 | Glencoe |  |
83
ACT V.
Scene.—A Chapel adjoining Halbert's Tower, partly in ruins, in which is seen the Tomb of Halbert's father.—Morning just breaking.Enter Halbert Macdonald.
HALBERT.
The hour approaches when my life's last hope
Will be extinguish'd;—it is quivering now
Upon the verge of darkness;—yet I feel
No pang—no throb. My spirit is serene,
As if prepared to cleave celestial air
To passionless delights—this calm within me
Has something awful.
Enter Lady Macdonald.
HALBERT.
Mother, wish me joy.
LADY MACDONALD.
Joy, Halbert?—
HALBERT.
Yes;—of victory achieved
O'er the last passion which can ever rack
My bosom. I can bear to ask you now,
If any change in Helen raises doubt
How she will answer, when—I am not so arm'd
As I have boasted.
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No;—she scarcely raised
Her head, until her work—a bridal robe—
Hung dazzling on her arm; as then she sought
Her chamber, I impress'd one solemn kiss
Upon her icy brow: then as aroused
From stupor by poor sympathy, she threw
Her arms around my neck; and whispering low,
But piercingly, conjured me to keep watch
Upon her thinkings, lest one erring wish
Should rise to mar her duty to her lord.
HALBERT.
I ask no more, till in this holy place
Her soul shall answer mine; too well I know
The issue; yet I shrink not, nor repine.
LADY MACDONALD.
Your calmness frightens me; you think of death.
HALBERT.
But as a thing to sigh for, not to seek;
I never will forsake you for the grave,
Till Heaven dismiss me thither. Has she slept?
LADY MACDONALD.
I know not; but her chamber has been still,
Until, on notice of the priest arrived
She sent to pray the guidance of his arm
To lead her to this place.
HALBERT.
The priest arrived!
O what a world of happiness these words
Should indicate. It opens now to show
Its glories melting into air. They come—
Her step is heavy; may the heart that sways it
Go lighter hence!
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HALBERT
(meeting them).
Before a solemn change
Shall pass on our condition, let me claim
One kiss, in memory of the wintry paths
Which we have walked with purity of heart
And heaven-ward aspect;—should death take us now,
It had no terrors.
[Kisses Helen's forehead.
PRIEST.
Sir, your words are sad
For such an hour. Shall we begin the service?
HALBERT.
We wait my brother's presence.
HELEN.
O not his!
I am quite ready; let the rite proceed.
Enter Henry Macdonald.
HALBERT.
You are most welcome;—we have waited for you.
HENRY
(looking eagerly round).
Your pardon; all are not assembled yet.
Where is Glenlyon?
HALBERT.
Who?
HENRY.
The lady's uncle;
He has, no doubt, approved her choice, and means
To grace the ceremonial. You will wait
His coming?
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He resign'd this lovely one
To those who knew her worth; he shall not now
Infest the roof that shelters her.
HENRY
(aside).
All lost!
What can detain him?
PRIEST.
Shall the rite proceed?
HALBERT.
I have a few momentous words to speak
Before the rites begin;—to you, fair Helen,
I must address them; but I pray my brother,
Whom they touch nearly, to attend.
HENRY.
I listen.
HALBERT.
How, through sad years, the consecrated joy
Which seems to wait me at this hour, has dawn'd
And brighten'd, from its first uncertain rays
Along the rugged pathway of a life
Else unadorn'd, my passion-fever'd speech
Has shown;—nor less divine the vision glows
Now it stands clear before me, and invites
To mingle heaven with earth. You cannot doubt it.
HELEN.
Never;—I only wish I could dsserve
A love like yours.
HALBERT.
Yet ere I grasp this dream,
And make its phantoms real;—within these walls
By both revered;—where side by side we knelt
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No question ruffled; where your spirit sought
To cast from its pure mirror, each faint cloud
Which jocund thoughts might breathe, or nicest fear
Imagine to o'erspread it;—at the tomb
Of him who watches o'er his trembling son,
At this dread crisis of his fate;—I ask you—
Explore your heart; and if you find a wish
That glances at another fortune, speak it!
HELEN.
Have mercy on me!
HALBERT.
You have seen me chafed
By passion worse than aimless in a soul
Whose destinies are fashion'd by a Power
Wise, bountiful, resistless;—and the words
Such frenzy dashes with its foam might seem
To urge that one unlike myself must prove
Unfit for your affection. Hear me now,
When calmer reason governs me! There stands
One near to me in blood; a soldier, valiant,
And raised above all baseness; in the bloom
And gladness of his youth; who loves you—not
Perchance as I do—but who loves you well;—
You are a soldier's child;—your noble heart
May from most natural impulse turn to one
Endow'd and graced as he is;—if I read
Your wish aright;—I'll join this hand with his,—
As freely as I would relinquish life
To succour yours.
HELEN
(sinking on her knee before Halbert).
Heaven bless you!
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(raising Helen).
