 | The Family Legend |  |
SCENE I.
A small Gothic hall, or ante-room, in Argyll's castle, a door at the bottom of the stage, leading to the apartment of the earl, before which is discovered the piper pacing backwards and forwards, playing on his bagpipe.Enter Dugald.
Dugald.
Now, pray thee, piper, cease! That stunning din
Might do good service by the ears to set
Two angry clans; but for a morning's rouse,
Here at an old man's door, it does, good sooth,
Exceed all reasonable use. The Earl
Has pass'd a sleepless night: I pray thee now
Give o'er, and spare thy pains.
Piper.
And spare my pains, sayst thou? I'll do mine office,
As long as breath within my body is.
Dug.
Then mercy on us all! if wind thou meanst,
There is within that sturdy trunk of thine,
Old as it is, a still exhaustless store.
A Lapland witch's bag could scarcely match it.
Thou couldst, I doubt not, belly out the sails
Of a three-masted vessel with thy mouth:
But be thy mercy equal to thy might!
I pray thee now give o'er: in faith the earl
Has pass'd a sleepless night.
Piper.
Thinkst thou I am a Lowland, day-hired minstrel,
To play or stop at bidding? Is Argyll
The lord and chieftain of our ancient clan,
More certainly, than I to him, as such,
The high hereditary piper am?
A sleepless night, forsooth! He's slept full oft
On the hard heath, with fifty harness'd steeds
Champing their fodder round him;—soundly too.
I'll do mine office, loon, chafe as thou wilt.
[Continuing to pace up and down, and play as before.
Dugald.
Nay, thou the chafer art, red-crested cock!
The Lord of Lorne has spoilt thee with indulging
Thy wilful humours. Cease thy cursed din!
See; here the earl himself comes forth to chide thee.
[Exit.
Enter Argyll, attended, from the chamber.
Arg.
Good morrow, piper! thou hast roused me bravely:
A younger man might gird his tartans on
With lightsome heart to martial sounds like these,
But I am old.
Piper.
O no, my noble chieftain!
It is not age subdues you.
Arg.
No; what else?
Piper.
Alack! the flower and blossom of your house
The wind hath blown away to other towers.
When she was here, and gladsome faces brighten'd
With looking on her, and around your board
Sweet lays were sung, and gallants in the hall
Footed it trimly to our varied measures,
There might, indeed, be found beneath your roof
Those who might reckon years fourscore and odds,
But of old folks, I warrant, ne'er a soul.
No; we were all young then.
Arg.
(sighing deeply).
'Tis true, indeed,
It was even as thou sayst. Our earthly joys
Fly like the blossoms scatter'd by the wind.
497
Serv.
Please you, my lord,
Some score of vassals in the hall attend
To bid good morrow to you, and the hour
Wears late: the chamberlain hath bid me say
He will dismiss them, if it please your honour.
Arg.
Nay, many a mile have some of them, I know,
With suit or purpose lurking in their minds,
Ridd'n o'er rough paths to see me; disappointed
Shall none of them return. I'm better now.
I have been rather weary than unwell.
Say, I will see them presently.
[Exit servant.
Re-enter Dugald in haste.
(To Dugald.)
Thou comest with a busy face: what tidings?
Dugald.
The Lord of Lorne's arrived, an' please your honour:
Sir Hubert too, and all their jolly train;
And with them have they brought a lady, closely
In hood and mantle muffled: ne'er a glimpse
May of her face be seen.
Arg.
A lady, sayst thou?
Dugald.
Yes; closely muffled up.
Arg.
(pacing up and down, somewhat disturbed).
I like not this.—It cannot surely be—
[Stopping short, and looking hard at Dugald.
Whence comes he?
Dugald.
He a-hunting went, I know,
To Cromack's ancient laird, whose youthful dame
So famed for beauty is; but whence he comes,
I cannot tell, my lord.
Arg.
(pacing up and down, as he speaks to himself in broken sentences, very much disturbed).
