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[Title page]
BY
WHOSE FRIENDLY ZEAL
ENCOURAGED ME TO OFFER IT TO THE NOTICE OF
MY INDULGENT COUNTRYMEN,
I INSCRIBE THIS PLAY.
THE following Play is not offered to the Public as it is acted in the Edinburgh Theatre, but is printed from the original copy which I gave to that Theatre. It may suffer, perhaps, from my not having adopted some of the stage abridgments or alterations; but, as, at this distance, it was difficult for me to judge what part of these I could avail myself of with real advantage, my friends have thought it better that I should print it in its primitive state.
The story, from which I have taken the plot, was put into my hands in the year 1805, by the Hon. Mrs. Damer; as a legend long preserved in the family of her maternal ancestors, which appeared to her well fitted to produce strong effect on the stage. Upon reading it, I thought so too: it was, besides, a story of my native land; and being at
the time in quest of some subject for the drama, I
seized upon it eagerly, and was glad to be permitted to make use of it. As my reader may probably wish to know how far in the following scenes I
have strictly adhered to mine authority, I shall, with
his leave, relate the substance of the story, a copy
of which I have now upon my table.--In the 15th
century, a feud had long subsisted between the
Lord of Argyll and the Chieftain of Maclean; the
latter was totally subdued by the Campbells, and
Maclean*
sued for peace, demanding, at the same
time, in marriage, the young and beautiful daughter
of Argyll. His request was granted, and the lady
carried home to the island of Mull. There she
had a son, but the Macleans were hostile to
this alliance with the Campbells.--They swore
to desert their chief if they were not suffered to
put his wife to death, "with her infant son, who
was then at nurse, that the blood of the Campbells might not succeed to the inheritance of Maclean. Maclean resisted these threats, fearing the
power and vengeance of Argyll; but at length fear
for his own life, should he refuse the demands of
his clan, made him yield to their fury, and he only
drew from them a promise that they would not
shed her blood. One dark winter night she was
forced into a boat, and, regardless of her cries and
lamentations, left upon a barren rock, mid-way between the coasts of Mull and Argyll, which, at high-water, is covered with the sea. As she was
about to perish, she saw a boat steering its course
at some distance; she waved her hand, and uttered
a feeble cry. She was now upon the top of the rock,
and the water as high as her breast, so that the
boatmen mistook her for a large bird. They took
her, however, from the rock, and, knowing her to
be the daughter of Argyll, carried her to the castle
of her father.*
The Earl rewarded her deliverers, and desired
them to keep the circumstance secret for a time,
during which he concealed her till he should hear
tidings from Mull. Maclean solemnly announced
her death to Argyll, and soon came himself with his
friends, all in mourning, to condole with the Earl
at his castle. Argyll received him, clad also in
black. Maclean was full of lamentations; the Earl
appeared very sorrowful; a feast was served
with great pomp in the, hall; every one took his
place, while a seat was left empty on the right hand
of Argyll; the door opened, and they beheld the
Lady of Maclean enter, superbly dressed, to take her
place at the table. Maclean stood for a moment
aghast, when, the servants and retainers making a
lane for him to pass through the hall to the gate of
the castle, the Earl's son, the Lord of Lorne, followed him, and slew him as he fled. His friends were detained as hostages for the child, who had
been preserved by the affection of his nurse.--"So
far," says my copy of the legend, "the story is authentic; as delivered from age to age in ancient Gaelic songs; and it is likewise a tradition from generation to generation in the family of Argyll. The same authorities also add, that this deserving daughter of Argyll was rewarded for her sufferings
by wedding, with her father's consent, an amiable young nobleman who adored her, and was mutually beloved. To this man her father had formerly
refused her hand, disposing of her as a bond of union, to unite the warring clans of Argyll and Maclean."
Such is the substance of my story, with no circumstance of the smallest consequence omitted; and my reader will perceive I have deviated from it very
slightly. In regard to the characters that people it, I was left, except in two instances, entirely to invention; viz. that of Argyll, who, in keeping secret
the return of his daughter, &c. gives one the idea of a cautious and crafty man; and in that of Maclean,
who, being said not to have consented at first to
give up his wife for fear of the vengeance of his father-in-law, and afterwards to have done so for fear of losing his life, though with a promise drawn, from the clan that they should not shed her blood, gives one the idea of a man cowardly and mean, but not savage, a personage as little fitted for the
drama as one could well imagine. To make the Chief of Mull, therefore, somewhat interesting and presentable, and yet fit for the purposes of the
story, has been the greatest difficulty I have had to contend with: a difficulty, I readily admit, which it required a more skilful hand to overcome. To have made him sacrifice his wife from jealousy, was common beaten path, which I felt no inclination to enter; and, though it might have been consistent with his conduct in the first part of the story, would not, as I conceive, have been at all so with his conduct in the conclusion of it, when he comes to the castle of Argyll. To have made him rude, unfeeling, and cruel, and excited against her
by supposing she was actually plotting his ruin at the instigation of her father, would only have presented us with a hard, bare, unshaded character, which takes no hold of our interest or attention. I have, therefore, imagined him a man of personal
courage, brave in the field, but weak and timid in
counsel, irresolute and unsteady in action; super-
stitious, and easily swayed by others, yet anxious to preserve his power as chieftain; attached to his clan, attached to his lady, and of an affectionate
and gentle disposition. I have never put him in the course of the play at all in fear of his life. The fear of being deserted by his clan, and losing his dignity as their chief, with the superstitious dread of bringing some terrible calamity upon the Macleans, are represented as the motives for his crime. These qualities, I supposed, might have formed a character, imperfect and reprehensible indeed to a deplorable degree, but neither uninteresting nor detestable. As to his telling a direct lie when the Earl questions him so closely about his wife's death,
his whole conduct at the castle of Argyll, coming there in mourning as from a funeral, is an enacted lie; and it would have been very inconsistent with
such conduct to have made him, when so hardly beset, hold out against this last act of degradation and unworthiness, which exhibits a lesson to every
ingenuous mind more powerful than his death.
This character, however, the design of which I am doing what I can to defend, has not, I fear, been very skilfully executed; for, I understand, it has been pretty generally condemned; and when this is the case, particularly by an audience eminently disposed to be favourable, there must be a fault somewhere, either in design or execution. I must con-
fess, I should wish this fault to be found in the last particular rather than the first: not for the sake of the play itself, which suffers equally in either case, but because there is a taste, that too generally prevails, for having all tragic characters drawn very good or very bad, and having the qualities of the
superior personages allotted to them according to established heroic rules, by which all manner of cruelty, arrogance, and tyranny are freely allowed,
while the slightest mixture of timidity, or any other of the tamer vices, are by no means to be tolerated. It is a taste, indeed, that arises from a nobleness in
our nature; but the general prevalence of which would be the bane of all useful and natural delineation of character. For this reason, then I would fain justify, if I could, the general design of Maclean's character, leaving the execution of it to the mercy of all who may do me the honour to bestow upon it any attention.
Had I not trusted to what Maclean and others, in the course of the play, assert of his personal courage, but brought out some circumstance in the cavern scene, before his spirits were cowed with superstitious dread, that would really have shewn it,
his character, perhaps, would have appeared less liable to objection. It was my intention in that scene that he should have been supposed to leave
the stage with his mind greatly subdued and bewil-
dered, but not yet prevailed upon to give up his wife; leaving the further effects produced upon him by the seer of the Isle, which did prevail on him to take the oath demanded by his vassals, to be imagined by the audience; thinking it unsafe to
venture such an exhibition upon the stage, lest it should have a ludicrous effect. But this my intention I must have badly fulfilled, since it has been, I believe, almost entirely overlooked. In the cavern scene, I doubt, I have foolishly bestowed more pains on the vassals than the laird. Some time or other, perhaps, if I am encouraged to do it, I will alter these matters; but then the talents of the
first actor must be bestowed on Maclean, not on John of Lorne.
I beg pardon for having detained my reader so long with this character; and, to make amends for it, will not allow myself to say any more, either upon the conduct of the piece, or the other characters that belong to it.
A pleasanter part of my task remains behind; to express the deep and grateful sense I have of the very favourable--I must be permitted to say, affectionate reception this piece, which I have a pleasure in calling my Highland Play, has met with in my native land. It has been received there by an audience, who willingly and cordially felt that I belonged to them; and, I am well assured, had it
been marred with more defects than it has, and I readily allow it has many, the favour so warmly bestowed upon it would have been but insensibly
diminished. What belongs to me, therefore, is not triumph, but something far better. And could any one at this moment convince me that the work,
by its own merit alone, had it come from the hand of a stranger, would have met with the same reception, I should give him little thanks for his pains. He might brighten indeed, the tints of my imaginary wreath, but he would rob it of all its
sweetness; I have truly felt upon this occasion the kindliness of kin to kin, and I would exchange it for no other feeling. Let my country believe, that
whatever may hereafter happen to shade or enliven my dramatic path, I have already received from her what will enable me to hold on my way with a
cheerful heart, and the recollection of it will ever be dear to me.
