 | The Siege of Berwick |  |
1
ACT THE FIRST.
Sir Alexander, Archibald, Valentine.Sir ALEXANDER.
It is not action only that adorns.
The soldier's character, it is patience,
Calm and induring in the rugged hour
Of want, that forms the nobler part of duty:
You, my lov'd sons, and all your fellow-sufferers,
Have well that rigorous iron task perform'd.
But now a smoother train of hours advances;
The truce, which at to-morrow's dawn takes place,
Will enable me from out the northern gate
To dismiss the women, the aged and the infirm,
Then disencumber'd of its useless numbers
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The hand of scarceness shall no more dispense
Her meagre morsel to th' exhausted soldier,
But cheering competency shall provide
The meal.
ARCHIBALD.
'Tis well! yet then inform me, Sir,
How you'll employ th' invaluable hours
That still precede the truce?
Sir ALEXANDER.
Our gallant men
Have been severely tried, and worn with toil.
ARCHIBALD.
Their toil-enfeebled bodies still enclose
The mounting spirit of unwearied vigor.
VALENTINE.
Prompt as the hawk to dart upon his prey.
ARCHIBALD.
The foe since yesterday appears to have lost
Half of his wonted intrepidity.
VALENTINE.
That show'r of arrows we pour'd down at eve
Hath somewhat quench'd their ardor!
Sir ALEXANDER.
Be it so;
But tell me what is now your present purpose:
3
Your bosom labours.—Speak, my Valentine.
VALENTINE.
Command my elder brother, Sir, to speak.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Unfold then, Archibald, this mysterious something,
This painful secret that disturbs you both.
ARCHIBALD.
Last night, as we reclin'd upon our couch,
Still talking o'er (as is our wonted manner)
The various hazard of the busy day,
We wish'd, we fondly wish'd, that ere the truce
Should intervene, some daring enterprize
Might be attempted under our direction:
Thus we convers'd in sacred confidence
Till as our weak'ning voices died away
We wearied into rest—'twas then an image—
VALENTINE.
Mark, Sir, what now my brother will unfold.
ARCHIBALD.
'Twas then an image rush'd upon my sight,
It shew'd as one of the angelic train,
A circling glory glitter'd o'er his head,
A smile benignant beautified his lip,
And thus he spoke—‘Sons of the valiant Seaton,
Arise and hasten to the southern gate,
4
And vanish'd into air! while a rude noise
Like the fierce struggle of contending spears
Suddenly waked us! Starting from my couch,
And ere I cou'd communicate my dream,
Valentine with impatient voice disclos'd
The mutual vision.
VALENTINE.
'Twas as he relates;
By honor's winnow'd purity I swear
The nightly visitation also came
To me.
Sir ALEXANDER.
I hazard no impeachment of
Your truth; yet then, endearing children, tell me
How can a prudent tender parent send
His valiant sons to danger's precipice
At the fantastic impulse of a dream?
ARCHIBALD.
In the old time we read that dreams have often
Been the prophetic leaders to success.
VALENTINE.
Oh do not, Sir, with caution's chill restraint
O'ershade the splendid purpose of our soul.
ARCHIBALD.
Let the bright vision be forgot, if that
Offend you, and attend to reason's voice:
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Th' approaching truce, and guard neglectingly
The southern gate?
Sir ALEXANDER.
'Tis a mask'd neglect,
It is the couchant lion prompt to seize
Th' unwary prey—ah! trust not to his stern
Repose.
VALENTINE.
If danger still must check the current
Of enterprize, tell, tell me, Father, wherefore
You rear'd us in the hardy school of war?
ARCHIBALD.
The road to martial glory well thou know'st
Is not gay-sprinkled o'er with flowers, but broken
Helmets, shiver'd spears, and blood-stain'd arrows
Choak up th' aspiring path of fame's ascent.
VALENTINE.
To be restrain'd when proud occasion calls,
'Twere better thou hadst led me to some cloister,
Where holy peace resides, o'er-canopied
By antient roofs, that ever shade her from
The madd'ning sun-beams of ambition's sky.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Forbear to torture thus a parent's feelings.
6
Indulgent Father, rest assur'd we both
Pay homage to the thought that now disturbs you;
But with th' experienced Melvil we have just
Conferr'd.
Sir ALEXANDER.
And he undoubtedly contemn'd
Your gaudy dream, that meteor of the brain.
VALENTINE.
'Twas not the meteor of a heated brain,
It was a sun-beam of revealing Heaven,
It was the sympathetic glow of two
According minds.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Of this enough—What said
Th' experienc'd Melvil?
ARCHIBALD.
After due attention
To our proposal, he first stamp'd it with
The seal of his applause, and then added
Arguments that embodied as it were
Our enterprize, and brighten'd it with the
Calm colouring of reason.
Sir ALEXANDER.
I will myself
Confer with Melvil; and if he has words
7
Think not, my valiant sons, I shall withhold
You from the object of your bold request
ARCHIBALD.
