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And in some cavern of the ocean lies
My child and his.
Anna. O lady, most rever'd!
The tale wrapt up in your amazing words
Deign to unfold.
Lady R. Alas! an ancient feud, Hereditary evil, was the source Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed, That my brave brother should in battle save The life of Douglas' son, our house's foe: The youthful warriors vow'd eternal friendship. To see the vaunted sister of his friend, Impatient Douglas to Balarmo came, Under a borrow'd name-My heart he gain'd; Nor did I long refuse the hand he begg'd; My brother's presence authoriz❜d our marriage. Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings of down, Had o'er us flown, when my lov'd lord was call'd To fight his father's battles: and with him, In spite of all my tears, did Malcom go, Scarce were they gone, when my stern sire was told That the false stranger was Lord Douglas' son. Frantic with rage, the baron drew his sword And question'd me. Alone, forsaken, faint, Kneeling beneath his sword, fault'ring I took An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would Wed one of Douglas' name. Sincerity! Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave Thy onward path! altho' the earth should gape, And from the gulf of hell destruction cry To take dissimulation's winding way.
Anna. Alas! how few of woman's fearful kind Durst own a truth so hardy!
Lady R. The first truth
Is easiest to avow. This moral learn,
This precious moral from my tragic tale.→→
In a few days, the dreadful tidings came
That Douglas and my brother both were slain.
Anna. My dearest lady! many a tale of tears
I've listened to; but never did I hear
A tale so sad as this.
Lady R. In the first days
Of my distracting grief, I found myself
As women wish to be who love their lords.
But who durst tell my father? The good priest
Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient tutor,
With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell:
They two alone were privy to the marriage.
On silence and concealment I resolved,
Till time should make my father's fortune mine.
That very night on which my son was born,
My nurse, the only confident I had,
Set out with him to reach her sister's house :
But nurse, nor infant, have I ever seen,
Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour.
Anna. Not seen, nor heard of! then perhaps he lives.
Lady R. No. It was dark December: wind and rain
Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay
The destin'd road; and in its swelling flood
My faithful servant perish'd with my child.
Anna. Ah! Lady, see Glenalvon comes: I saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes, And hitherwards he slowly stalks his way.
Lady R. I will avoid him. An ungracious person Is doubly irksom in an hour like this.
Anna. Why speaks my Lady thus of Randolph's heir? Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Randolph's virtues. Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind
An artificial image of himself:
And he with ease can vary to the taste
Of different men its features,
Why I describe him thus, I'll tell hereafter:
Stay and detain him till I reach the castle.
Anna. O happiness! where art thou to be found?
I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty,
Tho' grac'd with grandeur, and in wealth array'd:
Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue dwell ;
Else had this gentle lady miss'd thee not.
Glen. What dost thou muse on, meditating maid? Like some entranc'd and visionary seer,
On earth thou stand'st, thy thoughts ascend to heaven.
Anna. Would that I were, e'en as thou say'st, a seer,
To have my doubts by heavenly vision clear'd!
Glen. What dost thou doubt of? what hast thou to do
With subjects intricate? Thy youth, thy beauty,
Cannot be question'd: think of these good gifts,
And then thy contemplations will be pleasing.
Anna. Let woman view yon monument of woe,
Then boast of beauty: who so fare as she?
But I must follow: this revolving day
Awakes the memory of her ancient woes.
Glen. So!-Lady Randolph shuns me; by and by,
I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride.
The deed's a doing now, that makes me lord
Of these rich vallies, and a chief of pow'r.
The season is most apt; my sounding steps
Will not be heard amidst the din of arms.
Randolph has liv❜d too long; his better fate
Had the ascendant once, and kept me down :
When I had seiz'd the dame, by chance he came,
Rescu'd, and had the lady for his labour;
I 'scap'd unknown: a slender consolation !
Heav'n is my witness that I do not love
To sow in peril, and let others reap
The jocund harvest. Yet, I am not safe;
By love, or something like it, stung, inflam'd,
Madly I blabb'd my passion to his wife,
And she has threaten'd to acquaint him of it.
The way of woman's will I do not know:
But well I know the baron's wrath is deadly.
I will not live in fear: the man I dread
Is as a Dane to me: ay, and the man
Who stands betwixt me and my chief desire.
No bar but he she has no kinsman near;
No brother in his sister's quarrel bold :
And for the righteous cause, a stranger's cause,
I know no chief that will defy Glenalvan.
COLLIN'S Ode on the PASSIONS.
When Music, heavenly Maid! was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell;
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart,
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness rul'd the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power.
First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made.
Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own'd his secret stings,
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
With woeful measures, wan Despair
Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd ;
A solemn, strange and mingled air :
"Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O hope! with eyes so fare,
What was thy delighted measure!
Still it whisper'd, promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong ;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still through all the song :
And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair : And longer had she sung, but with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose.
He threw his blood stain'd sword in thunder down;
And with a withering look,
The war denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe
And ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat :
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity at his side,
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mein,.
While each strain'd ball of sight-seem'd bursting from his
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state!
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd:
And, now it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate.
With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;
And, from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes, by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul,
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;
Through glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole,
Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay,
(Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing)
In hollow murmurs died away.
But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder slung,
Her buskins gem'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known;
The oak crown'd sisters, and their chaste ey'd Queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green;
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;
And Sport leap'd up and seiz'd his beechen spear.
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial,
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd-
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol;
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing:
While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound)
And he, amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
"O Music, sphere-descending maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid,
Why, Goddess, why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?