Without the death of such illustrious knights,
As makes the high-flush'd cheek of victory pale.
El. Why should I tremble thus? (Aside.)
Raby.
Whom have we lost?
Sir Hub. The noble Clifford, Walsingham, and

Grey,

Sir Harry Hastings, and the valiant Pembroke.
All men of choicest note.

Raby.

O, that my name
Had been enroll'd in such a list of heroes!
If I was too infirm to serve my country,

I might have prov'd my love by dying for her.
El. Were there no more?

Sir Hub.

But few of noble blood. But the brave youth who gain'd bright glory's palm; The flower of knighthood, and the plume of war, Who bore its banner foremost in the field,

Yet conquer'd more by mercy than the sword,
Was Percy.

El.

Raby.

Then he lives? (Aside.)

Did he? Did Percy?

O, gallant youth, then I'm thy foe no more;
Who conquers for my country is my friend!
His fame shall add new glories to a house,
Where never maid was false, nor knight disloyal.
Sir Hub. You do embalm him, lady, with your

tears:

They grace the grave of glory where he lies.

He died the death of honour.

El.

Saidst thou-died?

Sir Hub. Beneath the towers of Solyma he fell.

El.

Sir Hub. Look to the lady.

Raby.

Oh!

(ELWINA faints in her father's arms.

Gentle knight, retire—

"Tis an infirmity of nature in her.

She ever mourns at any tale of blood;

She will be well anon-meantime, Sir Hubert,

You'll grace our castle with your friendly so

journ.

Sir Hub. I must return with speed-health to

the lady!

[Exit HUBERT.

Raby. Look up, Elwina. Should her husband

come!

Yet she revives not.

Doug.

Enter DOUGLAS.

Ha! Elwina fainting?

My lord, I fear you have too harshly chid her.
Her gentle nature could not brook your sternness.
She wakes, she stirs, she feels returning life.

My love! (He takes her hand.)

Douglas here?

My father and my husband!-0, for pity.

[Exit ELWINA, casting a look of anguish on both. Doug. Now, now confess she well deserves my vengeance!

Before my face to call upon my foe!

Raby. Upon a foe who has no power to hurt thee. Earl Percy's slain.

Doug.

I live again. But hold

Did she not weep? She did, and wept for Percy.
If she laments him, he's my rival still,

And not the grave can bury my resentment.
I can be jealous of the dead.

Raby.
No more.
The truly brave are still the truly gen'rous;
Now, Douglas, is the time to prove thee both.
If it be true that she did once love Percy,
Thou hast no more to fear, since Percy's dead.

Release young Harcourt, let him see Elwina,
'Twill serve a double purpose, 'twill at once
Prove Percy's death, and thy unchang'd affection.
Be gentle to my child, and win her heart
By confidence and unreproaching love.

Doug. By heav'n, thou counsel'st well: it shall be done.

Go, set him free, and let him have admittance

Raby.

Farewell, Douglas.

Shew thou believ'st her faithful, and she'll prove so.

[Exit RABY. Doug. Northumberland is dead-that thought is

peace!

Her heart may yet be mine; transporting hope!
Percy was gentle, ev'n a foe avows it,

And I'll be milder than a summer's breeze.
Yes, thou most lovely, most ador'd of women!
I'll trace each virtue, copy every grace,
Of my bless'd rival, happier in his death
To be thus lov'd, than living to be scorn'd.

ACT III.

SCENE-A Garden at Raby Castle, with a Bower. Enter PERCY and SIR HUBERT.

Sir Hub. O PERCY! that thou liv'st, and art return'd,

More joys my soul than all the mighty conquests
That sun beheld, which rose on Syria's ruin.

Per. I've told thee, good Sir Hubert, by what wonder

I was preserv'd, though number'd with the slain.
Sir Hub. 'Twas strange indeed!

Per.

'Twas heav'n's immediate work!

But let me now indulge a dearer joy,
Talk of a richer gift of mercy's hand;
A gift so precious to my doting heart,
That life preserv'd is but a second blessing.
O Hubert, let my soul indulge its softness!
The hour, the spot, is sacred to Elwina.
This was her fav'rite walk; I well remember,
(For who forgets that loves as I have lov'd?)
"Twas in that very bower she gave this scarf,
Wrought by the hand of love; she bound it on,
And, smiling, cried, whate'er befall us, Percy,
Be this the sacred pledge of faith between us.
I knelt, and swore, call'd every power to witness,
No time nor circumstance should force it from me!
But vow'd to lose my life and this together.

Here I repeat my vow.

Sir Hub.

Is this the man

Beneath whose single arm an host was crush'd?
He at whose name the Saracen turn'd pale?
Who, when he fell, made conqu'ring armies weep,
And mourn a victory they had bought so dear?
How has he chang'd the trumpet s martial note,
And all the stirring clangor of the war,
For the soft melting of the lover's lute!
Why are thine eyes still bent upon the bower?
Per. O Hubert, Hubert! to a soul enamour'd
There is a sort of local sympathy,

Which, when we view the scenes of early passion,
Paints the bright image of the object lov'd,
In stronger colours than remoter scenes
Could ever paint it; realizes shadow;
Embodies vacancy; lends shape and being
To airy fantasy; substance to thought;

Fiction to truth; and breath and voice to words
Dresses the object up in all its charms;
Talks to it nearer, frames its answers kinder,
And turns imagination into vision.

Sir Hub. I should not be believ'd in Percy's camp, If I should tell them that their gallant leader, The bold Northumberland, the British Mars, Renouncing war, dissolv'd in amorous wishes, Loiter'd in shades, and pin'd in rosy bowers, To catch a transient glance of two bright eyes. Per. Enough of conquest, and enough of war! Ambition's cloy'd-the heart resumes its rights. When England's king and England's good requir'd, This arm not idly the keen falchion bore. Enough-for vaunting misbecomes a soldier.

I live, I am return'd-am near Elwina!

Seest thou those turrets? Yes, that castle holds her. But wherefore tell thee this? for thou hast seen her. How look'd, what said she? Did she hear the tale Of my imagin'd death without emotion?

Sir Hub. Percy, thou hast seen the musk-rose newly blown

Disclose its bashful beauties to the sun;
When, lo! a chilling storm at once descends,
Sweeps all its blushing glories to the dust,
Bows its fair head, and blasts its op'ning charms.
So droop'd the maid, beneath the cruel weight
Of my sad tale.

Per.

So tender, and so true!

Sir Hub. I left her fainting in her father's arms, The dying flower yet hanging on the tree. E'en Raby melted at the news I brought, And envied thee thy glory.

Per.

Then I am blest!

His hate subdued, I've nothing more to fear.

Sir Hub. My embassy despatch'd, I left the castle, Nor spoke to any of Lord Raby's household, For fear the king should chide the tardiness Of my return. My joy to find you living You have already heard.

Per.

But where is Harcourt?

Ere this he should have seen her, told her all;