To keep unsullied the bright martial name
Of Seaton, is indeed my proudest wish.
VALENTINE.
And if thy Valentine might add his mite
To the rich treasury of his Father's fame,
He would be happy.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Wait till I return.
[Exit.
ARCHIBALD.
Excellent man! his ardour to promote
Our cause, and his solicitude about
Our safety, combat and distract his will.
VALENTINE.
More active, warm, and forcible affection
Was ne'er embosom'd in a father's soul;
And therefore much I fear that Melvil can't
Subdue his scruples.
ARCHIBALD.
Oft have I observ'd
That Melvil's clear illumin'd manly judgment
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Which still attracts opinion to his side.
VALENTINE.
May that attractive power be at this moment
Endued with double influence, that my Father
Withholding his restraint, I might unbounded
Spring against the foe!—This common praise
That's claim'd by every soldier, ill supplies
My starv'd and craving appetite of fame.
ARCHIBALD.
Endearing Valentine, think not that I
Reprove these flashes of an ardent mind;
But should your mounting wishes meet controul,
Wound not a Father's tender caution with
Reproach.
VALENTINE.
Sooner than wound his feeling mind
With sullen, splenetic, unduteous carriage,
I wou'd, like the Spartan boy (who silently
Endur'd the gnawing fox) conceal my sorrow,
Though, like the savage animal, it should
Prey upon my vitals.
ARCHIBALD.
Consider also
This warlike age will gratify your wishes
With many a future enterprize! The morn
Of life is now but breaking on thy youth.
9
Talk not to me of early youth: behold
Edward's brave son, whose age but equals mine—
Oh were I equal with him in renown!
Behold that boy on Cressy's wond'ring field
Reaping an immortal harvest, while I
Enveloped in obscurity—
ARCHIBALD.
Desist,
I hear some step approaching.
Enter Donaldson.
VALENTINE.
'Tis my Father;
Ah, no! 'tis Donaldson. Say, hast thou seen
The Governor?
DONALDSON.
I saw him as I pass'd by
In close conference engag'd with Melvil.
VALENTINE.
Know'st thou the subject of their conference?
DONALDSON.
There breathes an ignorant rumour of a sally,
Proposed it seems by Archibald and you.
10
It is as you have darkly heard, and here
Impatiently we wait the Governor's
Return.
VALENTINE.
See, here he comes.
Enter Sir Alexander.
Hail to my Father!
ARCHIBALD.
Sir, you appear disturbed.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Ah! tell me, Archibald,
Is't with a look of cheerfulness a parent
Resigns his duteous children to the hazard
Of a fearful enterprize?
ARCHIBALD.
Yet then reflect,
Melvil the military sage approves
The enterprize.
Sir ALEXANDER.
But Melvil has no children,
His smooth sail of honour meets no adverse
Gales to check its progress.—'Tis not thus with me:
Say how shall I endure the keen reproofs
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That I have sent, without the imperious call
Of stern necessity, her darling children
To the path of danger?
VALENTINE.
Speak not of danger,
'Tis the soldier's charter, his best privilege.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Something withholds my full consent,
And calls my judgment to severe account!
Forgive this trembling caution in a parent.
VALENTINE.
Had England's warlike king suppress'd his son's
Ascending soul, on her proud list of victories
We should not have found the name of Cressy!
ARCHIBALD.
'Twas on the summit of a neighb'ring hill
The father stood, and saw his youthful son
Oppose the pride of France; and when the Earls
Of Warwick and of Oxford sent a herald,
To claim immediate succour from the king—
VALENTINE.
Did not the king reply, Go tell the lords
Who sent you, that while my boy 's alive
12
Of this great day shall be his own?
Sir ALEXANDER.
Enough!
Your arguments prevail, and you have won me
To your request.—Go, join the skilful Melvil,
The Nestor of the war, and strictly mark
His words and well-weigh'd counsel—first receive
The anxious Father's blessing.
(Embraces his sons.)
May that Power
Who oft hath shielded me in many a combat,
Oh! may that guardian, kind, benignant Angel
Now hover o'er my children!
(Leads them to the door, and returns.)
Donaldson,
This is an awful moment for a Father!
DONALDSON.
Think not so deeply, Sir, nor feed your mind
With busy tort'ring vain surmises; think
How often you've encounter'd perils imminent,
And still return'd with glory.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Unavailing
Remembrance! rear'd as I have almost been
In storms of battle, say what paternal
Bosom will not feel a warm renew'd affection
For two such sons staged to the front of danger?
13
But should not Ethelberta be informed?
Sir ALEXANDER.
Ah! there you probe my bosom's tender part:
No, Donaldson, the mother must not know
The gathering storm that's brooding o'er her sons;
Her quick'ning apprehension would outrun
The deed, and picture to itself images
That would distract her.—'Tis my duty, my
Religion, still to shield her mind from all
That may assail it.
DONALDSON.
Many a time have
I listen'd to the splendid narrative
Of Ethelberta's virtues.
