 | The Family Legend |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
An apartment in twilight, almost dark; the door of an inner chamber, standing a little ajar, at the bottom of the stage.Enter John of Lorne and Sir Hubert de Grey, disguised as peasants.
De Grey.
Nay, stop, I pray; advance we not too far?
Lorne.
Morton hath bid us in this place to wait.
The nurse's chamber is adjoining to it;
And, till her light within give notice, here
Thou mayst remain; when I am call'd, thou'lt leave me.
De Grey.
Till thou art call'd! and may I stay to hear
The sweetness of her voice—her footstep's sound;
Perhaps snatch in the torch's hasty light
One momentary vision of that form—
The form that hath to me of earthly make
No fellow? May it be without transgression?
Lorne.
Why shouldst thou not? De Grey, thou art too fearful;
487
And well she knows thine honour. Her commands,
Though we must yield to them, capricious seem;
Seeing thou art with me, too nicely scrupulous;
And therefore need no farther be obey'd
Than needs must be. She puts thee not on honour.
Were I so used—
De Grey.
'Spite of thy pride, wouldst thou
Revere her still the more.—O, no, brave Lorne,
I blame her not. When she, a willing victim,
To spare the blood of two contending clans,
Against my faithful love her suffrage gave,
I bless'd her; and the deep, but chasten'd sorrow
With which she bade me—Oh! that word! farewell,
Is treasured in my bosom as its share
Of all that earthly love hath power to give.
It came from Helen, and, from her received,
Shall not be worn with thankless dull repining.
Lorne.
A noble heart thou hast: such manly meekness
Becomes thy gen'rous nature. But for me,
More fierce and wilful, sorely was I chafed
To see thy faithful heart robb'd of its hope,
All for the propping up a hollow peace
Between two warlike clans, who will, as long
As bagpipes sound, and blades flash to the sun,
Delighting in the noble sport of war,
Some fierce opponents find. What doth it boot,
If men in fields must fight, and blood be shed,
What clans are in the ceaseless strife opposed?
De Grey.
Ah, John of Lorne! too keenly is thy soul
To war inclined—to wasteful, ruthless war.
Lorne.
The warlike minstrel's rousing lay thou lov'st:
Shall bards i' the hall sing of our fathers' deeds
To lull their sons to sleep? Vain simple wish!
I love to hear the sound of holy bell,
And peaceful men their praises lift to heaven:
I love to see around their blazing fire
The peasant and his cheerful family set,
Eating their fearless meal. But, when the roar
Of battle rises, and the closing clans,
Dark'ning the sun-gleam'd heath, in dread affray
Are mingled; blade with blade, and limb with limb,
Nerve-strain'd, in terrible strength; yea, soul with soul
Nobly contending; who would raise aloft
The interdicting hand, and say, “Be still'd?”
If this in me be sin, may heaven forgive me!
That being am not I.
De Grey.
In very deed
This is thy sin; and of thy manly nature
The only blemish worthy of that name.
More peaceful be, and thou wilt be more noble.
Lorne.
Well, here we will not wrangle for the point.
None in th'embattled field who have beheld
Hubert de Grey in mailed hauberk fight,
Will guess how much that knight in peace delights.
Still burns my heart that such a man as thou
Wast for this weak, unsteady, poor Maclean—
De Grey.
Nay, with contempt, I pray thee, name him not.
Her husband, and despised! O, no, no, no!
All that pertains to her, e'en from that hour,
Honour'd and sacred is.
Lorne.
Thou gen'rous heart! more noble than myself!
I will not grieve thee.—I'll to Helen go,
With every look and word that might betray
Indignant thoughts, or wound her gentle spirit,
Strictly suppress'd: and to her ear will give
Thy gen'rous greetings, and thy manly words
Of cheering comfort;—all most faithfully
Shall be remember'd.
De Grey.
Ay, and my request.
Lorne.
To see the child?
De Grey.
E'en so: to look upon it;—
Upon the thing that is of her; this bud—
This seedling of a flower so exquisite.
[Light is seen in the inner chamber.
Ha! light is in the chamber! moves the door?
Some one approaches. O! but for a moment
Let me behind thy friendly tartans be,
And snatch one glance of what that light will give.
