Mat. No, my son :

Tho' in this solitude I have conceal'd thee,
Ev'n from thyself conceal'd thee, to evade
A fell usurper's search, and stemm'd the tide
Of nature, gushing to a mother's heart;
Still I have done it in the sacred hope

Of some auspicious hour, when I might shew thee
Bright as thy father's fame.

Mont. I own the cause,

And know how watchfully this hungry vulture
Has hover'd o'er thee on his felon wings.
Now I can solve this solitude around us,
Why thou hast built thine airey in this cragg,
And with a mother's care conceal'd thy young.
Mat. Another day, and then-meanwhile be secret;
Discovery now wou'd but disturb the house
From its sobriety, and mar the time

Of awful preparation.-Pass to-morrow !-
(Oh, all ye saints and angels, make it happy!)
Then, if thou com'st a living conqueror home,
This roof that still has echoed to my groans,
Shall ring with triumphs to Saint Valori's name :
But if

Mont. Avert the sad, ill-omen'd word!

Thou shalt not name it: my great father's spirit
Swells in my bosom.-When my falchion gleams,
When the red cross darts terror from my shield,
The coward's heart shall quail, and Heaven's own

arm,

Ere mine can strike, shall lay the murderer low.

Mat. Thy father stirs within thee: hark!

thinks

I hear the shrieks of his unburied ghost,

me

Screaming for vengeance.--Oh, support, defend me ! See where he gleams, he bursts upon my sight! 'Tis he! 'tis he! I clasp him to my heart;

My hero! my Saint Valori! my husband!

1

[Embraces him.

Enter GYFFORD unseen; starts.

Gyf. Husband! oh fatal word! undone for ever!
Mat. I will array thee in a sacred suit,

The very armour my Saint Valori wore,
When in the single combat he unhors'd
And slew the Lord Fitz-Osborn. On that helm
High-plumed victory again shall stand,

And clap her wings exulting: from that shield
Vengeance with gorgon terrors shall look forth,
Awfully frowning.-Hah! what man art thou?
[Discovering Gyfford.
Gyfford, what wouldst thou? wherefore this intru-

sion?

Gyf. A noble messenger from Henry's court Is landed on the isle.

Mat. From the king, say'st thou ?

Gyf. A runner of his train, whose utmost speed
Scarce distanc'd him an hour, is now arriv'd,
And gives this warning.

Mat. Did you not enquire

His master's name and title?

Gyf. Lord De Courci.

Mat. A generous and right noble lord he is : Our Normandy boasts not a worthier baron, Nor one affianc'd to our house more kindly : Prepare to give him welcome.-Follow me.

[Exit with Montgomeri.

Gyf. Yes, to destruction, for that way thou lead'st. Husband!-her husband! her Saint Valori!

It cannot be.- Without the church's rites

Wed him she could not; to conceal those rites,
And wed by stealth, is here impossible.

What must I think -That he is yet her husband
In meditation only, not in form.

Embracing too!-Oh mortal stab to honour!

O shame, shame, shame! that I shou'd live to see it. Enter SAINT VALORI hastily.

St. Val. What hast thou seen? my mind is on the rack:

Thou'st been in conference with thy lady; speak!If thou hast aught discover'd that affects

My honour, tell it.

Gyf. Hard task you enjoin;

Wou'd rather I were in my grave, than living

To utter what I've seen.

St. Val. Nay, no evasion.

Gyf. For the world's worth I would not with my knowledge

Add or diminish of the truth one tittle.

St. Val. Gyfford, as thou shalt render up the truth To the great Judge of hearts, say what thou know'st

Of my unhappy wife; nor more nor less,
Give me the proof unvarnish'd.

Gyf. I surpris'd

Her and Montgomeri heart to heart embracing

St. Val. Death! Heart to heart embracing!-Woman, woman!

Gyf. Fond and entranc'd within his arms she lay; Then with uplifted rapturous eyes exclaim'd, My hero! my Saint Valori! my husband!"

St. Val. Husband! reflect.-Art sure she call'd him husband?

Gyf. If there be faith in man, I've spoke the truth. St. Val. Why then the truth is out, and all is past: I have no more to ask.

Gyf. Hear me with favour;

I'll not abuse the licence of old age

And faithful service with too many words.

St. Val. What canst thou tell me I have one within

That is my monitor: not unprepar'd

I meet this fatal stroke, nor with revilings
Or impious curses (be my witness, Gyfford!)
Do I profane Heav'n's ear, tho' hard and painful
This bitter visitation of its wrath.

Gyf. Tho' to the sure conviction of my senses
I saw and heard what I have now reported,
Yet, circumstances weigh'd, I must believe,
As yet she is not wedded.

St. Val. Hah! not wedded?

Perish the man who dares to breathe a doubt

Of her unspotted chastity: not wedded !

Yet heart to heart embracing! dreadful thought!— Death in his direst shape approach me rather

Than that dishonest doubt!

Gyf. Wou'd I had died

Ere I had seen this day!

St. Val. Wretch that I am,

Why was I snatch'd from slaughter? why deliver'd
From barbarous infidels? why, when o'erwhelm'd
And sinking in th' oblivious deep, preserv'd,
Wash'd like a floating fragment to the shore,
Sav'd, nourish'd, ransom'd by the very hand
That cuts my heart asunder; set in view
Of all my soul held dear; and now, ev'n now,
As I reach'd forth my hand to seize the goal,
The resting-place and haven of my hope,
Dash'd in a moment back, and lost for ever?

Gyf. Such is the will of Heaven! For me, thus old,
And blighted with misfortune, I've no strength,
No root to bear against this second storm;
There, where I fall, I'll make myself a grave.

St. Val. No more of this: you've heard my last complaint;

For I must soon put off these monkish weeds,

And what a consecrated knight should do,

Fitting the Cross he wears, that must be done.-
How stands your preparation for to-morrow?
Will she depart?

Gyf. I think she will; for now

The Lord De Courci, from King Henry sent,