University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Tower of Halbert.
Time—Noon of the Sixteenth Day.
Enter Henry Macdonald.
HENRY.
Will no one answer me?—I call in vain;—
And must pass on without that glimpse of Helen
I came to win.
[Kenneth crosses the stage.
Stay fellow; where's my mother?

KENNETH.
She is preparing for our master's wedding,
Of which our notice has been short; 'twas yesterday
Appointed for to-morrow.

HENRY.
Halbert's wedding!—
That's pleasant news, though strange;—to think my brother,
My solemn brother, all this time in love!
He has not trusted me; so I must ask
Of you, the fair one's name.

KENNETH.
Name!—surely, sir,
It could be none but Helen Campbell.

HENRY.
Cease
Your jesting with that name, or with my sword
I'll try to teach you manners.

KENNETH.
Jesting, sir!—
We have little jesting here;—although these walls
Will ring for once, when our dear master gives them
So kind a mistress.

HENRY.
Dare you mock me? No!—
I will not vent my rage on you;—if this
Is not a jest, tell your kind mistress,—here
Henry Macdonald waits her!—bid her come
And answer to him as she loves her life.

KENNETH.
I'll seek her, sir.

HENRY.
Begone.
[Exit Kenneth.
Can this be true?
Yes; that poor knave would never dare invent
A tale so monstrous;—but it passes all
My lightest comrades tell of woman's falsehood.
How will they scoff at me—duped and despised
By this meek mountain damsel—cast aside
For a dull dreamer of the rocks, who dared
To school me with his wisdom! Wise, indeed,
The lady has become, to leave my hopes
Of wealth and glory for these crazy walls,
And solemn disputations. 'Tis a jest,
I'faith a merry one!—her uncle, too,
My captain and my friend!—Most generous brother,
I'll mar your triumph yet.
Enter Helen.
O you are here!

HELEN.
Yes; on a summons couch'd in terms more harsh
Than needful: I had come on lightest word
That spoke your wish to see me.

HENRY.
Do you talk
To me of harshness! Look me in the face—
Look steadily upon me, and reply
To one brief question.

[Henry seizes Helen's arm; she looks at him and turns away in tears.
HENRY.
No!—I need not ask it.
Yet hold one moment; is the bridegroom here?
I long to wish him joy.

HELEN.
Accuse him not:
He's innocent of all.

HENRY.
O, doubtless! Still
'Twas churlish not to bid me to his bridal;
What is the happy hour?

HELEN.
Sunrise.

HENRY.
Until
That hour, farewell.

HELEN.
O leave me not in scorn!
But as you are a brave man, to the weak
Be merciful. Although no plighted faith
Is broken with you, I will not allow
A base self-flattery to conceal the truth
That I have wrong'd you—stolen delightful hours,
And cherish'd gentle vanities, with heart
Too joyous to revert to holy ties
Long woven, though unrecognised, which link'd
My destiny to Halbert's. He has shown
That, though I knew it not, my life is his,
And I have own'd his title to the hand
This ring enriches.

HENRY.
And for dreams like this
You have repell'd a soldier's love, which you,
And only you, could have secured—released him
From the sole anchor of a giddy youth,
(So you described it,) and yourself from share
Of his young fortunes, and the ample dowry
With which your uncle would have graced them!

HELEN.
Stain not
The few sad moments we may spend with thought
So little worthy. Had my lot been cast
With yours, I should have cared for no success
Save as it made you happier; sought no pleasures
But the perennial gaiety your mirth
Had shed around me;—deem'd no travel long
If shared with—Hold!—Accept my last farewell;—
May that undaunted courage which breathes in you
Inspire you to attain the airiest heights
Of glory, and upon them carve a name
Resplendent to all soldiers;—yet your frankness
Dispel all envy from it; may your feasts,
Crown'd with delights, be shared by noblest friends;
And from your towering fortunes, may the cloud
Which a slight woman's wayward folly wreathed
Around them, in soft sunshine melt at once,
And, with her, be forgotten! So Heaven speed you!
[Exit Helen.

HENRY.
Yes; it will speed me; for she loves me still!
But I forget my duty;—this despatch
Is waited for by him who shall avenge me!
[Exit Henry Macdonald.

SCENE II.