'Tis enough;
Now let me draw this ring away—'tis done—
You'll let me wear it for a little time—
A very little time? Come, Henry,—take
This hand, with the deep blessing of a man
Whose all is given with it.
[Takes Henry's hand to join it to Helen's. Henry stands abstracted.
HALBERT.
You are cold—
Your thoughts are far away;—a blackness spreads
Across your face; speak to us!
HELEN.
He is stricken
With wonder at your goodness. Henry; Love!
Join me to bless your brother.
HENRY.
Will no bolt
From heaven fall on this head!
HELEN.
His senses wander,
Scared at this sudden happiness;—anon
All will be well.
[Grasps his arm.
HENRY.
O never!—do not gaze
Upon me;—Helen, touch me not;—fly all.
HALBERT.
Wherefore? From whom?
HENRY.
O God! I cannot tell it.
[A confused cry heard far in the Valley below.
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What cry is that?
LADY MACDONALD.
The shrieks of death arise.
HENRY.
Not death!
Enter Angus.
ANGUS.
Fly for your lives; our cherish'd guests
Have fall'n upon the clansmen wrapp'd in sleep
With murderous swords; and burning hovels light
Their slaughterous way.
HENRY.
'Tis false.
ANGUS.
False! Hark! Behold!
[Another cry heard more distinctly from the Valley, and the glare of distant fire seen.
HENRY.
O misery! I meant not this.
HALBERT.
You!
Enter Alaster Macdonald, wounded.
ALASTER.
Cousin—
Halbert—I've struggled through the ranks of death
Dying to cry for justice. A few moments—
And my poor life expended, you will bear
The Chieftain's sword.
HALBERT.
Where is your Father?
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Slain.
HALBERT.
And John?
ALASTER.
Both murder'd in their sleep. I cry
For justice on the head of him who ranged
The assassins. Hear me! I would kneel indeed
But my joints stiffen.
HALBERT.
Where's the traitor?
Alaster
(looking round, sees Henry and exclaims).
There!
[Falls lifeless into the arms of the Priest, who bears him out.
HALBERT.
My most unhappy brother!
PRIEST
(returning).
He has pass'd.
HALBERT.
And I am Chief! This is the fatal hour
That Moina saw.
[Angus and Attendants kneel to Halbert.
Ancestral shades, I see
You beckon in yon flame. Let me sit here;
The grave will serve. Where does the doom'd man stand?
HENRY.
Here! Chief of the Macdonalds, let my blood
Atone my crime—it was not this—I meant
But your disgrace. How little did I know
The heart I meant to grieve! Strike! vindicate
The ancient power, which perishes while thus
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[Renewed cries from the Valley.
Release me from those cries; give me one look
Of love, and end me.
HALBERT.
Will none plead for him?
HELEN.
It was for me.
[To Lady Macdonald.
Plead for your son.
LADY MACDONALD.
I plead
For him who, plotting infamy, has brought
Death on our race! All things around me plead
Against him; and that wail is fraught with shrieks
Of mothers, who, with death's convulsions, strive
In vain to shield their infants—such as he
Was once—as innocent, as blithe, as fair.
O Henry! Henry! could I die for you!
[Lady Macdonald falls on his neck. Another cry heard. She starts away. Helen sinks on her knees beside the Tomb.
HENRY.
I'm ready.
HALBERT.
There!—without.
HENRY.
I'll wait you there.
HALBERT.
Will Heaven vouchsafe no refuge?
[As he raises his arms in supplication, a shot strikes him; he falls.
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Mercy, Most Merciful!—I am absolved.
Enter Glenlyon.
GLENLYON.
Am I too late? My niece—
HELEN.
Away! away!
HENRY
(rushing on Glenlyon).
Die, murderer!
LADY MACDONALD
(stops his arm).
Let him live. Glenlyon,
I pray you may have life stretch'd out beyond
The common span of mortals, to endure
The curse of Glencoe cleaving to your soul.
HELEN.
Amen!
GLENLYON.
It is upon me, yet I will preserve you.
HALBERT.
Leave us to die.
Enter Drummond.
DRUMMOND.
I seek Glenlyon here.
The eastern pass is open; Duncanson
Has not arrived: that way the clansmen fly.
GLENLYON.
Heaven speed them!
[Exit Glenlyon.
HENRY.
Then will I oppose this breast
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The death I thirst for.
[Exit Henry.
HELEN.
Henry!
[Sinks on the ground.
HALBERT.
There is comfort;
Raise me to clasp my mother. You will pray
For Henry;—and will find a child in her
Whom mercy spares this moment.
[To the Priest.
To your charge
I leave the gathering of my scanty fortune,
Which will provide a refuge for these sad ones
In some small convent, where they'll weep out life.
Will you do this?
PRIEST.
I will.
HALBERT.
Bless you! I mark
The face which gazed in pity on my rage
Beside my father's death-bed:—'tis subdued—
Hush'd—conquer'd—pardon'd—and I die in peace.
[Dies.
END OF THE PLAY.
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