[Conceals himself behind Lorne, who steps some paces back, setting his hand to his side, and tilting his plaid over his arms to favour him; while the door of the inner chamber opens, and Helen appears, bearing a lamp, which she afterwards sets upon a stone slab as she advances.
Her form—her motion—yea, that mantled arm,
Press'd closely to her breast, as she was wont
When chilly winds assail'd.—The face—O, woe is me!
It was not then so pale.
Lorne
(to him, in a low voice).
Begone: begone.
De Grey.
Blest vision, I have seen thee! Fare thee well!
[Exit in haste.
Helen
(coming forward, alarmed).
What sound is that of steps that hasten from us?
Is Morton on the watch.
Lorne.
Fear nothing; faithful Morton is at hand:
The steps thou heardst were friendly.
Helen
(embracing Lorne).
My brother! meet we thus,—disguised, by stealth?
Is this like peace? How is my noble father?
Hath any ill befallen?
Lorne.
Argyll is well;
And nothing ill, my sister, hath befallen,
If thou art well and happy.
Helen.
Speakst thou truly?
Why art thou come? Why thus upon our coast?
O take it not unkindly that I say,
“Why art thou come?”
488
Near to the opposite shore,
With no design, but on a lengthen'd chase,
A lusty deer pursuing from the hills
Of Morven, where Sir Hubert and myself
Guests of the social lord two days had been,
We found us; when a sudden strong desire
To look upon the castle of Maclean,
Seen from the coast, our eager fancy seized,
And that indulged, forthwith we did agree
The frith to cross, and to its chief and dame
A hasty visit make. But as our boat
Lay waiting to receive us, warn'd by one
Whom well I knew (the vassal of a friend
Whose word I could not doubt), that jealous rancour,
Stirr'd up amongst the vassals of Maclean,
Who, in their savage fury, had been heard
To utter threats against thy innocent self,
Made it unsafe in open guise to venture,
Here in this garb we are to learn in secret
The state in which thou art.—How is it then?
Morton's report has added to my fears:
All is not well with thee.
Helen.
No, all is well.
Lorne.
A cold constrained voice that answer gave:
All is not well.—Maclean—dares he neglect thee?
Helen.
Nay, wrong him not; kind and affectionate
He still remains.
Lorne.
But it is said, his vassals with vile names
Have dared to name thee, even in open clan:
And have remain'd unpunish'd. Is it so?
[Pauses for an answer, but she is silent.
All is not well.
Helen.
Have I not said it is?
Lorne.
Ah! dost thou thus return a brother's love
With cold reserve?—O speak to me, my Helen!
Speak as a sister should.—Have they insulted thee?
Has any wrong—my heart within me burns
If I but think upon it.—Answer truly.
Helen.
What, am I question'd then? Thinkst thou to find me
Like the spoil'd heiress of some Lowland lord,
Peevish and dainty; who, with scorn regarding
The ruder home she is by marriage placed in,
Still holds herself an alien from its interest,
With poor repining, losing every sense
Of what she is, in what she has been? No.—
I love thee, Lorne; I love my father's house:
The meanest cur that round his threshold barks
Is in my memory as some kindred thing:
Yet take it not unkindly when I say,
The lady of Maclean no grievance hath
To tell the Lord of Lorne.
Lorne.
And has the vow,
Constrain'd, unblest, and joyless as it was,
Which gave thee to a lord unworthy of thee,
Placed thee beyond the reach of kindred ties—
The warmth of blood to blood—the sure affection
That nature gives to all—a brother's love?
No, by all sacred things! here is thy hold:
Here is thy true, unshaken, native stay:
One that shall fail thee never, though the while,
A faithless, wavering, intervening band
Seems to divide thee from it.
[Grasping her hand vehemently, as if he would lead her away.
Helen.
What dost thou mean? What violent grasp is this?
Com'st thou to lead me from my husband's house,
Beneath the shade of night, with culprit stealth?
Lorne.
No, daughter of Argyll; when John of Lorne
Shall come to lead thee from these hated walls
Back to thy native home,—with culprit stealth,
Beneath the shades of night, it shall not be.