The Quarters of Glenlyon.
Glenlyon—Lindsay.
GLENLYON.
Surely 'tis time Macdonald had return'd,
The readiest, boldest, and most constant officer
I ever yet promoted;—some mischance
Or treachery must delay him. Treachery—faugh!
'Tis an ill word, but may import no more
Than a safe means of justice, which rash force
Might frustrate. Would our messenger were here!

LINDSAY.
Indeed time presses; we shall bear the charge
Of weakness for the doubt which has delay'd
The course prescribed.

GLENLYON.
He was not wont to loiter.
If the command be clear, my course is plain;
And yet—he comes—could I suspect he knew
The tidings that he bears, his face would tell them.

Enter Henry Macdonald.
GLENLYON.
How's this? Your looks are wild; have you met aught
Should shake a brave man's constancy?

HENRY.
I crave
Your pardon; 'tis a private grief unnerves me;
The lovely lady who has shared my walks,
And, as I proudly thought, return'd the love
She had inspired in me, at sunrise weds
My elder brother. What of that? My duty
Has been perform'd;—and Duncanson's reply
Is here.

[Henry delivers a letter to Glenlyon.
GLENLYON.
Thanks;—wait within;—refresh yourself;—
I'll deal with your fair rebel.
[Exit Henry Macdonald.
My hand trembles
As it has never trembled;—I shall mar
The seal;—open and read the letter.—
[Lindsay opens and reads the letter.
Well?

LINDSAY.
It is as I expected and you fear'd;
The order is to guard the avenues
To-night; and ere the morning, put in force
The royal ordinance on the lives of all
Below the age of seventy.

GLENLYON.
Would that death
Had met me first!

LINDSAY.
Yet you will not withhold
Obedience?

GLENLYON.
Never;—I am shaken now,
But you shall find me constant to obey
The simple law of duty:—none shall live.

LINDSAY.
Think of these clansmen as of rebels snared
In treason, whom a law, disdaining forms,
Has sentenced: it is hard to make brave soldiers
The executioners of civil judgment;
Yet we must do our office.

GLENLYON.
Be it yours
To show the men their duty.

LINDSAY.
I will do
All you may order; but I cannot range
The soldiers so as to prevent escape
Through the wild passes of these mountains; none,
Unless familiar with the glen, can do this.

GLENLYON.
Call in Macdonald.
[Exit Lindsay.
He shall plant the men:
His present passion moulds him to our will.

Re-enter Lindsay and Henry Macdonald.
GLENLYON
(to Henry).
There is a service I would claim of you,
Which, well achieved, shall humble to your feet
The rival who presumes to cross your wish
For my alliance, and reward your love
With happiest fortune.

HENRY.
Let the service be
So full of peril that the chance of life
Bears but a thousandth portion of the hope
That death is greedy with, and I embrace it.

GLENLYON.
It lacks the peril you desire. This clan,
Though crouching now to William's power, retains
Its lion fierceness. We must tame its chiefs
By forcing them, in abject terms, to sue
For pardon—yield their hidden stores of arms—
And feel themselves subdued. At dawn to-morrow
We'll awe them to submission, by array
Of soldiers, planted in each track, whose arms
Shall make the glen their prison. What I seek
Is, that at midnight, you, who know the paths,
Would so dispose the soldiers that no clansman
Escape the vale—save by the eastern road,
Which Duncanson will line;—that done, repose—
And dream that at the sunrise you shall see
Your daring rival suppliant, and my niece
Your wealthy bride. Will you do this?

HENRY.
I will.

Enter Drummond.
DRUMMOND.
I come to ask if I shall bid the band
Attend you at the feast.

GLENLYON.
What feast?

LINDSAY.
The banquet
Mac Ian gives to-day:—the hour is near.

GLENLYON.
A banquet! that is terrible.

LINDSAY
(apart to Glenlyon).
Be wary;
Eyes are upon us.
(Aloud.)
You will send the band;
All we can do, should grace our visit.

GLENLYON
(to Drummond).
Yes:
You may retire.

[Exit Drummond.
GLENLYON
(to Henry).
At dawn I will attend
Your bridal; 'twill be yours. At this night's feast
Beware that by no word or look you hint
The midnight duty or the morning's hope:
Be calm—as I am.

