University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

The Banks of Loch Leven.
Enter Henry.
HENRY.
First at the place!—the morning's chill;—I wish
The quarrel were with other than the man
I wait for; but of all the useless things
Which form the business of the world, regret
Is the most idle. Yet, I wish 'twere past.—
He's here.

Enter Halbert.
HENRY.
I have but little time to spend,
And the air freezes. Let's to work at once.
Select your ground, sir.

HALBERT.
Do you mock me, Henry,
With this vain show of courage?

HENRY.
I came hither
Upon your summons, as I thought, to end
A soldier's quarrel with a soldier's sword;
But if you can restrain the bitter speech
To which I must not listen, I prefer
To take your hand in kindness. As you will.

HALBERT.
Did I not feel that I have words to pierce
Through that cold bravery to the heart within it,
I might relieve you of some frolic blood
Which makes the front of your rebellion proud.

HENRY.
Rebellion!

HALBERT.
Have you not rebell'd at once
Against your clan, your country, and the tomb
Of a brave father who embraced in you
The darling of his age? Behold his sword
You now defy,—your plaything while he talk'd
Of noble daring, till you paused in sport
To hear and weep. Its sight should wound you now
More than its edge could. What would be his grief
Could he behold you in that hated dress,
Link'd to the foes of Scotland! O, my brother,
Why did you this?

HENRY.
If you intend to ask
What urged me to take service with Argyle,
I answer you at once.—My eagle spirit,
Which wanted air to soar in; frank disdain
Of dull existence, which had faintly gleam'd,
Like yonder Serpent-river, through dark rocks
Which bury it; ambition for a lot
Which places life and death upon a cast,
And makes the loser glorious. Not for me
The sullen pride of mouldering battlements,
Or rites of tottering chapel.

HALBERT.
Is it so?
Is ancient sanctity, which sheds its grace
Upon the infant's sportiveness, and cleaves
To the old warrior when he falls, a thing
To mock at? But I wrong you there: I know
Your heart then spoke not. I could cherish pride
In your gay valour, if a generous cause
Had won its aid;—nay, deeming Scotland lost,
If you had sought your fortune at the court
Of England, I had borne it;—but to join
With these domestic traitors—men who know
The rights they sell; who understand the ties
Which, through the wastes of centuries, cement
Our clans, and give the sacred cord one life
Of reverential love; for whom these hills
On the clear mirror of their childhood cast
Great shadows; who have caught their martial rage
From deeds of Wallace and of Bruce, and learn'd
To temper and enrage it with the sense
Of suffering beauty, which from Mary's fate
Gleams through dim years; and who conspire to crush
These memories in men's souls, and call the void
They make there, freedom—is a deed to weep for!

HENRY.
I may not hear the comrades whom I love
Thus slander'd.

HALBERT.
You shall hear me while I speak
Of that which nearly touches you, as one
Of a small—branded—poor—illustrious race;
Who boast no fertile pastures; no broad lake
Studded with island woods, which make the soul
Effeminate with richness, like the scenes
In which the baffled Campbells hid their shame,
And scorn'd their distant foes. Our boasts are few,
Yet great:—a stream which thunders from its throne,
As when its roar was mingled with the voice
Of eldest song, from age to age retain'd
In human hearts;—wild myrtles which preserve
Their hoard of perfume for the dying hour
When rudeness crushes them;—rocks which no flowers
Of earth adorn, but, in themselves austere,
Receive The Beautiful direct from Heaven,
Which forces them to wear it,—shows their tops
Refined with air; compels their darkest steeps
Reluctant to reflect the noontide sun
In sheeted splendour—wreathes around them clouds
In glorious retinue, which, while they float
Slowly, or rest beneath the sable heights,
In their brief fleecy loveliness grow proud
To wait upon The Lasting.—And the right
To walk this glen with head erect, you sold
For bounties which Argyle could offer!

HENRY.
No—
Not for base lucre!—for a soldier's life,
Whose virtue's careless valour, unperplex'd
With aught beyond the watchword. If your cause
Were vital, I would freely draw my sword
To serve it; but where lives it?