With half our western warriors at his back,
He'll proudly come. Thy listening timid chief
Shall hear our martial steps upon his heath,
With heavy measured fall, send, beat by beat,
From the far-smitten earth, a sullen sound,
Like deep-dell'd forests groaning to the strokes
Of lusty woodmen. On the watch-tower's height,
His straining eye shall mark our sheathless swords
From rank to rank their lengthen'd blaze emit,
Like streams of shiv'ring light, in hasty change,
Upon the northern firmament.—By stealth!
No! not by stealth!—believe me, not by stealth
Shalt thou these portals pass.
Helen.
Them have I enter'd,
The pledge of peace: and here my place I'll hold
As dame and mistress of the warlike clan
Who yield obedience to their chief, my lord;
And whatsoe'er their will to me may bear,
Of good or ill, so will I hold me ever.
Yea, did the Lord of Lorne, dear as he is,
With all the warlike Campbells at his back
Here hostile entrance threaten; on these walls,
Failing the strength that might defend them better,
I would myself, while by my side in arms
One valiant clan's-man stood, against his powers,
To the last push, with desp'rate opposition,
This castle hold.
Lorne.
And wouldst thou so? so firm and valiant art thou?
Forgive me, noble creature!—Oh! the fate—
The wayward fate that binds thy gen'rous soul
To poor unsteady weakness!
Helen.
Speakst thou thus?
Thus pressing still upon the galled spot?
Thou dealst unkindly with me. Yes, my brother,
Unkindly and unwisely. Wherefore hast thou
Brought to this coast the man thou knowest well
I ought not in mysterious guise to see?
And he himself—seeks he again to move
489
I thought him generous.
Lorne.
So think him still.
His wishes tend not to disturb thy peace:
Far other are his thoughts.—He bids me tell thee
To cheer thy gentle heart, nor think of him,
As one who will in vain and stubborn grief
His ruin'd bliss lament,—he bids me say
That he will even strive, if it be possible,
Amongst the maidens of his land to seek
Some faint resemblance of the good he lost,
That thou mayst hear of him with less regret,
As one by holy bands link'd to his kind.
He bids me say, should ever child of his
And child of thine—but here his quivering lip
And starting tears spoke what he could not speak.
Helen.
O noble, gen'rous heart; and does he offer
Such cheering manly comfort? Heaven protect,
And guide, and bless him! On his noble head
Such prosp'rous bliss be pour'd, that hearing of it
Shall, through the gloom of my untoward state,
Like gleams of sunshine break, that from afar
Look o'er the dull dun heath.
Lorne.
But one request—
Helen.
Ha! makes he one?
Lorne.
It is to see thy child.
Helen.
To see my child! Will he indeed regard it?
Shall it be bless'd by him?
Enter Morton in haste.
Morton.
Conceal yourself, my lord, or by this passage
[Pointing off the stage.
The nearest postern gain: I hear the sound
Of heavy steps at hand, and voices stern.
Helen.
O fly, my brother! Morton will conduct thee. (To Morton.)
Where is Sir Hubert?
Morton.
Safe he is without.
Helen.
Heaven keep him so! (To Lorne.)
O leave me! I, the while,
Will in, and, with mine infant in mine arms,
Meet thee again, ere thou depart.—Fly! fly!
[Exeunt; Helen into the inner chamber, putting out the lamp as she goes, and Lorne and Morton by a side passage.
SCENE II.
A cave, lighted by flaming brands fixed aloft on its rugged sides, and shedding a fierce glaring light down upon the objects below. Lochtarish, Benlora, Glenfadden, with several of the chief vassals of Maclean, are discovered in a recess, formed by projecting rocks, at the bottom of the stage, engaged in earnest discourse, from which they move forward slowly, speaking as they advance.Loch.
And thus ye see, by strong necessity,
We are compell'd to this.
1st vas.
Perhaps thou'rt right.
Loch.
Sayst thou perhaps? Dost thou not plainly see
That ne'er a man amongst us can securely
His lands possess, or say, “My house is mine,”
While, under tutorage of proud Argyll,
This beauteous sorceress our besotted chief
By soft enchantment holds?
[Laying his hand on the 1st vassal.
