My lord! my life! my husband!-mighty God!| Glen. What dost thou doubt of? Wh: What had I done to merit such affliction?
Anna. My dearest lady, many a tale of tears With subjects intricate? Thy youth, th I've listen'd to; but never did I hear
A tale so sad as this.
Ludy 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 join'd our hands, my brother's ancient
tutor,
With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell:
They two alone were privy to the marriage.
On silence and concealment I resolv'd,
Till time should make my father's fortune mine.
That very night on which my son was born,
My nurse, the only confidant I had,
Set out with him to reach her sister's house:
But nurse, nor infant have I ever seen,
Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour.
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 destin'd road, and in its swelling flood
My faithful servant perish'd with my child.
Oh! had I died when my lov'd husband fell!
Had some good angel op'd 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 endur'd.
Anna. That God, whose ministers good
angels are,
Hath shut the book, in mercy to mankind.
But we must leave this theme: Glenalvon
I saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes, And hitherwards he slowly stalks his way. Lady R. I will avoid him. An ungracious
Is doubly irksome in an hour like this. Anna. Why speaks my lady thus of Randolph's heir?
Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Randolph's virtues.
Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind
An artificial image of himself:
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.
Anna. Oh happiness! where art thou to be
found?
I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, Though grac'd with grandeur, and in wealth array'd;
Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue dwell;
Else had this gentle lady miss'd thee not.
Glen. What dost thou muse on, meditating
Cannot be question'd: think of these goo
And then thy contemplations will be pleasin Anna. Let women view yon monument
Rescu'd, and had the lady for his labour:
I'scap'd unknown; a slender consolation!
Heav'n 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, inflam
Madly I blabb'd my passion to his wife,
And she has threaten'd to acquaint him of
The way of woman's will I do not know:
But well I know the baron's wrath is deadl
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 caus
I know no chief that will defy Glenalvon.
[Ex
SCENE I-A Court, etc. Enter Servants and a Stranger at one Doc and LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA at another Lady R. What means this clamour? Stra ger, speak secure; Hast thou been wrong'd? have these rude m presum'd
To vex the weary traveller on his way? 1 Serv. By us no stranger ever suffer wrong:
This man with outcry wild has call'd us fort) So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears. Enter LORD RANDOLPH and NORVAL, wi their Swords drawn and bloody. Lady R. Not vain the stranger's fears! ho fares my lord?
Lord R. That it fares well, thanks to thi gallant youth,
Whose valour sav'd me from a wretched death As down the winding dale I walk'd alone, At the cross way four armed men attack'd me Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp, On earth thou stand'st, thy thoughts ascend to Who would have quickly laid lord Randolp
Like some entranc'd and visionary seer,
Anna. Would that I were, e'en as thou say'st, a seer, To have my doubts by heavenly vision clear'd.
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 turn'd upon him, but his active arm And, heaven directed, came this day to do Struck to the ground, from whence they rose The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
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 paus'd at peril, but, humanely brave,
Fought on your side against such fearful odds.
Have you not learn'd of him whom we should
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike lord:
And heav'n soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon which rose last night, round as
my_shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shep-
herds fled
For safety and for succour. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took; then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.
We fought and conquer'd. Ere sword was
drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I
Lord R. He is as wise as brave.
And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell;
Yet each of them may well command a tear.
I 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
Resolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his sword
To gain distinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt, unknown he might have pe-
rish'd,
And gain'd with all his valour, but oblivion.
Now grac'd 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 bless'd the wonder-working Lord of heaven.
Lord R. Pious and grateful ever are thy
thoughts!
My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the
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 fa
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
forbid 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 see
The chosen warriors of thy native land,
Who languish for the fight, and beat the air
With brandish'd swords.
Lady R. And most certain is my cause o knowledge.
Glen. What do you know? By the mos blessed cross, You much amaze me. No created being, Yourself except, durst thus accost Glenalvor Lady R. Is guilt so bold? and dost tho make a merit
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 nurs'd her smiling infant on her breast;
Tended the child, and rear'd 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.
Anna. Alas! alas! why will you thus resume An outcast beggar, and unpitied too!
Your grief afresh? I thought that gallant youth For mortals shudder at a crime like thine.
Would for awhile have won you from your woe. Glen. Thy virtue awes me. First of w
On him intent you gazed, with a look
Much more delighted, than your pensive eye
Hlas deign'd 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 liv'd,
He might have been like this young gallant
stranger,
And pair'd with him in features and in shape,
In all endowments, as in years, I deem,
My boy with blooming Norval might have
number'd.
