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 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 power!
The soldier cried, my brother! Oh, my brother!
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 lov'd brother's ghost;
And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch,
To make sad orisons for him he slew.

Lady R. In this dire tragedy were there no more Unhappy persons? did the parents live?

Nor. No, they were dead; kind heaven 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,
Which oft decrees an undeserved doom:
Let schoolmen tell us why-

From whence these sounds?

Enter an OFFICER.

The valiant leader hails the noble Randolph. Lord R. Mine ancient guest! does he the warriors lead?

Has Denmark rous'd the brave old knight in arms? Offi. No; worn with warfare, he resigns the sword.

His eldest hope, the valiant John of Lorn,
Now leads his kindred bands.

Lord R. Glenalvon, go;

With hospitality's most strong request
Entreat the chief.

Exit GLENALVON.

Offi. My lord, requests are vain.

He urges on, impatient of delay,
Stung with the tidings of the foe's approach.
Lord R. May victory sit upon the warrior's
plume!

Bravest of men! his flocks and herds are safe;
Remote from war's alarms his pastures lie,
By mountains inaccessible secur'd:
Yet foremost he into the plain descends,
Eager to bleed in battles not his own.
I'll go and press the hero to my breast.

[Exit with 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?

Bless'd 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.

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 wo,

Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost.

Nor. You that are skill'd 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 lov'd; Oh, tell me who and where my mother is! Oppress'd 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, soYour countenance confesses that she's wretched. Oh, tell me her condition! Can the swordWho shall resist me in a parent's cause? Lady R. Thy virtue ends her wo-My son! my son!

I am thy mother, and the wife of Douglas!

[Falls upon his neck Nor. Oh, heaven and earth! how wondrous 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 behold The poor remains of beauty once admir'd.

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 wrong'd; 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 Of Randolph and his kinsman. Yet I think 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 P. 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 abash'd,
Having no lackey but pale poverty.

Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas! Too long hast thou been deem'd a peasant's child:

The wanton heir of some inglorious chief
Perhaps has scorn'd thee in thy youthful sports,
Whilst thy indignant spirit swell'd 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 chief's 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 conceal'd he lies,
A 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 griev'd my heart.
Nor. Has he, indeed? Then let yon false
Glenalvon

Beware of me.

[Exit.

Lady R. There burst the smother'd flame. O, thou all-righteous and eternal King! Who father of the fatherless art call'd, Protect my son! thy inspiration, Lord! Hath fill'd his bosom with that sacred fire, Which in the breasts of his forefathers burn'd: Set him on high, like them, that he may shine The star and glory of his native land!Yonder they come. How do bad women find Unchanging aspects to conceal their guilt, When 1, by reason and by justice urg'd Full hardly can dissemble with these men In nature's pious cause?

Glen. Most true, my lord.

Lord R. Yet this distinguish'd dame
Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day,
Alone to meet her at the midnight hour.
This assignation, [Shows 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 lov'd me.
Let no man, after me, a woman wed,

Whose heart he knows he has not, though she bring

A mine of gold, a kingdom, for her dowry;
For let her seem, like the night's shadowy queen,
Cold and contemplative-he cannot trust her;
She may, she will, bring shame and sorrow on him;
The worst of sorrows, and the worst of shames!
Glen. Yield not, my lord, to such afflicting
thoughts,

But let the spirit of a husband sleep,
Till your own senses make a sure conclusion.
This billet must to blooming Norval go:
At the next turn awaits my trusty spy;
I'll give it him refitted for his master.

In the close thicket take your secret stand;
The moon shines bright, and your own eyes may
judge

Of their behaviour.

Lord R. Thou dost counsel well.

Glen. Permit me now to make one slight essay:
Of all the trophies, which vain mortals boast,
By wit, by valour, or by wisdom, won,
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-borne, 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 rais'd,
Brave as he is, he'll shrink astonish'd from me.
But, if he be the favourite of the fair,
Lov'd 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

His rising wrath, restrain!— [Exit RANDOLPA 'Tis strange, by heaven!

