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Scene I
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Scene I

(Boradale in Scotland. Enter Charles Stuart attended by his daughter Madalena disguised as a Page.)
Charles Stuart
Come hither, gentle Page! Thou hast become
As necessary to my being as my life.
I have despaired of that success which Hope
First promised me for active war!

Page
Why so,
My royal lord?

Charles Stuart
I have received no news
From France in answer to my letter yet.


31

Page
Nay, do not doubt while young Fernando lives,
But Stuart shall be seated on the throne.
I pray you that your boy should learn to fence.

Charles Stuart
To fence, my boy? why do you wish to fence?

Page
For glory good my lord! while on the field
What ecstasy would young Fernando feel
To know that he had saved his Master's life?
For know, my royal lord! that this proud heart
Shall first receive the dagger aimed at thine.

Charles Stuart
Enthusiastic boy! why say you so!

Page
Because you are so doubly dear to me,
That were you slain, this life would not be life!

Charles Stuart
Thou art the noblest of all gentle youths.
And shall not find an equal in this land. (Enter Boisdale.)

Well, noble Boisdale, what is the news?

Boisdale
None that your highness would delight to hear.
The battle of Fontenoy has been fought;

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And news arrived the English troops were much
Depressed.

Charles Stuart
Their ardour, therefore, being damped,
Without assistance from ungodly France,
Could we not safely march our Highland troops,
And take possession of the field?

Boisdale
Such would
Be useless in the worst extreme. Without
The regular troops not one will take up arms.

Charles Stuart
The ardour of my resolution keeps
The better of my judgement, Boisdale!
Where is Clanranald? He will better suit
A Stuart's intrepidity.

Boisdale
He will
Not come.

Charles Stuart
Why speak you thus?

Boisdale
He will not take
Up arms without the regular troops to lead.


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Charles Stuart
Will you not use your power to bring him here?

Boisdale
I have no influence over him, my lord.

Charles Stuart
Wilt not become ambassador to Skye
To brave Macdonald?

Boisdale
No, 'tis vain.

Page
(Indignantly)
Implore no more that traitor to his king, my lord,
And let us seek Macdonald for ourselves.

Boisdale
(Drawing)
What! traitor, did you say? By heavens! But no!
I will not vent my spite upon a child!
What! did you bring such soldiers as this boy
To fight with hardy England? No, by Heaven!
He looks as if you had just taken him from
His mother's breast! The suckling shall be spared!

Page
What! traitor! weakly as you think I am,
This arm is strong enough for thee! (Drawing)
Come on!

And see who is the suckling, you or I!
I pity thee. I spurn thee from my sight.

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The presence of all honest men should freeze
Thy coward heart to ice! Away! begone!

Boisdale
By Heaven! You shall not taunt me thus!

Page
Come on!

Charles Stuart
(Stepping between them)
Nay, peace! young man! You, Boisdale, put up
Your sword! The royal Charles commands you both.
And you, young Page. (Exit Boisdale.)


Page
(Falling on his knees.)
Nay, pardon me, my lord!
A traitor's insolence provoked my rage!
I had forgot the duty which I owed
Thy former love! Pray, pardon me, my lord!

Charles Stuart
(Eagerly taking his hand)
Look up, my noble boy! Look up, my noble son!
And tell me, more than mortal, who thou art!

Page
I am, my royal lord—

Charles
Say what thou art?
For by yon Heaven thou art the sun.


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Page
That which
I glory in, the favourite of my Prince.

Charles Stuart
(Studying his features)
A chastened smile dwells on thy sweet lips.
As if thy soul, just purified by love
Gazed on the snowy wings of virgin Hope,
Leading it gently to the gates of Heaven!
But rise, my gentle Page! some person comes.
(Enter Sir Ronald)
What news from France?

Sir Ronald
I come to learn the news.
For, hearing that our royal Prince was here,
We come to give him welcome to our shores.

Charles Stuart
Who?

Sir Ronald
Moidart, Clanranald.

Charles Stuart
Moidart, Clanranald?
Show me this moment to my friends.

Sir Ronald
They come.


36

(Enter Moidart and Clanranald.)
Charles Stuart
My noble friends! Why have you thus delayed
Your presence from your king?

Clanranald
My lord! we heard
That you had come without your regular troops,
And well we know the Highlanders would not
Take arms without the regular troops to lead.

Charles Stuart
And are you sure they will not take up arms?

Clanranald
I know they will not. If they should, it would
Be instant death—destruction to them all!

Charles Stuart
Is this the common cry throughout the land?
The seed of cowardice is sown therein,
And shall be watered by the bravest blood!
Who would not rather die than live such men!
Oh, for another heart just like my own,
We two would cling together through the fight,
And live to conquer England or die!

Page
Here is another heart as brave as thine;

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It tolls the knell of bondage on my ribs,
And swells my bosom with an eager throb,
As if upon the vigil-pants it bore
The form of Victory triumphant, air
To Liberty! Here is another heart like thine.

