How long did thy fond mother grasp the hope
Of having thee, she knew not how, restored!
Year after year hath worn her hope away;
But left, still undiminished, her desire.

Anna. The hand, that spins the uneven thread of life,

May smooth the length that's yet to come of yours.

Lady R. Not in this world; I have considered well

Its various evils, and on whom they fall.
Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself,
And sweet affection prove the spring of woe!
Oh! had I died when my loved husband fell!
Had some good angel oped to me the book
Of Providence, and let me read my life,
My heart had broke, when I beheld the sum
Of ills, which one by one I have endured.
Anna. That God, whose ministers good angels

Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Randolph's virtues.

Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind
An artificial image of himself:

And he with ease can vary, to the taste
Of different men, its features. Self-denied,
And master of his appetites, he seems:
But his fierce nature, like a fox chained up,
Watches to seize unseen the wished-for prey.
Never were vice and virtue poised so ill,
As in Glenalvon's unrelenting mind.
Yet is he brave and politic in war,
And stands aloft in these unruly times.
Why I describe him thus I'll tell hereafter.
Stay and detain him till I reach the castle.

[Exit Lady Randolph. Anna. Oh happiness! Where art thou to be found?

I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, Though graced with grandeur, and in wealth arrayed:

Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue dwell;

SCENE I-A Court, &c.

Rescued, and had the lady for his labour;
I escaped unknown; a slender consolation!
Heaven is my witness that I do not love
To sow in peril, and let others reap
The jocund harvest. Yet I am not safe:
By love, or something like it, stung, inflamed,
Madly Í blabbed my passion to his wife,
And she has threatened to acquaint him of it.
The way of woman's will I do not know:
But well I know the baron's wrath is deadly.
I will not live in fear: the man I dread
Is as a Dane to me: ay, and the man
Who stands betwixt me and my chief desire.
No bar but he; she has no kinsman near;
No brother in his sister's quarrel bold;

And for the righteous cause, a stranger's cause,
I know no chief that will defy Glenalvon. [Erit.

Enter servants and a stranger at one door, and LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA at another. Lady R. WHAT means this clamour? Stranger, speak secure;

Hast thou been wronged? Have these proud mea presumed To vex the weary traveller on his way?

Ser. By us no stranger ever suffered wrong: This man with outcry wild has called us forth; So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears.

Enter LORD RANDOLPH and a young man, with their swords drawn and bloody.

Lady R. Not vain the stranger's fears! how fares my lord?

Lord R. That it fares well, thanks to this gallant youth,

Whose valour saved me from a wretched death!
As down the winding dale I walked alone,
At the cross-way four armed men attacked me :
Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp,
Who would have quickly laid lord Randolph low,
Had not this brave and generous stranger come,
Like my good angel, in the hour of fate,
And, mocking danger, made my foes his own.
They turned upon him, but his active arm
Struck to the ground, from whence they rose no

more,

The fiercest two; the others fled amain,
And left him master of the bloody field.
Speak, lady Randolph; upon beauty's tongue
Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold.
Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord.
Lady R. My lord, I cannot speak what now
I feel.

My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heaven,
And to this noble youth, who, all unknown
To you and yours, deliberated not,

Nor paused at peril, but, humanely brave,
Fought on your side against such fearful odds.
Have you not learned of him, whom we should
thank?

With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hovered about the enemy, and marked
The road he took; then hastened to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil encumbered foe.
We fought and conquered. Ere a sword was
drawn,

An arrow from my bow had pierced their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I

wear.

Returning home in triumph, I disdained
The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard
That our good king had summoned his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron's side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps:
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I passed these towers,
And, heaven directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.

ed not:

But I must know, who my deliverer is.

[To the Stranger. Stran. A low-born man, of parentage obscure, Who nought can boast but his desire to be A soldier, and to gain a name in arms. Lord R. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobled

By the great King of kings! thou art ordained
And stamped a hero, by the sovereign hand
Of Nature! blush not, flower of modesty,
As well as valour, to declare thy birth.

