The British drama

I went to see him, and my heart was touched
With reverence 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 the usurping infidel displayed
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 shewed his wounds, he would 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 marshalled hosts;
Described the motions, and explained the use,
Of the deep column, and the lengthened 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.
Lord R. Why did this soldier in a desert

hide

Those qualities, that should have graced a camp?

Nor. That too at last I learned. Unhappy man!

Returning homeward by Messina's port,
Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won,
A rude and boisterous captain of the sea
Fastened a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought ;
The stranger fell, and, with his dying breath,
Declared his name and lineage. Mighty power!
The soldier cried, my brother! Oh, my bro-
ther!

Lady R. His brother!

Nor. Yes; of the same parents born; His only brother. They exchanged forgiveness: And happy, in my mind, was he that died; For many deaths has the survivor suffered. In the wild desert 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 loved brother's ghost; And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch, To make sad orisons for him he slew.

Lady R. To what mysterious woes are mortals born!

In this dire tragedy were there no more
Unhappy persons? Did the parents live?

[Exit Glenalcon.

Offi. My lord, requests are vain.
He urges on, impatient of delay,
Stung with the tidings of the foes 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 mountains inaccessible secured :
Yet foremost he into the plain descends,
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.

[Erit with the Officer. Lady R. The soldier's loftiness, the pride and pomp Investing awful war, Norval, I see, Transport thy youthful mind.

Nor. Ah! should they not? Blessed 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 sustained a prouder for

tune.

This way with me; under yon spreading beech, Unseen, unheard, by human eye or ear,

I will amaze thee with a wond'rous tale.

Nor. Let there be danger, lady, with the se

cret,

That I may hug it to my grateful heart,

Nor. No, they were dead; kind Heaven had And prove my faith. Command my sword, my

closed their eyes,

life:

These are the sole possessions of poor Norval.
Lady R. Know'st thou these gems?
Nor. Durst I believe mine eyes,

I would say I knew them, and they were my father's.

Lady R. Thy father's, say'st thou? Ah, they were thy father's!

Oh, tell me farther? 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. Alas!

When Douglas died. Oh, I have much to ask! Lady R. Hereafter thou shalt hear the lengthened tale

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 wronged; 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 favour, boy,

To wrest thy lands and lordship from the gripe

Nor. You make me tremble-Sighs and tears! Of Randolph and his kinsman. Yet I think Lives my brave father?

Lady R. Ah! 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

stant woe,

Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost.
Nor. You, that are skilled so well in the sad
story

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!
Oppressed by a base world, perhaps she bends
Beneath the weight of other ills than grief;
And, desolate, implores of Heaven the aid
Her son should give. It is, it must be so-
Your countenance confesses that she's wretched.
Oh, tell me her condition! Can the sword-
Who shall resist me in a parent's cause?
Lady R. Thy virtue ends her woes-
my son!

-My son!

I am thy mother, and the wife of Douglas!
[Falls upon his neck.
Nor. Oh, heaven and earth! how wond'rous is
my fate!

Art thou my mother? Ever let me kneel!
Lady R. Image of Douglas! fruit of fatal love!
All that I owe thy sire, I pay to thee.

Nor. 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 be

hold

The poor remains of beauty once admired. The autumn of my days is come already, For sorrow made my suminer haste away; Yet in my prime I equalled not thy father:

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 of all the land's abashed,
Having no lacquey but pale poverty.

Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas,
Too long hast thou been deemed a peasant's

child.

The wanton heir of some inglorious chief,
Perhaps, has scorned thee in the 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 chiefs return.
Retire, and from thy rustic follower's hand
Receive a billet, which thy mother's care,
Anxious to see thee, dictated before
This casual opportunity arose

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 concealed 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 grieved my heart. Nor. Has he, indeed? Then let yon false Gle

nalvon Beware of me!

[Exit.

Lady R. There burst the smothered flame. Oh, thou all-righteous and eternal King! Who Father of the fatherless art called, Protect my son! Thy inspiration, Lord!

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 arms 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. Behind the
mount,

Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along.

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
[Exit Randolph.

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
Pure as the winter stream, when ice, embossed,
Whitens its course. Even I did think her chaste,
Whose charity exceeds not. Precious sex!

Lord R. For sad sequestered virtue she's re- Whose deeds lascivious pass Glenalvon's thoughts!

nowned.

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

Enter NORVAL.

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?

Nor. The setting sun,

With yellow radiance, lightened all the vale;
And, as the warriors moved, each polished helm,
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams.
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 1 shall e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admira-

tion

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

power,

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,

Enter LORD RANDOLPH.

Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their

scorn,

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?

Glen. I did not mean

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 !——— ·

[Aside.

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 Glenalvon, 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

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

VOL. I.

4 Y

SCENE I-A Grove.

Enter DOUGLAS.

ACT V.

Doug. 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. 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.

Doug. I scorn it not.

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

Old Nor. And dost thou call me father? Oh, What thou hast told: her counsel I will follow. 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,

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.

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!

Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Doug-Once on the cold and winter-shaded side
las.

Old Nor. Let me but live to see thine exalta-
tion!

Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place,
And those unfriendly towers!

Doug. Why should I leave them?

Of a bleak hill mischance had rooted me,
Never to thrive, child 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 Nor. Lord Randolph and his kinsman seek To whom I oft have of my lot complained, your life.

Doug. 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,
And 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 gigantic Dane
To give a bold defiance to our host!
Before he speaks it out I will accept;
Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die.

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