University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Gaffer's House.
Jean,
her lane.
SONG
Set to Music by Mr. R. A. Smith.

Enter Muirland.
Muir.
Faith! Patie's spool jinks thro' wi' wondrous might,
An' ay it minds me o'“the bridal night!”
I've rowth o'sheets, sae never fash your thumb—
O! gies ae kiss before your Minnie come.

Harry enters,—Jeanie kens him—
Fast he grips her till his breast—
Willie gapes, an' glowrs, an' sanes him,
Rins an' roars like ane possest;
Wild, wilyart fancies revel in his brain—
They baith rin aff an' lea' him a' his lane.

Muir.
O murder, murder!—O!—I'll die wi' fear!
O Gaffer, Mirren!—O, come here, come here!

Enter Mirren, in haste.
Mir.
The peeswip's scraighin' owre the spunkie-cairn!
My heart bodes ill—O, William whares my bairn?

Muir.
A great red dragon, wi' a warlock claw,
Has come, and wi' your Dochter flown awa'!!!

Enter Gaffer, in haste.
Gaf.
What awfu' cry was yon I heard within?
What mak's you glow'r an' what caus'd a yon din?

Mir.
A great big dragon, wi' a red airn claw,
Has come an' wi' our Dochter flown awa!

(Crying.
Muir.
Its head was cover'd wi' a black airn ladle!
Black legs it had, an' tail as sharp's a needle!
A great red e'e stood starin' in its breast!
I'm like to swarf—O, 'twas a fearfu' beast!

Mir.
The craw that bigged i'the stack yard thorn,
Scraigh'd an forsook its nest when she was born;
Three pyats crost the kirk when she was christen'd;
I've heard it tauld, an' trembl'd while I listen'd.
O, dool an' wae! My dream's been rede right soon!
Yestreen I dream'd twa mice had hol'd the moon.

Gaf.
The swurd o'Justice never fa's unwrought for,
But come,—alive or dead, let's seek our Dochter.

Muir.
I'll no' be weel this month—O, what a fright!
I'll no gang owre the Muir, my lane, this night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A briery bank, ahint a broomy knowe,
Our youthfu' loving Couple hid frae view,
Their vows renew, an' here wi' looks sae sweet,
They set their tryst whare neist again to meet.

Jean.
My heart shall ever-gratefu' bless the Laird,
Wha shew'd my dearest Harry such regard,
Restor'd you to our hills an' rural plain,
Frae war's fatigues safe to my arms again.

Harry.
Remote from bustling camps and war's alarms,
Thus, let me ever clasp thee in my arms.

Jean.
But,—here, my Lad, we darna' weel be seen,
Dear Harry! say, whare will we meet at e'en?

SONG
Set to Music by Mr. Ross, of Aberdeen.
Harry.

Jean.
I'll jeer my ancient wooer hame, an' then
I'll meet you at the op'ning o'the glen.

[Exit, separately.

SCENE III.

Gaffer's House.
With unsuccessfu' search the ghaist-rid three,
Hae socht the boortree bank, an' hemlock lee,
The nettle corner, an' the rown-tree brae,
Sue here they come, a' sunk in deepest wae.

Gaffer.
Alas! Gudewife, our search has been in vain,
Come o't what will, my bosom's wrung wi' pain;
I ha'flins think his een hae him mislipen'd,
But, Oh! it's hard to say what may hae happen'd.

Enter Muirland running.
Muir.
Preserve's! O haste ye rin,—mak' mettle heels!
I saw the dragon spankin' owre the fiel's!

(They stop from going out on seeing Jean Enter.
Jean.
What mak's you stare sae strange! what's wrang wi' Willie?
He roars as loud's a horn, tho' auld an' silly.

Muir.
I'm no' sae auld!—my pith ye yet may brag on!
But Jeanie love! how did ye match the dragon?

Jean.
Auld bleth'rin' Wight! the gowk's possest I ween.—

Gaf.
Come, Dochter clear this riddle, whare hae ye been?

Jean.
Father, rare news; our Laird's come hame this day.
His Man ca'd in to tell us by the way,
Dress'd in his sodger's claise, wi' scarlet coat,
He is a bonny lad fu' weel I wot!

Muir.
The dragon! he, he, he.—I've been deliered,
I'll wear a scarlet coat too when we're married.

