And dash you piece-meal!—for I have heard a sound
Which lifts my towering soul to Atlas' height,
That I could prop the skies!
Ala. Where is the king?
The foe pours in. The palace gates are burst : The centinels are murdered! Save the king! They seek him through the palace!
Offi. Death and ruin!
Follow me, slaves, and save him.
[Exeunt Officer and Executioners. Selim. Now, bloody tyrant! Now, thy hour is come!
Irene. What means yon maddening tumult!
O my fears!
Selim, Vengeance at length hath pierced these
guilty walls,
And walks her deadly round!
Irene. Whom dost thou mean? my father! Selim. Yes: thy father;
Who murdered mine!
Irene. Is there no room for mercy?
O Selim! by our love !—
Selim. Thy tears are vain!
Oth. Where is the prince?
Selim. Here, Othman, bound to earth!
Set me but free!-O cursed, cursed chains!
Enter OTHMAN and party, who free SELIM.
Oth. O my brave prince!-Heaven favours
our design.
[Embraces him,
Take that :—I need not bid thee use it nobly.
[Giving him a sword.
Selim. Now, Barbarossa, let my arm meet
thine:
'Tis all I ask of Heaven!
[Exit Selim. Oth. Guard ye the prince- [Part go out. Pursue his steps.-Now this way let us turn, And seek the tyrant. [Exeunt Othman, &c.
SCENE III. changes to the open palace.
Enter BARBAROSSA.
Bar. Empire is lost and life: Yet brave re
Shall close my life in glory.
Enter OTHMAN.
Have I found thee,
Dissembling traitor ?-Die !—
Oth. Long hath my wish,
Pent in my struggling breast, been robbed of
Now valour scorns the mask.-I dare thee, tyrant!
And, armed with justice, thus would meet thy
Though thy red right hand grasped the pointed thunder!
Now, Heaven decide between us! [They fight. Bar. Coward!
Oth. Tyrant!
Bar. Traitor!
Oth. Infernal fiend, thy words are fraught with falsehood:
To combat crimes like thine, by force or wiles,
Vain were thy eloquence, though thou didst plead Is equal glory. With an archangel's tongue!
Irene. Spare but his life!
Selim. Heaven knows I pity thee. But he
Bar. I faint! I die!-O horror!
Shall dignify the throne, and bless the people. Zaph. Just are thy ways, O Heaven!-Vain
Once more Zaphira's blest!—My virtuous son, How shall I e'er repay thy boundless love! Thus let me snatch thee to my longing arms, And on thy bosom weep my griefs away!
Selim. O happy hour!-happy, beyond the flight
Even of any ardent hope!-Look down, blest shade,
From the bright realms of bliss!-Behold thy queen
Unspotted, unseduced, unmoved in virtue!
Behold the tyrant prostrate at my feet!
And to the memory of thy bleeding wrongs,
Accept this sacrifice!
Zaph. My generous Selim!
Selim. Where is Irene?
Sadi. With looks of wildness, and distracted mien,
She sought her father where the tumult raged;
She passed me, while the coward Aladin
Fled from my sword: and as I cleft him dowa,
She fainted at the sight.
Oth. But soon recovered;
Zamor, our trusty friend, at my command, Conveyed the weeping fair one to her chamber. Selim. Thanks to thy generous care:-Come, let us seek
Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth
The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart,
Farewell awhile; I will not leave you long;
For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells,
Who, from the chiding stream, or groaning oak,
Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan.
Oh, Douglas! Douglas! if departed ghosts
Are e'er permitted to review this world,
Within the circle of that wood thou art,
And, with the passion of immortals, hear'st
My lamentation: hear'st thy wretched wife
Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost.
My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn,
Who perished with thee on this fatal day.
To thee I lift my voice; to thee address
The plaint which mortal ear has never heard.
O disregard me not! though I am called
Another's now, my heart is wholly thine.
Incapable of change, affection lies
Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody grave.---
But Randolph comes, whom fate has made my lord,
To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH.
Lord R. Again these weeds of woe ! say, thou well
To feed a passion which consumes thy life?
The living claim some duty; vainly thou
Bestow'st thy cares upon the silent dead.
Lady R. Silent, alas! is he for whom I mourn:
Childless, without memorial of his name,
He only now in my remembrance lives.
This fatal day stirs my time-settled sorrow,
Troubles afresh the fountain of my heart.
Lord R. When was it pure of sadness! These black weeds
Express the wonted colour of thy mind,
For ever dark and dismal. Seven long years
Are passed, since we were joined by sacred ties:
Clouds all the while have hung upon thy brow,
Nor broke, nor parted by one gleam of joy.
Time, that wears out the trace of deepest an-
guish,
As the sea smooths the prints made in the sand,
Has passed o'er thee in vain.
Vyed with each other for my luckless love,
Oft I besought them, I implored them all,
Not to assail me with my father's aid,
Nor blend their better destiny with mine.
For melancholy had congealed my blood,
And froze affection in my chilly breast.
At last my sire, roused with the base attempt
To force me from him, which thou rendered'st vain,
To his own daughter bowed his hoary head,
Besought me to commiserate his age,
And vowed he should not, could not, die
peace,
Unless he saw me wedded, and secured
From violence and outrage. Then, my lord!