[Exeunt Glenlyon and Lindsay.
HENRY
(alone)
How shall I subdue
The mantling sense of victory which laughs
And dances in my spirit? He who dash'd
My good sword from my grasp shall feel he stands
Before his master; chidden as I was,
And, for a moment, silenced, I shall rain
Pardon and life on him who would have stolen
The mistress of my soul. She's mine! She's mine!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Terrace before Halbert's Tower.
Enter Lady Macdonald and Halbert.
HALBERT.
Is she so pensive still!

LADY MACDONALD.
Alas! in vain
I watch to see some gleam of pleasure light
Her mournful eyes. Save that her fingers ply
The needle constantly, as if they wrought
From habit of sweet motion, you might doubt
If in her statue-like and silent beauty
The life of this world stirr'd.

HALBERT.
If Henry broke
Upon her suddenly, his harsh demeanour
Might drive the colour from her cheeks, and scare
Her thoughts from their repose.

LADY MACDONALD.
I cannot hope it;
She has been more serene since then. Before,
She would pursue her work with restless hand;
Leave it and pace the room; sit down and sigh,
As if heart were breaking; wring her hands;
And then—as finding strength to chase some image
That madden'd her away,—toss back her head,
And smiling, urge her needle with more speed
Than at the first. But since she spoke with Henry
She has been calm, though sad, as one beyond
The reach of fear or hope; who saw her course
And was resign'd to follow it.

HALBERT.
Resign'd!
Is that my sum of happiness? To hold,
As in a tyrant's grasp, a lovely form
Subdued by its own gentleness, yet know
That the celestial mind defies the power
Of finest bonds,—and from the winning smile
In which fond custom wreathes the face, escapes
To scenes long past, or for a distant voice
Waits listening! I have held the gaoler's lot
Far heavier than his captive's;—yet how light
His chains to those I must inflict and bear!

LADY MACDONALD.
You wrong my lovely daughter;—when she weds,
Each wish, each hope, each fancy which might dim
The brightness of her constancy, will fly
For ever. Her affections have been toss'd,
But not perverted; as the water keeps
Its crystal beauty in its bed of rock,
Though vex'd by winds which from a cloudless sky
Sweep o'er high mountain tarns, her soul perplex'd
By contrary emotions, caught no taint,
Sunk or uplifted, but will settle, bright
As not a breath had wreath'd it. She will prove
With all her soul a true wife to you, Halbert,
Though not a blithe one.

HALBERT.
Do you not believe
She will be happy soon?

LADY MACDONALD.
She will be tranquil;
But if you ask me if she will enjoy
The happiness for which her nature's framed,
I cannot veil my fears.

HALBERT.
What should I do?
I have known fearful heart-struggles; but this
Makes all seem nothing.

LADY MACDONALD.
There is in your soul
A noble purpose.

HALBERT.
Must I give up all,
And yet live on? No human hope remains
For me if this be blasted. With the fall
Of the great objects which my youth revered,
I lost all power to mingle in the strifes
Of this new-modell'd world. I cannot taste
The sweet resources Heaven, in grace, provides
For love-lorn manhood; thirst of fame in me
Is quench'd; society's miscall'd delights
Would fret me into madness; and bright war,
The glorious refuge of despair, would seem
A slaughterous and a mercenary trade
To one who has no country. If I act
The thought which fills your bosom, I must live
Loveless and hopeless. Can you ask it, mother?

LADY MACDONALD.
I cannot ask it. But I saw in you
High resolution gathering, while I spoke
Of Helen's present state, and what I fear
'Twill be when—

HALBERT
(stopping her).
Speak no more. It shall not be;
I will make ready for the sacrifice.

LADY MACDONALD.
My noble son! Let me embrace you, proud
As never Roman mother in the arms
Of her crown'd hero. Shall I speak to Helen?

HALBERT.
No—not for worlds—I cannot utter yet
The irrevocable word. It may be still
That you misjudge her;—or that she mistakes
Her heart's true feeling. I will wait the morn.

Enter Alaster Macdonald.
ALASTER.
My father sends me with a gracious message
Which I rejoice to bear, though it confess
A fault in him; he offers you his hand,
With frank confession he has done you wrong,
And claims your presence at the feast he gives
To-day to Argyle's officers.