My brave Glenore,
What are thy good deserts, that may uphold thee
In favour with a Campbell?—Duncan's blood,
Slain in his boat, with all its dashing oars
Skirting our shore, while that his vaunting piper
The Campbell's triumph play'd? Will this speak for thee?
[Turning to 2d vassal.
And, Thona, what good merit pleadest thou?
The coal-black steed of Clone, thy moonlight plunder,
Ta'en from the spiteful laird, will he, good sooth!
Neigh favour on thee?
[To 3d vassal.
And my valiant Fallen,
Bethink thee well if fair-hair'd Flora's cries
Whom from her native bower by force thou tookst,
Will plead for thee.—And say ye still perhaps—
Perhaps there is necessity?
1st vas.
Strong should it be, Lochtarish; for the act
Is fell and cruel thou wouldst push us to.
Glen.
(to 1st vas.)
Ha, man of mercy! are thy lily hands
From bloody taint unstain'd? What sights were those
Thou look'dst upon in Brunock's burning tower,
When infants through the flames their wailings sent,
And yet unaided perish'd?
Loch.
(soothingly).
Tush, Glenfadden!
Too hasty art thou. (To the vassals.)
Ye will say, belike,
“Our safety—our existence did demand
Utter extinction of that hold of foes.”
And well ye may.—A like necessity
Compels us now, and yet ye hesitate.
Glen.
Our sighted seers the fun'ral lights have seen,
Not moving onward in the wonted path
On which by friends the peaceful dead are borne,
But hov'ring o'er the heath like countless stars,
Spent and extinguish'd on the very spot
Where first they twinkled. This too well foreshows
Interment of the slain, whose bloody graves
Of the same mould are made on which they fell.
2d vas.
Ha! so indeed! some awful tempest gathers.
1st vas.
What sighted man hath seen it?
Glen.
He whose eye
Can see on northern waves the found'ring bark,
With all her shrieking crew, sink to the deep,
While yet, with gentle winds, on dimpling surge
She sails from port in all her gallant trim:
John of the Isle hath seen it.
490
(starting back).
Then hangs some evil over us.
Glen.
Know ye not
The mermaid hath been heard upon our rocks?
Omnes
(still more alarmed).
Ha! when?
Glen.
Last night, upon the rugged crag
That lifts its dark head through the cloudy smoke
Of dashing billows, near the western cliff.
Sweetly, but sadly, o'er the stilly deep
The passing sound was borne. I need not say
How fatal to our clan that boding sound
Hath ever been.
3d vas.
In faith thou makest me quake.
2d vas.
Some fearful thing hangs o'er us.
1st vas.
If 'tis fated
Our clan before our ancient foe shall fall,
Can we heav'n's will prevent? Why should we then
The Campbells' wrath provoke?
Ben.
(stepping up fiercely to 1st vassal).
Heav'n's will prevent—the Campbells' ire provoke!
Is such base tameness utter'd by the son
Of one, who would into the fiery pit
Of damned fiends have leapt, so that his grasp
Might pull a Campbell with him?
Bastard blood!
Thy father spoke not thus.
Loch.
(soothingly).
Nay, brave Benlora,
He means not as thou thinkst.
Ben.
If heaven decree
Slaughter and ruin for us, come it then!
But let our enemies, close grappled to us,
In deadly strife, their ruin join with ours.
Let corse to corse, upon the bloody heath,
Maclean and Campbell, stiff'ning side by side,
With all the gnashing ecstasy of hate
Upon their ghastly visages impress'd,
Lie horribly!—For ev'ry widow's tear
Shed in our clan, let matron Campbells howl!
Loch.
Indeed, my friends, although too much in ire,
Benlora wisely speaks.—Shall we in truth
Wait for our ruin from a crafty foe,
Who here maintains this keenly watchful spy
In gentle kindness masked?
Glen.
Nor need we fear,
As good Lochtarish hath already urged,
Her death will rouse Argyll. It will be deem'd,
As we shall grace it with all good respect
Of funeral pomp, a natural visitation.
Loch.
Ay, and besides, we'll swear upon the book,
And truly swear, if we are call'd upon,
We have not shed her blood.
Ben.
I like not this.
If ye her life will take, in open day
Let her a public sacrifice be made.
