Hath filled his bosom with that sacred fire,
Which in the breasts of his forefathers burned!
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 arins enamoured, all repose disclaims.
Lady R. Be not, my lord, by his example
swayed.
Arrange the business of to-morrow now,
And when you enter, speak of war no more.
[Exit. Lord R. 'Tis so, by Heaven! her mein, her voice, her eye,
And her impatience to be gone, confirm it.
Glen. He parted from her now.
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?
Glen. 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, he'll shrink astonished 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.
Glen. When we grow loud, draw near. But let my lord
His rising wrath restrain. 'Tis strange, by Heaven!
That she should run, full tilt, her fond career
To one so little known. She, too, that seemed
Behind the Pure as the winter stream, when ice, embossed,
Whitens its course. Even I did think her chaste,
Whose charity exceeds not. Precious sex!
Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along.
Lord R. For sad sequestered virtue she's re- Whose deeds lascivious pass Glenalvon's thoughts!
Glen. Most true, my lord,
Lord R. Yet this distinguished dame
Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day,
Alone to meet her at the midnight hour.
This assignation, [Shews a letter.] the assassin freed,
Her manifest affection for the youth,
Might breed suspicion in a husband's brain,
Whose gentle consort all for love had wedded:
Much more in mine. Matilda never loved 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 sorrows, and the worst of shames! Glen. 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;
The moon shines bright, and your own eyes may
judge
Of their behaviour.
Lord R. Thou dost counsel well.
Glen. Permit me now to make one slight essay. Of all the trophies which vain mortals boast, By wit, by valour, or by wisdom won,
His port I love; he's in a proper mood
To chide the thunder, if at him it roared. [Aside. Has Norval seen the troops?
With yellow radiance, lightened all the vale;
And, as the warriors moved, each polished helm,
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beans.
The hill they climbed, and halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, towering, they seemed
An host angelic, clad in burning arms.
Glen. 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 admira-
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine
Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.
Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deeds
Have ranked you with the great. But mark me, Norval;
Lord Randolph'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
Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns.
Nor. Sir, I have been accustomed 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 skilled. Therefore, I thank Glenalvon for his counsel, Although it sounded harshly. Why remind Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power With such contemptuous terms?
To gall your pride, which now I see is great.
Nor. My pride!
Glen. 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,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn?
Nor. A shepherd's scorn!
Glen. Yes; if you presume
To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
What will become of you!
Nor. If this were told!
Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me?
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes? Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggarboy;
At best no more, even if he speaks the truth. Nor. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?
Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie and false as hell
Is the vain-glorious tale thou toldst to Randolph. Nor. If I were chained, unarmed, and bed-rid 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,
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
I'd tell thee-what thou art. I know thee well.
Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvón, born to
command
Ten thousand slaves like thee
Nor. Villain, no more!
Draw and defend thy life. I did design
To have defied thee in another cause:
But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and lady Randolph's wrongs!
I blush to speak! I will not, cannot speak
The opprobrious words that I from him have borne.
To the liege-lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage: but even 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
Doug. THIS is the place, the centre of the
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
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. chide me hence? His just reproach I fear.
That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I ranged,
I was alarmed with unexpected sounds
Of earnest voices. On the persons came.
Unseen I lurked, and overheard them name
Each other as they talked; lord Randolph this,
And that Glenalvon. Still of you they spoke,
And of the lady; threatening was their speech,
Though but imperfectly my ear could hear it.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery:
And ever and anon they vowed revenge,
Doug. Revenge! for what?
Old Nor. For being what you are,
Sir Malcolm's heir: how else have you offend-
ed?
When they were gone, I hied me to my cottage,
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,
But what if he should With many a wearied step, and wishful look.
Now Providence hath brought you to my sight,
Let not your too courageous spirit scorn
The caution which I give.
[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?
Doug. Kneel not 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. 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 concealed
The blossom of thy youth.
Doug. Not worse the fruit,
That in the wilderness the blossom blowed.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot,
I learned 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 Doug
Old Nor. Let me but live to see thine exalta-
tion!
Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place.
And those unfriendly towers!
Dong. Why should I leave them?
My mother warned me of Glenalvon's baseness ;
But I will not suspect the noble Randolph.
In our encounter with the vile assassins,
I marked his brave demeanour; him I'll trust.
Old. Nor. I fear you will, too far.
Doug. 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,
[Ext
All upon mine!
Doug. 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, chid of another soil.
Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale,
Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers.
Ye glorious stars! high Heaven's resplendent
host!
Old Nar, Lord Randolph and his kinsman seck To whom I oft have of my lot complained, your life.
Dong. How knowest 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,
Alad fondly trod in each accustomed path
Hear and record my soul's unaltered wish!
Dead or alive, let me but be renowned!
May heaven inspire some fierce girantic Dace
To give a boid defiance to our best!
Before be speaks it out I will accept:
Like Douglas conquer, ore Dogs de.
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Doug. First, let me tell
What may the tenor of your counsel change.
Lady R. My heart forebodes some evil.
Doug. 'Tis not good-
At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon,
The good old Norval in the grove o'erheard
Their conversation; oft they mentioned me,
With dreadful threatenings; you they sometimes
named.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery;
And ever and anon they vowed revenge.
Lady R. Defend us, gracious God! we are
betrayed:
They have found out the secret of thy birth:
It must be so. That is the great discovery.
Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own,
And they will be revenged. Perhaps even now,
Armed and prepared for murder, they but wait
A darker and more silent hour to break
Into the chamber where they think thou sleep'st.
This moment, this, Heaven hath ordained to save
thee!
