to me the book The jocund harvest. Yet I am not safe; Of Providence, and let me read my life, By love, or something like it, stung, inflam'd, My heart had broke, when I beheld the sum Madly I blabbd my passion to his wife, of ills, which one by one I have endur'd. And she has threatend to acquaint him of it. Anna. That God, whose ministers good The way of woman's will I do not know: angels are,

But well I know the baron's wrath is deadly. Hath shut the book, in mercy to mankind. I will not live in fear; the man I dread But we must leave this theme: Glenalvon Is as a Dane to me; ay, and the man comes;

Who stands betwixt me and my chief desireI saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes, No bar but he; she has no kinsman near; And hitherwards he slowly stalks his way: No brother in his sister's quarrel bold; Lady R. I will avoid him. An ungracious And for the righteous cause, a stranger's cause,

I know no chief that will defy Glenalvon. Is doubly irksome in an hour like this.

[E.tit. Anna. Why speaks my lady thus of Ran

ACT II. dolph's heir ?

SCENE I.-A Court, etc. Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Randolph's virtues.

Enter Servants and a Stranger at one Door, Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind

and LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA at another. An artificial image of himself:

Lady R. What means this clamour ? StranYet is he brave and politic in war,

ger, speak secure; And stands aloft in these unruly times. Hast thou been wrong’d? have these rude men Why I describe him thus I'll tell hereafter.

presum'd Stay, and detain him till I reach the castle. To vex the weary traveller on his way?

Exit. 1 Serv. By us

no stranger ever suffer'd Anna. Oh happiness! where art thou to be

wrong: found?

This man with outcry wild has call'd us forth; I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears. Though grac'd with grandeur, and in wealth array'd;

Enter LORD RANDOLPH and Norval, with Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue

their Swords drawn and bloody. dwell ;

Lady R. Not vain the stranger's fears! how Else had this gentle lady miss'd thee_vot.

fares

my lord ?

Lord R. That it fares well, thanks to this Enter GLENALVON.

gallant youth,

Whose valour sav'd me from a wretched death. Glen. What dost thou muse on, meditating As down the winding dale I walk'd alone, maid?

At the cross way four armed men attack'd me; Like some entranc'd and visionary seer, Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp, On earth thou stand'st, thy thoughts ascend to Who would have quickly laid lord Randolph heaven.

low, Anna. Would that I were, e'en as thou Had not this brave and generous stranger come, say'st, a seer,

Like my good angel, in the hour of fate, To have my doubts by heavenly vision clear’d. And mocking danger, made my foes his own.

person

pian hills

They turn'd upon him, but his active arm And, heaven directed, came this day to do
Struck to the ground, from whence they rose The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
no more,
Lord R. He is as wise as brave.

Was The fiercest two; the others fled amain,'

ever tale And left him master of the bloody field. With such a gallant modesty rehears'a ? Speak, lady Randolph, upon beauiy's tongue My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter now Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold; A nobler list, and in a monarch's sight Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord. Contend with princes for the prize of fame. Lady R. My lord, I cannot speak' what I will present thee to our Scottish king, now I feel;

Whose valiant spirit ever valour lov'd. My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heaven, Ah! my Matilda, wherefore starts that tear? And to this noble youth, who, all unknown Lady R. I cannot say; for various affecTo you and yours, deliberated not,

tions, Nor paus'd at peril, but, humanely brave, And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell; Fought on your side against such fearful odds. Yet each of them may well command a tear. Have you not learn'd of him whom we should I joy that thou art sase; and I admire thank ?

Him and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy Whom call the saviour of lord Randolph's life?

safety; Lord R. I ask'd that question, and he an- Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own. swer'd not;

Obscure and friendless he the army sought, But I must know who my deliverer is. Bent upon peril, in the range of death

[To Norval. Resolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his sword Nor. A low-born man, of parentage obs- To gain distinction which his birth denied. cure,

In this attempt, unknown he might have peWho nought can boast, but his desire to be

rish'd, A soldier, and to gain a name in arms. And gain'd with all his valour, but oblivion. Lord K. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is Now grac'd by thee, his virtues serve no more ennobl'd

Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope, By the great King of kings: thou art ordaind He stands conspicuous; fame and great renown And stamp'd a hero, by the sovereign hand Are brought within the compass of his sword. of nature! Blush not, flower of modesty On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke, As well as valour, to declare thy birth. And bless'd the wonder-working Lord of heaven. Nor. My name is Norval:, on the Gram- Lord R. Pious and grateful ever are thy

thoughts! My father seeds his flocks; a frugal swain, My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the Výhose constant cares were to increase bis

way. store,

Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon, And keep bis only son, myself, at home. In honour and command shall Norval be. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd Nor. I know not how to thank you. Rude To follow to the field some warlike lord:

I am And hear'n soon granted what my sire denied. In speech and manners: never till this hour This moon which rose last night, round as Stood I in such a presence: 'yet, my lord,

There's something in my breast, which makes Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light, A band of fierce barbarians, from ihe bills, To

say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy faRush'd like a torrent down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shep- Lady R. I will be sworn thou wilt nol. herds fled

Thou shalt be For safety and for succour. I alone, My knight; and ever, as thou didst to-day, With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, With happy valour guard the life of Randolph. Horer'd about the enemy, and mark'd

