University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Flourish of Trumpets.
Enter Lord Randolph attended.
Lord Randolph.
Summon an hundred horse, by break of day;
To wait our pleasure at the castle gate.

Enter Lady Randolph .
Lady Randolph.
Alas! my Lord! I've heard unwelcome news;
The Danes are landed.

Lord Randolph.
Ay, no inroad this
Of the Northumbrian bent to take a spoil:
No sportive war, no tournament essay,
Of some young knight resolv'd to break a spear,
And stain with hostile blood his maiden arms.
The Danes are landed: we must beat them back,
Or live the slaves of Denmark.

Lady Randolph.
Dreadful times!

Lord Randolph.
The fenceless villages are all forsaken;
The trembling mothers; and their children lodg'd
In wall-girt towers and castles; whilst the men
Retire indignant. Yet, like broken waves,
They but retire more awful to return.

Lady Randolph.
Immense, as fame reports, the Danish host—

Lord Randolph.
Were it as numerous as loud fame reports,
An army knit like ours wou'd pierce it thro':
Brothers, that shrink not from each other's side,
And fond companions, fill our warlike files:
For his dear offspring, and the wife he loves,
The husband, and the fearless father arm.
In vulgar breasts heroic ardor burns,
And the poor peasant mates his daring lord.

Lady Randolph.
Men's minds are temper'd, like their swords, for war;
Lovers of danger, on destruction's brink
They joy to rear erect their daring forms.
Hence, early graves; hence, the lone widow's life;
And the sad mother's grief-embitter'd age.
Where is our gallant guest?

Lord Randolph.
Down in the vale
I left him, managing a fiery steed,
Whose stubbornness had foil'd the strength and skill
Of every rider. But behold he comes,
In earnest conversation with Glenalvon.
Enter Norval and Glenalvon.
Glenalvon! with the lark arise; go forth,
And lead my troops that ly in yonder vale:
Private I travel to the royal camp:
Norval, thou goest with me. But say, young man!
Where didst thou learn so to discourse of war,
And in such terms as I o'erheard to-day?
War is no village science, nor its phrase
A language taught amongst the shepherd swains.

Norval.
Small is the skill my Lord delights to praise
In him he favours.—Hear from whence it came.
Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote
And inaccessible by shepherds trod,
In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand,
A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains.
Austere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the shepherd's alms.
I went to see him, and my heart was touch'd
With rev'rence and with pity. Mild he spake,
And, entring on discourse, such stories told
As made me oft revisit his sad cell.
For he had been a soldier in his youth;
And fought in famous battles, when the Peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Against th'usurping Infidel display'd
The cross of Christ, and won the Holy Land.
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire
His speech struck from me, the old man wou'd shake
His years away, and act his young encounters:
Then, having shew'd his wounds, he'd sit him down,
And all the live-long day discourse of war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts;
Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use
Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line,
The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm.
For all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.

Lord Randolph.
Why did this soldier in a desart hide
Those qualities that should have grac'd a camp?

Norval.
That too at last I learn'd. Unhappy man!
Returning homewards by Messina's port,
Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won,
A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea
Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought:
The stranger fell, and with his dying breath
Declar'd his name and lineage! Mighty God!
The soldier cried, my brother! Oh! my brother!

Lady Randolph.
His brother!

Norval.
Yes; of the same parents born;
His only brother. They exchang'd forgiveness:
And happy, in my mind, was he that died:
For many deaths has the survivor suffer'd.
In the wild desart on a rock he sits,
Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks,
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate.
At times, alas! not in his perfect mind!
Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost;
And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch,
To make sad orisons for him he slew.

Lady Randolph.
To what mysterious woes are mortals born!
In this dire tragedy were there no more
Unhappy persons? did the parents live?

Norval.
No; they were dead: kind heav'n had clos'd their eyes
Before their son had shed his brother's blood.

Lord Randolph.
Hard is his fate; for he was not to blame!
There is a destiny in this strange world,
Which oft decrees an undeserved doom:
Let schoolmen tell us why,—From whence these sounds?

[Trumpets at a distance.]
Enter an Officer.
Officer.
My Lord, the trumpets of the troops of Lorn:
The valiant leader hails the noble Randolph.

Lord Randolph.
Mine antient guest! does he the warriors lead?
Has Denmark rous'd the brave old Knight to arms?

Officer.
No; worn with warfare, he resigns the sword.
His eldest hope, the valiant John of Lorn,
Now leads his kindred bands.

Lord Randolph.
Glenalvon, go.
With hospitality's most strong request
Intreat the chief.