Let the loud trumpet far and near proclaim
Our bloody feast, and at the rousing sound,
Let every clans-man of the hated name
His vengeful weapon clench.—
I like it not, Lochtarish. What we do,
Let it be boldly done.—Why should we slay her?
Let her in shame be from the castle sent;
Which, to her haughty sire, will do, I ween,
Far more despite than taking of her life.—
A feeble woman's life!—I like it not.
[Turning on his heel angrily, and striding to the bottom of the stage.
Loch.
(aside to Glen.)
Go to him, friend, and soothe him to our purpose.
The fiery fool! how madly wild he is!
[Glenfadden goes to the bottom of the stage, and is seen remonstrating, in dumb-show, with Benlora, while Lochtarish speaks to the vassals on the front.
Loch.
My friends, why on each other look ye thus
In gloomy silence? freely speak your thoughts.
Mine have I freely spoken: that advising
Which for the good—nay, I must say existence,
Of this our ancient clan most needful is.
When did Lochtarish ever for himself
A separate 'vantage seek, in which the clan
At large partook not? Am I doubted now?
2d vas.
No, nothing do we doubt thy public zeal.
Loch.
Then is my long experience o' the sudden
To childish folly turn'd?
Thinkst thou, good Thona,
We should beneath this artful mistress live,
Hush'd in deceitful peace, till John of Lorne,
For whom the office of a treacherous spy
She doth right slily manage, with his powers
Shall come upon us? Once ye would have spurn'd
At thoughts so base; but now, when forth I stand
To do what vengeance, safety, nay, existence,
All loudly call for; even as though already
The enemy's baleful influence hung o'er you,
Like quell'd and passive men ye silent stand.
1st vas.
(roused).
Nay, cease, Loctarish! quell'd and passive men
Thou knowst we are not.
Loch.
Yet a woman's life,
And that a treacherous woman, moves you thus.
Bold as your threats of dark revenge have been,
A strong decisive deed appals you now.
Our chieftain's feeble undetermined spirit
Infects you all: ye dare not stand by me.
Omnes.
We dare not, sayst thou?
Loch.
Dare not, will I say!
Well spoke the jeering Camerons, I trow,
As past their fishing boats our vessel steer'd,
When with push'd lip, and finger pointing thus,
They call'd our crew the Campbell-cow'd Macleans.
Omnes
(roused fiercely).
The Campbell-cow'd Macleans!
2d vas.
Infernal devils!
Dare they to call us so?
Loch.
Ay, by my truth!
491
Ye will such greeting have, if back ye shrink,
And stand not by me now.
Omnes
(eagerly).
We'll stand!—We'll stand!
2d vas.
Tempt us not more. There's ne'er a man of us
That will not back thee boldly.
Loch.
Ay, indeed?
Now are ye men! Give me your hands to this.
[They all give him their hands.
Now am I satisfied.
[Looking off the stage.
The chief approaches.
Ye'know full well the spirit of the man
That we must deal withal; therefore be bold.
Omnes.
Mistrust us not.
Enter Maclean, who advances to the middle of the stage, while Lochtarish, Benlora, Glenfadden, and all the other vassals gather round him with stern determined looks. A pause; Maclean eyeing them all round with inquisitive anxiety.
Mac.
A goodly meeting at this hour convened.
[A sullen pause.
Benlora; Thona; Allen of Glenore;
And all of you, our first and bravest kinsmen;
What mystery in this sullen silence is?
Hangs any threaten'd evil o'er the clan?
Ben.
Yes, chieftain; evil, that doth make the blood
Within your grey-hair'd warriors' veins to burn,
And their brogued feet to spurn the ground that bears them.
Loch.
Evil, that soon will wrap your tower in flames,
Your ditches fill with blood, and carrion birds
Glut with the butcher'd corses of your slain.
Glen.
Ay; evil, that doth make the hoary locks
Of sighted men around their age-worn scalps
Like quicken'd points of crackling flame to rise;
Their teeth to grind, and strained eye-balls roll
In fitful frenzy, at the horrid things,
In terrible array before them raised.
1st vas.
The mermaid hath been heard upon our rocks:
The fatal song of waves.
Glen.
The northern deep
Is heard with distant moanings from our coast,
Uttering the dismal bodeful sounds of death.
2d vas.
