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 ardor burns,
And the poor peasant mates his daring lord.
Lady R. Men's minds are temper'd, like their
swords, for war;

"Lovers of danger, on destruction's brink
They joy to rear erect their daring forms.
"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,

Whose stubbornness had foil'd the strength and skill

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 goest with me.

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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 amongst 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 liv'd; 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 rev'rence and with 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.
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire

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His speech struck from me, the old man would shake
His years away, and act his young encounters:
Then, having shew'd his wounds, he'd sit him down,
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;
Describ'd 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.

DOUGLAS. in the smooth green taf

He cut the figures of the marshald hosts

Graham del

London Printed for J. Bell British Library, Strand Jan?4.1791.

Lord R. Why did this soldier in a desart hide Those qualities, that should have grac'd a camp? Nor. That too at last I learn'd. Unhappy man! Returning homewards by Messina's port, Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won, A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought; The stranger fell, and with his dying breath Declar'd his name and lineage. Mighty pow'r ! The soldier cried, my brother! Oh my brother! Lady R. His brother!

Nor. Yes; of the same parents born;

His only brother. They exchang'd forgiveness:
And happy in my mind was he that died;
- For many deaths has the survivor suffer'd.
In the wild desart on a rock he sits,

Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks,
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate.
At times, alas! not in his perfect mind,
Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost;
And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch,
To make sad orisons for him he slew.

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Lady R. To what mysterious woes are mortals born! In this dire tragedy were there no more Unhappy persons? Did the parents live?

Nor. No, they were dead; kind Heav'n had clos'd

their eyes,

Before their son had shed his brother's blood.

Lord R. Hard is his fate; for he was not to blame! There is a destiny in this strange world,