Gaf.
Our Laird come hame! an' safe but skaith or scar?
I'll owre an' hear the history o'the war,
Us kintra fouk are bun like in a cage up,
I'll owre an' hear about that place ca'd—Egypt.
I lang to hear him tell a' what he's seen.
For four lang winters he awa' has been—
Wife—fetch my bonnet that I caft last owk,
Here, brush my coat,—fey, Jean tak' aff that pouk.

Mir.
Toot, snuff! 'bout news ye needna' be sae thrang,
Let's set the bridal night afore ye gang.

Muir.
The bridal night! he, he, he, he—that's right!
The bridal night! he, he—the bridal night!

Jean.
I'll hing as heigh's the steeple, in a wudie,
Before I wed wi' that auld kecklin' body.

Mir.
Was mither e'er sae plagued wi' a Dochter!
O that's her thank for a' the length I've brought her!

(Crying.
Gaf.
This racket in a house!—it is a shame,
I'll thank you Muirland to be steppin' hame.

Jean.
Auld, swirlon, slaethorn, camsheugh, crooked Wight,
Gae wa', an' ne'er again come in my sight.

Muir.
That e'er my lugs were doom'd to hear sic words!
Whilk rush into my heart like pointed swurds—
Frae me let younkers warnin' tak' in time,
An' wed, ere dozen'd down ayont their prime!
O, me! I canna' gang,—'twill break my heart,—
Let's hae ae fareweel peep afore we part.

(He puts on his Spectales, stares at Jean, roars ludicrously, Exit Crying.
Enter the Laird attended by Harry.
Laird.
Well—how d'ye do my worthy tenants, pray
How fairs good Gaffer since I went away?

Gaf.
My noble Laird! thanks to the lucky star,
That steer'd you hame, safe thro' the storms o'war.

Laird.
Thanks, honest friend—I know your heart of truth,
But for my safety, thank this gallant youth,
He sav'd my life—to him I owe my fame,
And gratitude shall still revere his name.

Gaf.
May heav'n's post-angel swift my blessin's carry!
He sav'd your life!—preserve me, it is Harry!
Thrice welcome lad, here—gies a shake o'your paw!
Ye've mended hugely since ye gaed awa'.

Harry.
Yes, sodg'ring brushes up a person's frame,
But at the heart, I hope I'm still the same.

Gaf.
Your promise to do weel—I see ye've keepen't.—
He sav'd your life! O tell me how it happen't?

Laird.
'Twas March the eight, that memorable day
Our sea-worn troops all weary with delay,
For six long days storm-rock'd we lay off shore,
And heard the en'mies guns menacing roar,
At length the wish'd-for orders came, to land,
And drive the foe back from the mounded strand;
Then each a hero on the decks we stood,
Launch'd out our boats and speeded all we could;
While clouds of sulf'rous smoke obscur'd the view,
And show'rs of grape-shot from their batt'ries flew—
A brother Captain seated by my side,
Receiv'd a shot—he sunk—he quiver'd—died:
With friendly hand I clos'd his life-gone eyes,
Our sighs, our tears were all his obsequies.
Then, as our rowers strove with lengthen'd sweep,
Back from the stern I tumbl'd in the deep,
And sure had perish'd, for each pressing wave
Seem'd emulous to be a soldier's grave;
Had not this gallant youth, at danger's shrine,
Off'ring his life a sacrifice for mine,
Leap'd from the boat and beat his billowy way,
To where I belch'd and struggl'd in the sea;
With God-like arm sustain'd life's sinking hope,
Till the succeeding rowers pick'd us up.

Gaf.
Fair fa' your worth, my brave young sodger lad,
To see you safe return'd my heart is glad.
Ilk cottar round will lang your name regard,
An' bless you for your kindness to the Laird.

Laird.
And when the day's hot work of war was done,
Each fight-tir'd soldier leaning on his gun,
I sought my brave deliverer, and made
An offer, with what influence I had
To raise his fortune; but he shun'd reward:
Yet warmly thank'd me for my kind regard;
Then, as in warmth I prais'd his good behavour,
He modestly besought me this one favour,
That if surviving when the war was o'er,
And safe return'd to Scotia once more,
I'd ask your will, for him to wed your Daughter;
A manly, virtuous heart he home hath brought her.

Gaf.
Wi' a' my heart, he has my free consent,
Wife, what say ye? I hope ye're weel content.

Mir.
A Mither's word stan's neither here nor there;
Tak' him or no' I'm sure I dinna care.