The funeral lights have shone upon our heath,
Marking in countless groups the graves of thousands.
Ben.
Yea, chief; and sounds like to thy father's voice
Have from the sacred mould wherein he lies,
At dead of night, by wakeful men been heard
Three times distinctly.
[Turning to Glenfadden.
Saidst thou not thrice?
Glen.
Yes; three times heard distinctly.
Mac.
Ye much amaze me, friends.—Such things have been?
Loch.
Yea, chief; and thinkst thou we may lightly deem
Of coming ills, by signs like these forewarn'd?
Mac.
Then an it be, high heav'n have mercy on us!
Loch.
(in a loud solemn voice).
Thyself have mercy on us!
Mac.
How is this?
Your words confuse and stun me.—Have I power
To ward this evil off?
Omnes.
Thou hast! thou hast!
Mac.
Then God to me show mercy in my need,
As I will do for you and for my clan
Whate'er my slender power enables me.
Omnes.
Amen! and swear to it.
Mac.
(starting back).
What words are these,
With such wild fierceness utter'd? name the thing
That ye would have me do.
Ben.
(stepping out from the rest).
Ay, we will name it.
Helen the Campbell, foster'd in your bosom,
A serpent is, who wears a hidden sting
For thee and all thy name; the oath-bound spy
Of dark Argyll, our foe; the baleful plague
To which ill-omen'd sounds and warnings point,
As that on which existence or extinction—
The name and being of our clan depend;—
A witch of deep seduction.—Cast her forth.
The strange, unnatural union of two bloods,
Adverse and hostile, most abhorred is.
The heart of every warrior of your name
Rises against it. Yea, the grave calls out,
And says it may not be.—Nay, shrink not, chief,
When I again repeat it,—cast her off.
Mac.
Art thou a man? and bidst me cast her off,
Bound as I am by sacred holy ties?
Loch.
Bound as thou art by that which thou regardest
As sacred holy ties; what tie so sacred
As those that to his name and kindred vassals
The noble chieftain bind? If ties there be
To these opposed, although a saint from heav'n
Had bless'd them o'er the cross'd and holy things,
They are annull'd and broken.
Ben.
Ay, Lochtarish;
Sound doctrine hast thou utter'd. Such the creed
Of ancient warriors was, and such the creed
That we their sons will with our swords maintain.
[Drawing his sword fiercely, whilst the rest follow his example.
Mac.
Ye much confound me with your violent words.
I can in battle strive, as well ye know:
But how to strive with you, ye violent men,
My spirit knows not.
Loch.
Decide—decide, Maclean: the choice is thine
To be our chieftain, leading forth thy bands,
492
Against our ancient foe, or be the husband,
Despised, forsaken, cursed, of her thou prizest
More than thy clan and kindred.
Glen.
Make thy choice.
Benlora, wont in better times to lead us
Against the Campbells, with a chieftain's power,
Shall, with the first blast of his warlike horn,
If so he will it, round his standard gather
Thy roused and valiant vassals to a man.
Mac.
(greatly startled).
Ha! go your thoughts to this? Desert me so?
My vassals so desert me?
Loch.
Ay, by my faith, our very women too:
And in your hall remain, to serve your state,
Nor child nor aged crone.
Mac.
(after great agitation).
Decide, and cast her off!—How far the thoughts
To which these words ye yoke may go, I guess not. (Eagerly.)
They reach not to her life?
[Pauses and looks at them anxiously, but they are silent.
Oh, oh! oh, oh! that stern and dreadful silence!
Loch.
We will not shed her blood.
Mac.
Then ye will spare her?
Loch.
Commit her to our keeping: ask us not
How we shall deal with her.
Mac.
Some fearful mystery is in your words,
Which covers cruel things. O woe the day,
That I on this astounding ridge am poised!
On every side a fearful ruin yawns.
[A voice heard without, uttering wild incoherent words, mixed with shrieks of horror.
What frenzied voice is that?
Enter 4th vassal, as if terribly frightened.
Loch.
(to 4th vas.)
What brings thee hither?
4th vas.
He fixes wildly on the gloomy void
His starting eyeballs, bent on fearful sights,
That make the sinews of his aged limbs
In agony to quiver.
Loch.
