University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

COUNTESS and Lady BEATRIX.
Lady Beatrix.
Can't Heav'n's fair light, with all its rays reveal'd,
Dispel that gloom, which clouds your widow'd heart.
Your children, with their lives, would buy your ease;
You! who have nurs'd, with care, their tender age,
And with demestic virtues bless'd their sire.

Countess.
So ev'ry wife and mother ought: but few,
With love and duty, are so well repaid.
One soul moves in you all.—A gen'rous soul!
O much lov'd heirs of my dear husband's virtues!
How just to grieve such sire! Such husband lost!
This town the mem'ry of that loss renews.—
Ah! mournful loss! never to be repair'd!
Here oft he shone, of Scottish peers the chief:—
Here now he shines no more. O my dear children!

Lady Beatrix.
Just was your grief, in absence of your sons.
Pensive alone, in converse sad and absent;
For them your fond maternal heart still trembled:
But their return may yield your soul delight.

Countess.
Youth finds delight, in converse or retirement,
And sings alone, or sparkles in the ball:
The raging stream, the tempest or the foe,
With terror strike not her gay chearful breast.
Not so the anxious wife espous'd to care:
The mother portion'd out in all her brood,
Husband or child abroad, a thousand fears,
All strange to youth, attack her tender breast.
At drops of rain she shrinks; each breeze forebodes
A hurricane; each cloud with thunder swells;
She sees them struggling with the stream, or foe;
And hears them shriek for help, or wounded groan:
Their absent moments counts: her heart and eyes
Are still abroad, but pain'd with every view:
For busy fancy, to their moving shape,
Moulds every tree, while disappointment waits,
Keenly intent, to stab each infant hope.
So fell my hopes of my lov'd Lord's return;
Who ne'er return'd, since that sad solemn day
He left his castle, with a numerous train
Of gallant squires, brave knights, and noble lords.
Oft! oft he said, Farewel! and oft he kiss'd
The starting tear from either flowing eye.—
These eyes still weep!—but see my Lord no more!
Around me still his circling arms I feel;
The mighty heavings of his manly breast;
And glowing of his cheek, close pressing mine.

Lady Beatrix.
Then, round each brother thrown a valiant arm,
My sons, he said, as you begin, proceed
In virtue, goodness, and fraternal love:
Be brave, be upright, gen'rous, and humane;
Act like your sires, and seek your country's good
Nor enter both where my false foes command:
While one is free, the other is secure.

Countess.
Cautious, as virtuous, would my sons but mind
The whole advice! Why lodg'd they both with Crichton?
Three long slow heavy nights, three joyless days,
Clogged with care, crawl'd off, ere they return'd.

Lady Beatrix.
At last they came and unsolicited:
Your gen'rous Douglas

Countess.
Order'd his affairs,
Like those that take farewel of life.—Sad omen!
His sire, with solemn counsels, and farewels,
Set out, and ne'er return'd. I flew t'attend him
On love's swift wings,—and found but—Breathless clay!
This bounty's lost on me.—I know no joy
In gay attendance, feasts, or rich attire.
My Lord's high rank requir'd a load of state:
But now my glory's gone! my crown's fall'n off!
These eyes for ever set, I shone to please.
My sun is set: you, like three beauteous stars,
Chear my sad night; else, gloomy as the grave.
You now are all my ornaments and joy.—
And, lo! my sons! to glad my mournful heart.