Laird.
Accept this trifle as young Harry's wife.
(Gives his purse to Jean.
Money is no equivolent for life,
And take this ring,—good Mistress here's another,
With this I 'nlist you for young Harry's mother.

Jean.
Excuse me, Sir,—my lips cannot impart
The warm emotions of my grateful heart.

Mir.
It's goud, it's goud! O yes, Sir—I agree.
Gaffer, it's goud! Yes, “Love shou'd ay be free.”

Gaf.
Daft woman cease.

Laird.
And as for you, good Gaffer,
My steward will inform what's in your favour.
Mean time, prepare the Wedding to your wills,
Invite my tenants from the neighb'ring hills,
Then, feast, drink, dance till each one tynes his senses
And spare no cost, for I shall pay the expences.

Harry.
Most gen'rous Sir! to tell how much I owe,
I'm weak in words—let time and actions show.

Laird.
My dearest friend—I pray no more of this,
Would, I could make you happy as I wish;
From him most benefited most is due,
And sure the debt belongs from me to you.—
Attend the mansion, soon as morning's light—
And now my friends, I wish you all good night.

[Exit.
Harry.
Great is his soul! soft be his bed of rest,
Whose only wish is to make others blest!

Mir.
I'll gang to kirk niest Sunday, odd's my life!
This gouden ring will vex Glen-Craigie's wife.

Gaf.
Wife—fy! let pride an' envy gang the gither,
This house I hope will ne'er be fash't wi' either;
Ay be content wi' what ye hae yoursel',
An' never grudge to see a nei'bour's weel—
But Harry, man, I lang to hear you sing,
Ye wont to mak' our glens an' plantin's ring.

Harry.
My heart was never on a cantier key,
I'll sing you one with true spontaneous glee.
SONG.

Enter Muirland.
Muir.
That's nobly sung, my hearty sodger callan!
I've heard you a', ahint the byre-dore hallan;
I see my fa'ts, I've chang'd my foolish views,
An' now I'm come to beg for your excuse,
The sang sings true, I own't without a swither,
“Auld age an' young can never gree the gither.”
I think, thro' life I'll mak' a canny fen',
Wi' hurcheon Nancy o'the hazle-glen;
She has my vows, but ay I lat her stan',
In hopes to won that bonny lassie's han';
O foolish thought! I maist cou'd greet wi' spite,
But it was sleeky luve had a' the wyte:
Nae mair let fortune pride in her deserts,
Her goud may purchase han's, but ne'er can sowther hearts.

Gaf.
The man wha sees his fa'ts an' strives to men' 'em,
Does mair for virtue than he ne'er had haen 'em;
An' he wha deals in scandal only gains,
A rich repay of scandal, for his pains:
Ye hae our free excuse, ye needna' doubt it,
Ye'll ne'er, for us, mair hear a word about it.

Muir.
That's a' I wish'd,—I cou'dna bide the thought,
To live on earth an' bear your scorn in ocht;
My heart's now hale,—ye soon shall hear the banns
Proclaim'd i'the Parish Kirk 'tween me an' Nanse;
I'm no' the first auld chield wha's gotten a slight,—
I'll owre the muir,—sae, fareweel a' this night!

[Exit.
Gaf.
Of a' experience, that bears aff the bell,
Whilk lets a body rightly ken' himsel'.

Jean.
May lasses, when their joes are far frae hame,
Bid stragglin' wooers gang the gaits they came,
Else aiblins when their moonshine courtship's past,
They'll hae to wed auld dotards at the last.

Mir.
Gudewives shou'd ay be subject to their men;
I'll ne'er speak contrar to your will again.

Gaf.
That's right, gudewife,—I'm sure I weel may say,
Glen-feoch never saw sae blest a day.
Young fouks,—we'll set the bridal-day the morn,—
But Lucky, haste bring ben the Christmas horn,
Let's pour ae sacred bumper to the Laird,
A glass, to crown a wish, was never better wair'd.

Harry.
While I was yet a boy, my parents died,
And left me poor and friendless, wand'ring wide,
Your goodness found me, 'neath your fost'ring care,
I learn'd those precepts which I'll still revere,
And now, to heav'n, for length of life I pray,
With filial love your goodness to repay.

Gaf.
This sacred maxim let us still regard,
That “Virtue ever is its own reward.”
And what we give to succour the distrest,
Calls down from heav'n a blessing on the rest.