Sir ALEXANDER.
From the happy hour
I first call'd her mine, unto this moment,
She has with unremitting fortitude
Attended me through many a rugged day.
DONALDSON.
I think that England triumphs in her birth.
Sir ALEXANDER.
At those fam'd tournaments that Edward held
At Windsor, did I first behold that matchless
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As looks the softer green amidst the radiant
Colours of the vernal bow, so Ethelberta
Seem'd 'mid the circling flush of British beauties.
—This gorgeous castle, and its proud delights,
The daughter of Earl Nevil willingly
Resign'd, to share with me the perils of
The late crusade: This faithful Wife, this soothing
Companion of my way, still smooth'd the harrow'd
Walk of war—Ev'n as the wall-flower rears its form,
And smiles and flourishes 'midst tombs and ruins,
So Ethelberta's warm affection grew
'Mid sickness, want, fatigue, distress, and danger.
Enter Anselm.
Hail, holy father! what dost thou report?
ANSELM.
With hasty step I come, Sir, to acquaint you
That the bold enterprize is well prepar'd:
Along the subterraneous windings did
The gallant troops advance, 'till they approach'd
The chapel of St. Andrew, near the gate
That issues to the field: here paus'd the band—
And then in sacred silence lowly bending
Dedicated themselves unto their country.
Sir ALEXANDER.
What follow'd?
15
Then with solemn voice I utter'd
Warm from my throbbing heart, the benediction
That is appointed in the hour of danger.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Yet tell me what directions then were given?
ANSELM.
It was agreed that your two sons, attended
By a chosen few, should rush upon the foe,
While Melvil with a greater number should,
Taking a wide circling path, fall on the rear.
Brave Melvil first began the silent march:
Then did your sons lead forth their gallant men
Thro' the deep awful gloom—the signal for
The onset is to be the convent bell
That tolls at midnight.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Wherefore did I yield me
To their wild request? Oh say, is't yet too late?
The leave they wrested from me I may still
Recall.
ANSELM.
The die is cast, and you must wait
Th' event: yet elevate your mind to hope;
For me I augur well of this bold enterprize.
16
But as a Father shou'd I not have been
More cautious, more reserved?
ANSELM.
The sacred poet
Says, Children are as arrows in the hand
Of a giant, to perform his purpose.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Your words, good Anselm, animate my hopes,
And lift me to my wonted confidence
In Heaven.—Did'st thou not say, the convent bell
At midnight was th' appointed signal for
The onset?
ANSELM.
Ev'n so!
Sir ALEXANDER.
See Ethelberta comes;
Farewell—'tis meet that now ye both retire.
[Exeunt.
Enter Ethelberta.
ETHELBERTA.
I hope I'm no intruder; if I am,
My warm solicitude for you must plead
Indulgence.
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Ever most welcome!
ETHELBERTA.
Methinks
You look all harass'd, pale and overcome;
Tis not surprising—but I'm told the foe
Anticipates the truce, by retreating
To some distance.—Wherefore do you not
Retire to rest? 'Tis late, 'tis almost midnight.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Midnight, did'st thou say?
ETHELBERTA.
Sir, you seem alarm'd?
Sir ALEXANDER.
What recent subject is there to alarm me?
ETHELBERTA.
Forgive my busy fond anxiety,
That catches as it were at airy symptoms.—
Where are my sons? tell me when I may see them?
Sir ALEXANDER.
I hope to-morrow.
ETHELBERTA.
Wherefore dost thou only
Hope? Does not the truce take place to-morrow?
18
(The bell tolls.)
Oh! what transports you?
'Twas but the wonted midnight bell, that calls
The holy fathers to their pray'rs; relieve,
Relieve me from this painful ignorance,
And let thine Ethelberta share the pang
That rends thy heart.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Dear Wife, forbear to question me—
ETHELBERTA.
Will you not retire to rest, for sure you
Need it much?
Sir ALEXANDER.
Perchance I may.—Directions
Of highest import I have first to give!
ETHELBERTA.
Farewell—do not tarry long.—Care and sorrow
Mingle on thy brow.—Farewell!—my warmest
Blessing to my sons!—
[Exit.
Sir ALEXANDER.
That blessing was pronounc'd
By her whose sons perchance are now no more—
Enter Donaldson.
Well Donaldson, what hast thou to relate?
19
By some perfidious means the foe, appris'd
Of the intended sally, were prepar'd to meet
The troops that Melvil led.—O'erpower'd by numbers,
He and most of his brave train lie slaughter'd
On the plain—As for your sons—
Sir ALEXANDER.
Ah! what of them?
DONALDSON.
In warmest combat they are now engag'd!
Sir ALEXANDER.
I'll fly to their assistance—
(Draws his sabre.)
DONALDSON.
Let me first—
Sir ALEXANDER.
Cease your vain talking, I must speed away
To save my sons, or perish in their cause.
[Exeunt.
End of the FIRST ACT.
| The Siege of Berwick | |