Who didst thou say?
4th vas.
John of the Isle, the sighted awful man.
Go, see yourselves: i' the outer cave he is.
Entranced he stands; arrested on his way
By horrid visions, as he hurried hither
Enquiring for the chief.
[Voice heard without, as before.
Loch.
Hark! hark, again! dread powers are dealing with him.
Come, chieftain—come and see the awful man.
If heaven or hell hath power to move thy will,
Thou canst not now withstand us. (Pausing for him to go.)
Hearst thou not?
And motionless?
Mac.
I am beset and stunn'd,
And every sense bewilder'd. Violent men!
If ye unto this fearful pitch are bent,—
When such necessity is press'd upon me,
What doth avail resistance? Woe the day!
Even lead me where ye will.
[Exit Maclean, exhausted and trembling, leaning on Lochtarish, and followed by Benlora and Glenfadden and vassals; two inferior vassals alone left upon the stage.
1st vas.
(looking after Maclean).
Ay, there he goes; so spent, and scared, and feeble!
Without a prophet's skill, we may foretell,
John of the Isle, by sly Lochtarish taught,
Will work him soon to be an oath-bound wretch
To this their fell design.—Are all things ready?
2d vas.
All is in readiness.
2st vas.
When ebbs the tide?
2d vas.
At early dawn, when in the narrow creek
Near to the castle, with our trusty mates,
Our boat must be in waiting to receive her.
1st vas.
The time so soon! alas, so young and fair!
That slow and dismal death! To be at once
Plunged in the closing deep many have suffer'd,
But to sit waiting on a lonely rock
For the approaching tide to throttle her—
But that she is a Campbell, I could weep.
2d vas.
Weep, fool! think soon how we'll to war again
With our old enemy; and, in the field,
Our good claymores die with their hated blood:
Think upon this, and change thy tears to joy.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The bed-chamber of Maclean.Enter Maclean, followed by Helen.
Helen.
Ah! wherefore art thou so disturb'd? the night
Is almost spent: the morn will break ere long,
And rest hast thou had none. Go to thy bed:
I pray thee, go.
Mac.
I cannot: urge me not.
Helen.
Nay, try to rest: I'll sit and watch by thee.
Mac.
Thou'lt sit and watch! O woe betide the hour!
And who will watch for thee?
Helen.
And why for me?
Can any harm approach? When thou art near,
Or sleeping or awake, I am secure.
Mac.
(pacing to and fro distractedly).
O God! O God!
Helen.
Those exclamations!
[Going up to him, while he avoids her.
Turnst thou from me thus?
Have I offended? dost thou doubt my faith?
Hath any jealous thought—I freely own
Love did not make me thine: but, being thine,
To no love-wedded dame, bound in the ties
493
In steady, willing, cheerful duty yield.
Yea, and though here no thrilling rapture be,
I look to spend with thee, by habit foster'd,
The evening of my days in true affection.
Mac.
The evening of thy days! alas, alas!
Would heaven had so decreed it!
[Pulling away his hand from hers.
Grasp me not!
It is a fiend thou clingst to.
[A knock at the door.
Power of heaven!
Are they already at the chamber door!
Helen.
Are those who knock without unwelcome?—hush!
Withdraw thyself, and I will open to them.
[Goes to the door.
Mac.
O go not! go not!
[Runs after her to draw her back, when a vassal, rushing from behind the bed, lays hold of him.
Vas.
Art thou not sworn to us? Where is thy faith?
Mac.
I know, I know! the bands of hell have bound me.
O fiends! ye've made of me—what words can speak
The hateful wretch I am!
Hark! hark! she cries!
She shrieks and calls on me!
[Helen 's cries heard without, first near and distinct, afterwards more and more distant as they bear her away; while the vassal leads Maclean forcibly off the stage by the opposite side, he breaks from him, and hastens towards that by which Helen went out.
Vas.
Thou art too strong for me. Do as thou wilt;
But if thou bringst her back, even from that moment
Benlora is our leader, and thyself,
The Campbell's husband, chieftain and Maclean
No more shalt be. We've sworn as well as thou.
[Maclean stops irresolutely, and then suffers the vassal to lead him off by the opposite side.
| The Family Legend | |