I cannot take leave of my reader without begging leave to offer my warmest acknowledgments to my friend Mr Scott, at whose desire, cheered
with much friendly encouragement, I offered the Family Legend to the Edinburgh Theatre, and who has done more for its service than I could have
done had I been upon the spot myself. They are also due to Mr Mackenzie for the very kind support he has given it; and Mr W. Erskine must
permit me to mention my obligations to him for the
interest he has taken in its success.
I must likewise beg that Mr Siddons and Mrs H.
Siddons will accept my best thanks, for the great
and successful exertions they have made in the two
first characters in the play. To Mr Siddons I am
doubly indebted, both as an able actor, and a diligent and friendly manager, who has taken great
pains in adapting and preparing it for the stage.
To Mr Terry, and the other actors, I offer many
thanks.
HAMPSTEAD,
'TIS
sweet to hear expiring summer's sigh,
The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain,
FIRST HIGHLANDER.
SECOND HIGHLANDER.
Enter
MORTON.
MORTON.
FIRST HIGHLANDER.
SECOND HIGHLANDER, (to
Morton.)
MORTON.
Where is the heath and hare-bells, from the glen,
SECOND HIGHLANDER.
MORTON.
FIRST HIGHLANDER.
MORTON.
SECOND HIGHLANDER. (Exeunt
Highlanders grumbling, and fol-
(Manet
Benlora, who now comes forward, and
Heigh ho! heigh ho, the day!
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA, (turning round
.)
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
And in a dungeon kept, where, two long years,
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
Than thraldom's murkiest den.---But to be loosen'd
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
Go, ye who will, and crowd the chieftain's hall,
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
Of this, my friend, I'll speak to thee more fully
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
Enter
GLENFADDEN.
See, here comes one who wears a merry face;
BENLORA. (turning graciously to
Glenfadden.)
GLENFADDEN.
BENLORA, (smiling grimly.)
GLENFADDEN. (Shaking
Benlora warmly by the hand,
Know ye that banish'd Allen is return'd--
LOCHTARISH.
He will be useful.
(After considering.)
(After considering again.)
Were it not also well, that to our council
GLENFADDEN.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA. (Exeunt
Lochtarish and
Glenfadden into
--An Apartment in the Castle.
Enter
MORTON and
ROSA, speaking as they enter.
ROSA.
MORTON.
ROSA.
(Looking round the room.)
Does no one hear us?--O those baleful looks
MORTON.
For which he stirs their ancient hatred up;
ROSA.
MORTON.
And thinks Argyll was privy to the wrong
ROSA. (Morton retires to the bottom of the stage, and enter
LOCHTARISH.
ROSA.
LOCHTARISH.
ROSA.
(Retiring to the bottom of the stage.)
LOCHTARISH.
GLENFADDEN.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
Enter
MACLEAN and
HELEN.
BENLORA, (eying her attentively as she enters.)
MACLEAN.
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH.
One gallant man the richer. Hear us out.
MACLEAN.
BENLORA.
HELEN.
BENLORA, (aside.)
(Aloud.)
Madam, you honour us.
HELEN.
Shall with a brave Maclean be proudly, match'd. (Benlora and
Glenfadden bow in silence
.)
LOCHTARISH. (Aside to
Benlora.)
What think'st thou of her, friend?
BENLORA, (aside to
Lochtarish.)
LOCHTARISH, (aloud.)
(Aside to
Benlora.)
BENLORA, (aside to
Lochtarish.) (Going up proudly to
Maclean.)
From ev'n the bravest of our western clans,
(pushing up the sleeve from his arm.)
Do also testify.----Such as I am,
MACLEAN.
BENLORA, (turning from him indignantly.)
(To
Lochtarish and
Glenfadden.)
Go ye to Dura's Allen; near the shore
HELEN. (coming forward eagerly.)
(To
Maclean.)
Oh! and shall he go?
(Hanging upon him with looks of entreaty, till,
seeing him relent, she then turns joyfully to
Bid your wanderer
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH and
GLENFADDEN, (bowing low
.) (Benlora bows slightly, in sullen silence
.)
MACLEAN, (to
Benlora.) (Benlora bows again in silence
.)
Clear up thy brow, Benlora: he is pardon'd (Pauses, but
Benlora is still silent.
)
We trust to meet you shortly in the hall; (Going up again, with anxious courtesy, to
Benlora.)
Thy past services,
HELEN.
BENLORA (bows sullenly and retires; then muttering (Exit
.
LOCHTARISH, (aside to
Glenfadden.)
GLENFADDEN, (aside to
Lochtarish.)
LOCHTARISH. (Exit
.
GLENFADDEN, (returning to
Maclean.)
MACLEAN. (Exeunt
Maclean and
Glenfadden.
HELEN, (to
Rosa, who now comes forward
.)
ROSA
HELEN.
'Midst those who bless me not.--I shall not then--- (Weeps
.)
ROSA. (Morton comes from the bottom of the stage
.)
And here is Morton, with some tidings for you: (Offering to retire
.)
HELEN.
(Beckoning her back
.)
MORTON.
HELEN.
MORTON.
HELEN.
MORTON.
HELEN.
MORTON.
HELEN.
MORTON.
HELEN.
MORTON.
HELEN.
MORTON.
HELEN.
MORTON. (Exit
.
HELEN, (much disturbed
.)
ROSA.
HELEN.
ROSA.
HELEN. (Laying her hand on her heart
.)
I love and trust thee; (Exeunt
.)
An Apartment in twilight, almost dark;
Enter
JOHN OF LORNE and
SIR HUBERT DE GREY,
DE GREY.
LORNE.
DE GREY.
The form that hath to me of earthly make
LORNE.
DE GREY.
LORNE.
Becomes thy gen'rous nature. But for me,
DE GREY.
LORNE.
Nobly contending; who would raise aloft
DE GREY.
LORNE.
DE GREY.
LORNE.
With every look and word that might betray
DE GREY.
LORNE.
DE GREY. (Light is seen in the inner chamber
.)
Ha! light is in the chamber! moves the door? (Conceals himself behind
Lorne, who steps some
terwards sets upon a stone slab as she ad-
Her form---her motion--yea, that mantled arm,
LORNE, (to him, in a low voice
.)
DE GREY. (Exit in haste
.)
Helen, (coming forward, alarmed
.)
LORNE.
HELEN, (embracing
Lorne.)
LORNE.
HELEN.
LORNE.
Stirr'd up amongst the vassals of Maclean,
HELEN.
LORNE.
HELEN.
LORNE. (Pauses for an answer, but she is silent
.)
All is not well.
HELEN.
LORNE.
HELEN.
LORNE.
Constrain'd, unblest, and joyless as it was, (Grasping her hand vehemently, as if he would
HELEN.
LORNE.
From the far smitten earth a sullen sound,
HELEN.
LORNE.
HELEN.
LORNE.
Some faint resemblance of the good he lost,
HELEN.
LORNE.
HELEN.
LORNE.
HELEN.
Enter
MORTON in haste
.
MORTON.
(pointing off the stage.)
The nearest postern gain: I hear the sound
HELEN.
MORTON.
HELEN. (Exeunt
, Helen into the inner Chamber, putting
A Cave, lighted by flaming brands stuck rish, Benlora, Glenfadden, with several of the
LOCHTARISH.
FIRST VASSAL.
LOCHTARISH. (Laying his hand on the
First Vassal.)
My brave Glenore,
The Campbell's triumph play'd? Will this speak for thee? (Turning to
Second Vassal.)
And Thona, what good merit pleadest thou? (To
Third Vassal.)
And my valiant Fallen,
FIRST VASSAL.
GLENFADDEN, (to
First Vassal.)
LOCHTARISH, (soothingly
.) (To the
Vassals.)
Ye will say, belike,
GLENFADDEN.
SECOND VASSAL.
FIRST VASSAL.
GLENFADDEN.
Omnes, starting back.
GLENFADDEN.
Omnes, still more alarmed.
GLENFADDEN.
THIRD VASSAL.
SECOND VASSAL.
FIRST VASSAL.
BENLORA, (stepping up fiercely to
First Vassal.)
LOCHTARISH, (soothingly
.)
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
GLENFADDEN.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
(Turning on his heel angrily, and striding to
LOCHTARISH, (aside to
Glenfadden) (Glenfadden goes to the bottom of the stage, and
is seen remonstrating in dumb-shew with
Ben-
LOCHTARISH.
SECOND VASSAL.
LOCHTARISH,
All loudly call for; even as though already
FIRST VASSAL, (roused.)
LOCHTARISH.
Omnes.
LOCHTARISH.
Omnes, (roused fiercely)
SECOND VASSAL.
LOCHTARISH.
Omnes, (eagerly.)
We'll stand!--We'll stand!
SECOND VASSAL.
LOCHTARISH.