Stran. My name is Norval: on the Grampian hills

My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I longed
To follow to the field some warlike lord:
And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon, which rose last night, round as my
shield,

Had not yet filled her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rushed, like a torrent, down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds
fled

For safety and for succour. I alone,

Lord R. He is as wise as brave. Was ever

tale

With such a gallant modesty rehearsed?
My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter now
A nobler list, and, in a monarch's sight,
Contend with princes for the prize of fame.
I will present thee to the Scottish king,
Whose valiant spirit ever valour loved.
Ah! my Matilda, wherefore starts that tear?

Lady R. I cannot say: for various affections, And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell; Yet each of them may well command a tear. joy that thou art safe; and I admire Him and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy safety;

Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own.
Obscure and friendless, he the army sought,
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Resolved to hunt for fame, and with his sword
To gain distinction, which his birth denied.
In this attempt, unknown, he might have perished,
And gained, with all his valour, but oblivion.
Now, graced by thee, his virtues serve no more
Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope
He stands conspicuous; fame and great renown
Are brought within the compass of his sword.
On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke,
And blessed the wonder-working lord of heaven.
Lord R. Pious and grateful ever are thy
thoughts!

My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the

way.

Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon,
In honour and command shall Norval be.

Nor. I know not how to thank you. Rude I

am

In speech and manners: never till this hour Stood I in such a presence: yet, my lord, There's something in my breast, which makes me bold

To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy favour.

Lady R. I will be sworn thou wilt not. Thou shalt be

:

My knight and ever, as thou didst to day,
With happy valour guard the life of Randolph.
Lord R. Well hast thou spoke. Let me for-
bid reply.
[To Norval.
We are thy debtors still. Thy high desert
O'ertops our gratitude. I must proceed,
As was at first intended, to the camp.
Some of my train, I see, are speeding hither,
Impatient, doubtless, of their lord's delay.
Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall sce
The chosen warriors of thy native land,
Who languish for the fight, and beat the air
With brandished swords.

Nor. Let us begone, my lord.

Lord R. [To Lady Randolph.] About the time that the declining sun Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hills suspend, Expect us to return. This night once more Within these walls I rest; my tent I pitch To-morrow in the field. Prepare the feast. Free is his heart, who for his country fights: He, in the eve of battle, may resign Himself to social pleasure: sweetest then, When danger to a soldier's soul endears The human joy, that never may return.

[Exeunt Randolph and Norval. Lady R. His parting words have struck a fatal truth.

Oh, Douglas! Douglas! tender was the time
When we two parted, ne'er to meet again!
How many years, of anguish and despair,
Has Heaven annexed to those swift passing hours
Of love and fondness! Then my bosom's flame
Oft, as blown back by the rude breath of fear,
Returned, and with redoubled ardour blazed.
Anna. May gracious Heaven pour the sweet
balm of peace

Into the wounds that fester in your breast!
For carthly consolation cannot cure them.
Lady R. One only cure can Heaven itself be-

stow

A grave-that bed in which the weary rest.
Wretch that I am! Alas! why am I so?
At every happy parent I repine!
How blest the mother of yon gallant Norval!
She for a living husband bore her pains,
And heard him bless her when a man was born:
She nursed her smiling infant on her breast,
Tended the child, and reared the pleasing boy;
She, with affection's triumph, saw the youth,
In grace and comeliness, surpass his peers:
Whilst I to a dead husband bore a son,
And to the roaring waters gave my child.

Anne. Alas! alas! why will you thus resume Your grief afresh? I thought that gallant youth Would, for a while, have won you from your

woe.

On him intent you gazed, with a look

Much more delighted, than your pensive eye Had deigned on other objects to bestow.

Lady R. Delighted, say'st thou? Oh! even there mine eye

Found fuel for my life-consuming sorrow;
I thought, that had the son of Douglas lived,
He might have been like this young gallant stran
ger,

And paired with him in features and in shape.
In all endowments, as in years, I deem,
My boy with blooming Norval might have num-
bered.

While thus I mused, a spark from fancy fell
On my sad heart, and kindled up a fondness
For this young stranger, wandering from his home,
And like an orphan cast upon my care.
I will protect thee, said I to myself,
With all my power, and grace with all my fa-

vour.