In my extreme distress I called on thee,
Thee I bespake, professed my strong desire
To lead a single, solitary life,
And begged thy nobleness, not to demand
Her for a wife, whose heart was dead to love.
How thou persisted'st after this, thou knowest,
And must confess that I am not unjust,
Nor more to thee than to myself injurious.
Lord R. That I confess; yet ever must regret The grief I cannot cure. Would thou wert not Composed of grief and tenderness alone, But had'st a spark of other passions in thee, Pride, anger, vanity, the strong desire Of admiration, dear to woman-kind; These might contend with, and allay thy grief, As meeting tides and currents smooth our firth. Lady R. To such a cause the human mind oft owes
Its transient calm; a calm I envy not.
Lord R. Sure thou art not the daughter of
Sir Malcolm!
Strong was his rage, eternal his resentment :
For when thy brother fell, he smiled to hear
That Donglas' son in the same field was slain.
Lady R. Oh! rake not up the ashes of my
fathers!
Implacable resentment was their crime,
And grievous has the expiation been.
Contending with the Douglas, gallant lives
Of either house were lost; my ancestors
Compelled, at last, to leave their ancient seat
On Tiviot's pleasant banks; and now, of them
No heir is left. Had they not been so stern,
I had not been the last of all my race.
Lord R. Thy grief wrests to its purposes my
words.
I never asked of thee that ardent love
Which in the breasts of fancy's children burns.
Decent affection and complacent kindness
Were all I wished for; but I wished in vain.
Hence with the less regret my eyes behold
The storm of war that gathers o'er this land:
If I should perish by the Danish sword,
Matilda would not shed one tear the more. Lady R. Thou dost not think so: woeful as I
I love thy merit, and esteem thy virtues.
But whither goest thou now?
Lord R. Straight to the camp,
Where every warrior on the tip-toe stands
Of expectation, and impatient asks
Each who arrives, if he is come to tell
The Danes are landed.
Lady R. O, may adverse winds
Far from the coast of Scotland drive their fleet: And every soldier of both hosts return
peace and safety to his pleasant home! Lord R. Thou speakest a woman's, hear a warrior's wish:
Right from their native land, the stormy north, May the wind blow, till every keel is fixed Immoveable in Caledonia's strand!
Then shall our foes repent their bold invasion, And roving armies shun the fatal shore.
Lady R. War I detest: but war with foreign foes,
Whose manners, language, and whose looks are strange,
Is not so horrid, nor to me so hateful,
As that which with our neighbours oft we wage.
A river here, there an ideal line,
By fancy drawn, divide the sister kingdoms.
On each side dwells a people similar,
As twins are, to each other; valiant both;
Both for their valour famous through the world.
Yet will they not unite their kindred arms,
And, if they must have war, wage distant war,
But with each other fight in cruel conflict.
Gallant in strife, and noble in their ire,
The battle is their pastime. They go forth
Gay in the morning, as to summer sport;
When evening comes, the glory of the morn,
The youthful warrior, is a clod of clay.
Thus fall the prime of either hapless land,
And such the fruit of Scotch and English wars!
Lord R. I'll hear no more: this melody would
A soldier drop his sword, and doff his arms,
Sit down and weep the conquests he has made:
Yea, (like a monk) sing rest and peace in hearca
To souls of warriors in his battles slain.
Lady, farewell: 1 ieave thee not alone;
Yonder comes one whose love makes duty Fabt
[Ext.
Anna. Forgive the rashness of your Anna's
love :
Urged by affection, I have thus presumed
To interrupt your solitary thoughts;
And warn you of the hours that you neglect.
And lose in sadness.
Lady R. So to lose my hours
Is all the use I wish to make of time.
Anna. To blame thee, lady, suits not with my
But sure I am, since death first preyed 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 distressed you with officious love,
And ill-timed 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
Those piteous tears, I'd throw my life away.
Lady R. What power directed thy unconscious
tongue
To speak as thou hast done? to name
Anna. I know not:
But since my words have made my mistress trem-
ble,
I will speak so 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 the 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?
| 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 take 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 God!
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 joined our hands, my brother's ancient tutor,
With his loved 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 confident I had,
Set out with him to reach her sister's house:
Lady R. Did'st thou not ask what had my sor- But nurse, nor infant have I ever seen,
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 vowed eternal friendship.
To see the vaunted sister of his friend,
Impatient, Douglas to Balarmo came,
Under a borrowed name.-My heart he gained;
Nor did I long refuse the hand he begged:
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 called
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 questioned me. Alone, forsaken, faint,
Kneeling beneath his sword, faultering I took
An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would
Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour.
My murdered child!—had thy fond mother feared
The loss of thee, she had loud fame defied,
Despised her father's rage, her father's grief,
And wandered with thee through the scorning
world.
Anna. Not seen nor heard of! then perhaps
he lives.
Lady R. No. It was dark December; wind
Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay
The destined road; and in its swelling flood
My faithful servant perished with my child.
Oh! hapless son of a most hapless sire!
But they are both at rest; and I, alone,
Dwell in this world of woe, condemned to walk,
Like a guilt-troubled ghost, my painful rounds;
Nor has despiteful fate permitted me
The comfort of a solitary sorrow.
Though dead to love, I was compelled to wed
Randolph, who snatched me from a villain's
|