'Tis meet that you should put him on his way,
Since your mistaken zeal has dragged him hither.
[Exeunt Stranger and Servants.
My faithful Anna! dost thou share my joy?
I know thou dost. Unparallel'd event!
Reaching from Heaven to earth, Jehovah's arm
Snatch'd from the waves, and brings me to my son!
Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father,
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 gazed on bright and burning arms,
Spurn'd 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 believed,
Suppress'd my fancy quite, nor did he owe
To any likeness my so sudden favour:
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.
To-day the baron started at your tears.
Lady R. He did so, Anna! well thy mistress
knows
If the least circumstance, mote of offence, Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would be With jealousy disorder'd.
Anna. That demon haunts you still:
Behold Glenalvon.
Lady R. Now I shun him not.
This day raved him in behalf of Norval:
Perhaps too far: at least my nicer fears
For Douglas thus interpret.
No longer rainly feed a guilty passion;
Go and pursue a lawful mistress, Glory.
Upon the Danish crests redeem thy fault,
And let thy valour be the shield of Randolph.
Gle. One instant stay, and hear an alter'd man.
When beauty pleads for virtue, vice abash'd
Flies its own colours, and goes o'er to virtue.
I am your convert; time will show how truly:
Yet one immediate proof I mean to give.
That youth for whom your ardent zeal to day,
Somewhat too haughtily, defied your slave,
Amidst the shock of armies I'll defend,
And turn death from him with a guardian arm.
Lady R. Act thus, Glenalvon, and I am thy
friend :
But that's thy least reward. Believe me, sir,
The truly generous is the truly wise;
And he, who loves not others, lives unbless'd.
[Erit Lady RANDOLPH.
Gle. [Solus.] Amen! and virtue is its own re-
ward.
I think, that I have hit the very tone
In which she loves to speak. Honey'd assent,
How pleasing art thou to the taste of man,
And woman also! flattery direct
Seldom disgusts. They little know mankind,
Who doubt its operation: 'tis my key,
And opes the wicket of the human heart.
How far I have succeeded now, I know not.
Yet I incline to think her stormy virtue
Is lull'd awhile; 'tis her alone I fear :
Whilst she and Randolph live, and live in faith
And amity, uncertain is my tenure.
That slave of Norval's I have found most apt:
I show'd him gold, and he has pawn'd his soul
To say and swear whatever I suggest.
Norval, I'm told, has that alluring look,
Twixt man and woman, which I have observed
To charm the nicer and fantastic dames,
Who are, like Lady Randolph, full of virtue.
In raising Randolph's jealousy, I may
But point him to the truth. Ile seldom errs,
Who thinks the worst he can of womankind.
The hov'ring Dane at last his men hath landed:
No band of pirates; but a mighty host,
That comes to settle where their valour conquers;
To win a country, or to lose themselves.
Lady R. How many mothers shall bewail their
How many widows weep their husbands slain!
Ye dames of Denmark, e'en for you I feel,
Who, sadly sitting on the sea-beat shore,
Long look for lords that never shall return.
Gle. Oft has th' unconquer'd Caledonian sword
Widow'd the North. The children of the slain
Come, as I hope, to meet their fathers' fate.
The monster war, with her infernal brood,
Loud yelling fury, and life-ending pain,
Are objects suited to Glenalvon's soul.
Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death;
Reproach more piercing than the pointed sword.
Lady R. I scorn thee not but when I ought to
SCENE 1-4 Court.-Flourish of Trumpets.
Enter Lord RANDOLPH, attended.
Lora R. Summon an hundred horse by break of day
To wait our pleasure at the castle gate.
Lady R. Alas! my lord! I've heard unwelcome
The Danes are landed.
Lord R. Ay, no inroad this
Of the Northumbrian, bent to take a spol..
No sportive war, no tournament essay
Of some young knight, resolv'd to break a spear,
And stain with hostile blood his maiden arms,
The Danes are landed: we must beat them back,
Or live the slaves of Denmark.
Lady R. Dreadful times!
Lord R. The fenceless villages are all forsaken
An army knit like ours would pierce it through :
Brothers that shrink not from each other's side,
And fond companions, fill our warlike files:
For his dear offspring, and the wife he loves,
The husband and the fearless father arm.
In vulgar breasts heroic ardour burns,
And the poor peasant mates his daring lord.
Lady R. Men's minds are temper'd, like their
swords, for war.
Hence, early graves; hence the lone widow's life;
And the sad mother's grief-embitter'd age.
