Tell 'em-with this I murder'd her I lov'd; The soul of innocence, and pride of truth: Rev'rence this hero, and conduct him safe. [Dies. Ner. Direct me, great inspirer of the soul! How I should act, how judge in this distress! Amazing grandeur! and detested rage! Ev'n I, amidst my tears, admire this foe, And mourn his death, who liv'd to give me [Curtain falls. woe. HOME. JOHN HOME, a native of Scotland, born in the vicinity of Ancrum, in Roxburgshire, in 1724, after the usual course of education for the church, was ordained and inducted to the living of Athelstaneford, and was the successor of the Rev. Mr. Blair, author of The Grave. In the rebellion of 1745 he took up arms in defence of the existing government, He was present at the battle of Falkirk; where he was taken prisoner, and, with five or six other gentlemen, escaped from the castle of Down, After the rebellion he resumed the duties of his profession. Having a na tural inclination for the Belles Lettres, which he had cultivated with some care; he wrote his tragedy of Douglas, and presented it to the managers of the Edinburgh Theatre. Its reception will be easily imagined from the following anecdote. During the representation a young and sanguine Scotchman, in the pit, transported with delight and enthusiasm, cried out on a sudden with an air of triumph, "Weel lods; hwar's yeer Wolly Shokspeer nou!" (where is your William Shakspeare now). The author being a clergyman, the resentment of the elders of the kirk, and many other zealous members of that sect was inflamed, not only against him, but the performers also; on whom, together with him, they freely denounced their anathemas in pamphlets and public papers. The latter indeed it was out of their power greatly to injure; but their rod was near falling very heavy on the author, whom the assembly repudiated, and cut off from his preferments. In England, however, he had the good fortune to meet with friends. and being through the interest of the Earl of Bute and some other persons of distinction, recommended to the notice of his present majesty, then Prince of Wales, his Royal Highness was pleased to bestow a pension on him; thus, sheltering him under his own patronage, he put it out of the power of either bigotry, envy, or malevolence to blast his laurels. Mr. Home afterwards pursued his poetical efforts, and produced more dramatic pieces, which were brought on the stage in London; but Douglas must always stand as his master-piece in dramatic writing. He never afterwards resumed his clerical profession, which he had abandoned in 1757; but enjoyed a place under government 17 Scotland. Mr. Home, always the friend and patron of merit, as far as his circumstances would admit, was the means bringing the celebrated poems of Ossian to light. While Macpherson was schoolmaster of Ruthven in Badenoch, he occupied his leisure hours in collecting, from the native, but illiterate bards of the mountains of Scotland, fragments these inimitable poems; a few of them he translated, and inserted in a weekly Miscellany, then publishing at Ediaburgh. The beauty of these pieces soon attracted the notice of Mr. Home, Dr. Robertson and Dr. Blair; and they resolved to sent Macpherson on a journey all over the Highlands, at their expence, to collect the originals of thor poems, which have since been a subject of so much controversy. Mr. Home died at Manchester-house near Ediburgh, Sept. the 4th 18c8. DOUGLAS. He declare THIS piece was first produced at Edinburgh, 1756; and the success it met with, induced our author to offer it the London managers; where, notwithstanding all the influence exerted in its favour, it was refused by Garrick. M Rich, however, accepted it, and it was acted the first time at Covent-garden, March the 14th 1757; where its real werd soon placed it out of the reach of critical censure. The plot was suggested by the pathetical old Scotch ballad of C (or Child) Morrice, reprinted in the third volume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, and it is founded on t quarrels of the families of Douglas and other of the Scots clans. This tragedy has a great deal of pathos in it, so of the narratives are pleasingly affecting, and the descriptions poetically beautiful. On its first appearance Hume go his opinion, that is was one of the most interesting and pathetic pieces ever exhibited in any theatre. that the author possessed the true theatric genius of Shakspeare and Otway; but we must remember, that the was a Scotchman, consequently such extravagant praise requires no comment. Gray however had so high an opin of this first drama of Mr. Home, that in a letter to a friend in 1757, he says, "1'am greatly struck with the trag of Douglas, though it has infinite faults: the author seems to have retrieved the true language of the Stage, which been lost for these hundred years; and there is one scene (between Matilda and the Old Peasant) so masterly, that strikes me blind to all the defects in the world." To this opinion every reader of taste will readily subscribe. Jo son blames Mr. Gray for concluding his celebrated ode with suicide; a circumstance borrowed perhaps from Doug in which lady Randolph, otherwise a blameless character, precipitates herself, like the Bard, from a cliff, into etern Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan. SCENE I.