[Exit Glenalvon.]
Officer.
My Lord, requests are vain.
He urges on, impatient of delay,
Stung with the tidings of the foe's approach.

Lord Randolph.
May victory sit on the warrior's plume!
Bravest of men! his flocks and herds are safe;
Remote from war's alarms his pastures lie,
By mountains inaccessible secur'd:
Yet foremost he into the plain descends,
Eager to bleed in battles not his own.
Such were the heroes of the antient world:
Contemners they of indolence and gain;
But still for love of glory, and of arms,
Prone to encounter peril, and to lift
Against each strong antagonist the spear.
I'll go and press the hero to my breast.

[Exit Randolph.
Manet Lady Randolph and Norval.
Lady Randolph.
The soldier's loftiness, the pride and pomp
Investing awful war, Norval, I see,
Transport thy youthful mind.

Norval.
Ah! should they not?
Bless'd be the hour I left my father's house!
I might have been a shepherd all my days,
And stole obscurely to a peasant's grave.
Now, if I live, with mighty chiefs I stand;
And, if I fall, with noble dust I lie.

Lady Randolph.
There is a gen'rous spirit in thy breast,
That could have well sustain'd a prouder fortune.
This way with me; under yon spreading beech,
Unseen, unheard, by human eye or ear,
I will amaze thee with a wond'rous tale.

Norval.
Let there be danger, Lady, with the secret,
That I may hug it to my grateful heart,
And prove my faith. Command my sword, my life:
These are the sole possessions of poor Norval.

Lady Randolph.
Know'st thou these gems?

Norval.
Durst I believe mine eyes
I'd say I knew them, and they were my father's.

Lady Randolph.
Thy father's, say'st thou! ah! they were thy father's!

Norval.
I saw them once, and curiously inquir'd
Of both my parents, whence such splendor came?
But I was check'd, and more could never learn.

Lady Randolph.
Then learn of me, thou art not Norval's son.

Norval.
Not Norval's son!

Lady Randolph.
Nor of a shepherd sprung.

Norval.
Lady, who am I then?

Lady Randolph.
Noble thou art;
For noble was thy Sire!

Norval.
I will believe—
O! tell me farther! Say who was my father?

Lady Randolph.
Douglas!

Norval.
Lord Douglas, whom to day I saw?

Lady Randolph.
His younger brother.

Norval.
And in yonder camp?

Lady Randolph.
Alas!

Norval.
You make me tremble—Sighs and tears!
Lives my brave father?

Lady Randolph.
Ah! too brave indeed!
He fell in battle 'ere thyself was born.

Norval.
Ah me unhappy! 'ere I saw the light?
But does my mother live? I may conclude,
From my own fate, her portion has been sorrow.

Lady Randolph.
She lives; but wastes her life in constant woe,
Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost.

Norval.
You that are skill'd so well in the sad story
Of my unhappy parents, and with tears
Bewail their destiny, now have compassion
Upon the offspring of the friends you lov'd!
O! tell me who, and where my mother is!
Oppress'd by a base world, perhaps she bends
Beneath the weight of other ills than grief;
And desolate, implores of heav'n the aid
Her son should give. It is, it must be so—
Your countenance confesses that she's wretched.
O! tell me her condition! Can the sword—
Who shall resist me in a parent's cause?

Lady Randolph.
Thy virtue ends her woe.—My son, my son!
I am thy mother, and the wife of Douglas!

[Falls upon his neck.
Norval.
O heav'n and earth, how wondrous is my fate!
Art thou my mother? Ever let me kneel!

Lady Randolph.
Image of Douglas! Fruit of fatal love!
All that I owe thy Sire, I pay to thee.

Norval.
Respect and admiration still possess me,
Checking the love and fondness of a son.
Yet I was filial to my humble parents.
But did my Sire surpass the rest of men,
As thou excellest all of womankind?

Lady Randolph.
Arise, my son! In me thou dost behold
The poor remains of beauty once admir'd:
The autumn of my days is come already;
For sorrow made my summer haste away.
Yet in my prime I equal'd not thy father:
His eyes were like the eagle's, yet sometimes
Liker the dove's; and, as he pleas'd, he won
All hearts with softness, or with spirit aw'd.

Norval.
How did he fall? Sure 'twas a bloody field
When Douglas died. O I have much to ask!

Lady Randolph.
Hereafter thou shalt hear the lengthen'd tale
Of all thy father's and thy mother's woes.
At present this: thou art the rightful heir
Of yonder castle, and the wide domains
Which now Lord Randolph, as my husband, holds.
But thou shalt not be wrong'd; I have the power
To right thee still: before the King I'll kneel,
And call Lord Douglas to protect his blood.

