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They turn'd upon him, but his active arm

Struck to the ground, from whence they rose no more,
The fiercest two; the others fled amain,

And left him master of the bloody field.
Speak, lady Randolph; upon beauty's tongue
Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold.
Speak noble dame, and thank him for thy lord.
Lady R. My lord, I cannot speak what now I feel.
My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heav'n,
And to this noble youth, who, all unknown

Το

you and yours, deliberated not,

Nor paus'd at peril, but, humanely brave,

Fought on your side against such fearful odds.

Have you not learn'd of him, whom we should thank? Whom call the saviour of lord Randolph's life?

Lord R. I ask'd that question, and he answered not: But I must know, who my deliverer is.

[To the Stranger.

Stran. A low-born man, of parentage obscure, Who nought can boast but his desire to be

A soldier, and to gain a name in arms.

Lord R. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobl'd By the great King of kings! thou art ordain'd And stamp'd a hero, by the sovereign hand Of Nature! blush not, flower of modesty

As well as valour, to declare thy birth.

Stran. My name is Norval: on the Grampion hills My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home.

For I had heard of battles, and I long'd

To follow to the field some warlike lord:

And Heav'n soon granted what my sire deny'd.
This moon which rose last night, round as my shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled
For safety and for succour. I alone,

With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd

The road he took; then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led.

'Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.

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We fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard
That our good king had summoned his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps:-
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers,
And, Heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Lord Ran. He is as wise as brave. Was ever tale
With such a gallant modesty rehears❜d ?

My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter now
A nobler list, and in a monarch's sight
Contend with princes for the prize of fame.
I will present thee to our Scottish king,
Whose valiant spirit ever valour lov'd.
Ah! my Matilda, wherefore starts that tear ?
Lady R. I cannot say for various affections,
And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell;
Yet each of them may well command a tear.
I joy that thou art safe; and I admire

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Him and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy safety;
Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own.
Obscure and friendless, he the army sought,
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Resolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his sword
To gain distinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt unknown he might have perish'd,
And gain'd with all his valour, but oblivion.
Now, grac'd by thee, his virtue serves no more
Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope
He stands conspicuous; fame and great renown
Are brought within the compass of his sword;
On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke,
And bless'd the wonder-working Lord of Heaven.
Lord R. Pious and grateful ever are thy thoughts!
My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the way.
Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon,
In honour and command shall Norval be.

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Nor. I know not how to thank you. Rude I am,

In speech and manners: never till this hour
Stood I in such a presence: yet, my lord,

There's something in my breast, which makes me bold

To say,

that Norval ne'er will shame thy favour.

Lady R. I will be sworn thou wilt not. Thou shalt be My knight; and ever, as thou didst to day, With happy valour guard the life of Randolph. Lord R. Well hast thou spoke. Let me forbid reply.

[To NOKVAL. We are thy debtors still! Thy high desert O'ertops our gratitude. I must proceed, As was at first intended, to the camp. Some of my train, I see, are speeding hither, Impatient, doubtless, of their lord's delay. Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall see The chosen warriors of thy native land, Who languish for the fight, and beat the air With brandish'd swords.

Nor. Let us be gone, my lord.

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Lord R. [To Lady RANDOLPH.] About the time

that the declining sun

Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hills suspend,
Expect us to return. This night once more
Within these walls I rest; my tent I pitch
Tomorrow in the field. Prepare the feast,
Free is his heart who for his country fights?
He in the eve of battle may resign
Himself to social pleasure: sweetest then,

When danger to a soldier's soul endears

The human joy that never may return.

[Exeunt RANDOLPH and NORVAL. Lady R. His parting words have struck a fatal truth. Oh, Douglas! Douglas! tender was the time When we two parted, ne'er to meet again! How many years of anguish and despair

Has Heaven annex'd to those swift-passing hours Of love and fondness. "Then my bosom's flame "Oft, as blown back by the rude breath of fear "Return'd, and with redoubled ardour blaz'd." 140 Anna. May gracious Heav'n pour the sweet balm

of peace

Into the wounds that fester in your breast!

For earthly consolation cannot cure them.

Lady R. One only cure can Heav'n itself bestow ;A grave-that bed in which the weary rest. Wretch that I am! Alas! why am I so?

At

every happy parent I repine !

How blest the mother of yon gallant Norval!
She for a living husband bore her pains,
And heard him bless her when a man was born:
She nurs❜d her smiling infant on her breast;
Tended the child, and rear'd the pleasing boy:
She, with affection's triumph, saw the youth
In grace and comeliness surpass his peers:
Whilst I to a dead husband bore a son,
And to the roaring waters gave my child.

Anna. Alas! alas! why will you thus resume
Your grief afresh? I thought that gallant youth

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