But sure I am, since death first prey'd on man,
Never did sister thus a brother mourn,
What had your sorrows been, if you had lost,
In early youth, the husband of your heart?
Lady R. Oh!
Anna. Have I distress'd you with officious love,
And ill-tim'd mention of your brother's fate?
Forgive me, lady: humble though I am,
The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune:
So fervently I love you, that to dry
These piteous tears, I'd throw my life away.
Lady R. What power directed thy unconscious
But since my words have made my mistress tremble,
I will speak no more; but silent mix
My tears with hers.
Lady R. No, thou shalt not be silent.
I'll trust thy faithful love, and thou shalt be
Henceforth th' instructed partner of my woes.
But what avails it? Can thy feeble pity
Roll back the flood of never-ebbing time?
Compel the earth and ocean to give up
Their dead alive?
Anna. What means my noble mistress?
An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would
Wed one of Douglas' name. Sincerity!
Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave
Thy onward path! although the earth should gape,
And from the gulf of hell destruction cry
To tak dissimulation's winding way.
Anna. Alas! how few of woman's fearful kind Durst own a truth so hardy!
Is easiest to avow. This moral learn,
This precious moral, from my tragic tale-
In a few days the dreadful tidings came,
That Douglas and my brother both were slain.
My lord! my life! my husband!-Mighty Heaven
What had I done to merit such affliction?
Anna. My dearest lady! many a tale of tears
I've listened to; but never did I hear
A tale so sad as this.
Lady R. In the first days
Of my distracting grief, I found myself—
As women wish to be, who love their lords.
But who durst tell my father? The good priest,
Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient tutor,
With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell;
They two alone were privy to the marriage.
On silence and concealment I resolved,
Till time should make my father's fortune mine.
That very night on which my son was born,
My nurse, the only confidant I had,
Set out with me to reach her sister's house :
But nurse nor infant have I ever seen,
Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour.
Anna. Not seen, or heard of! Then perhaps he lives.
Lady R. No, it was dark December; wind and
Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay
The destin'd road; and in its swelling flood
My faithful servant perished with my child.
Oh! had I died, when my lov'd husband fell!
Had some good angel ope'd to me the book
Lady R. Didst thou not ask what had my sor- Of providence, and let me read my life,
If I, in early youth, had lost a husband?—
In the cold bosom of the earth is lodged,
Mangled with wounds, the husband of my youth;
And in some cavern of the ocean lies
My child and his!
Anna. Oh! lady most revered!
The tale, wrapt up in your amazing words.
Deign to unfold.
Lady R. Alas! an ancient feud,
Hereditary evil, was the source
Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed,
That my brave brother should in battle save
The life of Douglas' son, our house's foe:
The youthful warriors vow'd eternal friendship.
To see thy vaunted sister of his friend,
Impatient, Douglas to Balarmo came,
Under a borrow'd name.-My heart he gain'd,
Nor did I long refuse the hand he begg'd:
My brother's presence authorized our marriage.
Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings of
down,
Had o'er us flown, when my loved lord was call'd
To fight his father's battles; and with him,
In spite of all my tears, did Malcolm go.
Scarce were they gone, when my stern sire was told,
That the false stranger was Lord Douglas' son.
Frantic with rage, the baron drew his sword,
And question'd me. Alone, forsaken, faint,
Kneeling beneath his sword, falt'ring, I took
My heart had broke, when I beheld the sum
Of ills which, one by one, I have endured!
Anna. That Power, whose ministers good angels
Hath shut the book, in mercy to mankind.
But we must leave this theme: Glenalvon comes:
I saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes,
And hitherwards he slowly stalks his way.
Lady R. I will avoid him. An ungracious person Is doubly irksome in an hour like this.
Anna. Why speaks my lady thus of Randolph's heir?
Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Randolph's virtues.
Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind
An artificial image of himself;
And he with ease can vary to the taste
Of different men, its features;
Yet is he brave and politic in war,
And stands aloft in these unruly times.
Why I describe him thus I'll tell hereafter;
Stay, and detain him till I reach the castle.
[Exit Lady RANDOLPH. Anna. Oh, happiness! where art thou to be
I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, Though graced with grandeur, and in wealth ar
Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue dwell, Else had this gentle lady miss'd thee not.
Gle. What dost thou muse on, meditating maid? Like some entranced and visionary seer,
On earth thou stand'st, thy thoughts ascend to heaven.
Anna. Would that I were, e'en as thou say'st, a
To have my doubts by heavenly vision clear'd! Gle. What dost thou doubt of? What hast thou to do
With subjects intricate? Thy youth, thy beauty, Cannot be questioned: think of these good gifts; And then thy contemplations will be pleasing.
Anna. Let women view yon monument of woe, Then boast of beauty: who so fair as she? But I must follow; this revolving day Awakes the memory of her ancient woes.
[Exit ANNA. Gle. [Solus.] So!-Lady Randolph shuns me; by and by
I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride.
The deed's a doing now, that makes me lord
Of these rich valleys, and a chief of power.
The season is most apt; my sounding steps
Will not be heard amidst the din of arms.