Where is our gallant guest?
Lord R. Down in the vale
I left him managing a fiery steed,
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.
Offi. My lord, requests are vain.
He urges on, impatient of delay,
Stung with the tidings of the foe's approach.
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 pastures lie,
By mountaios inaccessible secured;
Whose stubbornness had foil'd the strength and Yet foremost he into the plain descends
Of every rider. But behold he comes,
In earnest conversation with Glenalvon.
Enter NORVAL and GLENALVON.
Glenalvon, with the lark arise: go forth
And lead my troops that lie in yonder vale:
Private I travel to the royal camp:
Norval, thou go'st with me. But say, young man,
Where didst thou learn so to discourse of war,
And in such terms as I o'erheard to-day?
War is no village science, nor its phrase
A language taught among the shepherd swains.
Nor. Small is the skill my lord delights to praise
In him he favours. 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 lived; 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 shepherd's alms.
I went to see him, and my heart was touch'd
With reverence and pity. Mild he spake,
And, entering 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.
Pleased 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
And all the live-long day discourse of war
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts;
Described 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.
[Trumpets at a distance.
Lord R. From whence these sounds?
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 with Officer. Lady R. The soldier's loftiness, the pride and pomp
Investiing awful war, Norval, I see,
Transport thy youthful mind.
Nor. Ah! should they not?
Bless'd 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 generous spirit in thy breast,
That could have well sustain'd a prouder fortune.
Since lucky chance has left us here alone,
Unseen, unbeard, by human eye or ear,
I will amaze thee with a wondrous tale.
Nor. 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?
Nor. Durst I believe my 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!
Nor. I saw them once, and curiously inquired Of both my parents, whence such splendour came. Rut I was check'd, and more could never learn. Lady R. Then learn of me; thou art not Norval's son.
Nor. Not Norval's son !
Lady R. Nor of a shepherd sprung.
Nor. Lady, who am I, then?
Lady R. Noble thou art,
For noble was thy sire.
Nor. I will believe
Oh, tell me further! Say, who was my father?
Lady R. Douglas
Nor. Lord Douglas, whom to-day I saw ?
Lady R. His younger brother.
Nor. And in yonder camp!
Lady R. Alus!
Nor. You make me tremble-Sighs and tears!
Lives my brave father?
Lady R. Ab, too brave indeed!
He fell in battle ere thyself was born.
Nor. 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-
Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost.
The wanton heir of some inglorious chief
Perhaps has scorn'd thee in thy youthful sports.
Whilst thy indignant spirit swelled in vain.
Such contumely thou no more shalt bear:
But how I purpose to redress thy wrongs
Must be hereafter told. Prudence directs
That we should part before yon chief's return.
Retire, and from thy rustic follower's hand
Receive a billet, which thy mother's care,
Anxious to see thee, dictated before
Nor. You that are skill'd so well in the sad This casual opportunity arose
Of my unhappy parents, and with tears
Bewail their destiny, now have compassion
Upon the offspring of the friends you loved.
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 is wretched!
Oh, tell me her condition! Can the sword-
Who shall resist me in a parent's cause?
Lady R. Thy virtue ends her woe-My son!
my son!
Nor. Art thou my mother?
Of private conference. Its purport mark;
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.
Nor. I will remember. Where is Norval now?
That good old man!
Lady R. At hand conceal'd he lies,
An useful witness. But beware, my son,
Of yon Glenalvon; in his guilty breast
Resides a villain's shrewdness, ever prone
To false conjecture. He hath griev'd my heart.
Nor. Has be indeed? Then let yon false Gle-
nalvon
Beware of me.
[Exit. Lady R. There burst the smother'd flaine.Lady R. I am thy mother, and the wife of Dou-Oh, thou all-righteous and eternal king! glas! [Falls upon his neck. Nor. Oh, Heaven and earth how wond'rous is my fate!
Ledy R. Image of Douglas! Fruit of fatal love!
All that I owe thy sire I pay to thee.
Hor. 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?
Lady R. Arise, my son. In me thou dost behold
The poor remains of beauty once admired.
Yet in my prime I equalied not thy father:
His eyes were like the eagle's, yet sometimes
Liker the dove's; and, as he pleased, he won
All hearts with softness, or with spirit awed.
Nor. How did he fall? Sure 'twas a bloody field
When Douglas died. Oh, I have much to ask!
Lady P. Hereafter thou shalt hear the length-
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.