HALBERT.
In the soul
Which, ruffled by no hope to see it tower
Again in this world, cherishes it still
In its own deathless and unsullied home;—
That soul which, swelling from the mould of one
Obscure as I, can grasp the stubborn forms
Of this great vale, and bend them to its use,
Until their stateliest attributes invest
With pillar'd majesty the freeborn thoughts
Which shall survive them. Even these rocks confess
Change and decay; show where the ancient storm
Rent their grey sides, and, from their iron hearts,
Unriveted huge masses for its sport,
And left their splinters to attest a power
Greater than they;—but mighty truths like those
On which our slighted cause was based, shall hold
Their seat in the clear spirit which disdains
To sully or resign them, undisturb'd
By change or death:—they are eternal, Henry!

HENRY.
If we were now the lords of this domain
You love so well, I might have own'd a tie
To bind me to your wishes; you resign'd them;
What can these mountains yield to one who owns
Mac Ian as their lord?

HALBERT.
The power to bear
That bitter taunt—which yet I feel!—O Henry!
Was that well said?

HENRY.
You should not have provoked it
By slanders on my officers and friends.

HALBERT.
Your friends! Poor youth! companionship in mirth,
Ungraced by thought, makes shallow friends; and yours
Are worse than shallow—they are false.

HENRY.
Nay, this
I will not bear; draw, sir!

[Henry draws his sword, and rushes on Halbert, who dashes it from his hand.
HALBERT.
Take up your sword;
See how a bad cause makes a brave arm weak!
Blush not; 'twas but in pastime.

HENRY.
Kill me now,
And walk the hills in pride!

HALBERT.
Too plain I see
Our paths diverge;—but let us not forget
That we have trod life's early way together,
Hand clasp'd in hand. How proud was I to watch
Your youngest darings, when I saw you dive
To the deep bottom of the lake beneath us,
Nor draw one breath till in delight you rose
To laugh above it; when I traced the crags
By which with lightest footstep you approach'd
The eaglets' bed; and when you slipp'd, yet knew
No paleness, bore you in my trembling arms
To yon black ridge, from which in the cold thaw
The snow wreath melts, as infancy's pure thoughts
Have vanish'd from your soul.

HENRY.
No—Halbert—no!
Graceless I shook them from it, but they crowd
Here at your voice.

HALBERT.
And you will not forget us?
Go, then, where fortune calls you, loved and praised—
Let not the ribald licence of a camp
Insult the griefs of Scotland. 'Mid the brave
Be bravest; and when honours wait your grasp,
Allow a moment's absence to your heart
While it recals one lonely tower, whose doors
Would open to you were you beggar'd, shamed,
Forsaken;—and beside whose once-loved hearth
Your praises shall awaken joy more fervent
Than nobler friends can guess at. Ah! you weep—
My own true brother still!

HENRY.
I am! I am!

[They embrace.
Enter Helen.
HELEN.
Forgive me that I follow'd you. I saw
Both ruffled at your parting; but my fears
Never suggested an event so sad,
As that two brothers, from whose swords alone
We hope protection, should direct their points
Against each other's lives.

HENRY.
You must not leave
This spot with the belief that Halbert shares
The blame of this encounter; mine the fault,
Be mine the shame.

HALBERT.
I will not let you pour
On Helen's ear one word of self-reproach;
You'll not believe him shamed?

HELEN.
Indeed I will not;
I feel that shame and Henry are disjoin'd
As yonder summits.
[To Henry.
I must teach your steps
The pleasant pathways which we used to tread
In old sweet times.

[Takes his hand.
HALBERT
(apart).
It cannot be she means
Other than sisterly regard in this;
'Tis but the frankness of a courteous heart.
No more—no more.

HELEN
(to Halbert).
Will you not walk with us?
I have a hand for you too.

HALBERT.
Nothing else?

HELEN.
Yes; and a heart—a grateful one. So solemn!
Nay, you must smile; this is a day of joy,
And shall be cloudless. Hark! the music calls us.

[Martial music at a distance.
HALBERT.
Those strains again! Forgive me. Let us home.

[Exeunt.