(They all give him their hands.)
Now am I satisfied.
(Looking off the Stage.)
Ye know full well the spirit of the man
Omnes.
(Enter
Maclean, who advances to the middle of
MACLEAN.
(A sullen pause.)
Benlora; Thona; Allen of Glenore;
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
GLENFADDEN.
FIRST VASSAL.
GLENFADDEN.
SECOND VASSAL.
BENLORA. (Turning to
Glenfadden.)
GLENFADDEN.
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH.
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH, (in a loud solemn voice
.)
MACLEAN.
Your words confuse and stun me.--Have I power
Omnes.
MACLEAN.
Omnes.
MACLEAN, (starting back
.)
BENLORA, (stepping out from the rest
.)
A witch of deep seduction.--Cast her forth.
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA. (Drawing his sword fiercely, whilst the rest
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH.
GLENFADDEN.
MACLEAN, (greatly startled
.)
LOCHTARISH.
MACLEAN, (after great agitation.)
(Eagerly
.)
They reach not to her life? (Pauses and looks at them anxiously, but they
Oh, oh! oh, oh! that stern and dreadful silence!
LOCHTARISH.
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH.
MACLEAN.
That I on this astounding ridge am pois'd! (A Voice heard without, uttering wild incoher-
What frenzied voice is that?
Enter
FOURTH VASSAL, as if terribly frightened.
LOCHTARISH, (to
Fourth Vassal.)
FOURTH VASSAL.
LOCHTARISH.
FOURTH VASSAL. (Voice heard without, as before.
)
LOCHTARISH. (Pausing for him to go.
Hear'st thou not?
MACLEAN. (Exit
Maclean exhausted and trembling,
FIRST, (looking after
Maclean.)
Will work him soon to be an oath-bound wretch
SECOND.
FIRST.
SECOND.
FIRST.
SECOND. (Exeunt
.)
The Bed-Chamber of
Maclean.
Enter MACLEAN followed by HELEN.
HELEN.
MACLEAN.
HELEN.
MACLEAN.
HELEN.
MACLEAN, (pacing to and fro distractedly.)
HELEN.
(Going up to him while he avoids her.)
Turn'st thou from me thus?
MACLEAN.
(Pulling away his hand from her's.)
Grasp me not!
(A knock at the door.)
Power of heaven!
HELEN.
Withdraw thyself, and I will open to them.
(Goes to the door.)
MACLEAN.
(Runs after her to draw her back, when a
Vas-
VASSAL.
MACLEAN. (Helen's cries heard without, first near and dis-
VASSAL. (Maclean stops irresolutely, and then suffers the
A small island, composed of a rugged
Enter two
VASSALS dragging in
HELEN, as if just
HELEN.
FIRST VASSAL.
SECOND VASSAL.
HELEN.
FIRST VASSAL.
HELEN, (starting
.)
(Raising her clasped hands to heaven.)
Lord of heaven and earth;
(Grasping the hands of the men imploringly)
Ye cannot mean it.
FIRST VASSAL.
SECOND VASSAL. (Both of them take her hands, and are going to
hurry her to the brink of the rock, when she
HELEN.
(Considering for a moment.)
(Catching hold of apart of the rock near her.)
To the rough rock I'll cling: it still is something (Waving her hand for the
Vassals to go, whilst she
FIRST VASSAL.
HELEN, (eagerly
.)
FIRST VASSAL.
Owning the child, thy son, of bastard birth;
HELEN, (pushing him away with indignation as he
(Assuming firmness and dignity.)
Depart and leave me. In my rising breast
(Waving them off with her hand.)
FIRST VASSAL.
SECOND VASSAL.
(Aside to the other.)
Come, quickly let us go, nor look behind,
Would we had never ta'en that cruel oath! (Exeunt
Vassals.)
HELEN, (alone, after standing some time gazing round
(Raising her eyes to heaven, and moving her
Thou art i' the blue coped sky--th' expanse immeasurable;
(Sits down on a cragg of the rock, with her arms
after a pause of some length, raises her head
Is it a sound of voices in the wind?
(Starting up, and gazing eagerly, around her.)
I'll to that highest cragg and take my stand:
(Exit, disappearing amongst the rugged divisions
A small Island from which the former
Enter
SIR HUBERT DE GREY, followed by two
DE GREY.
Here will we rest. I marvel much they stand
FIRST FISHERMAN.
Voices, without.
SECOND FISHERMAN.
DE GREY.
(Calling off the Stage.)
Make to that point, my lads.
(To those near him.)
Here, for a little while, upon the turf
Enter three other
Fishermen, as from their boat on
Well met, my friends! I'm glad you're here at last.
THIRD FISHERMAN.
DE GREY.
THIRD FISHERMAN.
DE GREY.
THIRD FISHERMAN.
Sea-cover'd, human thing there cannot be;
DE GREY.
THIRD FISHERMAN.
FOURTH FISHERMAN.
THIRD FISHERMAN.
DE GREY, (eagerly
.)
And therefore doth to woe-worn, fearful man,
THIRD FISHERMAN.
FOURTH FISHERMAN.
DE GREY.
(Exeunt severally.)
A Fisherman's House on the Main-
Enter
JOHN OF LORNE and
SIR HUBERT DE GREY.
LORNE.
DE GREY.
LORNE.
DE GREY.
LORNE, (calling off the Stage
.) (To
De Grey.)
ere I go
Enter the
HOST and his
WIFE.
(To
Host, &c
.)
Farewell, my friends, and thanks be to ye both!
(Kissing her.)
So be they kiss'd by all kind comers too!
HOST.
WIFE.
LORNE. (Exit, followed to the door by
Sir Hubert.)
HOST.
WIFE.
HOST. (Eying
De Grey; who returns from the door
.)
And this man too; right noble is his mien; (To
De Grey.)
Regard thee: thieves and cowards be not all
WIFE.
DE GREY
HOST.
WIFE. (Noise heard without
.)
DE GREY.
Enter
FIRST FISHERMAN.
FIRST FISHERMAN.
DE GREY.
FIRST FISHERMAN.
(Pointing to the door.)
Enter
HELEN, extremely exhausted, and almost sense-
DE GREY.
FIRST FISHERMAN, (opening the plaid to shew her
DE GREY, (starting back
).
(Clasping his arms about her knees, as she stands
Could heart of man so leave thee? thou, of all (To
Host and his
Wife.)
(Helen moves her hand
.)
FIRST FISHERMAN.
DE GREY.
SECOND FISHERMAN.
DE GREY.
(Exeunt, bearing Helen into an inner part
A small Gothic Hall, or anti-room, in
Enter
DUGALD.
DUGALD.
PIPER.
DUGALD.
PIPER.
(Continuing to pace up and down, and play as
DUGALD.
The Lord of Lorne has spoilt thee with indulging (Exit
.)
Enter
ARGYLL, attended, from the Chamber.
ARGYLL.
PIPER.
ARGYLL.
PIPER.
There might, indeed, be found beneath your roof
ARGYLL, (sighing deeply
.)
Enter a
SERVANT.
SERVANT.
ARGYLL. (Exit
Servant.)
Re-enter
DUGALD in haste.
(To
Dugald.)
Thou comest with a busy face: what tidings?
DUGALD.
ARGYLL.
DUGALD.
ARGYLL, (pacing up and down, somewhat disturbed.)
(Stopping short, and looking hard at Dugald.)
Whence comes he?
DUGALD.
So famed for beauty is; but whence he comes,
ARGYLL, (pacing up and down, as he speaks to him-
Enter
LORNE, going up to
ARGYLL with agitation.
ARGYLL, (eying him suspiciously
.)
LORNE. (Aside to
Argyll, endeavouring to draw him apart
Your ear, my father.---
ARGYLL, (looking still more suspiciously upon
Lorne,
LORNE.
ARGYLL.
LORNE.
Fairly and freely won, than brightest dame
ARGYLL.
LORNE, (aside
.) (Exit, while the
Earl waves his hand, and
Dugald
LORNE.
HELEN, (sinking down, and clasping
Argyll's knees
.)
ARGYLL.
(Tearing off the mantle that conceals her.)
My child! my Helen!
(Clasping her to his heart, and holding her there
My child! my dearest child!---my soul! my pride!
Page vii
Page viii
Page ix
Page x
Page xi
Page xii
Page xiii
Page xiv
March
19, 1810.
Page [1]
THE
A TRAGEDY,
FAMILY LEGEND:
IN FIVE ACTS.
Page [2]
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
MEN.
[This and the following two names are connected by a large brace in the original printed edition.]
The Kinsmen and chief Vassals of
Maclean.
SCENE in the
Island of Mull, and the opposite Coast,WOMEN.
Fisherman's Wife.
&c. and afterwards in
Argyll's Castle
.
Page [3]
PROLOGUE.
WRITTEN BY WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die;
'Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear
Of distant music, dying on the ear;
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand,
We list the legends of our native land,
Linked as they come with every tender tie,
Memorials dear of youth and infancy.