Norval.
The blood of Douglas will protect itself.

Lady Randolph.
But we shall need both friends and favour, boy,
To wrest thy lands and lordship from the gripe
Of Randolph and his kinsman. Yet I think
My tale will move each gentle heart to pity,
My life incline the virtuous to believe.

Norval.
To be the son of Douglas is to me
Inheritance enough. Declare my birth,
And in the field I'll seek for fame and fortune.

Lady Randolph.
Thou dost not know what perils and injustice
Await the poor man's valour. O! my son!
The noblest blood in all the land's abash'd,
Having no lacquey but pale poverty.
Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas!
Too long hast thou been deem'd a peasant's child.
The wanton heir of some inglorious chief
Perhaps has scorn'd thee, in the youthful sports;
Whilst thy indignant spirit swell'd in vain!
Such contumely thou no more shalt bear:
But how I purpose to redress thy wrongs
Must be hereafter told. Prudence directs
That we should part before yon chiefs return.
Retire, and from thy rustic follower's hand
Receive a billet, which thy mother's care,
Anxious to see thee, dictated before
This casual opportunity arose
Of private conference. Its purport mark;
For as I there appoint we meet again.
Leave me, my son! and frame thy manners still
To Norval's, not to noble Douglas' state.

Norval.
I will remember. Where is Norval now?
That good old man.

Lady Randolph.
At hand conceal'd he lies,
An useful witness. But beware, my son,
Of yon Glenalvon; in his guilty breast
Resides a villain's shrewdness, ever prone
To false conjecture. He hath griev'd my heart.

Norval.
Has he indeed? Then let yon false Glenalvon
Beware of me.

[Exit Douglas.
Manet Lady Randolph.
There burst the smother'd flame!
O! thou all righteous and eternal King!
Who father of the fatherless art call'd,
Protect my son!—Thy inspiration, Lord!
Hath fill'd his bosom with that sacred fire,
Which in the breasts of his forefathers burn'd:
Set him on high like them, that he may shine
The star and glory of his native land!
Then let the minister of death descend,
And bear my willing spirit to its place.
Yonder they come. How do bad women find
Unchanging aspects to conceal their guilt?
When I, by reason, and by justice urg'd,
Full hardly can dissemble with these men
In nature's pious cause.

Enter Lord Randolph and Glenalvon.
Lord Randolph.
Yon gallant chief,
Of arms enamour'd, all repose disclaims.

Lady Randolph.
Be not, my Lord, by his example sway'd:
Arrange the business of to-morrow now,
And, when you enter, speak of war no more.
[Exit Lady Randolph .

Manent Lord Randolph and Glenalvon.
Lord Randolph.
'Tis so, by heav'n! her mien, her voice, her eye,
And her impatience to be gone, confirm it.

Glenalvon.
He parted from her now: behind the mount,
Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along.

Lord Randolph.
For sad, sequester'd virtue she's renown'd!

Glenalvon.
Most true, my Lord.

Lord Randolph.
Yet this distinguish'd Dame
Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day,
Alone to meet her at the midnight hour.
This assignation, [shews a letter]
the assassin freed,
Her manifest affection for the youth,
Might breed suspicion in a husband's brain,
Whose gentle consort all for love had wedded;
Much more in mine. Matilda never lov'd me,
Let no man, after me, a woman wed,
Whose heart he knows he has not; tho' she brings
A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry,
For let her seem, like the night's shadowy queen,
Cold and contemplative;—He cannot trust her:
She may, she will, bring shame and sorrow on him;
The worst of sorrows, and the worst of shames!

Glenalvon.
Yield not, my Lord, to such afflicting thoughts;
But let the spirit of an husband sleep,
Till your own senses make a sure conclusion.
This billet must to blooming Norval go:
At the next turn awaits my trusty spy;
I'll give it him refitted for his master.
In the close thicket take your secret stand;
The moon shines bright, and your own eyes may judge
Of their behaviour.

Lord Randolph.
Thou dost counsel well.

Glenalvon.
Permit me now to make one slight essay.
Of all the trophies which vain mortals boast,
By wit, by valour, or by wisdom won,
The first and fairest, in a young man's eye,
Is woman's captive heart. Successful love
With glorious fumes intoxicates the mind;
And the proud conqueror in triumph moves
Air-born, exalted above vulgar men.

Lord Randolph.
And what avails this maxim?

