University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Before the gate of Maclean's castle, in the Isle of Mull: several Highlanders discovered crossing the stage, carrying loads of fuel; whilst Benlora is seen on one side, in the background, pacing to and fro, and frequently stopping and muttering to himself.
1st high.
This heavy load, I hope, will be the last:
My back is almost broken.

2d high.
Sure am I,
Were all the beeves in Mull slain for the feast,
Fuel enough already has been stow'd
To roast them all: and must we still with burdens
Our weary shoulders gall?

Enter Morton.
Mor.
Ye lazy lubbards!
Grumble ye thus?—Ye would prefer, I trow,
To sun your easy sides, like household curs,
Each on his dung-hill stretch'd, in drowsy sloth.
Fy on't! to grumble on a day like this,
When to the clan a rousing feast is giv'n,
In honour of an heir born to the chief—
A brave Maclean, still to maintain the honours
Of this your ancient race!

1st high.
A brave Maclean indeed!—vile mongrel hound!
Come from the south, where all strange mixtures be
Of base and feeble! sprung of varlet's blood!
What is our race to thee?

2d high.
(to Morton).
Thou'lt chew, I doubt not,
Thy morsel in the hall with right good relish,
Whether Maclean or Campbell be our lord.

Morton.
Ungracious surly lubbards! in, I say,
And bring your burdens quicker. And, besides,
Where are the heath and hare-bells, from the glen,
To deck my lady's chamber?

2d high.
To deck my lady's chamber!

Morton.
Heartless hounds!
Is she not kind and gentle? spares she aught
Her gen'rous stores afford, when you or yours
Are sick, or lack relief? Hoards she in chests,
When shipwreck'd strangers shiver on our coast,
Or robe or costly mantle?—All comes forth!
And when the piercing shriek of drowning mariners
Breaks through the night, up-starting from her couch,
To snatch, with eager haste, the flaming torch,
And from the tower give notice of relief,
Who comes so swiftly as her noble self?
And yet ye grumble.

1st high.
Ay, we needs must own,
That, were she not a Campbell, fit she were
To be a queen, or e'en the thing she is—
Our very chieftain's dame. But, in these towers,
The daughter of Argyll to be our lady!

Morton.
Out! mountain savages! is this your spite?
Go to!

2d high.
Speakst thou to us? thou Lowland loon!
Thou wand'ring pedlar's son, or base mechanic!
Com'st thou to lord it here o'er brave Macleans?
We'll carry loads at leisure, or forbear,
As suits our fancy best, nor wait thy bidding. [Exeunt highlanders grumbling, and followed by Morton.
[Manet Benlora, who now comes forward, and after remaining some time on the front of the stage, wrapt in thought, not observing Lochtarish, who enters behind him.

Heigh ho! heigh ho, the day!

Loch.
How so? What makes Benlora sigh so deeply?

Ben.
(turning round).
And does Lochtarish ask? Full well thou knowst,
The battles of our clan I've boldly fought,
And well maintain'd its honour.

Loch.
Yes, we know it.

Ben.
Who dared, unpunish'd, a Maclean to injure?
Yea; he who dared but with a scornful lip
Our name insult, I thought it feeble vengeance
If steed or beast within his walls were left,
Or of his holds one tower unruin'd stood.

Loch.
Ay; who dared then to brave us?

Ben.
Thus dealt Benlora e'en with common foes;
But in the warfare of our deadly feud,
When rang the earth beneath our bloody strife,
And brave Macleans brave Campbells boldly fronted,
(Fiends as they are, I still must call them brave,)
What sword more deeply drank the hated blood
Than this which now I grasp—but idly grasp!

Loch.
There's ne'er a man of us that knows it not,
That swears not by thy valour.

Ben.
Until that fatal day, by ambush ta'en,
And in a dungeon kept, where, two long years,
Nor light of day, nor human voice e'er cheer'd
My loneliness, when did I ever yield,
To e'en the bravest of that hateful name,
One step of ground upon the embattled field—
One step of honour in the banner'd hall?

Loch.
Indeed thou hast our noble champion been;
Deserving well the trust our chief deceased,
This chieftain's father, did to thee consign.
But when thou wast a captive, none to head us,
But he, our youthful lord, yet green in arms,
We fought not like Macleans; or else our foe,
By fiends assisted, fought with fiend-like power,
Far—far beyond the Campbells' wonted pitch.
E'en so it did befal:—we lost the day:—
That fatal day!—Then came this shameful peace.