Fly to the camp, my son!
Doug. And leave you here?
No: to the castle let us go together.
Call up the ancient servants of your house,
Who in their youth did eat your father's bread.
Then tell them loudly that I am your son.
If in the breasts of men one spark remains
Of sacred love, fidelity, or pity,
Some in your cause will arm. I ask but few
To drive those spoilers from my father's house.
Lady R. Oh, Nature, Nature! what can check
thy force?
Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas!
But rush not on destruction: save thyself,
And I am safe. To me they mean no harm.
Thy stay but risks thy precious life in vain.
That winding path conducts thee to the river.
Cross where thou seest a broad and beaten way,
Which, running eastward, leads thee to the camp.
Instant demand admittance to lord Douglas;
Shew him these jewels which his brother wore.
Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel the
truth,
Which I, by certain proof, will soon confirm.
Doug. I yield me, and obey: but yet my heart
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Bleeds at this parting. Something bids me stay,
And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read
Of wondrous deeds by one bold arm atchieved.
Our foes are two; no more: let me go forth,
And see if any shield can guard Glenalvon!
Lady R. If thou regard'st thy mother, or re-
ver'st
Thy father's memory, think of this no more.
One thing I have to say before we part:
Long wert thou lost; and thou art found, my
child,
In a most fearful season. War and battle
I have great cause to dread. Too well I see
Which way the current of thy temper sets:
To-day I've found thee. Oh! my long lost
hope!
If thou to giddy valour giv'st the rein,
To-morrow I may lose my son for ever.
The love of thee, before thou saw'st the light,
Sustained my life when thy brave father fell.
If thou shalt fall, I have nor love nor hope
In this waste world! My son, remember me!
Doug. What shall I say? How can I give you
comfort?
The God of battles of my life dispose
As may be best for you! for whose dear sake
I will not bear myself as I resolved.
But yet consider, as no vulgar name,
That which I boast, sounds amongst martial men,
How will inglorious caution suit my claim?
The post of fate unshrinking I maintain.
My country's foes must witness who I am.
On the invaders' heads I'll prove my birth,
Till friends and foes confess the genuine strain.
If in this strife I fall, blame not your son,
Who, if he lives not honoured, must not live.
Lady R, I will not utter what my bosom feels. Too well I love that valour which I warn. Farewell, my son! my counsels are but vain,
And as high Heaven hath willed it, all must be. [Separate.
Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path;
I'll point it out again.
[Just as they are separating. Enter from the wood LORD RANDOLPH and GLENALVON.
Lord R. Not in her presence. Now
Glen. I am prepared.
Lord R. No: I command thee stay.
I go alone: it never shall be said
That I took odds to combat mortal man.
The noblest vengeance is the most complete.
[Exit.
[Glenalvon makes some steps to the same side of the stage, listens and speaks. Glen. Demons of death, come, settle on my sword,
And to a double slaughter guide it home!
The lover and the husband both must die.
Lord R. [Behind the Scenes.] Draw, villain!
Doug. Without.] Assail me not, lord Randolph;
Not as thou lovest thyself. [Clashing of swords. Glen. [Running out.] Now is the time.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH, at the other side of the stage, faint and breathless.
Lady R. Lord Randolph, hear me, all shall be thine own!
But spare! Oh, spare my son!
Enter DOUGLAS, with a sword in each hand.
Doug. My mother's voice!
I can protect thee still.
Lady R. He lives, he lives:
For this, for this to Heaven eternal praise!
But sure I saw thee fall.
Doug. It was Glenalvon;
Just as my arm had mastered Randolph's sword, The villain came behind me; but I slew him. Lady R. Behind thee! ah! thou art wounded! Oh, my child,
How pale thou look'st! And shall I lose thee now?
Doug. Do not despair: I feel a little faint
I hope it will not last. [Leans upon his sword.
Lady R. There is no hope!
And we must part! The hand of death is on thee!
Oh !
my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas?
[Douglas growing more and more faint.
Doug. Too soon we part: I have not long
been Douglas;
O destiny! hardly thou deal'st with me!
Clouded and hid, a stranger to myself,
In low and poor obscurity I've lived.
Lady R. Has Heaven preserved thee for an
end like this!
Doug. Oh! had I fallen as my brave fathers fell,
Turning with fatal arm the tide of battle,
Like them I should have smiled and welcomed
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Reproach and infamy, and public hate,
Are near at hand: for all mankind will think
That Randolph basely stabbed Sir Malcolm's
heir.
Lady R. [recovering.] Where am I now?—
Still in this wretched world!
Grief cannot break a heart so hard as mine.
My youth was worn in anguish: but youth's
strength,
With hope's assistance, bore the brunt of sorrow;
And trained me on to be the object now,
On which Omnipotence displays itself,
Making a spectacle, a tale of me,
To awe its vassal, man.
Lord R. Oh, misery!
Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim
My innocence.
Lady R. Thy innocence!
Lord R. My guilt
Is innocence compared with what thou think'st it. Lady R. Of thee I think not: what have I to do
With thee, or any thing? My son! my son!
My beautiful! my brave! how proud was I
Of thee and of thy valour! my fond heart
O'erflowed this day with transport, when I
thought
Of growing old amidst a race of thine,
Who might make up to me their father's child-
And bear my brother's and my husband's name:
Now all my hopes are dead! A little while
Was I a wife! a mother not so long!
What am I now?--I know.-But I shall be
That only whilst I please; for such a son
And such a husband drive me to my fate.
[Runs on
Lord R. Follow her, Anna: I myself would
follow,
|