SCENE IV.
Before the gate of the castle: a confused noise of an
approaching crowd heard within, and presently
enter, from the gate,
Maclean, Benlora, Lochtarish,
and
Glenfadden,
with their attendants,
conducted by
Lorne,
and followed by a crowd of
Campbells,
who range themselves on both sides of
the stage.
Lorne
(
to
Maclean).
Now, chieftain, we the gate have pass'd,—the bound
That did restrain us. Host and guest no more,
But deadly foes we stand, who from this spot
Shall never both with life depart. Now, turn,
And boldly say to him, if so thou darest,
Who calls thee villain, murd'rer, traitor, coward,
That he belies thee. Turn then, chief of Mull!
Here, man to man, my single arm to thine,
I give thee battle; or, refusing this,
Our captive here retain thee to be tried
Before the summon'd vassals of our clans,
As suits thy rank and thine atrocious deeds.
Take thou thy choice.
Mac.
Yes, John of Lorne, I turn.
This turf on which we tread my death-bed is;
This hour my latest term; this sky of light
The last that I shall look on. Draw thy sword:
The guilt of many crimes o'erwhelms my spirit
But never will I shame my brave Macleans,
By dying, as their chief, a coward's death.
Ben.
What! shalt thou fight alone, and we stand by
Idly to look upon it?
[
Going up fiercely to
Lorne.
Turn me out
The boldest, brawniest Campbell of your bands;
Ay, more than one, as many as you will;
And I the while, albeit these locks be grey,
Leaning my aged back against this tree,
Will show your youngsters how, in other days,
Macleans did fight, when baited round with foes.
Lorne.
Be still, Benlora; other sword than these,
Thy chief's and mine, shall not this day be drawn.
If I prevail against him, here with us
Our captives you remain. If I be conquer'd,
Upon the faith and honour of a chieftain,
Ye shall again to Mull in safety go.
Ben.
Spoken like a noble chieftain!
Lorne.
Ye shall, I say, to Mull in safety go.
But there prepare ye to defend your coast
Against a host of many thousand Campbells.
In which, be well assured, swords as good
As John of Lorne's, to better fortune join'd,
Shall of your crimes a noble vengeance take.
[
Lorne
and
Maclean
fight; and, after a
combat of some length,
Maclean
is mortally
wounded, and the
Campbells
give a loud shout.
Mac.
It is enough, brave Lorne; this wound is death:
And better deed thou couldst not do upon me,
Than rid me of a life disgraced and wretched.
But guilty though I be, thou seest full well,
That to the brave opposed, arms in hand,
I am no coward.—Oh! could I as bravely,
In home-raised broils, with violent men have striv'n,
It had been well: but there, alas! I proved
A poor, irresolute, and nerveless wretch.
[
After a pause, and struggling for breath.
To live, alas! in good men's memories
Detested and contemn'd:—to be with her
For whom I thought to be—Come, gloomy grave!
Thou coverest all!
[
After another painful struggle, every one standing
in deep silence round him, and
Lorne
bending over him compassionately.
Pardon of man I ask not,
And merit not.—Brave Lorne, I ask it not;
Though in thy piteous eye a look I see
That might embolden me.—There is above
One who doth know the weakness of our nature,—
Our thoughts and conflicts:—all that e'er have breathed,
The bann'd and bless'd must pass to Him:—my soul
Into His hands, in humble penitence,
I do commit.
[
Dies.
Lorne.
And may Heaven pardon thee, unhappy man!
Enter
Argyll,
and
Helen
following him, attended by
Rosa.
Lorne
(
to attendants).
Alas, prevent her!
[
Endeavouring to keep her back.
Helen, come not hither:
This is no sight for thee.
Helen
(
pressing forward, and seeing the body).
Oh! oh! and hast thou dealt with him so quickly,
Thou fell and ruthless Lorne?—No time allow'd?
[
Kneeling by the body.
O that within that form sense still were lodged!
To hear my voice,—to know that in my heart
No thought of thee—Let others scan thy deeds,
Pitied and pardon'd art thou here.
[
Her hand on her breast.
Alas!
So quickly fell on thee th' avenging stroke,
No sound of peace came to thy dying ear,
No look of pity to thy closing eyes!
Pitied and pardon'd art thou in this breast,
But canst not know it now.—Alas! alas!
Arg.
(
to attendants).
Prepare ye speedily to move the body.
Mean time, our prisoners within the castle
Secure ye well.
[
To other attendants, who lay hold of
Lochtarish
and
Glenfadden,
while
Benlora,
drawing his sword, attacks furiously those who
attempt to seize and disarm him, and they,
closing round and endeavouring to overpower
him, he is mortally wounded in the scuffle.
Ben.