Chief thy wild tales, romantic Caledon,
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son;
Whether on India's burning coasts he toil,
Or till Acadia's*
winter-fettered soil,
He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes,
And as he hears, what dear illusions rise!
It opens on his soul his native dell,
The woods wild-waving, and the water's swell,
Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain,
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain;
The cot, beneath whose simple porch was told
By grey-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old,
The infant groupe that hush'd their sports the while,
And the dear maid who listen'd with a smile.
Page 4
Is denizen of Scotland once again.
Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined.,
And sleep they in the poet's gifted mind?
Oh no! For she, within whose mighty page
Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage,
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire,
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre.
Yourselves shall judge--whoe'er has raised the sail
By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale.
The plaided boatman, resting on his oar,
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar
Of whitening waves and tells whate'er to-night
Our humble stage shall offer to your sight;
Proudly preferr'd, that first our efforts give
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live;
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve
The filial token of a daughter's love.
Page [5]
THE
FAMILY LEGEND.ACT I.
Scene I.
Before the Gate of Maclean's Castle, in
the Isle of Mull: several Highlanders discovered
crossing the Stage, carrying loads of Fuel; whilst
Benlora is seen on one side, in the back Ground,
pacing to and fro, and frequently stopping and mut-
tering to himself.
THIS
heavy load, I hope, will be the last:
My back is almost broken.
Sure am I,
Were ev'ry beeve in Mull slain for the feast,
Fuel enough already has been stow'd
To roast them all: and must we still with burdens
Our weary shoulders gall?
Page 6
Ye lazy lubbards!
Grumble ye thus?--Ye would prefer, I trow,
To sun your easy sides, like household curs,
Each on his dung-hill stretched, in drowsy sloth.
Fy on't! to grumble on a day like this,
When to the clan a rousing feast is giv'n,
In honour of an heir born to the chief--
A brave Maclean, still to maintain the honours
Of this your ancient race!
A brave Maclean indeed!--vile mongrel hound!
Come from the south, where all strange mixtures be
Of base and feeble! sprung of varlet's blood!
What is our race to thee?
Thou'lt chew, I doubt not,
Thy morsel in the hall with right good relish,
Whether Maclean or Campbell be our lord.
Ungracious surly lubbards! in, I say,
And bring your burdens quicker. And, besides,
Page 7
To deck my lady's chamber?
To deck my lady's chamber!
Heartless hounds!
Is she not kind and gentle? spares she aught
Her gen'rous stores afford, when you or yours
Are sick, or lack relief? Hoards she in chests,
When shipwreck'd strangers shiver on our coast,
Or robe or costly mantle?---all comes forth!
And when the piercing shriek of drowning mariners
Breaks through the night, up-starting from her couch,
To snatch, with eager haste, the flaming torch,
And from the tower give notice of relief,
Who comes so swiftly as her noble self?
And yet ye grumble.
Ay, we needs must own,
That, were she not a Campbell, fit she were
To be a queen, or ev'n the thing she is---
Our very chieftain's dame. But, in these towers,
The daughter of Argyll to be our lady!
Page 8
Out! mountain savages! is this your spite
Go to!
Speak'st thou to us? thou Lowland loun!
Thou wand'ring pedlar's son, or base mechanic!
Com'st thou to lord it here o'er brave Macleans?
We'll carry loads at leisure, or forbear,
As suits our fancy best, nor wait thy bidding.
lowed by
Morton.)
after remaining some time on the front of the stage,
wrapt in thought, not observing Lochtarish, who en-
ters behind him.
)
How so? What makes Benlora sigh so deeply?
And does Lochtarish ask? Full well thou know'st,
The battles of our clan I've boldly fought,
And well maintained its honour.
Page 9
Yes, we know it.
Who dar'd, unpunish'd, a Maclean to injure?
Yea; he who dar'd but with a scornful lip
Our name insult, I thought it feeble vengeance
If steed or beeve within his walls were left,
Or of his hold one tower unruined stood.
Ay; who dared then to brave us?
Thus dealt Benlora ev'n with common foes;
But in the warfare of our deadly feud,
When rung the earth beneath our bloody strife,
And brave Macleans brave Campbells boldly fronted,
(Fiends as they are, I still must call them brave,)
What sword more deeply drank the hated blood
Than this which now I grasp---but idly grasp.
There's ne'er a man of us that knows it not,
That swears not by thy valour.
Until that fatal day, by ambush ta'en,
Page 10
Nor light of day, nor human voice e'er cheer'd
My loneliness, when did I ever yield,
To ev'n the bravest of that hateful name,
One step of ground upon the embattled field---
One step of honour in the banner'd hall?
Indeed thou hast our noble champion been;
Deserving well the trust our chief deceas'd,
This chieftain's father, did to thee consign.
But when thou wert a captive, none to head us,
But he, our youthful lord, yet green in arms,
We fought not like Macleans; or else our foe,
By fiends assisted, fought with fiend-like power,
Far---far beyond the Campbells' wonted pitch.
Ev'n so it did befal:---we lost the day:---
That fatal day!----Then came this shameful peace.
Ay, and this wedding; when, in form of honour
Conferr'd upon us, Helen of Argyll
Our sov'reign dame was made,---a bosom worm,
Nursed in that viper's nest, to infuse its venom
Through all our after race.
This is my welcome!
From dungeons freed, to find my once-loved home
With such vile change disgraced; to me more hateful
Page 11
From captive's chains, to find my hands thus bound!
It is, indeed, a vile and irksome peace.
Peace, say they! who will bonds of friendship sign
Between the teeming ocean's finny broods,
And say, "Sport these upon the hither waves,
And leave to those that farther billowy reach?"
A Campbell here to queen it o'er our heads,
The potent dame o'er quell'd and beaten men,
Rousing or soothing us, as proud Argyll
Shall send her secret counsel!---hold, my heart!
This, base degen'rate men!---this, call ye peace!
Forgive my weakness: with dry eyes I laid
My mother in her grave, but now my cheeks
Are, like a child's, with scalding drops disgrac'd.
What I shall look upon, ere in the dust
My weary head is laid to rest, heav'n knows,
Since I have lived to see Benlora weep.
One thing, at least, thou ne'er shalt live to see--
Benlora crouching, where he has commanded.
Page 12
And deal the feast, and nod your grizzled heads
To martial pibrochs, play'd, in better days,
To those who conquered, not who woo'd their foes
My soul abhors it.--On the sea-beat rock,
Remov'd from ev'ry form and sound of man;
In proud communion with the fitful winds
Which speak, with many tongues, the fancied words
Of those who long in silent dust have slept;
While eagles' scream, and sullen surges roar--
The boding sounds of ill;--I'll hold my feast,--
My moody revelry.
Nay, why so fierce?
Think'st thou we are a tame and mongrel pack?
Dogs of true breed we are, though for a time
Our master-hound forsakes us.--Rouse him forth
The noble chace to lead: his deep-toned yell
Full well we know; and for the opening sport
Pant keenly.
Ha! is there amongst ye still
Spirit enough for this?
Yes, when good opportunity shall favour.
Page 13
When time shall better serve.
Maclean, thou know'st,
Is of a soft, unsteady, yielding nature;
And this, too well, the crafty Campbell knew,
When to our isle he sent this wily witch
To mould, and govern, and besot his wits,
As suits his crafty ends.--I know the youth:
This dame or we must hold his will in thraldom:
Which of the two,--But softly: steps approach.
Of this again.
As early as thou wilt.
Then be it so: some staunch determined spirits
This night in Irka's rocky cavern meet;
There must thou join us. Wear thou here the while
A brow less cloudy, suited to the times.
Yet, ne'ertheless, a clan's-man staunch he is,
Who hates a Campbell, worse than Ilcom's monks
The horned fiend.
Page 14
Ha! does he so?
Glenfadden!
How goes it with thee?--Joyous days are these--
These days of peace.
These days of foul disgrace!
Com'st thou to cheer the piper in our hall,
And goblets quaff to the young chieftain's health,
From proud Argyll descended?
Yes, Glenfadden,
If ye will have it so; not else.
Thy hand--
Thy noble hand!--thou art Benlora still.
and then turning to
Lochtarish.)
Allen of Dura?
No; I knew it not.
But in good time he comes.--A daring knave:
Page 15
Of Maclean we'll crave
His banishment to cancel; marking well
How he receives it. This will serve to shew
The present bent and bearing of his mind.
He were invited, at a later hour,
When of our purpose we shall be assured?
Methinks it were.
In, then; now is our time.
I'll follow thee, when I a while have paced
Yon lonely path, and thought upon thy counsel.
the Castle, and
Benlora by the opposite
side
.)
Scene II.
Speak with my lady privately?
Page 16
Ay, please ye:
Something I have to say, regards her nearly.
And though I doubt not, madam, your attachment---
Good Morton, no apology: thy caution
Is prudent; trust me not till thou hast prov'd me.
