Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, A Dramatic Poem The Maid of Galloway; The Legend of Richard Faulder; and Twenty Scottish Songs: By Allan Cunningham |
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 | Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, A Dramatic Poem |  |
SCENE VI.
A Wood on the Sea Coast.Lady Maxwell and Mabel Moran.
Mabel.
Said I not soothly? May his murderous soul
Howl in the mirkest pit. Here have I sought
Mine old poor refuge. Thou shalt live with me:
For one kind shepherd brings me ewe milk cheese;
Another comes with the dried flesh of lambs;
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A mild kind winter for his woolly flocks;
Another comes with blankets and warm rugs,
Blesses himself, “Good Mabel, make my sheep,
Now worth scarce thirty pence, worth fifteen shillings
By the lamb fair of Lockerby; the sum to thee
Is wondrous little, but to me 'tis large.”
So live with me till this cloud passes by;
A golden day is coming. Here comes one,
A man mark'd for the sword; I know his errand.
Enter Sir John Gourlay.
Sir J.
This Scotch land is one desert; barren hills
Succeeding barren valleys, and the hinds
Look miserably poor. That men live here
I have some doubt, for what I 've seen are ghosts—
Soft! here 's an ancient dame of other days:
I'd rather cross a culverin's mouth than meet her;
She looks beyond this world. Now in my way
She sets herself. There 's something in her looks
That pierces through me like a sharpen'd sword.
Mabel.
John Gourlay, what wantest thou with Halbert Comyne?
Sir John.
Thrice reverend dame, I come to greet Lord Comyne;
And I did think myself a stranger here,
'Tis my first foot in Scotland.
Mabel.
Thou dost come
With golden tidings. Hearken what I say:
Seek thou for Halbert Comyne one day hence,
And thou wilt find him as that dust which thou
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Are noted, number'd; and the wiles of man,
His might, his courage, or his cruelty,
Cannot contend with God. Now go thy way.
Yonder 's Caerlaverock turrets, o'er the pines,
And there lives Halbert Comyne.
Sir John.
Ancient dame,
I have a reverence for thy hoary locks,
And crave thy blessing. Seest thou this gold mark?
Mabel.
John Gourlay, curse the hour that thou camest here,
To feed Caerlaverock ravens—That 's thy blessing.
(Exeunt.)
| Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, A Dramatic Poem | |