University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A high-wood walk in a park. The towers of the Castle seen over the trees.
Enter Arthur.
Ar.
Here let me pause, and breathe awhile, and wipe
These servile drops from off my burning brow.
Amidst these venerable trees, the air
Seems hallowed by the breath of other times.—
Companions of my Fathers! ye have marked
Their generations pass. Your giant arms
Shadowed their youth, and proudly canopied
Their silver hairs, when, ripe in years and glory,
These walks they trod to meditate on Heaven.
What warlike pageants have ye seen! what trains
Of captives, and what heaps of spoil! what pomp,
When the victorious Chief, war's tempest o'er,
In Warkworth's bowers unbound his panoply!
What floods of splendor, bursts of jocund din,
Startled the slumbering tenants of these shades,
When night awoke the tumult of the feast,
The song of damsels, and the sweet-toned lyre!
Then, princely Percy reigned amidst his halls,
Champion, and Judge, and Father of the North.
O, days of ancient grandeur! are ye gone?
For ever gone? Do these same scenes behold
His offspring here the hireling of a foe?
O, that I knew my fate! that I could read
The destiny which Heaven has marked for me!

Enter a Forester.
For.
A benison upon thee, gentle huntsman!
Whose towers are these that overlook the wood?

Ar.
Earl Westmoreland's.

For.
The Neville's towers I seek.
By dreams I learn, and prophecies most strange,
A noble youth lurks here, whose horoscope
Declares him fated to amazing deeds.

Ar.
(starting back.)
Douglas!—

Doug.
Now do I clasp thee, Percy; and I swear
By my dear soul, and by the blood of Douglas,
Linked to thy side through every chance, I go,
Till here thou rulest, or death and night end all.

Per.
Amazement! Whence?—or how?—

Doug.
And didst thou think
Thus to elude me?

Per.
Answer how thou found'st me.
What miracle directed here thy steps?

Doug.
Where should I look for thee but in the post
Where birth, fame, fortune, wrongs, and honor call thee?
Returning from the Isles, I found thee gone.
Awhile in doubt, each circumstance I weighed:
Thy difficulties, wrongs, and daring spirit;
The gay, delusive show so long maintained
To lull observers; then set forth, resolved
Never to enter more my native towers
Till I had found, and searched thee to the soul.

Per.
Still must I wonder; for so dark a cloud—

Doug.
O, deeper than thou think'st I 've read thy heart.
A gilded insect to the world you seemed;
The fashion's idol; person, pen, and lyre,
The soft devoted darling of the Fair.
By slow degrees I found Herculean nerve
Hid in thy tuneful arm; that hunger, thirst,
The sultry chase, the bleakest mountain-bed,
The dark, rough winter torrent, were to thee
But pastime; more were courted than repose.
To others, your discourse still wild and vain,
To me, when none else heard thee, seemed the voice
Of heavenly oracles.

Per.
O, partial friendship.

Doug.
Yet had I never guessed your brooded purpose.
Rememberest thou the Regent's Masque? the birthnight?

Per.
Well.

Doug.
That night you glittered through the crowded halls,
Gay, and capricious as a sprite of air.
Apollo rapt us when you touched the lyre;
Cupid fanned odors from your purple wings;
Or Mercury amused with magic wand,
Mocking our senses with your feathered heel.
In every fancy, shape, and hue you moved,
The admiration, pity, theme of all.—
One bed received us. Soon, your moaning voice
Disturbed me. Dreaming heavily, you groaned,
“O, Percy! Percy! Hotspur! O, my father!
Upbraid me not! hide, hide those ghastly wounds!
Usurper! Traitor! thou shalt feel me!”

Per.
No!

Doug.
'T is true;—and more than I can now remember.

Per.
Yet never speak of it?

Doug.
Inly I burned;
But honor, pride forbade. Pilfer from dreams!
Thou knew'st the ear, arm, life of Douglas, thine—

Per.
And long ago I had disclosed to thee
My troubled bosom, but my enterprise
So rife with peril seemed,—to hearts less touched,
So hopeless! Knowing thy impetuous soul,
How could I justify the deed to Heaven,
How to thine aged sire? Armed proof I stand,
To fate: come what will come, the wide earth bears
No heart of kindred blood to mourn my fall.

Doug.
The heart of Douglas beats not with thy blood,
But never will I trust in mercy more,
In justice, truth, or heaven, if it forsake thee.

Per.
Douglas, thy friendship is my choicest treasure,
Has been a radiant star on my dark way;
And never did I doubt thy zeal to serve me.
Lend, now, a patient ear.—While with my doom,
Alone, I strive, no dread or doubt distracts me.
No precious fate with mine involved, my heart
Is fearless, firm my step. Exposing thee,
The adamantine buckler falls, and leaves me,
Naked and trembling, to a double death.