But oh! watch o'er thy lady with an eye
Of keen and guarded zeal! she is surrounded---
That, from beneath dark surly brows, by stealth,
Are darted on her by those stern Macleans!
Ay; and the gestures of those fearful men,
As on the shore in savage groups they meet,
Sending their loosen'd tartans to the wind,
And tossing high their brawny arms where oft,
In vehement discourse, I have, of late,
At distance mark'd them.--Yes; thou shakest thy head:
Thou hast observed them too.
I have observed them oft. That calm Lochtarish,
Calm as he is, the growing rancour fosters:
For, fail the offspring of their chief, his sons
Next in succession are. He hath his ends,
Page 17
And all too well his dev'lish pains succeed.
Too well indeed! The very bed-rid crones
To whom my lady sends, with kindly care,
Her cheering cordials,--could'st thou have believ'd it?
Do mutter spells to fence from things unholy,
And grumble, in a hollow smother'd voice,
The name of Campbell, as unwillingly
They stretch their wither'd hands to take her bounty.
The wizards are in pay to rouse their fears
With dismal tales of future ills foreseen,
From Campbell and Maclean together join'd
In hateful union.--Ev'n the very children,
Sporting the heath among, when they discover
A loathsome toad or adder on their path,
Crush it with stones, and, grinding wickedly
Their teeth, in puny spite, call it a Campbell.
Benlora too, that savage gloomy man--
Ay, evil is the day that brings him back.
Unjustly by a Campbell hath he been,
The peaceful treaty of the clans unheeded,
In thraldom kept; from which, but now escaped,
He like a furious tyger is enchafed,
Page 18
His vassal put upon him. Well I know
His bloody vengeful nature: and Maclean,
Weak and unsteady, mov'd by ev'ry counsel,
Brave in the field, but still in purpose timid,
Oft times the instrument in wicked hands
Of wrongs he would abhor,--alas, I fear,
Will ill defend the lovely spouse he swore
To love and cherish.
Heavy steps approach:
Hush! see who comes upon us!--sly Lochtarish,
And his dark colleagues.--Wherefore come they hither?
Lochtarish, Benlora, and
Glenfadden.)
We thought, fair maid, to find the chieftain here.
He is in these apartments.
Would it greatly
Annoy your gentleness to tell his honour,
We wait to speak with him upon affairs
Of much concernment?
Page 19
My service is not wanted; to your wish,
See, there he comes unwarn'd, and with him too
His noble lady.
Ha! there they come! see how he hangs upon her,
With boyish fondness!
Ah, the goodly creature!
How fair she is! how winning!---See that form;
Those limbs beneath their foldly vestments moving,
As though in mountain clouds they robed were,
And music of the air their motion measur'd.
Ay, shrewd and crafty earl! 'tis not for nought
Thou hither sent'st this jewel of thy race.
A host of Campbells, each a chosen man,
Could not enthral us, as, too soon I fear,
This single Campbell will. Shrewd crafty foe!
Hell lend me aid, if heaven deny its grace,
But I will thwart him, crafty though he be!
Page 20
But now for your petition: see we now
How he receives your suit.
A potent foe it is: ay, by my faith,
A fair and goodly creature!
Again good morrow to ye, gallant kinsmen:
Come ye to say, I can with any favour
The right good liking prove, and high regard
I bear to you, who are my chiefest strength,---
The pillars of my clan?
Yes, we are come, Maclean, a boon to beg.
A boon that, granted, will yourself enrich.
Myself enrich?
Yes; thereby wilt thou be
Page 21
Allen of Dura, from his banishment----
False reaver! name him not.--Is he return'd?
Dares he again set foot upon this isle?
Yes, chief; upon this isle set foot he hath:
And on nor isle nor main-land doth there step
A braver man than he.----Lady, forgive me:
The boldest Campbell never saw his back.
Nay, good Benlora, ask not my forgiveness:
I love to hear thee praise, with honest warmth,
The valiant of thy name, which now is mine.
Ha! good Benlora!---this is queenly pride.
If so, small thanks be to my courtesy,
Sharing myself with pride the honest fame
Of every brave Maclean.----I'll henceforth keep
A proud account of all my gallant friends:
And every valiant Campbell therein noted,
On the opposing leaf, in letters fair,
Page 22
Madam, our grateful duty waits upon you.
What think I of her?
Incomparable hypocrite!
But to our suit: for words of courtesy
It must not be forgotten.----Chief, vouchsafe:
Benlora here, who from his loathly prison,
Which for your sake two years he hath endured,
Begs earnestly this grace for him we mention'd,
Allen of Dura.
Kneel, man; be more pressing.
Nay, by my fay! if crouching pleases thee,
Do it thyself.
Maclean; thy father put into these hands
The government and guidance of thy nonage.
How I the trust fulfill'd, this castle, strengthen'd
With walls and added towers, and stor'd, besides,
With arms and trophies, in rough warfare won
Page 23
Will testify. What I in recompense
Have for my service earn'd, these galled wrists
For an old friend I plainly beg this grace:
Say if my boon be granted or denied.
The man for whom thou plead'st is most unworthy;
Yet let him safely from my shores depart:
I harm him not.
My suit is then denied.
He harbours in his aged mother's cot;
Bid him upon the ocean drift again
His shatter'd boat, and be a wanderer still.
His aged mother!
No, no, he shall not! On this day of joy,
Wilt thou to me refuse it?
Page 24
Benlora.)
Safe with his aged mother still remain,---
A banish'd man no more.
This is not well; but be it as thou wilt;
Thou hast prevail'd, my Helen.
We thank thee, lady.
Then let thy friend remain: he has my pardon.
And there; my friends, shall think our happy feast
More happy for your presence.---
Which great and many are, my brave Benlora,
Shall be remembered well. Thou hast my honour,
And high regard.
Page 25
And mine to boot, good kinsman, if the value
You put upon them makes them worth the having.
aside to himself as he goes out.
)
Good kinsman! good Benlora! gracious words
From this most high and potent dame, vouchsafed
To one so poor and humble as myself.
But thou forgettest.----
No; I'll stay behind,
And move Maclean to join our nightly meeting.
Midnight the hour when you desire his presence?
Yes, even so: then will we be prepared.
Chieftain, I would some words of privacy
Speak with you, should your leisure now permit.
Come to my closet then, I'll hear thee gladly.
Page 26
Where hast thou been, my Rosa? with my boy?
Have they with wild-flowers deck'd his cradle round?
And peeps he through them like a little nestling--
A little heath-cock broken from its shell,
That through the bloom puts forth its tender beak,
As steals some rustling footstep on his nest?
Come, let me go and look upon him. Soon,
Ere two months more go by, he'll look again
In answer to my looks, as though he knew
The wistful face that looks so oft upon him,
And smiles so dearly, is his mother's.
Think'st thou
He'll soon give heed and notice to my love?
I doubt it not: he is a lively infant,
And moves his little limbs with vigour, spreading
His fingers forth, as if in time they would
A good claymore clench bravely.
A good claymore clench bravely!--O! to see him
A man!--a valiant youth!--a noble chieftain!
And laying on his plaided shoulder, thus,
A mother's hand, say proudly, "this is mine!"
I shall not then a lonely stranger be
Page 27
But silent be my tongue.
Dear madam, still in hope look forward cheerly.
God grant they comfort you!---I must withdraw:
His wary faithfulness mistrusts my love,
But I am not offended.
Nay, remain.
Say what thou hast to say, my worthy Morton,
For Rosa is as faithful as thyself.
This morning, lady, 'mongst the farther cliffs,
Dress'd like a fisher peasant, did I see
The Lord of Lorne, your brother.
Ha! say'st thou,
The Lord of Lorne, my brother?--Thou'rt deceiv'd.
No, no; in vain his sordid garb conceal'd him:
His noble form and stately step I knew
Before he spoke.
Page 28
He spoke to thee?
He did.
Was he alone?
He was; but, near at hand,
Another stranger, noble as himself,
And in like garb disguised, amongst the rocks
I mark'd, though he advanced not.
Alas, alas, my brother! why is this?
He spoke to thee, thou says't---I mean my brother:
What did he say?
He earnestly entreats
To see you privately; and bids you say
When this may be. Meantime, he lies conceal'd
Where I may call him forth at your command.
Page 29
O, why disguised?---Think'st thou he is not safe?
Safe in his hiding-place he is: but yet
The sooner he shall leave this coast, the better.
To see him thus!--O, how I am beset!
Tell him at twilight, in my nurse's chamber,
I will receive him. But be sure thou add,
Himself alone will I receive--alone--
With no companion must he come. Forget not
To say, that I entreat it earnestly.
I will remember this.
Go to him quickly then; and, till the hour,
Still do thou hover near him. Watch his haunt,
Lest some rude fisherman or surly hind
Surprise him.---Go thou quickly. O, be prudent!
And be not for a moment off the watch.