Of thy pretended meekness? this to me,
Who, with a gentleness which duty blames,
Have hitherto conceal'd, what, if indulg'd,
Would make thee nothing! or what's wors
than that,
Permit me yet to say, that the fond man
Whom love transports beyond strict virtue
bounds,
If he is brought by love to misery,
In fortune ruin'd, as in mind forlorn,
Unpitied cannot be. Pity's the alms
Which on such beggars freely is bestow'd;
For mortals know that love is still their lor
And o'er their vain resolves advances still:
As fire, when kindled by our shepherds, mov
Through the dry heath before the fanning win
Lady R. Reserve these accents for som
other ear;
Whilst thus I mus'd, a spark from fancy fell
On my sad heart, and kindled up a fondness To love's apology I listen not.
For this young stranger, wand'ring from his
And like an orphan cast upon my care.
I will protect thee, said I to myself,
Mark thou my words: for it is meet tho
shouldst.
His brave deliverer, Randolph here retains.
Perhaps his presence may not please thee wel
With all my power, and grace with all my But, at thy peril, practise ought against hin
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.
Enter GLENALVON.
Glen. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble
Let not thy jealousy attempt to shake
And loosen the good root he has in Randolp
Whose favourites I know thou hast supplante
Thou look'st at me, as if thou wouldst pry
Into my heart. "Tis open as my speech.
I give this early caution, and put on
The curb, before thy temper breaks away.
The friendless stranger my protection claim
His friend I am, and be not thou his foe.
Glen. Child that I was to start at my ow
shadow,
And be the shallow fool of coward conscience
I am not what I have been; what I should b
The darts of destiny have almost pierc'd
My marble heart. Had I one grain of faith
In holy legends and religious tales,
Lady R. Have you not heard, Glenalvon, I should conclude there was an arm above
That fought against me, and malignant turn'
To catch myself, the subtle snare I set.
Why, rape and murder are not simple means
The imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse
And the intended murder introduc'd
A favourite to hide the sun from me;
And worst of all, a rival. Burning hell!
Whether some foe of Randolph's hir'd their This were thy centre, if I thought she lov
Glen. I have; and that the villains may not
'scape,
With a strong band I have begirt the wood.
If they lurk there, alive they shall be taken,
And torture force from them the important
Lady R. That care becomes a kinsman's love.
And waves the flag of her displeasure o'er me, 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?
1 Serv. We found him lurking in the hol-
low glen.
In his behalf. And shall I thus be brav'd?
Carb'd, as she calls it, by dame Chastity?
Infernal fiends, if any fiends there are
More fierce than hate, ambition, and revenge,
Rise up, and fill my bosom with your fires.
Darkly a project peers upon my mind,
Like the red moon when rising in the east,
Cross'd and divided by strange colour'd clouds.
Til seek the slave who came with Norval hither,
And for his cowardice was spurned from him.
Pre known a follower's rankled. bosom breed
Venom most fatal to his heedless lord. [Exit. Most pow'rfully against him. Hard he seems,
SCENE L-The sume,
Enter ANNA.
Anna. Thy vassals, grief, great nature's or
When view'd and call'd upon, amaz'd he fled;
We overtook him, and inquir'd 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 search'd his clothes,
And found these jewels, whose rich value plead
And old in villany, Permit us try
His stubbornness against the torture's force.
Pris. Oh, gentle lady! by your lord's dear
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:
And change the noontide to the midnight hour.
Whilst lady Randolph sleeps, I will walk forth,
And taste the air that breathes on yonder bank.
Sweet may her slumbers be! Ye ministers
Of gracious heaven, who love the human race,
Angels and seraphs, who delight in goodness, For these, I say: be stedfast to the truth;
Forsake your skies and to her couch descend! Detected falsehood is most certain death.
There from her fancy chase those dismal forms
That haunt her waking; her sad spirit charm
With images celestial, such as please
The blest above upon their golden beds.
Sero, One of the vile assassins is secur'd.
We found the villain lurking in the wood:
With dreadful imprecations he denies
All knowledge of the crime. But this is not
His first essay these jewels were conceal'd
In the most secret places of his garment;
Belike the spoils of some that he has murder'd.
Anna. Let me look on them. Ha! here is
a heart,
The chosen crest of Douglas' valiant name!
These are no vulgar jewels. Guard the wretch.
[Exit.
Enter Servants, with a Prisoner. Pris. I know no more than does the unborn
Of what you charge me with, 1 Serv. 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 des-
perate heart,
[Anna removes the Servants, and
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!
charge thee speak
The truth direct; for these to me foretel
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 adjur'd, 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 seiz'd
All that I had, and then turn'd 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
Receiv'd us; there hard labour, and the skill
In fishing, which was formerly my sport,
Supported life. Whilst thus we poorly liv'd,
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 shriek'd.