Doug.
Thou lovest me not.

Per.
Let Heaven be witness there!—
The thought of bringing down thy father's hairs
With sorrow to the grave, would weigh like guilt,
Palsy my courage, cripple all my powers.

Doug.
So!—have I wandered o'er the hills for this?

Per.
I would not grieve thee, Douglas, well thou know'st;
But thus to hazard on a desperate cast
Thy golden fortunes—

Doug.
Cursed be the blood within me,—
Plagues, and the grave o'ertake me, if I leave thee!—
Though gulfs yawned under thee, and roaring seas
Threatened to whelm thee!

Per.
For thy father's sake—

Doug.
Peace! I'd not go, if staying here would strew
His hoar hairs in the tomb,—not stir, by Heaven!
Must I toss counters? sum the odds of life,
When Honor points the way? When was the blood
Of Douglas precious in a noble cause?

Per.
Nay, hear me, hear me, Douglas,—

Doug.
Talk to me
Of dangers? Death and shame! Is not my race
As high, as fearless, and as proud as thine?

Per.
I 've done.

Doug.
By Heaven, it shames me, Harry Percy,
Preaching such craven arguments to me.—
Now tell me how thou stand'st; thy cause how prospered.
What has been done? What projects are afoot?
Possess me quickly.

Per.
Gently; lest some busy ear
Be near us. Little have I yet to tell thee.
Thinking my rival's coat would best conceal me,
I won his favor by a tale scarce feigned.

Doug.
A Keeper of his chase thy garb bespeaks.

Per.
Chief Huntsman. Thus disguised, I day by day
Traverse my native hills, viewing the strength
And features of the land; its holds of safety;
And searching patriot spirits out. For, still,
Though kings and gaudy courts remember not,
Still, in the cottage, and the peasant's heart,
The memory of my fathers lives. When there,
The old, the good old day is cited, tears
Roll down their reverend beards, and genuine love
Glows in their praises of my sires.

Doug.
I long
To press the sons, and tell them what a lord
Lives yet to rule them.

Per.
When first I mixed among them, oft I struck,
Unwittingly, a spark of this same fire.
Encouraged thus, I sought its latent seeds;
Seized opportunities to draw the chase
Into the bosom of the hills, and spent
Nights in their hospitable, happy cots.
There, to high strains, I tuned the minstrel harp,
Chanting the glories of the ancient day,
When their brave fathers, scorning to be slaves,
Rushed with their Chieftain to the battle-field,
Trod his bold footsteps in the ranks of death,
And shared his triumphs in the festal hall.

Doug.
That lulled them, as the north wind does the sea.

Per.
From man to man, and house to house, like fire,
The kindling impulse flew; till every hind,
Scarce conscious why, handles his targe and bow;
Still talks of change; starts, if the banished name
By chance he hears; and supplicates his Saint
The true-born offspring may his banner rear,
With speed, upon the hills.

Doug.
What lack we? Spread
The warlike ensign. On the Border side
Two hundred veteran spears await your summons.

Per.
What say'st thou!

Doug.
Sinews of the house:
Ready to tread in every track of Douglas.
By stealth I drew them in from distant points,
And hid amidst a wood in Chevy-Chase.

Per.
O, Douglas! Douglas! even such a friend,
For death or life, was thy great sire to mine!

Doug.
Straight, let us turn our trumpets to the hills;
Declare aloud thy name, and wrongs; in swarms
Call down the warlike tenantry, and teach
Aspiring Neville fatal is the day
The Percy and the Douglas league in arms.

Per.
If he were all—Remember haughty Henry,
The nephew of his wife, whose word could speed
A veteran army to his kinsman's aid.

Doug.
Come one, come all; leave us to welcome them.

Per.
There lives a sad remembrancer for us.—
Think of our fathers! Think of Shrewsbury!

Doug.
Hum!

Per.
Their cause was upright; all that hearts of flesh,
And falchions tempered in an earthly wave,
Could do, their valor wrought; yet Percy fell,
And Douglas was a captive.

Doug.
Well; what then?
Because fate baffled them, must we despair?

Per.
Ha! yonder's Elinor,—Westmoreland's daughter,—
This lucky chance I wished.—Douglas, away.—
Seek, by the river side, a Hermitage
Carved in the rock. That half-worn path will guide thee.

Doug.
This way?

Per.
The left hand path. I'll come to thee anon.
Donald shall be thy name. Mark,—mine is Arthur.

(Exeunt.)

SCENE II.