Page 30
Madam, I will obey you: trust me well.
My brother on the coast; and with him too,
As well I guess, the man I must not see!
Mean you the brave Sir Hubert?
Yes, my Rosa.
My noble brother in his powerful self
So strong in virtue stands, he thinks full surely
The daughter of his sire no weakness hath;
And wists not how a simple heart must struggle
To be what it would be---what it must be---
Ay, and, so aid me, Heaven! what it shall be.
And Heaven will aid you, madam, doubt it not.
Though on this subject still you have repress'd
All communing, yet, ne'ertheless, I well
Have mark'd your noble striving, and rever'd
Your silent inward warfare, bravely held;
In this more pressing combat firm and valiant,
As is your noble brother in the field.
Page 31
I thank thee, gentle Rosa; thou art kind.---
I should be franker with thee; but I know not---
Something restrains me here.
And on thy breast I'll weep when I am sad;
But ask not why I weep.
Page 32
ACT II.
SCENE I.
the door of an inner Chamber, standing a little ajar,
at the bottom of the Stage.
disguised as peasants.
Nay, stop, I pray; advance we not too far?
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 may'st remain: when I am call'd thou'lt leave me.
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---
Page 33
No fellow? May it be without transgression?
Why should'st thou not? De Grey, thou art too fearful;
Here art thou come with no dishonest will;
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------
'Spite of thy pride, would'st 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 treasur'd 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.
A noble heart thou hast: such manly meekness
Page 34
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?
Ah, John of Lorne! too keenly is thy soul
To war inclin'd---to wasteful, ruthless war.
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
Page 35
The interdicting hand, and say, "Be still'd?''
If this in me be sin, may Heaven forgive me!
That being am not I.
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.
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
Was't for this weak, unsteady, poor Maclean----
Nay, with contempt, I pray thee, name him not.
Her husband, and despised! O, no, no, no!
All that pertains to her, ev'n from that hour,
Honoured and sacred is.
Thou gen'rous heart! more noble than myself!
I will not grieve thee.--I'll to Helen go,
Page 36
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 remembered.
Ay, and my request.
To see the child?
Ev'n so: to look upon it;--
Upon the thing that is of her; this bud--
This seedling of a flower so exquisite.
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.
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 af-
Page 37
vances.
)
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.
Be gone: be gone.
Blest vision, I have seen thee! Fare thee well!
What sound is that of steps that hasten from us?
Is Morion on the watch?
Fear nothing; faithful Morton is at hand:
The steps thou heard'st were friendly.
My brother! meet we thus,---disguis'd, by stealth?
Is this like peace? How is my noble father?
Hath any ill befallen?
Page 38
Argyll is well;
And nothing ill, my sister, hath befallen,
If thou art well and happy.
Speak'st thou truly?
Why art thou come? Why thus upon our coast?
O take it not unkindly that I say,
"Why art thou come?"
Near to the opposite shore,
With no design, but on a lengthen'd chace,
A lusty deer pursuing from the hills
Of Morvern, 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 seiz'd,
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,
Page 39
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.
No, all is well.
A cold constrained voice that answer gave:
All is not well.---Maclean---dares he neglect thee?
Nay, wrong him not; kind and affectionate
He still remains.
But it is said, his vassals with vile names
Have dared to name thee, even in open clan,
And have remain'd unpunished. Is it so?
Page 40
Have I not said it is?
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.
What, am I questioned then? Think'st 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.
And has the vow,
Page 41
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.
lead her away.
)
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's stealth?
No, daughter of Argyll; when John of Lorne
Shall come to lead thee from these hated walls
Back to thy native home,---with culprit's 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,
Page 42
Like deep-dell'd forests groaning to the strokes
Of lusty wood-men. 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
Shall thou these portals pass.
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.
Page 43
And would'st 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!
Speak'st thou thus?
Thus pressing still upon the galled spot?
Thou deal'st 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
The hapless weakness I have strove to conquer?
I thought him generous.
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
Page 44
That thou may'st 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.
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 sun-shine break, that from afar
Look o'er the dull dun heath.
But one request----
Ha! makes he one?
It is to see thy child.
To see my child! Will he indeed regard it?
Shall it be bless'd by him?
Page 45
Conceal yourself, my lord, or by this passage
Of heavy steps at hand, and voices stern.
O fly, my brother! Morton will conduct thee.
(To
Morton.) Where is Sir Hubert?
Safe he is without.
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'st.--Fly! fly!
out the lamp as she goes, and
Lorne and
Morton
by a side Passage
.)
SCENE II.
aloft on its rugged sides, and shedding a fierce gla-
ring light down upon the objects below.
Lochta-
Page 46
Chief Vassals of
Maclean, are discovered in a re-
cess, formed by projecting rocks, at the bottom of
the Stage, engaged in earnest discourse, from which
they move forward slowly, speaking as they advance.
And thus, ye see, by strong necessity,
We are compell'd to this.
Perhaps thou'rt right.
Say'st 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?
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
Page 47
The coal-black steed of Clone, thy moon-light plunder,
Ta'en from the spiteful laird, will he, good sooth!
Neigh favour on thee?
Bethink thee well if fair-hair'd Flora's cries,
Whom from her native bower by force thou took'st,
Will plead for thee.---And say ye still perhaps
---
Perhaps
there is necessity?
Strong should it be, Lochtarish; for the act
Is fell and cruel thou would'st push us to.
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?
Page 48
Tush, Glenfadden!
Too hasty art thou.
"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.
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 foreshews
Interment of the slain, whose bloody graves
Of the same mould are made on which they fell.
Ha! so indeed! some awful tempest gathers.
What sighted man hath seen it?
Page 49
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.
Then hangs some evil over us.
Know ye not
The mermaid hath been heard upon our rocks?
Ha! when?
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.
Page 50
In faith thou makest me quake.
Some fearful thing hangs o'er us.----
If 'tis fated
Our clan before our ancient foe shall fall,
Can we heaven's will prevent? Why should we then
The Campbells' wrath provoke?
Heaven'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.
Nay, brave Benlora:
He means not as thou think'st.
Page 51
If heaven decrees
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 extacy of hate
Upon their ghastly visages impress'd,
Lie horribly!---For ev'ry widow's tear
Shed in our clan, let matron Campbells howl.
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?
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.
Page 52
Ay, and besides, we'll swear upon the book,
And truly swear, if we are call'd upon,
We have not shed her blood.
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.
the bottom of the Stage.)
Go to him, friend, and sooth him to our purpose.
The fiery fool! how madly wild he is!
Page 53
lora, while
Lochtarish speaks to the Vassals
on the front
.)
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?
No, nothing do we doubt thy public zeal.
Then is my long experience o' the sudden
To childish folly turn'd?
Think'st 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
Page 54
The enemy's baleful influence hung o'er ye,
Like quell'd and passive men ye silent stand.
Nay, cease, Lochtarish! quell'd and passive men
Thou know'st we are not.
Yet a woman's life,
And that a treacherous woman, moves ye thus.
Bold as your threats of dark revenge have been,
A strong decisive deed appals ye now.
Our chieftain's feeble undetermined spirit
Infects you all: ye dare not stand by me.
We dare not, say'st thou?
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.
Page 55
The Campbell-cow'd Macleans!
Infernal devils!
Dare they to call us so?
Ay, by my truth!
Nor think that from the Camerons alone
Ye will such greeting have, if back ye shrink,
And stand not by me now.
Tempt us no more:--There's ne'er a man of us
That will not back thee boldly.
Ay, indeed?
Now are ye men!--Give me your hands to this.
The chief approaches.
Page 56
That we must deal withall; therefore be bold.
Mistrust us not.
the Stage, while
Lochtarish, Benlora, Glen-
fadden, and all the other Vassals gather round him
with stern determined looks. A pause;
Maclean eying them all round with inquisitive
anxiety.
)
A goodly meeting at this hour convened.
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?
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.
Page 57
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.
Ay; evil that doth make the hoary locks
Of sighted men around their age-worn scalps
Like quickened 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.
The mermaid hath been heard upon our rocks:
The fatal song of waves.
The northern deep
Is heard with distant moanings from our coast,
Uttering the dismal bodeful sounds of death.
The funeral lights have shone upon our heath,
Marking in countless groupes the graves of thousands.
Page 58
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.
Said'st thou not thrice?
Yes; three times heard distinctly.
Ye much amaze me, friends.--Such things have been.
Yea, chief; and think'st thou we may lightly deem
Of coming ills, by signs like these forewarn'd?
Then an it be, high heaven have mercy on us!
Thyself have mercy on us!
How is this?
Page 59
To ward this evil off?
Thou hast! thou hast!
Then God to me shew mercy in my need,
As I will do for you and for my clan
Whate'er my slender power enables me.
Amen! and swear to it.
What words are these,
With such wild fierceness uttered? name the thing
That ye would have me do.
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;--
Page 60
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.
Art thou a man? and bid'st me cast her off,
Bound as I am by sacred holy ties?
