 | Douglas |  |
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ACT V.
The Wood.Enter Douglas.
This is the place, the centre of the grove.
Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood.
How sweet and solemn is this mid-night scene!
The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way
Thro' skies where I could count each little star.
The fanning west wind scarcely stirs the leaves;
The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed,
Imposes silence with a stilly sound.
In such a place as this, at such an hour,
If ancestry can be in ought believ'd,
Descending spirits have convers'd with man,
And told the secrets of the world unknown.
Enter Old Norval .
Norval.
'Tis he. But what if he should chide me hence?
His just reproach I fear.
[Douglas turns and sees him.
Forgive, forgive,
Canst thou forgive the man, the selfish man,
Who bred Sir Malcolm's heir a shepherd's son.
Douglas.
Kneel not to me: thou art my father still:
Thy wish'd-for presence now compleats my joy.
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And ever honour'd with thy Douglas live.
Old Norval.
And dost thou call me father? O my son!
I think that I could die to make amends
For the great wrong I did thee. 'Twas my crime
Which in the wilderness so long conceal'd
The blossom of thy youth.
Douglas.
Not worse the fruit,
That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cote,
I learn'd some lessons, which I'll not forget
When I inhabit yonder lofty towers.
I, who was once a swain, will ever prove
The poor man's friend; and, when my vassals bow,
Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas.
Norval.
Let me but live to see thine exaltation!
Yet grievous are my fears. O leave this place,
And those unfriendly towers.
Douglas.
Why should I leave them?
Norval.
Lord Randolph and his kinsman seek your life.
Douglas.
How know'st thou that?
Norval.
I will inform you how.
When evening came, I left the secret place
Appointed for me by your mother's care,
And fondly trod in each accustom'd path
That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I rang'd,
I was alarm'd with unexpected sounds
Of earnest voices. On the persons came;
Unseen I lurk'd, and overheard them name
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And that Glenalvon: still of you they spoke,
And of the Lady: threat'ning was their speech,
Tho' but imperfectly my ear could hear it.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discov'ry;
And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.
Douglas.
Revenge! for what?
Norval.
For being what you are;
Sir Malcolm's heir: how else have you offended?
When they were gone, I hied me to my cottage,
And there sat musing how I best might find
Means to inform you of their wicked purpose.
But I could think of none: at last perplex'd
I issued forth, encompassing the tower
With many a weary step and wishful look.
Now Providence hath brought you to my sight,
Let not your too couragious spirit scorn
The caution which I give.
Douglas.
I scorn it not.
My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness:
But I will not suspect the noble Randolph.
In our encounter with the vile assassins,
I mark'd his brave demeanor: him I'll trust.
Norval.
I fear you will too far.
Douglas.
Here in this place
I wait my mother's coming: she shall know
What thou hast told: her counsel I will follow:
And cautious ever are a mother's counsels.
You must depart; your presence may prevent
Our interview.
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My blessing rest upon thee!
O may heav'n's hand, which sav'd thee from the wave,
And from the sword of foes, be near thee still;
Turning mischance, if ought hangs o'er thy head,
All upon mine!
[Exit Old Norval.
Douglas.
He loves me like a parent;
And must not, shall not lose the son he loves,
Altho' his son has found a nobler father.
Eventful day! how hast thou chang'd my state!
Once on the cold, and winter shaded side
Of a bleak hill, mischance had rooted me,
Never to thrive, child of another soil:
Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale,
Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers.
Ye glorious stars! high heav'n's resplendent host!
To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,
Hear and record my soul's unalter'd wish!
Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd!
May heav'n inspire some fierce gigantic Dane,
To give a bold defiance to our host!
Before he speaks it out I will accept;
Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die.
Enter Lady Randolph .
Lady Randolph.
My son! I heard a voice—
Douglas.
—The voice was mine.
Lady Randolph.
Didst thou complain aloud to nature's car,
That thus in dusky shades, at mid-night hours,
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[Embracing him.
Douglas.
No; on this happy day, this better birth-day,
My thoughts and words are all of hope and joy.
Lady Randolph.
Sad fear and melancholy still divide
The empire of my breast with hope and joy.
Now hear what I advise.
Douglas.
First, let me tell
What may the tenor of your counsel change.
Lady Randolph.
My heart forebodes some evil!
Douglas.
'Tis not good.—
At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon,
The good old Norval in the grove o'erheard
Their conversation: oft they mention'd me
With dreadful threatnings; you they sometimes nam'd.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discov'ry;
And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.
Lady Randolph.
Defend us gracious God! we are betray'd:
They have found out the secret of thy birth;
It must be so. That is the great discovery.
Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own;
And he will be reveng'd. Perhaps even now,
Arm'd and prepar'd for murder, they but wait
A darker and more silent hour, to break
Into the chamber where they think thou sleep'st.
This moment, this, heav'n hath ordain'd to save thee!