Ben.
Ay, and this wedding; when, in form of honour
Conferr'd upon us, Helen of Argyll
Our sov'reign dame was made,—a bosom worm,
Nursed in that viper's nest, to infuse its venom
Through all our after race.
This is my welcome!
From dungeons freed, to find my once-loved home
With such vile change disgraced; to me more hateful
Than thraldom's murkiest den. But to be loosen'd
From captive's chains to find my hands thus bound!

Loch.
It is, indeed, a vile and irksome peace.

Ben.
Peace, say they! who will bonds of friendship sign
Between the teeming ocean's finny broods,
And say, “Sport these upon the hither waves,
And leave to those that farther billowy reach?”
A Campbell here to queen it o'er our heads,
The potent dame o'er quell'd and beaten men,
Rousing or soothing us, as proud Argyll
Shall send her secret counsel!—hold, my heart!
This, base degen'rate men!—this, call ye peace?
Forgive my weakness: with dry eyes I laid
My mother in her grave, but now my cheeks
Are, like a child's, with scalding drops disgraced.

Loch.
What I shall look upon, ere in the dust
My weary head be laid to rest, heav'n knows,
Since I have lived to see Benlora weep.

Ben.
One thing, at least, thou ne'er shalt live to see—
Benlora crouching, where he has commanded.
Go ye, who will, and crowd the chieftain's hall,
And deal the feast, and nod your grizzled heads
To martial pibrochs, play'd, in better days,
To those who conquer'd, not who woo'd their foes;
My soul abhors it. On the sea-beaten rock,
Remov'd from ev'ry form and sound of man;
In proud communion with the fitful winds
Which speak, with many tongues, the fancied words
Of those who long in silent dust have slept;
While eagles scream, and sullen surges roar—
The boding sounds of ill;—I'll hold my feast,—
My moody revelry.

Loch.
Nay, why so fierce?
Thinkst thou we are a tame and mongrel pack?
Dogs of true breed we are, though for a time
Our master-hound forsakes us. Rouse him forth
The noble chace to lead: his deep-toned yell
Full well we know; and for the opening sport
Pant keenly.

Ben.
Ha! is there amongst you still
Spirit enough for this?

Loch.
Yes, when good opportunity shall favour.
Of this, my friend, I'll speak to thee more fully
When time shall better serve.
Maclean, thou knowst,
Is of a soft, unsteady, yielding nature;
And this, too well, the crafty Campbell knew,
When to our isle he sent this wily witch
To mould, and govern, and besot his wits,
As suits his crafty ends. I know the youth:
This dame or we must hold his will in thraldom:
Which of the two,—But softly: steps approach.
Of this again.

Ben.
As early as thou wilt.

Loch.
Then be it so: some staunch determined spirits
This night in Irka's rocky cavern meet;
There must thou join us. Wear thou here the while
A brow less cloudy, suited to the times. Enter Glenfadden.

See, here comes one who wears a merry face;
Yet, ne'ertheless, a clan's-man staunch he is,
Who hates a Campbell, worse than Ilcom's monks
The horned fiend.

Ben.
Ha! does he so?
[Turning graciously to Glenfadden.
Glenfadden!
How goes it with thee?—Joyous days are these—
These days of peace.

Glen.
These days of foul disgrace!
Com'st thou to cheer the piper in our hall,
And goblets quaff to the young chieftain's health,
From proud Argyll descended?

Ben.
(smiling grimly).
Yes, Glenfadden,
If ye will have it so; not else.

Glen.
Thy hand—
Thy noble hand!—thou art Benlora still.
[Shaking Benlora warmly by the hand, and then turning to Lochtarish.
Know ye that banish'd Allen is return'd—
Allen of Dura?

Loch.
No; I knew it not.
But in good time he comes. A daring knave!
He will be useful.
[After considering.
Of Maclean we'll crave
His banishment to cancel; marking well
How he receives it. This will serve to show
The present bent and bearing of his mind.
[After considering again.
Were it not also well, that to our council
He were invited, at a later hour,
When of our purpose we shall be assured?

Glen.
Methinks it were.

Loch.
In, then; now is our time.

Ben.
I'll follow thee when I awhile have paced
Yon lonely path, and thought upon thy counsel.

[Exeunt Lochtarish and Glenfadden into the castle, and Benlora by the opposite side.