Anna. Sure Heaven will bless so generous a

resolve,

You must, my noble dame, exert your power:
You must awake; devices will be framed,
And arrows pointed at the breast of Norval.
Lady R. Glenalvon's false and crafty head will
work
Against a rival in his kinsman's love,
If I deter him not; I only can.
Bold as he is, Glenalvon will beware
How he pulls down the fabric, that I raise.
I'll be the artist of young Norval's fortune.
'Tis pleasing to admire! most apt was I
To this affection in my better days;
Though now I seem to you shrunk up, retired
Within the narrow compass of my woe.
Have you not sometimes seen an early flower
Open its bud, and spread its silken leaves,
To catch sweet airs, and odours to bestow;
Then, by the keen blast nipt, pull in its leaves,
And, though still living, die to scent and beauty?
Emblem of me; affliction, like a storm,
Hath killed the forward blossom of my heart.

Of what you charge me with.

1st Ser. You say so, sir!

But torture soon shall make you speak the truth. Behold, the lady of lord Randolph comes : Prepare yourself to meet her just revenge.

Enter LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA. Anna. Summon your utmost fortitude, before You speak with him. Your dignity, your fame, Are now at stake. Think of the fatal secret, Which in a moment from your lips may fly. Lady R. Thou shalt behold me, with a desperate heart,

Hear how my infant perished. See, he kneels.
[The prisoner kneels.
Pris. Heaven bless that countenance so sweet
and mild!

A judge like thee makes innocence more bold.
Oh, save me, lady, from these cruel men,
Who have attacked and seized me; who accuse
Me of intended murder. As I hope
For mercy at the judgment-seat of Heaven,
The tender lamb, that never nipt the grass,
Is not more innocent than I of murder.

Lady R. Of this man's guilt what proof can
ye produce?

1st Ser. We found him lurking in the hollow glynn.

When viewed and called upon, amazed he fled.
We overtook him, and enquired from whence
And what he was: he said he came from far,
And was upon his journey to the camp.
Not satisfied with this, we searched his clothes,
And found these jewels, whose rich value plead
Most powerfully against him. Hard he seems,
And old in villainy. Permit us try
His stubbornness against the torture's force.

Pris. Oh, gentle lady! by your lord's dear life, Which these weak hands, I swear, did ne'er assail;

And by your children's welfare, spare my age!
Let not the iron tear my ancient joints,
And my grey hairs bring to the grave with pain!
Lady R. Account for these; thine own they

cannot be :

For these, I say: be stedfast to the truth;
Detected falshood is most certain death.

[Anna removes the servants, and returns.] Pris. Alas! I'm sore beset! let never man, For sake of lucre, sin against his soul! Eternal justice is in this most just! I, guiltless now, must former guilt reveal. Lady R. Oh! Anna, hear!-once more I charge thee speak

The truth direct; for these to me foretell
And certify a part of thy narration;
With which, if the remainder tallies not,
An instant and a dreadful death abides thee.
Pris. Then, thus adjured, I'll speak to you as
just

As if you were the minister of heaven,
Sent down to search the secret sins of men:-

Some eighteen years ago I rented land
Of brave sir Malcolm, then Balarmo's lord;
But falling to decay, his servants seized
All that I had, and then turned me and mine,
(Four helpless infants and their weeping mother)
Out to the mercy of the winter winds.
A little hovel by the river's side
Received us: there hard labour, and the skill
In fishing, which was formerly my sport,
Supported life. Whilst thus we poorly lived,
One stormy night, as I remember well,
The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof;
Red came the river down, and loud and oft
The angry spirit of the water shrieked.
At the dead hour of night was heard the dy
Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran
To where the circling eddy of a pool,
Beneath the ford, used oft to bring within
My reach, whatever floating thing the stream
Had caught. The voice was ceased; the person
lost;

But looking sad and earnest on the waters,
By the moon's light I saw, whirled round and
round,

A basket: soon I drew it to the bank,
And nestled curious there an infant lay.
Lady R. Was he alive?

Pris. He was.

And such a man was I; a man declined,
Who saw no end of black adversity:
Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not
Have touched that infant with a hand of harm.
Ludy R. Ha! dost thou say so? then perhaps
he lives!

Pris. Not many days ago he was alive.
Lady R. O God of Heaven! did he then die
so lately?

Pris. I did not say he died; I hope he lives. Not many days ago these eyes beheld Him, flourishing in youth, and health, and beauty.

Lady R. Where is he now?

Pris. Alas! I know not where.

Lady R. Oh, fate! I fear thee still. Thou riddler, speak