Nor. The blood of Douglas will protect itself.
Lady R. But we shall need both friends and fa-
vour, 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.
Nor. 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
Await the poor man's valour. Oh, my son!
The noblest blood in all the land's abashed,
Having no lackey but pale poverty.
Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas,
Too long hast thou been deemed a peasant's child;
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!
Then let the minister of death descend,
And bear my willing spirit to its place.
Yonder they come. How do bad women find
Unchanging aspects to conceal their guilt
When I, by reason and by justice urged,
Full hardly can dissemble with these men
In nature's pious cause?
Enter Lord RANDOLPH and GLENALVON.
Lord R. Yon gallant chief,
Of arms enamour'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,
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Gle. 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 suspicions 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,
Whose heart he knows he has not; though she
brings
A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry.
For, let her seem, like the night's shadowy queen,
Cold and contemplative-he cannot trust her;
She may, she will, bring shame and sorrow on him;
The worst of sorrow and the worst of shames!
Gle. Yield not, my lord, to such afflicting thoughts,
But let the spirit of an husband sleep,
Till your own senses make a sure conclusion.
This billet must to blooming Norval go:
At the next turn awaits my trusty spy;
I'll give it him refitted for his master.
In the close thicket take your secret stand;
Nor. Sir, I have been accustom'd all my days To hear and speak the plain and simple truth: And, though I have been told that there are men Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their
Yet in such language I am little skill'd. Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel, Although it sounded harshly. Why remind
The moon shines bright, and your own eyes may Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
Of their behaviour.
Lord R. Thou dost counsel well.
Gle. Permit me now to make one slight essay;
Of all the trophies, which vain mortals boast,
By wit, by valour, or by wisdom won,
The first and fairest in a young man's eye
Is woman's captive heart. Successful love
With glorious fumes intoxicates the mind,
And the proud conqueror in triumph moves,
Air-born, exalted above vulgar men.
Lord R. And what avails this maxim?
Gle. Much my lord:
Withdraw a little; I'll accost young Norval,
And with ironical derisive counsel
Explore his spirit. If he is no more
Than humble Norval, by thy favour raised,
Brave as he is, be'll shrink astonish'd from me.
But if he be the favourite of the fair,
Loved by the first of Caledonia's dames,
He'll turn upon me, as the lion turns
Upon the hunter's spear.
Lord R. 'Tis shrewdly thought.
Gle. When we grow loud, draw near. But let my lord
His rising wrath restrain.—
His port I love: he's in a proper mood
With such contemptuous terms?
Gle. I did not mean
To gall your pride, which now I see is great.
Nor. My pride!
Gle. Suppress it as you wish to prosper.
Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake,
I will not leave you to its rash direction.
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men,
Think you, will they endure a shepherd's scorn?
Nor. A shepherd's scorn!
Gle. Yes, if you presume
To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
As if you took the measure of their minds,
And said in secret, you're no match for me,
What will become of you?
Nor. If this were told-
Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Gle. Ha! dost thou threaten me?
Nor. Didst thou not hear?
Gle. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Had not been questioned thus. But such as theeNor. Whom dost thou think me?
Gle. Norval.
Nor. So I am
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eye?
Gle. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar-boy; At best no more: even if he speaks the truth. Nor. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?
Gle. Thy truth; thou'rt all a lie; and false as hell
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.
Nor. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, and bedrid old,
Perhaps I should revile; but, as I am,
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race, who strive not but with deeds.
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour,
To chide the thunder, if at him it roar'd.- [Aside. And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, Has Norval seen the troops.
With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale
And, as the warriors mov'd, each polish'd helm,
Corslet, or s ear, glanced back his gilded beams.
The hill they climbed, and, halt ng at its top,
Of more than mortal size, tow'ring, they seem'd
An host angelic, clad in burning arms.
Gle. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host
In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war.
Nor. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine
Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.
Gle. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your mar
Have rank'd you with the great. But mark me,
Norval:
Lord Randol h's favour now exalts your youth
Above his veterans of famous service.
Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you.
Give them all honour: seem not to command;
Else they will scarcely brook your late-sprung power,
Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns.
I'd tell thee-what thou art. I know thee well. Gle. Didst thou not know Glenalvon, born to command
Ten thousand slaves like thee
Nor. Villain, no more!
Draw and defend thy life. I did design
To have defy'd thee in another cause;
But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and Lady Randclph's wrongs.
Enter Lord RANDOLPH.
Lord R. Hold, I command you both. The man that stirs Makes me his foe.