A lawn before the gate. Enter Elinor, attended by a Damsel.
El.
As o'er the hills we flew, the very heavens
Frowned wild and ominous; but when I woke,
So melancholy sweet the moon looked on me,
Murmurs so soothing stole upon mine ear,
Awhile, I thought myself in some new being.

Dams.
Fairies keep revel on such nights, and oft
About the traveller make woods and glades
Seem full of voices, airs, and shrill, sweet pipings—

El.
But spake he, Agnes,—as thou saidst?—

Dams.
More like a lord, than a poor vassal, lady;
Clasped you against his breast, and wept, and swore
As he were frantic; nay, we thought you dead;
Killed in the shock that slew the ruffian.

Enter Percy.
El.
Ha!
Agnes,—

Per.
Lady, a moment hear my suit.

El.
Your suit!—What suit?

Per.
A youth who loves, and, in his prosperous days,
Favored me, wandering in a woodman's weeds,
From home and kindred parted, craves a place,
(Hearing my fortune in your father's service,)
An humble place, among the train I lead.

El.
Receive him like a brother, Arthur;
Welcome the wanderer to my father's house.
But say,—what tidings from the Regent pass?
I saw you from my tower, at peep of dawn,
In parley with a Scottish courier.

Per.
No news.

El.
How fares my lady Albany?

Per.
Soft, benedicite! a tale there was.
The Northern Muses weep, and wreath their harps
With mournful willows; Lady Regent pines,
Wan as a shade; court ladies droop, and sigh,
Forsake their lutes, and talk of nunneries:
Mirth, music, merry-making, melody,
Speed the light hours no more at Holyrood:—
The King of Glee, the gamesome Percy, 's fled.

El.
Has Percy fled?

Per.
So says the courier; none
Knows whither.

El.
Gracious Heaven, protect his steps!

Per.
Ha!
You speak with fervor, lady.

El.
While I rove
These woods and walks, and wander through those halls
Of lonely grandeur, every object wakes
Some sad remembrance of the noble outcast.
I entered, late, a long-neglected tower,
Where, grey with cobwebs, torn, and soiled with dust,
The ancient pictures of the race decay.
There, dark-browed Hotspur, stooping to the charge,
With many a famed, majestic Percy, moulders.
A thrill of terror rooted me; they seemed to frown,
And menace me with hostile eyes;
Question my right in their domain; and ask,
With looks of accusation, for their son.

Per.
How would their warlike fronts indignant burn,
Could they behold the losel whom thou pitiest!

El.
Who knows, alas, but we have made him such?
Have we not driven him from his native seats
Out to the pitiless world, deprived of all
That makes life dear? Who knows but he has rushed
To pleasure's bowers for shelter from despair?—
Ill-fated youth! the passions that have scathed,
Had, haply, fired thee to immortal deeds,
Shed lustre o'er thy country, decked thy brows
With wreaths unfading as the amaranth.

Per.
Sure thou hast trod the gardens where it blooms,
And learned compassion at the lips of Angels.

El.
I would not purchase greatness at this price,
Would welcome, rather, some obscure retreat;
Nor dream of splendor, save when Fancy spread
Pavilions in the clouds, or tracked the moon,
Or visited those mystic orbs of fire
Spangling heaven's curtains, and beyond them heard
The entrancing viols and unearthly voices,
Sometimes to Saints made audible below,—
Than reign the Queen of an adoring world,
If I must do it in another's right.

Per.
Ah! would to Heaven such justice swayed all hearts.

El.
With but my sire's consent, how pleased would I
Resign these sumptuous halls to their just lord;
Seek Raby's bowers; and never, never more,
Forsake the shades where, like a vision, flew
My happy youth! the scenes of innocence,
Of peace, and sunshine, where my joyous heart
Chimed with the blithest music of the woodlands.
No sorrow there, no secret— (Stops abruptly.)


Per.
Sorrow!
Dares she intrude into a Seraph's breast?
Alas! art thou exposed—

El.
Am I?—Look up,
Presumptuous youth, and, if thou canst, regard
The dazzling summit where the Neville shines.
Do clouds of sorrow roll so high?—Agnes!

(Exit.)
Per.
Vanished again!—What means this changeful mood?
It grows upon her. Even when she seems
Gentlest, and sweetest, breathing from her lips—
Perpetual troubler of my thoughts! by Heaven,
This fellow dogs me.—Well, how now?

Enter Rook, as talking to himself.
Rook.

Per.
How now, I say?

Rook.
(Passes.)

(Exit.)
Per.
I must beware this knave:—
He peers about me with a lynx's eye:
Thrice has surprised me at unguarded moments.
He turns,—I'll cross the brake and hie to Douglas.

(Exit.)