Charles Stuart
Take an example from that arduous youth
Whose nature is too gentle even to bear
The simplest frown, but whose undaunted soul
Is like the eagle when he plumes his wings,
And straightway soars up to the sun!
That which is glory unto him, as is
The sunbeam to the eagle, makes ye blind,
And fills your puny hearts with gaudy fears,
Which magnify the more you gaze on them!
Would you not rather die than live to see
The fathers that have bred you, slaves?

Ronald
We would.

Page
(Embracing Sir Ronald.)
Behold that gallant youth! See how his eyes
Sparkle with glory at the very thought!
See how his mighty soul speaks through his cheeks,
Although his lips are mute! Will ye not die?


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Ronald
A thousand death if but my royal lord
Will make me his companion in the tour.

Charles Stuart
Oh! for another heart just like my own
Thrice would we then be armed against the foe.

Page
Fernando has another heart like his,
One that will lose the last drop in his wars,
Or seat his Royal Master on the throne.

Charles Stuart
Undaunted youth! with such brave hearts as thine
What should we fear from England's bravest sons?
Ye shall be leaders of the Highland troops;
And when the victory shall be won, ye shall
Be both as near my throne as now my heart.

Clanranald
Noble Prince! we are constrained to go.
Thus shall we all be mingled into one,
And melt the tyrant-chaos, as the sun
Dispels the darkness of the night, until
The world is wrapped in one continuous glow!

Page
Friend of my soul! we are but one at heart!


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Sir Ronald
We are but one at heart, as thou hast said;
But we shall be like three upon the field
The valor of my heart has echoed thine
And Scotland's warriour shall unite his soul
In deathless friendship to the child of Song.
Thus, as our hearts are here united, so
Shall be our hands in rosy bands of love!

Page
Remember, thou hast spoken what may be

Sir Ronald
It may not be what is already done.

Page
I call upon my royal liege, from this time forth,
And these two friends to witness what is said.

Sir Ronald
And would you doubt the truth of Ronald thus?

Page
I would not doubt it.

Sir Ronald
Then it shall be so.

(Enter Marquis de Tullibardine, Sir Joshua Macdonald, Cameron, Buchanan, Lochiel and Timlock.)

40

Charles Stuart
Welcome, my noble friends! What news from France?

Macdonald
We still hear nothing from the troops, my lord!

Charles Stuart
If some vile serpent had but stung thy child,
Whose death were antidote to that keen bite,
Would you not kill it?

Macdonald
Ay, for joy, my lord.

Charles Stuart
Thou wouldst not long for its destruction more
Than Stuart for that serpent who now sits
Arrayed on England's throne.

Macdonald
Then let him die!

Charles Stuart
He who has driven the fiery wheels of war
Above the battlements of exiled Kings,
Shall, by thunderbolts of Stuart's power,
Amid the whirlwinds of protracted war,
Behold his glory leveled with the dust!
The Owl shall mutter his dolorous notes
Above the wailings of her recent chiefs,

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And Stuart's faithful followers shall reap,
The garnished glories of her wasted kings
And gather up their spoils for household gods,
While their unwilling recreants shall behold
The fire of Liberty, rekindled, burn
Upon the Altar of our isle, new built
A quenchless beacon light for after times;
And dart athwart the pestilential gloom
Of Tyranny the lucid beams of truth,
And usher in that glorious morn of peace,
Whose rising on the world shall never set.

Sir Ronald
Thy spirit-stirring eloquence of Fame
Shall guide our barque of glory through the sea,
And stay the tides of Tyranny. No warriours' heart
Wrung by humanity, shall pour the balm
Of memory over their deserted names;
These and the magic wreath which gems the brow
Of Charles shall fall the freshening dews of fame,
And yield its blossoms an eternal youth.

Macdonald
No power could urge the grateful tear to fall
Upon the prostrate form of Tyranny,
Stretched on the opprobrious earth in shame!


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Sir Ronald
No, lest that tear should water it with life,
Lock up the fountains of the grateful heart,
And save it for affection's flower, whose life
Depends upon the dew drops of the soul.

Charles Stuart
The rich barbaric infidel no more
Shall bruise with hostile feet the tender flower
Of Caledonia's isle—nor shall her vales
Be trodden by the feet of would-be kings;
For when the vengeance of my noble house,
Shall give the shock of centuries to this,
The fragments caused by my revenge shall lie
In shattered desolation over all.
The land from which they exiled me, as wrecks
Of naval myrmadons on savage shores—
More silent in their desolation than
The last sad wails of Israel hushed to rest
In everlasting silence, or the voice
Of Wo struck dumb forever!
For liberty has no objective being—
It stands eternal in the will of God,
To lift our being up to noble ends;
It is evolved by instinct from the soul,

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And lives immortal as itself in thought.

Sir Ronald
'Tis like the idea we have of God,
An everlasting law unto itself,
Which triumphs over Tyranny as Life
Does over Death.

Charles Stuart
For as man dies to live,
So Liberty, when seeming dead, survives.

Macdonald
Thy words are all prophetic of the truths
Which soon shall be
And we will learn to conquer or to die!

(Exeunt omnes.)