Fly to the camp, my son!
Douglas.
And leave you here?
No: to the castle let us go together,
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Who in their youth did eat your father's bread.
Then tell them loudly that I am your son.
If in the breasts of men one spark remains
Of sacred love, fidelity, or pity,
Some in your cause will arm. I ask but few
To drive those spoilers from my father's house.
Lady Randolph.
O Nature, Nature! what can check thy force?
Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas!
But rush not on destruction: save thyself,
And I am safe. To me they mean no harm.
Thy stay but risks thy precious life in vain.
That winding path conducts thee to the river.
Cross where thou seest a broad and beaten way,
Which running eastward leads thee to the camp.
Instant demand admittance to Lord Douglas.
Shew him these jewels, which his brother wore.
Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel the truth,
Which I by certain proof will soon confirm.
Douglas.
I yield me and obey: but yet my heart
Bleeds at this parting. Something bids me stay
And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read
Of wondrous deeds by one bold arm atchiev'd.
Our foes are two: no more: let me go forth,
And see if any shield can guard Glenalvon.
Lady Randolph.
If thou regard'st thy mother, or rever'st
Thy father's mem'ry, think of this no more.
One thing I have to say before we part;
Long wert thou lost; and thou art found, my child,
In a most fearful season. War and battle
I have great cause to dread. Too well I see
Which way the current of thy temper sets:
To day I've found thee. Oh! my long lost hope!
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To-morrow I may lose my son for ever.
The love of thee, before thou saw'st the light,
Sustain'd my life when thy brave father fell.
If thou shalt fall, I have nor love nor hope
In this waste world! my son, remember me!
Douglas.
What shall I say? how can I give you comfort?
The God of battles of my life dispose
As may be best for you! for whose dear sake
I will not bear myself as I resolv'd.
But yet consider, as no vulgar name
That which I boast sounds amongst martial men.
How will inglorious caution suit my claim?
The post of fate unshrinking I maintain.
My country's foes must witness who I am.
On the invaders heads I'll prove my birth,
'Till friends and foes confess the genuine strain.
If in this strife I fall, blame not your son,
Who if he lives not honour'd, must not live.
Lady Randolph.
I will not utter what my bosom feels.
Too well I love that valour which I warn.
Farewel, my son! my counsels are but vain.
[Embracing.
And as high heav'n hath will'd it all must be.
[Separate.
Lady Randolph.
Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path;
I'll point it out again.
[Just as they are separating, enter from the wood Lord Randolph and Glenalvon.]
Lord Randolph.
Not in her presence.
Now—
Glenalvon.
I'm prepar'd.
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No: I command thee stay.
I go alone: it never shall be said
That I took odds to combat mortal man.
The noblest vengeance is the most compleat.
[Exit Lord Randolph.
[Glenalvon makes some steps to the same side of the stage, listens and speaks.]
Glenalvon.
Demons of death come settle on my sword,
And to a double slaughter guide it home!
The lover and the husband both must die.
[Lord Randolph behind the scenes.]
Lord Randolph.
Draw, villain! draw.
Douglas.
Assail me not, Lord Randolph;
Not as thou lov'st thyself.
[Clashing of swords.]
[Glenalvon running out.]
Now is the time.
Enter Lady Randolph at the opposite side of the stage, faint and breathless.
Lady Randolph.
Lord Randolph, hear me; all shall be thine own:
But spare! Oh spare my son!
Enter Douglas with a sword in each hand.
My mother's voice!
I can protect thee still.
Lady Randolph.
He lives, he lives:
For this, for this to heaven eternal praise!
But sure I saw thee fall.
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It was Glenalvon.
Just as my arm had master'd Randolph's sword,
The villain came behind me; but I slew him.
Lady Randolph.
Behind thee! Ah; thou'rt wounded! O my child,
How pale thou look'st! and shall I lose thee now?
Douglas.
Do not despair: I feel a little faintness;
I hope it will not last.
[Leans upon his sword.]
Lady Randolph.
There is no hope!
And we must part! the hand of death is on thee!
O my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas!
Douglas.
Too soon we part; I have not long been Douglas.
O destiny! hardly thou deal'st with me:
Clouded and hid, a stranger to myself,
In low and poor obscurity I liv'd.
Lady Randolph.
Has heav'n preserv'd thee for an end like this?
Douglas.
O had I fallen as my brave fathers fell,
Turning with great effort the tide of battle!
Like them I should have smil'd and welcom'd death.
But thus to perish by a villain's hand!
Cut off from nature's and from glory's course,
Which never mortal was so fond to run.
Lady Randolph.
Hear justice! hear! stretch thy avenging arm.
[Douglas falls.]
Douglas.
Unknown I die; no tongue shall speak of me.—
Some noble spirits, judging by themselves,
May yet conjecture what I might have prov'd,
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But who shall comfort thee?
Lady Randolph.
