Haste, brave men!

Collect your friends, to join us on the instant;
Summon our brethren to their share of conquest,
And let loud echo from her circling hills

Sound freedom, till the undulation shake
The bounds of utmost Sweden.

[Exeunt Dalecarlans, shouting.

Rev. John Home.

DOUGLAS.

LADY RANDOLPH, Widow of EARL DOUGLAS, is married to LORD RanDuring an Incursion of the Danes, NORVAL, a supposed

DOLPH.

On his

young Peasant, fired with youthful ardour, seeks the Camp. way, he saves the Life of RANDOLPH, who is attacked by Robbers, and becomes his Favourite. LADY RANDOLPH mourns her lost Husband and her infant Child, the Son of DOUGLAS. A Prisoner is taken on the outskirts of the Camp, supposed to be one of the Robbers who attacked LORD RANDOLPH. On the Prisoner's person are found Jewels, with the Crest of DOUGLAS: these are conveyed to LADY RANDOLPH by ANNA, her Confidante, and the following Scene takes place.

Enter Servants, with a Prisoner.

Pris. I know no more than does the child 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 desperate heart, Hear how my infant perished. See, he 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 nipped 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 hollow glen.
When viewed and called upon, amazed he fled;
We overtook him, and inquired 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 villany. 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 gray hairs bring to the grave with pain.

Lady R. Account for these; thine own they cannot be :

For these, I say: be steadfast to the truth;

Detected falsehood 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. O, 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 cry
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.

Lady R. Inhuman that thou art!

How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests spared?

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 heads, and wonder who could do them.
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.

Lady 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. O 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 stowed 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
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 remained the heir
Of what indeed was his. Fain then would I,
Who with a father's fondness loved the boy,
Have trusted him, now in the dawn of youth,
With his own secret: but my anxious wife,
Foreboding evil, never would consent.

Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and beauty;

And, as we oft observed, 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 talked of war and arms.
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 name? Pris. My name is Norval; and my name he bears. Lady R. 'Tis he-'tis he himself! It is my son! O Sovereign Mercy! 'twas my child I saw !

Pris. If I, amidst astonishment and fear,

Have of your words and gestures rightly judged,
Thou art the daughter of my ancient master;
The child I rescued from the flood is thine.

Lady R. With thee, dissimulation now were vain.