Ay, bear me now within your prison walls;
Alive indeed, thought ye to bind me? No.
Two years within your dungeons have I lived,
But lived for vengeance: closed that hope, the earth
Close o'er me too!—Alive to bind Benlora!
[
Falls.
Lorne
(
running up to him).
Ha! have ye slain him?—Fierce and warlike spirit!
I'm glad that thou hast had a soldier's death,
Arms in thy hands, all savage as thou art.
[
Turning to
Lochtarish
and
Glenfadden.
But thou, the artful, base, contriving villain,
Who hast of an atrocious, devilish act
The mover been, and this thy vile associate,
Prepare ye for the villains' shameful end,
Ye have so dearly earn'd.
[
Waving his hand for the attendants to lead them off.
Loch.
Be not so hasty, Lorne.—Thinkst thou indeed
Ye have us here within your grasp, and nought
Of hostage or security retain'd
For our protection?
Lorne.
What dost thou mean?
Loch.
Deal with us as ye will:
But if within a week, return'd to Mull,
In safety I appear not, with his blood,
The helpless heir, thy sister's infant son,
Who in my mother's house our pledge is kept,
Must pay the forfeit.
Helen
(
starting up from the body in an agony of
alarm).
O horrible! ye will not murder
him?
Murder a harmless infant!
Loch.
My aged mother, lady, loves her son
As thou dost thine; and she has sworn to do it.
Helen.
Has sworn to do it! Oh! her ruthless nature
Too well I know.
(
To
Lorne
eagerly.)
Loose them, and let them go!
Lorne.
Let fiends like these escape?
Arg.
(
to
Helen).
He does but threaten
To move our fears: they dare not slay the child.
Helen.
They dare! they will!—O if thou art my father!
If Nature's hand e'er twined me to thy heart
As this poor child to mine, have pity on me!
Loose them and let them go!—Nay, do it quickly.
O what is vengeance? Spare my infant's life!
Unpitying Lorne!—art thou a brother too?
The hapless father's blood is on thy sword,
And wilt thou slay the child? O spare him! spare him!
[
Kneeling to
Argyll
and
Lorne,
who stand
irresolute, when enter
Sir Hubert De Grey,
carrying something in his arms, wrapped up
in a mantle, and followed by
Morton.
On
seeing
Sir Hubert,
she springs from the
ground, and rushes forward to him.
Ha! art thou here? in blessed hour return'd
To join thy prayers with mine,—to move their hearts—
Their flinty hearts;—to bid them spare my child!
De Grey
(
lifting up the mantle, and showing a
sleeping child).
The prayer is heard already:
look thou here
Beneath this mantle where he soundly sleeps.
[
Helen
utters a cry of joy, and holds out her
arms for the child, but at the same time sinks
to the ground, embracing the knees of
Sir
Hubert. Argyll
and
Lorne
run up to
him, and all their vassals, &c., crowding round
close them about on every side, while a general
murmur of exultation is heard through the
whole.
Lochtarish
and
Glenfadden,
remaining
on the side of the stage with those who
guard them, are struck with astonishment and
consternation.
Arg.
(
to those who guard
Lochtarish,
&c. stepping
forward from the crowd).
Lead to the grated keep your prisoners,
There to abide their doom. Upon the guilty
Our vengeance falls, and only on the guilty.
To all their clan beside, in which I know
Full many a gallant heart included is,
I still extend a hand of amity.
If they reject it, fair and open war
Between us be: and trust we still to find them
The noble, brave Macleans, the valiant foes,
That, ere the dark ambition of a villain,
For wicked ends, their gallant minds had warp'd,
We heretofore had found them.
O that men
In blood so near, in country, and in valour,
Should spend in petty broils their manly strength,
That might, united for the public weal,
On foreign foes such noble service do!
O that the day were come when gazing southron,
Whilst these our mountain warriors, marshall'd forth
To meet in foreign climes their country's foes,
Along their crowded cities slowly march,
To sound of warlike pipe, their plaided bands,
Shall say, with eager fingers pointing thus,
“Behold those men!—their sunn'd but thoughtful brows:
Their sinewy limbs; their broad and portly chests,
Lapp'd in their native vestments, rude but graceful!—
Those be our hardy brothers of the north;—
The bold and gen'rous race, who have, beneath
The frozen circle and the burning line,
The rights and freedom of our native land
Undauntedly maintain'd.”
That day will come,
When in the grave this hoary head of mine,
And many after heads, in death are laid;
And happier men, our sons, shall live to see it.
O may they prize it too with grateful hearts;
And, looking back on these our stormy days
Of other years, pity, admire, and pardon
The fierce, contentious, ill-directed valour
Of gallant fathers, born in darker times!
[
The curtain drops.