Glenalvon.
Much, my Lord!
Withdraw a little: I'll accost young Norval,
And with ironical derisive counsel
Explore his spirit. If he is no more
Than humble Norval, by thy favour rais'd,
Brave as he is, he'll shrink astonish'd from me:
But if he be the fav'rite of the fair,
Lov'd by the first of Caledonia's dames,
He'll turn upon me, as the lion turns
Upon the hunter's spear.

Lord Randolph.
'Tis shrewdly thought.

Glenalvon.
When we grow loud, draw near. But let my Lord
His rising wrath restrain.

[Exit Randolph.
Manet Glenalvon.
'Tis strange, by heav'n!
That she should run full tilt her fond career,
To one so little known. She too that seem'd
Pure as the winter stream, when ice emboss'd
Whitens its course. Even I did think her chaste,
Whose charity exceeds not. Precious sex!
Whose deeds lascivious pass Glenalvon's thoughts?
Norval appears.
His port I love; he's in a proper mood
To chide the thunder, if at him it roar'd.
Has Norval seen the troops?

Norval.
The setting sun,
With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale,
And as the warriors mov'd, each polish'd helm,
Corslet, or spear, glanc'd back his gilded beams.
The hill they climb'd, and halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, tow'ring, they seem'd,
An host angelic, clad in burning arms.

Glenalvon.
Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host,
In sounds more lofty, speaks of glorious war.

Norval.
If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine
Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.

Glenalvon.
You wrong yourself, brave Sir; your martial deeds
Have rank'd you with the great: but mark me Norval;
Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth
Above his veterans of famous service.
Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you.
Give them all honour; seem not to command:
Else they will scarcely brook your late sprung power,
Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns.

Norval.
Sir, I have been accustom'd all my days
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth:
And tho' I have been told, that there are men
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn,
Yet in such language I am little skill'd.
Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel,
Altho' it sounded harshly. Why remind
Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
With such contemptuous terms?

Glenalvon.
I did not mean
To gall your pride, which now I see is great,

Norval.
My pride!

Glenalvon.
Suppress it as you wish to prosper.
Your pride's excessive. Yet for Randolph's sake
I will not leave you to its rash direction.
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn?

Norval.
A shepherd's scorn!

Glenalvon.
Yes, if you presume
To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
As if you took the measure of their minds,
And said in secret, you're no match for me;
What will become of you?

Norval.
If this were told—
[Aside.
Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?

Glenalvon.
Ha! Dost thou threaten me?

Norval.
Didst thou not hear?

Glenalvon.
Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Had not been question'd thus. But such as thee—

Norval.
Whom dost thou think me?

Glenalvon.
Norval.

Norval.
So I am—
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?

Glenalvon.
A peasant's son, a wand'ring beggar-boy;
At best no more, even if he speaks the truth.

Norval.
False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?

Glenalvon.
Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie; and false as hell
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.

Norval.
If I were chain'd, unarm'd, and bedrid old,
Perhaps I should revile: But as I am
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race who strive not but with deeds.
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour,
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
I'd tell thee—what thou art. I know thee well.

Glenalvon.
Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born to command
Ten thousand slaves like thee?

Norval.
Villain, no more:
Draw and defend thy life. I did design
To have defy'd thee in another cause:
But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs.

Enter Lord Randolph .
Lord Randolph.
Hold, I command you both. The man that stirs
Makes me his foe.

Norval.
Another voice than thine
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph.

Glenalvon.
Hear him, my Lord; he's wondrous condescending!
Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!

Norval.
Now you may scoff in safety.

[Sheaths his sword.
Lord Randolph.
Speak not thus,
Taunting each other; but unfold to me
The cause of quarrel, then I judge betwixt you.

Norval.
Nay, my good Lord, tho' I revere you much,
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.
I blush to speak; I will not, cannot speak
Th'opprobrious words that I from him have borne.
To the liege lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage; but even him
And his high arbitration I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord;
Honour, sole judge and umpire of itself.
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,
Revoke your favours, and let Norval go
Hence as he came, alone, but not dishonour'd.

Lord Randolph.
Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice:
The antient foe of Caledonia's land
Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields.
Suspend your purpose, till your country's arms
Repel the bold invader; then decide
The private quarrel.

Glenalvon.
I agree to this.

Norval.
And I.

Enter Servant.
Servant.
The banquet waits.

Lord Randolph.
We come.
[Exit Randolph.

Glenalvon.
Norval,
Let not our variance mar the social hour,
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph.
Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkl'd hate,
Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow;
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle Dame.

Norval.
Think not so lightly, Sir, of my resentment;
When we contend again, our strife is mortal.