To Cromack's ancient laird!—If that indeed—
Beshrew me, if it be!—I'd rather lose
Half of my lands, than son of mine such wrong,
Such shameful wrong, should do. This sword I've drawn
Like robbery to revenge, ne'er to abet it:
And shall I now with hoary locks—No, no!—
My noble Lorne! he cannot be so base.
Enter Lorne, going up to Argyll with agitation.
Arg.
(eyeing him suspiciously).
Well, John, how is it? Welcome art thou home,}
If thou returnst, as well I would believe,
Deserving of a welcome.
Lorne.
Doubts my lord
That I am so return'd?
[Aside to Argyll, endeavouring to draw him apart from his attendants.
Your ear, my father.
Let these withdraw: I have a thing to tell you.
Arg.
(looking still more suspiciously upon Lorne, from seeing the eagerness and agitation with which he speaks, and turning from him indignantly).
No, by this honest blade! if wrong thou'st done,
Thou hast no shelter here. In open day,
Before th' assembled vassals shalt thou tell it;
And he whom thou hast injured be redress'd,
While I have power to bid my Campbells fight
I' the fair and honour'd cause.
Lorne.
I pray, my lord—
Will you vouchsafe to hear me?
Arg.
Thoughtless boy!
How far unlike the noble Lorne I thought thee!—
Proud as I am, far rather would I see thee
Join'd to the daughter of my meanest vassal,
Than see thy manly, noble worth engaged
In such foul raid as this.
Lorne.
Nay, nay! be pacified!
I'd rather take, in faith, the tawny hand
Of homeliest maid, that doth, o' holidays,
Her sun-burnt locks with worsted ribbon bind,
Fairly and freely won, than brightest dame
That e'er in stately bower or regal hall
In graceful beauty shone, gain'd by such wrong—
By such base treachery as you have glanced at.
These are plain words: then treat me like a man,
Who hath been wont the manly truth to speak.
Arg.
Ha! now thy countenance and tone again
Are John of Lorne's. That look, and whispering voice,
So strange appear'd, in truth I liked it not.
Give me thy hand.—Where is the stranger dame?
If she in trouble be—
Lorne
(aside).
Make these withdraw,
And I will lead her hither.
[Exit, while the earl waves his hand, and Dugald and attendants, &c. go out: presently re-enter Lorne, leading in Helen, covered closely up in a mantle.
Lorne.
This is the dame, who, houseless and deserted,
Seeks shelter here, nor fears to be rejected.
Helen
(sinking down, and clasping Argyll 's knees).
My father!
Arg.
That voice!—O God!—unveil—unveil, for mercy!
[Tearing off the mantle that conceals her.
My child! my Helen!
[Clasping her to his heart, and holding her there for some time, unable to speak.
My child! my dearest child!—my soul! my pride!
Deserted!—houseless!—com'st thou to me thus?
Here is thy house—thy home: this aged bosom
Thy shelter is, which thou shalt quit no more.
My child! my child!
[Embracing her again; Helen and he weeping upon one another's necks.
Houseless! deserted—'neath the cope of heaven
Breathes there a wretch who could desert thee?—Speak,
If he hath so abused his precious trust,
498
To think what I have done!—Oh thoughtless father!
Thoughtless and selfish too!
[Tearing his hair, beating his forehead with all the violent gestures of rage and grief.
Helen.
Oh, oh! forbear! It was not you, my father;
I gave myself away: I did it willingly:
We acted both for good; and now your love
Repays me richly—stands to me instead
Of many blessings.—Noble Lorne, besides—
O, he hath been to me so kind—so tender!
[Taking her brother's hand, and pressing it to her breast; then joining her father's to it, and pressing them both ardently to her lips.
Say not I am deserted: heaven hath chid me—
Hath chid me sorely: but hath bless'd me too,—
O, dearly bless'd me!
Arg.
Hath chid thee sorely!—how I burn to hear it!
What hast thou suffer'd?
Lorne.
We will not tell thee now. Go to thy chamber,
And be awhile composed. We have, my father,
A tale to tell that will demand of thee
Recruited strength to hear.—We'll follow thee.
[Exeunt; Lorne supporting his father and Helen into the chamber.
| The Family Legend | |