Lord R. Well hast thou spoke, The road he took; tben hasted to my friends,

forbid reply;

(To Norval. Wbom, with a troop of fifty.chosen men, We are thy debtors still. Thy high desert I met advancing. The pursuit I led, O’ertops our gratitude. I must proceed, Till we o'erlook the spoil-encumber'd foe, As was at first intended, to the camp. We fought and conquerd. Ere a sword was Some of my train I see are speeding hither, drawn,

Impatient doubtless of their lord's delay. An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall see chief,

The chosen warriors of thy native land, Wbo wore that day the arms which now I Who languish for the fight, and beat the air

With brandish'd swords. Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd Nor. Let us be gone, my lord. The sbepherd's slothful life; and having heard Lord R. [To Lady R.] About the tim That our good king had summond his bold

that the declining, sun peers

Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hill suspend, To lead their warriors to the Carron side, Expect us to relurn. This night once more I left my father's house, and took with me Within these walls I rest; my tent I pitch A chosen servant to conduct my sleps; To-morrow in the field. Prepare the feast: Yon trembling coward, who forsook his mas- Free is his heart who for his country fights: ter..

He in the eve of battle may resign Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these Himself to social pleasure : sweetest then, towers,

When danger to a soldier's soul endears

my shield,

me bold

Tour.

Let me

wear.

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

hast thou to do
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

beauty, A tale so sad as this.

Cannot be question'd: think of these good ti Ludy R. In the first days

gists; Of my distracting grief, I found myself, And then thy contemplations will be pleasing: As women wish to be who love their lords. Anna. Let women view yon monument of But who durst tell my father? the good priest

woe, Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient Then boast of beauty: who so fair as she? tutor,

But I must follow; this revolving day With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell: Awakes the memory of her ancient woes. They two alone were privy to the marriage.

[E.rit. On silence and concealment I resolv'd, Glen. So !-Lady Randolph shuns me; byTill time should make my father's fortune mine.

and-by That very night on which my son was born, I'll woo her as the lion wooes his brides. My nurse, the only confidant I had,

The deed's a doing now, that makes me lord Set out with him to reach her sister's house: Of these rich valleys, and a chief of pow'r. But nurse, nor infant have I ever seen, The season is most apt; my sounding steps Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour. Will not be heard amidst the din of arms. Anna. Not seen nor heard of! then perhaps Randolph bas lix'd too long; his better fate he lives.

Had the ascendant once, and kept me down: Lady R. No. It was dark December; wind When I had seiz'd the dame, by chance he and rain

came, Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay Rescu'd, and had the lady for his labour: The destin'd road, and in its swelling flood I 'scap'd unknown; a slender consolation ! My faithful servant perish'd with my child. Heav'n is my witness that I do not love Oh! had I died when my lor'd husband fell! To sow in peril, and let others reap Had some good angel op'd to me the book The jocund harvest. Yet I am not safe; Of Providence, and let ine read my life, By love, or something like it, stung, inflam’d, My heart had broke, when I beheld the sum Madly I blabbd my passion to his wife, of ills, which one by one I have endur'd. And she has threatend to acquaint him of it. Anna. That God, whose ministers good The way of woman's will I do not know: angels are,

But well I know the baron's wrath is deadly. Hath shut the book, in mercy to mankind. I will not live in fear; the man I dread But we must leave this theme: Glenalvon Is as a Dane to me; ay, and the man comes;

Who stands betwixt me and my chief desireI saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes, No bar but he; she has no kinsman near; And hitherwards he slowly stalks his way: No brother in his sister's quarrel bold; Lady R. I will avoid him. An ungracious And for the righteous cause, a stranger's cause, person

I know no chief that will defy Glenalvon. Is doubly irksome in an hour like this.

[Erit. Anna. Why speaks my lady thus of Ran

ACT II. dolph's heir ?

SCENE I.-A Court, etc. Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Randolph's virtues.

Enter Servants and a Stranger at one Door, Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind

and Lady RANDOLPH and ANNA at another. An artificial image of himself:

Lady R. What means this clamour ? StranYet is he brave and politic in war,

ger, speak secure; And stands aloft in these unruly times. llast thou been wrong'd? have these rude men Why I describe him thus I'll tell hereafter.

presum'd Stay, and detain him till I reach the castle. To vex the weary traveller on his way?

[Exit. 1 Serv. By us

no stranger ever sufferid Anna. Oh happiness! where art thou to be

wrong: found?

This man with outcry wild has call’d us forth I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears. Though grac'd with grandeur, and in wealth array'd;

Enter LORD RANDOLPH and Norval, wit! Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue

their Swords drawn and bloody. dwell

Lady R. Not vain the stranger's fears! hov Else bad this gentle lady miss’d thee_vot.

fares my lord ?

Lord R. That it fares well, thanks to th Enter GLENALVON.

gallant youth,

Whose valour sav'd me from a wretched deat Glen. What dost thou muse on, meditating As down the winding dale I walk'd alone, maid?

At the cross way four armed men attack'd m Like some entranc'd and visionary seer,

Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp, On earth thou stand'st, thy thoughts ascend to Who would have quickly laid lord Randole heaven.

low, Anna. Would that I were, e’en as thou Had not this brave and generous stranger con say'st, a seer,

Like my good angel, in the hour of fate, To have my doubts by heavenly vision clear'd. And mocking danger, made my foes his ow

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