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 heaven
Had bless'd them o'er the cross'd and holy things,
They are annull'd and broken.
Ay, Lochtarish;
Sound doctrine hast thou uttered. Such the creed
Of ancient warriors was, and such the creed
That we their sons will with our swords maintain.
follow his example
.)
Page 61
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.
Decide--decide, Maclean: the choice is thine
To be our chieftain, leading forth thy bands,
As heretofore thy valiant father did,
Against our ancient foe, or be the husband,
Despis'd, forsaken, curs'd, of her thou prizest
More than thy clan and kindred.
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 wills it, round his standard gather
Thy rous'd and valiant vassals to a man.
Ha! go your thoughts to this? Desert me so?
My vassals so desert me?
Page 62
Ay, by my faith our very women too:
And in your hall remain, to serve your state,
Nor child nor aged crone.
Decide, and cast her off!--How far the thoughts
To which these words ye yoke, may go, I guess not.
are silent
.)
We will not shed her blood.
Then ye will spare her.
Commit her to our keeping: ask us not
How we shall deal with her.
Some fearful mystery is in your words,
Which covers cruel things. O woe the day,
Page 63
On ev'ry side a fearful ruin yawns.
ent words, mixed with shrieks of horror
.)
What brings thee hither?
He fixes wildly on the gloomy void
His starting eye-balls, bent on fearful sights,
That make the sinews of his aged limbs
In agony to quiver.
Who did'st thou say?
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.
Page 64
Hark! hark, again! dread powers are dealing with him.
Come, chieftain--come and see the awful man.
If heaven or hell have power to move thy will,
Thou canst not now withstand us.
And motionless?
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!
Ev'n lead me where ye will.
leaning on
Lochtarish, and followed by
Benlora and Glenfadden and
Vassals;
two inferior
Vassals alone left upon the
Stage
.)
Ay, there he goes; so spent, and scar'd, and feeble!
Without a prophet's skill, we may foretell,
John of the Isle, by sly Lochtarish taught,
Page 65
To this their fell design.--Are all things ready?
All is in readiness.
When ebbs the tide?
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.
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 suffered,
But to sit waiting on a lonely rock
For the approaching tide to throttle her--
But that she is a Campbell, I could weep.
Weep, fool! think soon how we'll to war again
With our old enemy, and in the field
Our good claymores reek with their hated blood:
Think upon this, and change thy tears to joy.
Page 66
SCENE III.
Ah! wherefore art thou so disturbed? 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.
I cannot: urge me not.
Nay, try to rest: I'll sit and watch by thee.
Thou'lt sit and watch! O woe betide the hour!
And who will watch for thee?
And why for me?
Can any harm approach? When thou art near,
Or sleeping or awake, I am secure.
O God! O God!
Page 67
Those exclamations!
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
Of dearest sympathy, will I in duty--
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 ev'ning of my days in true affection.
The ev'ning of thy days! alas, alas!
Would heaven had so decreed it!
It is a fiend thou cling'st to.
Are they already at the chamber door!
Are those who knock without unwelcome?--hush!
Page 68
O go not! go not!
sal, rushing from behind the bed, lays hold of
him.)
Art thou not sworn to us? Where is thy faith?
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!
tinct, 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 to-
wards that by which
Helen went out.
Page 69
Thou art too strong for me. Do as thou wilt;
But if thou bring'st her back, ev'n 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.
Vassal to lead him off by the opposite side
.)
Page 70
ACT III.
SCENE I.
craggy rock, on the front of the stage, and the sea
in the back-ground.
come out of their boat.
O why is this? Speak, gloomy, ruthless men!
Our voyage ends not here?
It does: and now,
Helen, the Campbell, fare thee--fare thee well!
Helen, the Campbell, thy last greeting take
From mortal thing.
What! leave me on this rock,
This sea-girt rock, to solitude and famine?
Page 71
Next rising tide will bring a sure relief
To all the ills we leave thee.
I understand ye.
Of storms and tempests, and th' unfathom'd deep;
Is this thy righteous will?
Ye cannot leave a human creature thus
To perish by a slow approaching end,
So awful and so terrible. Instant death
Were merciful to this.
If thou prefer'st it, we can shorten well
Thy term of pain and terror: from this cragg,
Full fourteen fathom deep, thou may'st be plung'd.
In shorter time than three strokes of an oar
Thy pains will cease.
Come, that were better for thee.
Page 72
shrinks back
.)
O no! the soul recoils from swift destruction!
Pause ye a while.
The downward terrible plunge!
The coil of whelming waves?--O fearful nature!
Of firm and desp'rate hold--Depart and leave me.
keeps close hold of the rock with the other.)
Thou still may'st live within a prison pent,
If life is dear to thee.
If life is dear!----Alas, it is not dear!
Although the passing fearful act of death
So very fearful is.----Say how, even in a prison,
I still may wait my quiet and natural end.
Whate'er thou art, such has thy conduct been,
Thy wedded faith, ev'n with thy fellest foes,
Sure and undoubted stands:--Sign thou this scroll,
Page 73
And this made sure, Lochtarish bade me say
Thy life shall yet be spared.
offers her the scroll.)
Off, off! vile agent of a wretch so devilish!
Now do I see from whence my ruin comes:
I and my infant foil his wicked hopes.
O harmless babe! will heaven abandon thee!
It will not!--No; it will not!
I feel returning strength. Heaven aids my weakness:
I'll meet its awful will.
Well, in its keeping rest thee: fare thee well,
Helen the Campbell.
Be thy suff'rings short!
Fell is the service we are put upon:
Page 74
her, paces backwards and forwards with agitated
steps, then, stopping suddenly, bends her ear to the ground
as if she listened earnestly to something.)
It is the sound; the heaving hollow swell
That notes the turning tide.--Tremendous agent!
Mine executioner, that, step by step,
Advances to the awful work of death.--
Onward it wears: a little space remov'd
The dreadful conflict is.
lips, as in the act of devotion, before she
again speaks aloud.)
I' the dark roll'd clouds, the thunder's awful home:
Thou art i' the wide shored earth,--the pathless desert;
And in the dread immensity of waters,---
I' the fathomless deep thou art.------
Awful but excellent! beneath thy hand,
With trembling confidence, I bow me low,
And wait thy will in peace.
crossed over her breast in silent resignation; then,
Page 75
hastily.)
The breeze is on the rock: a gleam of sunshine
Breaks through those farther clouds. It is like hope
Upon a hopeless state.
Some little speck upon the distant wave
May to my eager gaze a vessel grow--
Some onward wearing thing,---some boat---some raft---
Some drifted plank.----O hope! thou quit'st us never!
of the rock.)
SCENE II.
is seen in the distance, like a little pointed rock
standing out of the sea.
Fishermen.
This little swarded spot that o'er the waves,
Cloath'd in its green light, seem'd to beckon to us,
Right pleasant is: until our comrades join,
Page 76
So far behind. In truth, such lusty rowers
Put shame upon their skill.
A cross-set current bore them from the track,
But see, they now bear on us rapidly.
Hola!
They call to us.--Hola! hola!
How fast they wear! they are at hand already.
Right glad I am: The Lord of Lorne, I fear,
Will wait impatiently: he has already
With rapid oars the nearer main-land gain'd,
Where he appointed us to join him.--Ho!
We'll snatch a hasty meal, and, so refreshed,
Take to our boats again.
Page 77
the other side of the Stage.
How was it that you took that distant track?
The current bore us wide of what we wist;
And, were it not your honour is impatient
Main-land to make, we had not come so soon.
What had detained you?
As near yon rock we bore, that o'er the waves
Just shews its jetty point, and will, ere long,
Beneath the tide be hid, we heard the sound
Of feeble lamentation.
A human voice?
I cannot think it was;
For on that rock, sea-girt, and at high tide,
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Though at the first it sounded in our ears
Like a faint woman's voice.
Perceiv'd ye aught?
Yes; something white that moved, and, as we think,
Some wounded bird that there hath dropt its wing,
And cannot make its way.
Perhaps some dog,
Whose master at low water there hath been,
And left him.
Something 'tis in woeful case,
Whate'er it be. Right fain I would have gone
To bear it off.
And wherefore did'st thou not?
Return and save it. Be it what it may;
Something it is, lone and in jeopardy,
Which hath a feeling of its desperate state,
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A kindred nature bear.--Return, good friend:---
Quickly return and save it, ere the tide
Shall wash it from its hold. I to the coast
Will steer the while, and wait your coming there.
Right gladly, noble sir.
We'll gladly go:
For, by my faith! at night I had not slept
For thinking of that sound.
Heaven speed ye then! Whate'er ye bring to me
Of living kind, I will reward ye for it.
Our different tracks we hold; nor longer here
Will I remain. Soon may we meet:
God speed ye!
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SCENE III.
land.
Then wait thou for thy boat; I and my men
Will onward to the town, where, as I hope,
My trusty vassals and our steeds are stationed.
