In that once-noble visage, I scarce trace

The lineaments of my most honour'd lord.

St. Val. Awake from this surprise, and hear me,
Gyfford.

I am no spectre, but thy living master:
Wounded and breathless on the ground I lay,
Welt'ring in blood: th' assassins fled and left me;
There I had soon expir'd, but that a company
Of merchants, journeying from Venice, found me,
And charitably staunch'd my bleeding wounds.
To their own homes they bore me: heal'd, restor❜d,
In a Venetian galley I embark'd,

And sail'd for Genoa; but, ere we reach'd

Our destin'd port, a Saracen assail'd

And master'd our weak crew.-To tell the tale

Of my captivity, escape, return,

Would ask more leisure, and a mind at ease.
Gyf. But why does brave Saint Valori appear
A bearded Carmelite?

St. Val. This holy habit

Thro' a long course of dangerous pilgrimage
Has been my saving passport: thus attir'd,
I reach'd my native castle, found it lorded
By the usurper Hildebrand; with zeal
I burn'd to call my faithful people round me,
And throw off my disguise; this I had done,
But straight arriv’d a herald from King Henry
To warn him to the lists against the champion
Of my supposed widow: the pale coward

Shrunk, yet obey'd the summons.

struck me

The thought

To join his train, and in my sovereign's presence,
At the last trumpet's signal, to come forth
Before the king, the lords, and armed knights,
And strike confusion to the caitiff's soul.-

The rest needs no relation.

Gyf. 'Tis resolv'd

To-morrow for Southampton we depart ;
There Henry keeps his court.

St. Val. Why then, to-morrow

Truth and the morning sun shall rise together,
And this black night of doubt shall be dispell❜d:
Till then lock fast my secret in thy heart,

And know me for none other than I seem.

Lo, where they come ! Yet, yet I will be patient; Time will bring all things forth.-Gyfford, with[Exeunt.

draw.

Enter MATILDA and MONTGOMERI.

Mat. I think he said he was my husband's friend; If so I've been too harsh: reason forsook me,

For he did speak of things that rent my heart:
But let that pass.-Dost thou observe, Montgomeri?
Mont. With fix'd attention and devoted heart

I hear, and note your pleasure.

Mat. I am calm,

Thou seest I am, and not about to speak,

As sometimes, when my thoughts obey no order : Therefore I pray thee mark.-Thou must have noted

With what a tenderness I've train'd thee up

From helpless infancy to blooming manhood :
Hast thou not noted this?

Mont. I were most vile

Did I forget it.

Mat. I am sure thou dost not;

For from the moment of thy birth till now
I've nurs'd thy opening virtues, mark'd their growth,
And gloried in the fruit of my adoption :
I've register'd each movement of thy soul,
And find it tun'd to honour's loftiest pitch,
To soft affection modell'd, and to love,
The harmony of nature: my best hopes
Are satisfied, and thou art all I pray'd for.

Mont. What thou hast made me that I truly am, And will be ever: hands, head, heart are yours. Mat. The day is coming on, the wish'd-for day (After a night of twice ten tedious years)

At length is coming on: justice is granted;

I

go

to Henry's court; Lord Hildebrand

Is summon'd to the lists: and where's the man
To avenge the widow's cause?

Mont. Where is the man!

And can you want a champion ?-Have I liv'd
The creature of your care, the orphan child
Of your adopting charity, the thing
Your plastic bounty fashion'd from the dust
Of abject misery; and does my heart
Utter one drop of blood that is not yours,
One artery that does not beat for you?

Mat. Know, then, I have a champion, noble, brave, Heir of the great Saint Valori, my son.

Mont. What do I hear thy son !-Where has he liv'd,

That I have never seen him? never known

There was a living hero of the name?
Oh, tell me where he is, that I may fly
To do him faithful service, on my knee
Brace on his glittering armour, bear his shield,
The glorious badge of his nobility,

And shout with triumph when his conqu'ring sword
Cleaves the assassin's crest.-Oh send me hence,
To hail his victory, or share his fall!

Mat. Thou art my son.

Mont. Merciful god thy son!

Mat. Thou art my son; for thee alone I've liv'd, For thee I have surviv'd a murder'd husband; For thee-but it would break thy filial heart To hear what I have suffer'd; madness seiz'd me, And many a time (sweet Jesus intercede, For I was not myself!) yes, many a time In my soul's anguish, with my desperate hand Rais'd for the stroke of death, a thought, a glance Of thee, my child, has smote my shatter'd brain, And stopt th' impending blow.

Mont. Oh, spare thyself,

Spare me the dread description!

Mat. Thou hast been

Thy mother's guardian angel: furious once,

In the mind's fever, to Glendarlock's roof

Madd'ning I rush'd; there, from the giddy edge
Of the projecting battlements, below,
Measuring the fearful leap, I cast my eye:
Thy cherub form arrested it; my child
Upon the pavement underneath my feet
Sported with infant playfulness; my blood
Drove back upon my heart; suspended, pois'd,
High hung in air, with outstretch'd arms I stood,
Pondering the dreadful deed; thy fate prevail'd,
Nature flew up, and push'd me from the brink-
I shrunk, recoil'd, and started into reason.

Mont. Oh terrible to thought! Oh pictur'd horror! It pierces to my brain; there's madness in it.

Mat. Yes, sorrow had o'erturn'd thy mother's brain:
I have been mad, my son; and oftentimes
I find, alas! all is not yet compos'd,

Sound, and at peace: it takes a world of time
To heal the wounds of reason; even now,
When I would fain relate my life's sad story,
I cannot range my scatter'd thoughts in order
To tell it as I shou'd.-I pray thee, pardon me;
I'll do my best to recollect myself,

If thou'lt be patient.

Mont. Patient! Oh, thou sufferer!

Oh, thou maternal softness! hear thy son,
Thus kneeling, bathing with his tears thy feet,
Swear to cast off each fond alluring thought,
The world, its honours, pleasures, and ambition;
Here in this solitude to live with thee,

To thee alone devoted!

D