At the dead hour of night was heard the cry
Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran
To where the circling eddy of a pool,
Beneath the ford, us'd oft to bring within
My reach whatever floating thing the stream
Had caught. The voice had ceas'd; the per-
son lost;
Hear how my infant perish'd. See, he kneels. [The Prisoner kneels. But looking sad and earnest on the waters, Pris. Heaven bless that countenance so sweet By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and
Pris. Bless'd be the hour that made me poor man;
How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests spar'd?
Pris. I am not so inhuman.
The needy man who has known better days,
One whom distress has spited at the world,
Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon
To do such deeds as make the prosperous men
Lift up their hands, and wonder who could
do them.
And such a man was I a man declin'd,
Who saw no end of black adversity:
Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not
Have touch'd that infant with a hand of harm.
Lady R. Ha! dost thou say so! then per-
haps he lives!
Pris. Not many days ago he was alive. Lady R. Oh, God of heav'n! 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
Direct and clear; else I will search thy soul.
Pris. Fear not my faith, though I must
speak my shame;
Within the cradle where the infant lay,
Was stow'd a mighty store of gold and jewels;
Tempted by which, we did resolve to hide,
From all the world this wonderful event,
And like a peasant breed the noble child.
That none might mark the change of our estate,
We left the country, travelled to the north,
Bought flocks and herds, and gradually brought
forth
My poverty hath sav'd my master's house! Lady R. Thy words surprise me: sure the dost not feign!
The tear stands in thine eye; such love fro thee
Sir Malcolm's house deserv'd not; if aright Thou told'st the story of thy own distress. Pris. Sir Malcolm of our barons was t
The safest friend, the best, the kindest mast
But ah! he knew not of my sad estate.
After that battle, where his gallant son,
Your own brave brother fell, the good old lo
Grew desperate and reckless of the world;
And never, as he erst was wont, went fort
To overlook the conduct of his servants.
By them I was thrust out, and them I blan
May heav'n so judge me as I judge my mast.
And God so love me as I love his race!
Lady R. His race shall yet reward th
On thy faith
Depends the fate of thy lov'd master's hou
Rememb'rest thou a little, lonely hut,
That like a holy hermitage appears
Among the cliffs of Carron?
Pris. I remember the cottage of the cliff Lady R. 'Tis that I mean:
There dwells a man of venerable age, Who in my father's service spent his you Tell him I sent thee, and with him remain Till I shall call upon thee to declare, Before the king and nobles, what thou nov To me hast told. No more but this, and th Shalt live in honour all thy future days! Thy son so long shall call thee father still, And all the land shall bless the man who sa The son of Douglas, and sir Malcolm's hei Remember well my words; if thou should
Him, whom thou call'st thy son, still call h
Our secret wealth. But God's all-seeing eye
Beheld our avarice, and smote us sore:
For, one by one, all our own children died,
And he, the stranger, sole remain'd the heir
Of what indeed was his. Fain then would I,
Who with a father's fondness lov'd the boy,|
Have trusted him, now in the dawn of youth, And mention nothing of his nobler father.
With his own secret: but my anxious wife,
Foreboding evil, never would consent.
Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and
beauty;
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Pris. Fear not that I shall mar so fair
harvest,
By putting in my sickle ere 'tis ripe.
Why did I leave my home and ancient dam
To find the youth, to tell him all I knew,
And make him wear these jewels on his ar
Which might, I thought, be challeng'd, a
so bring
And, as we oft observ'd, he bore himself,
Not as the offspring of our cottage blood;
For nature will break out: mild with the mild,
But with the froward he was fierce as fire;
And night and day he talk'd of war and arms. To light the secret of his noble birth.
I set myself against his warlike bent;
But all in vain; for when a desperate band
Of robbers from the savage mountains came-
Lady R. Eternal Providence! What is thy
[Lady Randolph goes towards t Servants.
Lady R. This man is not the assassin y suspected,
Though chance combin'd some likeliho against him.
He is the faithful bearer of the jewels
To their right owner, whom in haste he seek
'Tis meet that you should put him on his wa
Since your mistaken zeal hath dragg'd hi
Oh, sovereign mercy! 'twas my child I saw!
Pris. If I, amidst astonishment and fear,
Have of your words and gestures rightly judg'd,
[Exeunt Prisoner and Servan
Thou art the daughter of my ancient master; My faithful Anna! dost thou share my joy?
The child I rescu'd from the flood is thine. I know thou dost. Unparallel'd event!
Lady R. With thee dissimulation now Reaching from heav'n to earth, Jehovah's an
were vain.
Snatch'd from the waves, and brings me
I am indeed the daughter of sir Malcolm;
my son!
The child thou rescu'dst from the flood is Judge of the widow, and the orphan's fath
Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks
|