Nor. Another voice than thine,
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. Gle. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous condescending!
Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!
Nor. Now you may scoff in safety.
Lord R. Speak not thus, Taunting each other; but unfold to me The cause of quarrel; then I will judge betwixt
Nor. Nay, my good lord though I revere vou
much,
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.
I blush to speak; I will not, cannot speak
The opprobious words, that I from him have borne.
To the liege lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage-but oven him
And his high arbitration I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord;
Honour, sole judge and umpire of itself.
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,
Revoke your favours, and let Norval go
Hence as he came, alone, but not dishonoured.
Lord R. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial
The ancient foe of Caledonia's land
Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields;
Suspend your purpose till your country's arms
Repel the bold invader: then decide
The private quarrel.
Gle. I agree to this.
Nor. And I.
Enter Servant.
Serv. The banquet waits.
Lord R. We come.
Gle. Norval,
Old Nor. And dost thou call me father? Oh, my
son!
I think that I could die, to make amends
For the great wrong I did thee. 'Twas my crime
Which in the wilderness so long conceal'd
The blossom of thy youth.
Dou. Not worse the fruit,
That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot,
I learn'd some lessons, which I'll not forget,
When I inhabit yonder lofty towers.
I, who was once a swain, will ever prove
The poor man's friend; and when my vassals bow,
Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas.
Old Nor. Let me but live to see thine exaltation!
Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place,
And those unfriendly towers!
Dou. Why should I leave them?
Old Nor. Lord Randolph and his kinsman seek your life.
Dou. How know'st thou that?
Old Nor. I will inform you how.
When evening came, I left the secret place
Appointed for me by your mother's care,
And fondly trod in each accustom'd path
[Exit with Servant. That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I ranged,
I was alarm'd with unexpected sounds
Of earnest voices. On the persons came.
Unseen I lurk'd, and heard them name
Each other as they talk'd, Lord Randolph this,
And that Glenalvon. Still of you they spoke,
And of the lady; threat'ning was their speech,
Though but imperfectly my ear could hear it.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery,
And ever and anon they vow'd revenge!
Dou. Revenge! For what?
Let not our variance mar the social hour,
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph.
Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate,
Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow:
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.
Ner. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment.
When we contend again, our strife is mortal.
Dou. This is the place, the centre of the grove;
Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood.
How sweet and solemn is this midnight scene:
The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way
Through skies where I could count each little star.
The fanning west wind scarcely stirs the leaves;
The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed,
Imposes silence, with a stilly sound.
In such a place as this, at such an hour,
If ancestry can be in aught believed,
Descending spirits have conversed with man,
And told the secrets of the world unknown.
Enter Old NORVAL.
Old Nor. 'Tis he. But what if he should chide
me hence.
His just reproach I fear.
[DOUGLAS turns aside, and sees him.
Forgive, forgive;
Canst thou forgive the man, the selfish man,
Who bred Sir Malcolm's heir a shepherd's son?
Dou. Welcome to me. Thou art my father still:
Thy wished-for presence now completes my joy.
Welcome to me; my fortunes thou shalt share
And ever honoured with thy Douglas live
Old Nor. For being what you are,
Sir Malcolm's heir: how else have offended.
When they were gone, I hied me to my cottags
And there sat musing how I best might find
Means to inform you of their wicked purpose,
But I could think of none. At last, perplexed,
I issued forth, encompassing the tower
With many a weary step and wishful look.
Now Providence hath brought you to my sight,
Let not your too courageous spirit scorn
The caution which I give.
My mother warned me of Glenalvon's baseness
But I will not suspect the noble Randolph.
In our encounter with the vile assassins,
I mark'd his brave demeanour; him I'll trust.
Old Nor. I fear you will too far.
Dou. Here in this place
I wait my mother's coming; she shall know
What thou hast told; her counsel I will follow,
And cautious ever are a mother's counsels.
You must depart: your presence may prevent
Our interview.
Old Nor. My blessing rest upon thee!
Oh, may Heaven's hand, which saved thee from
the wave
And from the sword of foes, be near thee still:
Turning mischance, if aught hangs o'er thy head,
All upon mine!
[Exit.
Dou. He loves me like a parent;
And must not, shall not. lose the son he loves,
Although his son has found a nobler father.
Eventful day! how hast thou changed my state!
Once on the cold and winter-shaded side'
Of a bleak hill, mischance had rooted me,
Never to thrive, child of another soil-
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