-The Court of a Castle, surrounded Are e'er permitted to review this world, with Woods. Enter LADY RANDOLPH. Lady R. YE woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom Within the circle of that wood thou art, And with the passion of immortals hear'st My lamentation: hear'st thy wretched wife Weep for her husband slain, her infant lo Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart, Who perish'd with thee on this fatal day. Farewell awhile I will not leave you long; But Randolph comes, whom fate has ma For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells, Who from the chiding stream, or groaning oak, To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead my lord, Enter LORD RANDOLPH. Lord R. Again these weeds of woe! say, To feed a passion which consumes thy life? And ill-tim'd mention of your brother's fate? Lady R. Silent, alas! is he for whom I These piteous tears, I'd throw my life away. Implacable resentment was their crime, Lord R. Thy grief wrests to its purposes I never ask'd of thee that ardent love ht from their native land, the stormy north, May the wind blow, till every keel is fix'd imoveable in Caledonia's strand! The shall our foes repent their bold invasion, And roving armies shun the fatal shore. dy, farewell: I leave thee not alone; Lader comes one whose love makes duty light. Enter ANNA. Lady R. What power directed thy un- To speak as thou hast done? to name- But since my words have made my mistress I will speak so no more; but silent mix Lady R. No, thou shalt not be silent. Anna. What means my noble mistress? If I in early youth had lost a husband? And in some cavern of the ocean lies Anna. Oh! lady most rever'd! Lady R. Alas! an ancient feud, Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed, Had o'er us flown, when my lov'd lord was call'd To fight his father's battles; and with him, That the false stranger was lord Douglas' son. Anna. Forgive the rashness of your Anna's love; id by affection, I have thus presum'd aterrupt your solitary thoughts; And warn you of the hours that you neglect, lose in sadness. Lady R. So to lose my at the use I wish to make of time, sare I am, since death first prey'd on man, And from the gulf of hell destruction cry, Anna. Alas! how few of women's fearful Durst own a truth so hardy! Lady R. The first truth Is easiest to avow. This moral learn, My lord! my life! my husband!-mighty God! Glen. What dost thou doubt of? What Anna. My dearest lady, many a tale of tears With subjects Ludy R. In the first days Of my distracting grief, I found myself- With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell: Lady R. No. It was dark December; wind and rain Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay comes; I saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes, Is doubly irksome in an hour like this. Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Ran- Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind [Exit. Anna. Oh happiness! where art thou to be found? I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, Though 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. hast thou to do intricate? Thy youth, thy beauty, Cannot be question'd: think of these good And then thy contemplations will be pleasing. woe, Then boast of beauty: who so fair as she? Glen. So!-Lady Randolph shuns me; by- I'll woo her as the lion wooes his brides. came, Rescu'd, and had the lady for his labour: I ACT II. [Exi SCENE I-4 Court, etc. To vex the weary, traveller on his way? Lord R. That it fares well, thanks to ! Whose valour sav'd me from a wretched dea Had not this brave and generous stranger co They turn'd upon him, but his active arm no more, The fiercest two; the others fled amain, My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heaven, swer'd not; And, heaven directed, came this day to do With such a gallant modesty rehears'd? And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell; Whom call the saviour of lord Randolph's life? But I must know who my deliverer is. cure, Who nought can boast, but his desire to be By the great King of kings: thou art ordain'd Nor. My name is Norval: on the Gram- My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, And keep bis only son, myself, at home. Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light, For safety and for succour. I alone, An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their Who wore that day the arms which now wear. I And gain'd with all his valour, but oblivion. My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the way. Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon, In speech and manners: never till this hour To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy fa vour. Lady R. I will be sworn thou wilt not. " Let me forbid reply; [To Norval. Nor. Let us be gone, my lord. Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hill suspend, The human joy that never may return. [Exeunt Lord Randolph and Norval. Lady R. His parting words have struck a fatal truth. Oh, Douglas! Douglas! tender was the time Wretch that I am! Alas! why am I so? I have a counsel for Glenalvon's ear. [Exit Anna. Glen. To him your counsels always are commands. Lady R. I have not found so; thou art known to me. Glen. Known! Lady R. And most certain is my cause of Of thy pretended meekness? this to me, mankind! Anna. Alas! alas! why will you thus resume An outcast beggar, and unpitied too! Found fuel for my life-consuming sorrow; And pair'd with him in features and in shape, Permit me yet to say, that the fond man If he is brought by love to misery, Whilst thus I mus'd, a spark from fancy fell home, And like an orphan cast upon my care. favour. Against a rival in his kinsman's love, Glen. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble Lady R. Have you not heard, Glenalvon, shouldst. His brave deliverer, Randolph here retains. [Exi Glen. Child that I was to start at my ow shadow, And be the shallow fool of coward conscience I should conclude there was an arm above That fought against me, and malignant turn Glen. I have; and that the villains may not To catch myself, the subtle snare I set. 'scape, Why, rape and murder are not simple mear With a strong band I have begirt the wood. The imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spous If they lurk there, alive they shall be taken, And the intended murder introduc'd And torture force from them the important A favourite to hide the sun from me; secret, swords, Or if Lady R. That care becomes a kinsman's love. him! 'Tis certain she contemns me; nay, comman me, |