HALBERT.
Dear cousin,
I am most happy in Mac Ian's love,
And will with earnest duty answer it;
But I entreat him to excuse me now,
For I am busy with sick thoughts; unfit
For high festivity.

ALASTER.
I know you hate,
As I do, this submission; but 'tis done;
No courtesies can make it deeper. Hark!
[Distant music heard.
The guests assemble now.

HALBERT.
That music breathes
As when I heard it first;—in lively strain
It vibrates on the ear, but on my soul
Falls like a dirge. Some awful doom awaits
Our race, and thus through sounds of this world speaks
To the mind's ear. I will avert or share it.
Yes;—I attend you. Mother, you will watch
Your precious charge as if on every glance
A life depended? I am sure you will.
[Exit Lady Macdonald.
Now, Alaster, I am ready for your feast.

[Exeunt Halbert and Alaster.

SCENE IV.

A Hall in Mac Ian's House.
A Banquet.
Mac Ian, Angus, Donald, John Macdonald, Glenlyon, Lindsay, Henry Macdonald, Officers of Argyle's Regiment, and Clansmen, seated.
MAC IAN
(rising).
Once more I thank you for the grace you pay
To a fallen chief, whose name and title live
As shadows of the past; but who can taste
A comfort in his downfall, while brave men
Show, by their courteous action, they preserve
Respect for what he has been. Let us drink
A health to those you serve;—the Majesties
Of England; whom to death I had withstood,
Had hope for James's cause remain'd; but whom,
That hope extinguish'd, I will frankly serve.
Rise, clansmen! Drink to William and his Queen,
To whom we owe our duty.

GLENLYON.
We esteem
The pledge at its just value.

MAC IAN.
I perceive
Your thoughts still wrong me. Stoutly have I fought
Upon King James's side; but with Dundee
His cause expired. I felt it when he fell,
Lifting his arm to wave these clansmen on,
To make his triumph sure. The menial slave,
The household traitor, who, with felon hand,
Stole then his noble life, destroy'd, in him,
A line of monarchs. While the tangled woods
Of Killikrankie rang with shrill delight
Of our victorious Highlanders, I knew
That we were conquer'd; and I sheathed my sword
For ever.

ANGUS
(apart to Donald).
Do you mark him!

DONALD.
Yes; his life
Casts out its dying flash. He's doom'd.

GLENLYON.
You wrong
Your gallant comrades; surely loss of one
Might be supplied.

MAC IAN.
Not of a man like him.
'Tis not in multitudes of common minds
That by contagious impulses are sway'd,
Like rushes in the wind, a mighty cause
Can live; but in the master mind of one
Who sways them. Sooner would these glorious hills,
If crush'd to powder, with their atoms guard
Our glens, than million clansmen fill the place
Of such a chief. Would I had died with him!
No more of this; fill me some wine.
[Drinks.
Enter Alaster and Halbert.
Your leave
One moment.

(Mac Ian comes to Halbert, and takes his hand.)
MAC IAN.
Halbert, I lack words to thank
This kindness as I ought.

HALBERT.
It is a joy
For me to know I am at peace with all,
And, most of all, with you.

MAC IAN.
'Tis very strange:
I am amazed how I could doubt your faith;
A film is passing from my soul, that leaves
All clear within its vision. Take your place.

[Halbert and Alaster sit on the opposite side of the hall to Glenlyon and Lindsay.
MAC IAN
(resuming his seat).
Your pardon. Let us drain another cup
To our chief guest, Glenlyon; frank in war,
And generous in alliance.

HALBERT
(to Alaster).
Watch him now;
He changes; see—his very lips are pale;—
I will unmask him.

ALASTER.
Pray forbear.

GLENLYON.
Accept
A soldier's thanks.

HALBERT
(to Alaster).
His voice is choked—look now—
Do you not see him shiver?

ALASTER.
It is but fancy;
How can he hope to see us fall more low
Than he has sunk us?

MAC IAN
(to Glenlyon).
You must pledge me now;—
Wine to Glenlyon.