That she should run full tilt her fond career

Nor. The setting sun With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale; And as the warriors mov'd, each polish'd helm, Corslet, or spear, glanc'd back his gilded beams. The hill they climb'd, and, halting at its top, Of more than mortal size, towering, they seem'd A 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 I shall e'er acquire a leader's name, My speech will be less ardent. Novelty Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration 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 rank'd 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

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?

Nor. Didst thou not hear?

Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Had not been question'd thus. But such as
Nor. Whom dost thou think me?
Glen. Norval.

Nor. So I am

And who is Norval, in Glenalvon's eyes?

Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie: and false as hell

Is the vainglorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. Nor. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, and bed-rid old, Perhaps I should revile: but, as I am,

1 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

[Draws.

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. [They fight.

Enter LORD RANDOLPH.

Lord R. Hold, I command you both. The man that stirs Makes me his foe.

Nor. Another voice than thine

That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous condescending!

Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!
Nor. Now you may scoff in safety.

[Sheathes his sword.

Lord R. Speak not thus, Taunting each other; but unfold to me The cause of quarrel, then I judge betwixt you. Nor. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you

much,

My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.
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
I 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 dishonour'd.
Lord R. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial
voice:

The ancient foe of Caledonia's land

Now waves her banners o'er her frighted fields.
Suspend your purpose, till your country's arms
Repel the bold invader; then decide
The private quarrel.

Glen. I agree to this. Nor. And I.

Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy; At best no more, even if he speaks the truth.

Nor. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?

brow;

Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.

Nor. Think not so lightly, Sir, of my resent

ment.

When we contend again, our strife is mortal.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I-A Wood.

Enter DOUGLAS.

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 believ'd, Descending spirits have convers'd with men, And told the secrets of the world unknown. Enter OLD NORVAL.

Old N. fis he. But what if he should chide me hence?

His just reproach I fear.
Forgive! forgive!

[DOUGLAS sees him.

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 wish'd-for presence now completes my joy. Welcome to me; my fortunes thou shalt share, And ever honour'd with thy Douglas live.

Old N. And dost thou call me father? Oh, 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 conceal'd
The blossom of thy youth.

Doug. Not worse the fruit,

That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot,
I learn'd 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,
Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas.

Old N. Let me but live to see thine exaltation! Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place, And those unfriendly towers!

Doug. Why should I leave them?

Old N. Lord Randolph and his kinsman seek your life.

Doug. How know'st thou that?

Old N. 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 accustom'd path That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I rang'd, I was alarm'd with unexpected sounds Of earnest voices. On the persons came. Unseen I lurk'd, and overheard them name Each other as they talk'd, lord Randolph this, And that Glenalvon. Still of you they spoke, And of the lady: threat'ning was their speech, Though but imperfectly my ear could hear it. "Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery; And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. Doug. Revenge! for what?

Old N. For being what you are, Sir Malcolm's heir: how else have you offended? 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, perplex'd, I issued forth, encompassing the tower,

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.

Doug. I scorn it not.

My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness:
But I will not suspect the noble Randolph.
In our encounter with the vile assassins,
I mark'd his brave demeanour; him I'll trust.
Old N. I fear you will, too far.
Doug. Here in this place

I wait my mother's coming; she shall know
What thou hast told: her counsel I will follow:
And cautious ever are a mother's counsels.
You must depart: your presence may prevent
Our interview.

Old N. My blessing rest upon thee! Oh, may heaven's hand, which sav'd 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 chang'd my state!
Once, on the cold and winter-shaded side
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!
To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,
Hear, and record my soul's unalter'd wish!
Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd!
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.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH.

Lady R. My son! I heard a voice-
Doug. The voice was mine.

Lady R. Didst thou complain aloud to nature's

Doug. First, let me tell

What may the tenour of your counsel change.
Lady R. My heart forebodes some evil.
Doug. 'Tis not good—

At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon,
The good old Norval in the grove o'erheard
Their conversation; oft they mentioned me
With dreadful threat'nings; you they sometimes
nam'd.

'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery; And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.

Lady R. Defend us, gracious God! we are betray'd.

They have found out the secret of thy birth!
It must be so. That is the great discovery.
Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own,
And they will be reveng'd. Perhaps even now,
Arm'd and prepar'd for murder, they but wait