Nor e'er reproach, but when insulted virtue But that's thy least reward. Believe me, Sir, [Exit. Lord R. Summon a hundred horse, by break of day, 'To wait our pleasure at the castle gate. Enter LADY RANDOLPH. Lady R. Alas, my lord I've heard unwelcome news; The Danes are landed. Lord R. Ay, no inroad this Of the Northumbrian, bent to take a spoil: Of some young knight resolv'd to break a spear, The Danes are landed: we must beat them back, Or live the slaves of Denmark. Lady R. Dreadful time! Lord R. The fenceless villages are all forsaken; The trembling mothers and their children lodg'd In wall-girt towers and castles! whilst the men Retire indignant: yet, like broken waves, They but retire, more awful to return. Lady R. Immense, as fame reports, the Danish host! Lord R. Were it as numerous as loud fame reports, An army knit like ours would pierce it through: Lovers of danger, on destruction's brink Lord R. Down in the vale I left him managing a fiery steed, Whose stubbornness had foil'd the strength and skill Of every rider. But now he comes, Enter NORVAL and GLENALVON. In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand, Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains. Did they report him; the cold earth his bed, For he had been a soldier in his youth; shake His years away, and act his young encounters: Then, having show'd his wounds, he'd sit him down, And all the live-long day discourse of war. The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm: Lord R. Why did this soldier in a desert hide Nor. Yes; of the same parents born; Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks, Lady R. In this dire tragedy were there no more Unhappy persons? did the parents live? Nor. No, they were dead; kind heaven had 1 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, That could have well sustain'd a prouder fortune. Nor. Let there be danger, lady, with the secret I'd say I knew them, and they were my father's. Lady R. Thy father's, say'st thou? ah, they were thy father's! Nor. I saw them once, and curiously inquir'd Of both my parents, whence such splendour came But I was check'd, and more could never learn. Lady R. Then learn of me-thou art not Norval's son. Nor. Not Norval's son? Lady R. Nor of a shepherd sprung. Nor. Who am I then? Lady R. Noble thou art, For noble was thy sire. Nor. I will believe Oh, tell me further! say, Who was my father? Nor. Lord Douglas, whom to-day I saw ? Nor. You make me tremble-Sighs and tears! [Trumpets at a distance. Lives my brave father? From whence these sounds? Enter an OFFICER. Ofi. My lord, the trumpets of the troops of Lorn! 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, Lord R. Glenalvon, go; With hospitality's most strong request Exit GLENALVON. Offi. My lord, requests are vain. Bravest of men! his flocks and herds are safe; [Exit with OFFICER. Lady R. The soldier's loftiness, the pride and 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! Nor. Respect and admiration still possess me, 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. 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 Nor. To be the son of Douglas is to me Await the poor man's valour. Oh, my son ! 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 Of private conference. Its purport mark: Lady R. At hand conceal'd he lies, 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 In nature's pious cause with these men Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along. Lord R. For sad sequester'd virtue she's renown'd. 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; But let the spirit of a husband sleep, In the close thicket take your secret stand; Of their behaviour. Lord R. Thou dost counsel well. Glen. Permit me now to make one slight essay: Lord R. And what avails this maxim? Withdraw a little; I'll accost young Norval, Lord R. 'Tis shrewdly thought. His rising wrath, restrain! 'Tis strange, by heaven! But [Exit RANDOLPH. career That she should run full tilt her fond 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 power, Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns. Nor. Sir, I have been accustomed all my days To hear and speak the plain and simple truth: And though I have been told that there are men Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their To gall your pride, which now I see is great. Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper. Glen. Yes; if you presume To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes, 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 thee- Nor. So I am And who is Norval, in Glenalvon's eyes? 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 7 truth? Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie: and false as hell Is the vainglorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval 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! [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, To the liege lord of my dear native land The ancient foe of Caledonia's land Now waves her banners o'er her frighted fields. Glen. I agree to this. Nor. And I. 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. I think that I could die to make amends Doug. Not worse the fruit, That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd. 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. Doug. I scorn it not. My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness: I wait my mother's coming; she shall know 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; Doug. He loves me like a parent; Lady R. My son! I heard a voice- Lady R. Didst thou complain aloud to nature's Doug. First, let me tell What may the tenour of your counsel change. At eve, unseen by Raudolph and Glenalvon, 'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery; And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. Lady R. Defend us, gracious God! we are be tray'd. They have found out the secret of thy birth |