But lose not time.
Fear not; I'll follow quickly.
I must unto the castle of Argyll
Without delay proceed; therefore, whate'er
Of living kind, bird, beast, or creeping thing,
This boat of thine produces, bring it with thee;
And were it eaglet fierce, or wolf or fox,
On with us shall it travel, mounted bravely,
Our homeward cavalcade to grace. Farewell!
Farewell, my friend! I shall not long delay
Thy homeward journey.
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But, ho! good host and hostess!
I must take leave of honest Duncan here,
And of his rosy wife.--Ay, here they come.
Good cheer, and kindly given, of you we've had.
Thy hand, good host. May all the fish o' th' ocean
Come crowding to thy nets!--And healthy brats,
Fair dame, have thou! with such round rosy cheeks
As brats of thine befit: and, by your leave,
Good luck betide ye both!
And, sir, to you the same. Whoe'er you be,
A brave man art thou, that I will be sworn.
Come you this way again, I hope, good sir,
You will not pass our door.
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Fear not, good hostess;
It is a pleasant, sunny, open door,
And bids me enter of its own accord;
I cannot pass it by.--Good luck betide ye!
I will be sworn it is some noble chieftain,
Though homely be his garb.
Ay, so wilt I: the Lord of Lorne himself
Could not more courteous be.
Hush! hush! be quiet!
We live not now amongst the Campbells, wife.
Should some Maclean o'erhear thee--hush, I say.
He is no common rambler.
By your leave,
If I may be so bold without offending,
Your speech, methinks, smacks of a southern race;
I guess at least of Lowland kin ye be.
But think no shame of this; we'll ne'ertheless
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Who from the Lowlands come.
No; no, in sooth! I knew a Lowlander,
Some years gone by, who was as true and honest--
Ay, and I do believe well nigh as brave,
As though, with brogued feet, he never else
Had all his days than muir or mountain trode.
Thanks for your gentle thoughts!---It has indeed
Been my misluck to draw my earliest breath
Where meadows flower, and corn fields wave i' th' sun.
But let us still be friends! heaven gives us not
To chuse our birth-place, else these wilds, no doubt,
Would be more thickly peopled.
Ay, true it is indeed.
And hard it were
To quarrel with him too for his misfortune.
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Ha! 'tis my boat return'd.
Ay, here we are.
And aught saved from the rock?
Yes, by my faith! but neither bird nor beast.
Look there, my master.
less, wrapt closely up in one of their plaids, and
supported by the other two
Fishermen.)
A woman! heaven in mercy! was it then
A human creature there exposed to perish?
face
.)
Ay, look; and such a creature!
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Helen of Argyll!
O God! was this the feeble wailing voice!
almost senseless, supported by the
Fishermen,
and bursting into tears.)
That lovely is, most lovely.--Woe is me!
Some aid, I pray ye.
Bear her softly in,
And wrap warm garments round her.
Breathes she freely?
Her eyes half open are, but life, alas!
Is almost spent, and holds within her breast
A weak uncertain seat.
She moves her hand:--
She knows my voice.---O heaven in mercy save her!
Bear her more gently, pray ye:---Softly, softly!
How weak and spent she is!
No marvel she is weak: we reach'd her not
Until the swelling waters laved her girdle.
And then to see her----
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Cease, I pray thee, friend,
And tell me not----
Nay, faith, he tells you true:
She stood above the water, with stretched arms
Clung to the dripping rock, like the white pinions---
Peace, peace, I say! thy words are agony:--
Give to my mind no image of the thing!
of the house.)
Page 87
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Argyll's Castle, a door at the bottom of the Stage,
leading to the apartment of the
Earl, before which
is discovered the
Piper, pacing backwards and for-
wards, playing on his bag-pipe.
Now pray thee, Piper, cease! That stunning din
Might do good service by the ears to set
Two angry clans; but for a morning's rouse,
Here at an old man's door, it does, good sooth,
Exceed all reasonable use. The Earl
Has pass'd a sleepless night: I pray thee now
Give o'er, and spare thy pains.
And spare my pains, say'st thou?---I'll do mine office,
As long as breath within my body is.
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Then mercy on us all! if wind thou mean'st,
There is within that sturdy trunk of thine,
Old as it is, a still exhaustless store.
A Lapland witch's bag could scarcely match it.
Thou could'st, I doubt not, belly out the sails
Of a thrice-masted vessel with thy mouth:
But be thy mercy equal to thy might!
I pray thee now give o'er: in faith the Earl
Has pass'd a sleepless night.
Think'st thou I am a Lowland, day-hired minstrel
To play or stop at bidding? Is Argyll
The lord and chieftain of our ancient clan,
More certainly than I to him, as such,
The high hereditary piper am?
A sleepless night, forsooth! He's slept full oft
On the hard heath, with fifty harness'd steeds
Champing their fodder round him;---soundly too.--
I'll do mine office, loun, chafe as thou wilt.
before)
Nay, thou the chafer art, red-crested cock!
Page 89
Thy wilful humours. Cease thy cursed din!
See; here the Earl himself comes forth to chide thee.
Good morrow, Piper! thou hast roused me bravely:
A younger man might gird his tartans on
With lightsome heart to martial sounds like these,
But I am old.
O no, my noble chieftain!
It is not age subdues you.
No; what else?
Alack! the flower and blossom of your house
The wind hath blown away to other towers.
When she was here, and gladsome faces brighten'd
With looking on her, and around your board
Sweet lays were sung, and gallants in the hall
Footed it trimly to our varied measures,
Page 90
Those who might reckon years fourscore and odds,
But of old folks, I warrant, ne'er a soul.
No; we were all young then.
'Tis true indeed
It was even as thou say'st. Our earthly joys
Fly like the blossoms scattered by the wind.
Please ye, my lord;------
Some score of vassals in the hall attend
To bid good morrow to you, and the hour
Wears late: the chamberlain hath bade me say
He will dismiss them, if it please your honour.
Nay, many a mile have some of them, I know,
With suit or purpose lurking in their minds,
Rode o'er rough paths to see me; disappointed
Shall none of them return.--I'm better now.
I have been rather weary than unwell.
Say, I will see them presently.
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The Lord of Lorne's arriv'd, an' please your honour:
Sir Hubert too, and all their jolly train;
And with them have they brought a lady, closely
In hood and mantle muffled: ne'er a glimpse
May of her face be seen.
A lady, say'st thou?
Yes; closely muffled up.
I like not this.----It cannot surely be.--
He a hunting went, I know,
To Cromack's ancient laird, whose youthful dame
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I cannot tell, my lord.
self in broken sentences, very much disturbed
.)
To Cromack's ancient laird!--If that indeed--
Beshrew me, if it be!---I'd rather lose
Half of my lands than son of mine such wrong,
Such shameful wrong, should do. This sword I've drawn
Like robb'ry to revenge, ne'er to abet it:
And shall I now with hoary locks----No, no!--
My noble Lorne! he cannot be so base.
Well, John, how is it? Welcome art thou home,
If thou return'st, as well I would believe,
Deserving of a welcome.
Doubts my lord
That I am so returned?
from his attendants
.)
Let these withdraw: I have a thing to tell you.
Page 93
from seeing the eagerness and agitation with which
he speaks, and turning from him indignantly.
)
No, by this honest blade! if wrong thou'st done,
Thou hast no shelter here. In open day,
Before th' assembled vassals shalt thou tell it;
And he, whom thou hast injured, be redress'd,
While I have power to bid my Campbells fight
I' the fair and honour'd cause.
I pray, my lord--
Will you vouchsafe to hear me?
Thoughtless boy!
How far unlike the noble Lorne I thought thee!---
Proud as I am, far rather would I see thee
Join'd to the daughter of my meanest vassal,
Than see thy manly, noble worth engaged
In such foul raid as this.
Nay, nay! be pacified!
I'd rather take, in faith, the tawny hand
Of homeliest maid, that doth, o' holidays,
Her sun-burnt locks with worsted ribbon bind,
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That e'er in stately bower or regal hall
In graceful beauty shone, gain'd by such wrong---
By such base treachery as you have glanced at.
These are plain words: then treat me like a man
Who hath been wont the manly truth to speak.
Ha! now, thy countenance and tone again
Are John of Lorne's. That look, and whispering voice,
So strange appear'd, in truth I liked it not.
Give me thy hand.--Where is the stranger dame?
If she in trouble be.------
Make these withdraw,
And I will lead her hither.
and
Attendants, &c. go out: presently re-enter
Lorne, leading in
Helen, covered closely up in a
mantle
.)
This is the dame, who, houseless and deserted,
Seeks shelter here, nor fears to be rejected.
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My father!
That voice!--O God!--Unveil--unveil, for mercy!
for some time, unable to speak.)
Deserted!---houseless!---com'st thou to me thus?
Here is thy house---thy home: this aged bosom
Thy shelter is, which thou shalt quit no more.
My child! my child!