[Glenlyon rises—takes the cup—puts it to his lips— and hastily returns it.
HALBERT.
He does not taste the wine,
He dares not taste it. Hold me not.
[Breaking from Alaster.
Glenlyon!
Why did you put aside the untasted cup?
Why did you change and glare? Why is your heart—
Your hollow heart, shivering and shrinking now?
Look on him, friends! Mac Ian!—Angus!—Donald!
John!—Alaster! Does some infernal charm
Delude you, that you rise not?
[To Glenlyon.]
Answer me!
What fiendish thought was yours when you withdrew
That goblet from your lips?

LINDSAY.
Who's this that dares
Insult Glenlyon?

HALBERT.
Parasite, I speak not
To such as you! Behold him now! He's silent.

LINDSAY.
In scorn.
[To Glenlyon.]
You will not deign to make reply
To this coarse brawler? Let us hence.

GLENLYON
(addressing Mac Ian).
Farewell!
You cannot curb the rudeness of your followers,
Nor I endure it.

[Glenlyon and Lindsay retiring.
HALBERT.
Let them not depart;
Not for myself I speak,—for I shall find
No time so fit to die; but for your wives—
Your sires—your babes—your all. Glenlyon! turn,
If you have so much nature as to look
The thing you dare.

GLENLYON
(turning).
Be brief in your demand.
What is your pleasure?

HALBERT.
That you spend three minutes
With me in the cold moonlight;—arm'd;—alone.

GLENLYON.
With you—a conquer'd rebel?

MAC IAN
(holding Halbert).
He's a guest
Beneath this roof's protection.

HALBERT.
Let him claim
This shelter if he dare, and I will kneel,
And he shall trample on me.

LINDSAY
(to Glenlyon).
Come away!

ALASTER.
Dear Halbert, do not risk a life so dear
As yours is to my father.

HALBERT.
Risk my life—
Dost see him? There is that within his breast
Would paralyse his arm, and make his knees
Tremble, and bid the stubborn soldier fall
Half slain without the steel;—
[To Glenlyon.
I charge on you
Black treason—what I know not yet—but feel;
Will you confess, or meet me?

LINDSAY.
Do not answer.

GLENLYON.
I meet you!—Talk to me of treason!—me
Who bear the lawful orders of a king;
To whom you are a traitor;—whom your race,
With all the hatred of their savage thoughts,
Abjure;—but he shall curb them—they shall feel
His power is here. Your worthless life, rash fool,
To-night I spare;—but if again we meet,
It shall be as you wish, for death.

[Exeunt Glenlyon, &c.
HALBERT.
It shall.

MAC IAN
(to Halbert).
I thank your generous courage, but I look
With wonder on your passion.

HALBERT.
What! does nothing
Whisper of peril to you?

MAC IAN.
No—my heart
Is jocund;—stripp'd of glory, power, and name,
We shall be all united and at peace.

HALBERT.
Heaven grant it!

ALASTER.
I would rather die to-morrow,
If I might choose, than hold the sweetest home
At England's mercy.

HALBERT.
My brave cousin! Blessings
In life and death be with you.

MAC IAN.
Come away;
This sadness will infect us. There's my hand
And my heart with it.

ALASTER.
And mine too.

JOHN.
And mine.

MAC IAN.
Farewell;—no strife shall separate us more.

[Exeunt Mac Ian, Alaster, and John.
HALBERT.
That's well!—
[Sees Henry.
My brother here?—he wakes my soul
To its own sufferings. Yet we must not part thus.
Brother!

HENRY.
What would you with me?

HALBERT.
I would know
We part to-night as brothers should; you think
That you have cause to blame me: wait awhile,
And you may judge me better.

HENRY.
Blame you?—No—
Not I—except that you forgot to bid
Your brother to your bridal. He'll make bold
To go unbidden.

HALBERT.
Fail not;—you may find
A blessing there you will be grateful for.

HENRY
(aside).
Can he suspect my purpose?—O, no doubt
You have deserved all gratitude;—and there
Will crown your favours.

HALBERT.
I will take your hand;
It trembles.

HENRY.
No;—or if it shakes,—the night
Chills bitterly. It will be firm to-morrow.

[Exit Henry Macdonald.
HALBERT.
To-morrow!—that will settle all—I'll seek
My mother now;—if she is still assured
That Helen loves—I cannot bear the thought,
Silence and darkness teach me to endure it!
[Exit Halbert Macdonald.