Despair! despair!
Douglas.
O had it pleas'd high heaven to let me live
A little while!—my eyes that gaze on thee
Grow dim apace! my mother—O! my mother.
[Dies.]
Enter Lord Randolph and Anna.
Lord Randolph.
Thy words, the words of truth, have pierc'd my heart.
I am the stain of knighthood and of arms.
Oh! if my brave deliverer survives
The traitor's sword—
Anna.
Alas! look there, my Lord.
Lord Randolph.
The mother and her son! How curst I am!
Was I the cause? No: I was not the cause.
Yon matchless villain did seduce my soul
To frantic jealousy.
Anna.
My Lady lives:
The agony of grief hath but supprest
A while her powers.
Lord Randolph.
But my deliverer's dead!
The world did once esteem Lord Randolph well.
Sincere of heart, for spotless honour fam'd:
And, in my early days, glory I gain'd
Beneath the holy banner of the cross.
Now past the noon of life, shame comes upon me;
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Are near at hand: for all mankind will think
That Randolph basely stab'd Sir Malcolm's heir.
[Lady Randolph recovering.
Lady Randolph.
Where am I now? still in this wretched world!
Grief cannot break a heart so hard as mine,
My youth was worn in anguish: but youth's strength,
With hope's assistance, bore the brunt of sorrow;
And train'd me on to be the object now,
On which Omnipotence displays itself,
Making a spectacle, a tale of me,
To awe its vassal, man.
Lord Randolph.
O misery!
Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim
My innocence.
Lady Randolph.
Thy innocence!
Lord Randolph.
My guilt
Is innocence compar'd with what thou think'st it.
Lady Randolph.
Of thee I think not: what have I to do
With thee or any thing? My son! my son!
My beautiful! my brave! how proud was I
Of thee, and of thy valour! My fond heart
O'erflow'd this day with transport, when I thought
Of growing old amidst a race of thine,
Who might make up to me their father's childhood,
And bear my brother's and my husband's name:
Now all my hopes are dead! A little while
Was I a wife! a mother not so long!
What am I now?—I know.—But I shall be
That only whilst I please; for such a son
And such a husband make a woman bold.
[Runs out.
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Follow her, Anna: I myself would follow,
But in this rage she must abhor my presence.
Exit Anna.
Enter Old Norval .
Norval.
I hear the voice of woe; heaven guard my child!
Lord Randolph.
Already is the idle gaping crowd,
The spiteful vulgar come to gaze on Randolph.
Begone.
Norval.
I fear thee not. I will not go.
Here I'll remain. I'm an accomplice, Lord,
With thee in murder. Yes, my sins did help
To crush down to the ground this lovely plant.
O noblest youth that ever yet was born!
Sweetest and best, gentlest and bravest spirit,
That ever bless'd the world! Wretch that I am,
Who saw that noble spirit swell and rise
Above the narrow limits that confin'd it!
Yet never was by all thy virtues won
To do thee justice, and reveal the secret,
Which timely known, had rais'd thee far above
The villain's snare! Oh! I am punish'd now!
These are the hairs that should have strew'd the ground,
And not the locks of Douglas.
[Tears his hair, and throws himself upon the body of Douglas.
Lord Randolph.
I know thee now: thy boldness I forgive;
My crest is fallen. For thee I will appoint
A place of rest, if grief will let thee rest.
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Curst, curst Glenalvon, he escap'd too well,
Tho' slain and baffled by the hand he hated.
Foaming with rage and fury to the last,
Cursing his conqueror, the felon dy'd.
Enter Anna.
Anna.
My Lord, my Lord!
Lord Randolph.
Speak: I can hear of horror.
Anna.
Horror indeed!
Lord Randolph.
Matilda?
Anna.
Is no more;
She ran, she flew like light'ning up the hill,
Nor halted till the precipice she gain'd,
Beneath whose low'ring top the river falls
Ingulph'd in rifted rocks: thither she came,
As fearless as the eagle lights upon it,
And headlong down.—
Lord Randolph.
'Twas I! alas! 'twas I
That fill'd her breast with fury; drove her down
The precipice of death! Wretch that I am!
Anna.
O had you seen her last despairing look!
Upon the brink she stood, and cast her eyes
Down on the deep: then lifting up her head
And her white hands to heaven, seeming to say,
Why am I forc'd to this? she plung'd herself
Into the empty air.
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I will not vent,
In vain complaints, the passion of my soul.
Peace in this world I never can enjoy.
These wounds the gratitude of Randolph gave.
They speak aloud, and with the voice of fate
Denounce my doom. I am resolv'd. I'll go
Straight to the battle, where the man that makes
Me turn aside must threaten worse than death.
Thou, faithful to thy mistress, take this ring,
Full warrant of my power. Let every rite
With cost and pomp upon their funerals wait:
For Randolph hopes he never shall return.
FINIS.
| Douglas | |