Randolph has liv'd too long: his better fate
Had the ascendant once, and kept me down :
When I had seiz'd the dame, by chance he came,
Rescued, and had the lady for his labour:
I'scap'd unknown! a slender consolation!
Heav'n 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 threatened 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.
I 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.
Enter Servants and a Stranger at one door, and Lady
RANDOLPH and ANNA at another.
Lady R. 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 Attendants, Lord RANDOLPH, and a Young Man, with their swords drawn and bloody. Lady R. Not vain the stranger's fears! How fares my lord?
Lord R. 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 crossway, four arm'd men attacked me:
Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp;
Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph low.
Had not this brave and gen'rous 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
The fiercest two: the others filed 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 R. My lord, I cannot speak what now I
feel;
My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heav'n,
And to this noble youth.
Have you not learned of him whom we should
Whom call the saviour of Lord Randolph's life? Lord R. I ask'd that question, and he answer'd
But I must know who my deliverer is.
[To the Stranger. Str. A low-born man, of parentage obscure, Who naught can boast but his desire to be A soldier, and to gain a name in arms.
Lord R. 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.
Str. 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 denied.
This moon, which rose last night, round as my
Had not yet filled her horns, when, by her light, A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds filed
For safety and for succour. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took: then hastened to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit 1 led,
We fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumbered foe.
An arrow from my bow had pierced their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life; and, having heard
That our good king had summon'd his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps:
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
And, Heav'n-directed, came this day to do
Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers,
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Lord R. He is as wise as brave. Was ever tale With such a gallant modesty rehearsed?
My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter now
A nobler list, and, in a monarch's sight,
Contend with princes for the prize of fame.
I will present thee to our Scottish king,
Whose valiant spirit ever valour loved-
Ha! my Matilda! wherefore starts that tear?
Lady R. I cannot say: for various affections,
And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell;
I joy, that thou art safe; and I admire
Him and his fortunes, who hath wrought
safety,
Your grief afresh? I thought that gallant youth
Would, for a while, 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 lived, thy He might have been like this young gallant stranger While thus I mused, a spark from fancy fell
Obscure and friendless, he the army sought,
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Resolved to hunt for fame, and with his sword
To gain distinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt, unknown he might have perish'd,
And gain'd, with all his valour, but oblivion.
Now graced by thee, his virtues serve no more
Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope,
He stands conspicuous;
On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke,
And bless'd the wonder-working hand of Heaven.
Lord R. Pious and grateful ever are thy thoughts!
My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the way.
Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon,
In honour and command shall Norval be.
Nor. I know not how to thank you. Rude I am
In speech and manners; never, till this hour,
Stood I in such a presence; yet, my lord,
There's something in my breast, which makes me
bold
To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy favour. Lady R. I will be sworn thou wilt not. Thou shalt be
My knight; and ever, as thou didst to-day,
With happy valour guard the life of Randolph.
Lord R. Well hast thou spoke. Let me forbid
reply.
[To NORVAL.
We are thy debtors still; thy high desert
O'ertops our gratitude. I must proceed,
As was at first intended, to the camp;
Some of my train, I see, are speeding hither,
Impatient, doubtless, of their lord's delay.
Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall see
The chosen warriors of thy native land,
Who languish for the fight, and beat the air
With brandish'd swords.
Nor. Let us begone, my lord.
Lord R. [To Lady RANDOLPH.] About the time that the declining sun
Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hills suspend,
Expect us to return. This night once more
Within these walls I rest my tent I pitch
To-morrow in the field. Prepare the feast.
Free is his heart, who for his country fights:
He, in the eve of battle, may resign
Himself to social pleasure; sweetest then,
When danger to a soldier's soul endears
The human joy that never may return.
[Exeunt RANDOLPH and NORVAL.
Lady R. Wretch that I am! Alas! why am I so?
At every happy parent I repine!
How bless'd 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 nursed 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
On my sad heart, and kindled up a fondness
For this young stranger, wand'ring from his 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 generous a
resolve.
You must, my noble dame, exert your power;
You must awake: devices will be framed,
And arrows pointed at the breast of Norval.
Lady R. Ġlenalvon's false and crafty head will
work
Against a rival in his kinsman's love,
If I deter him not: I only can.
Bold as he is, Glenalvon will beware
How he pulls down the fabric that I raise.
I'll be the artist of young Norval's fortune.
Enter GLENALVON.
Gle. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble Ran dolph ?
Lady R. Have you not heard, Glenalvon, of the base
Gle. I have: and, that the villains may not 'scape, With a strong band I have begirt the wood. If they lurk there, alive they shall be taken, And torture force from them th' important secret, Whether some foe of Randolph hired their swords, Or if
Lady R. That care becomes a kinsman's love. I have a counsel for Glenalvon's ear. [Exit ANNA. Gle. To him your counsels always are commands. Lady R. I have not found so; thou art known
Lady R. And most certain is my cause of knowledge.
Gle. What do you know? By Heaven, You much amaze me! No created thing, Yourself except, durst thus accost me.
Lady R. Is guilt so bold? and dost thou make a merit
Of thy pretended meekness? Thus to me,
Who, with a gentleness which duty blames,
Have hitherto concealed what, if divulged,
Would make thee nothing; or, what's worse than
that,
An outcast beggar, and unpitied too:
For mortals shudder at a crime like thine.
Gle. Thy virtue awes me. First of womankind!
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, and in mind forlorn,
Unpitied cannot be. Pity's the alms,
Which, on such beggars, freely is bestowed;
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;
To love's apology I listen not.
Mark thou my words; for it is meet thou shouldst.
His brave deliverer Randolph here retains.
Perhaps his presence may not please thee well;
But at thy peril practise aught 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 fain wouldst pry
luto 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.
Gle. 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 pierced 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! Th' imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse; And the intended murder introduced A favourite, to hide the son from me; And, worst of all, a rival. Burning hell! This were thy centre, if I thought she loved him! 'Tis certain she contemns me; nay, commands me, And waves the flag of her displeasure o'er me, In his behalf. And shall I thus be braved? Curb'd, as she calls it, by dame Chastity? Infernal fiends, if any fiends there are More fierce than love, 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-coloured clouds. I'll seek the slave who came with Norval hither, And for his cowardice was spurned from him. I've known such follower's rankled bosom breed Venom most fatal to his heedless lord.
SCENE I.-A Court, &c., as before. Enter ANNA.
The chosen crest of Douglas' valiant name! These are no vulgar jewels. Guard the wretch. [Exit ANNA
Enter Servants with a Prisoner.
Pri. I know no more than does the child unbor Of what you charge me with.
But torture soon shall make you speak the truth
Behold, the lady of Lord Randolph comes;
Prepare yourself to meet her just revenge.
Enter Lady RANDOLPH and ANNA.
Anna. Summor your utmost fortitude before
You speak with him.
Your dignity, your fame,
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 desper
heart,
Hear how my infant perished.
See, he kneels [The Prisoner kr els Pri. Heav'n bless that countenance, so st bet
A judge like thee makes inuocence more bold.
Oh, save me, lady, from these cruel men,
Who have attack'd and seized me; who accuse
Me of intended murder. As I hope
For mercy at the judgment-seat of Heaven,
The tender lamb, that never nipp'd the grass,
Is not more innocent than I of murder.
Lady R. Of this man's guilt what proof can ye
produce.
1 Ser. We found him lurking in the hollow glen
When view'd and call'd upon, amazed he fled;
We overtook him, and inquired 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 powerfully against him. Hard he seems,
And old in villany. Permit us to try
His stubbornness against the torture's force.
Pri. Oh, gentle lady, by your lord's dear life,
Which these weak hands, I swear, did ne'er assa
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 Pri. 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.
Pri. Then, thus abjured, 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 seized
a All that I had, and then turn'd me and mine B
(Four helpless infants, and their weeping mother)
Out to the mercy of the winter winds.
A little hovel by the river's side
Received us there, hard labour, and the skill
In fishing, which was formerly my sport,
Supported life. While thus we poorly lived,
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, used oft to bring within
My reach whatever floating thing the stream
Had caught. The voice was ceased; the person
lost;
But looking sad and earnest on the waters,
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?
Pri. 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 !
Pri. If I, amidst astonishment and fear,
Have of your words and gestures rightly judged,
Thou art the daughter of my ancient master;
The child I rescued from the flood is thine!
Lady R. With thee dissimulation now were vain.
I am, indeed, the daughter of Sir Malcolm;
By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and The child thou rescu'dst from the flood is mine.
A basket: soon I drew it to the bank,
And, nestled curious, there an infant lay.
Lady R. Was he alive?
Pri. He was.
Lady R. Inhuman that thou art'.
Pri. Bless'd be the hour that made me a poorman!
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
How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests Sir Malcolm's house deserved not, if aright
Pri. I am not so inhuman.
Lady R. Didst thou not?
Pri. 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 declined,
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 perhaps
he lives!
Pri. Not many days ago he was alive.
Lady R. Oh! heavenly powers! did he then die
so lately?
Pri. 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?
Pri. Alas! I know not where.
Thou told'st the story of thine own distress.
Pri. Sir Malcolm of our barons was the flower:
The fastest friend, the best and kindest master.
But ah! he knew not of my sad estate.
After the 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 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 theb
Remember'st thou a little lonely hut,
That like a holy hermitage appears
Among the cliffs of Carron?
Pri. 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,
Lady R. Oh fate! I fear thee still. Thou rid-Till I shall call upon thee to declare,
Direct and clear, else I will search thy soul.
Before the king and nobles, what thou now
To me hast told. No more but this, and thou
Pri. Fear not my faith, though I must speak my Shalt live in honour all thy future days;
Our secret wealth. But Heaven'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 loved 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 observed, he bore himself,
Thy son so long, shall call thee father still.
And all the land shall bless the man who saved
The son of Douglas, and Sir Malcom's heir.
Remember well my words: if thou shouldst meet
Him, whom thou call'st thy son, still call him so;
And mention nothing of his noble father.
Pri. Fear not that I shall mar so fair an harvest,
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 challenged, 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 sus
Though chance combined some likelihoods against
him.
He is the faithful bearer of the jewels
To their right owner, whom in haste he seeks.
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