To thee I lift my voice; to thee address

The plaint which mortal ear has never heard.
O disregard me not; tho' I am call'd
Another's now, my heart is wholly thine.
Incapable of change, affection lies

Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody grave,
But Randolph comes, whom fate has made my lord,
To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead.

Enter Lord RANDOLPH.

Again these weeds of woe! say, dost thou well
To feed a passion which consumes thy life?
The living claim some duty; vainly thou
Bestow'st thy cares upon the silent dead.
Lady R. Silent, alas! is he for whom I mourn:
Childless, without memorial of his name,
He only now in my remembrance lives.
"This fatal day stirs my time-settled sorrow,
"Troubles afresh the fountain of my heart.

"Lord R. When was it pure of sadness! These black weeds

"Express the wonted colour of thy mind, "For ever dark and dismal. Seven long years "Are pass'd, since we were join'd by sacred ties : Clouds all the while have hung upon thy brow, "Nor broke, nor parted by one gleam of joy." Time, that wears out the trace of deepest anguish, "As the sea smoothes the prints made in the sand," Has pass'd o'er thee in vain.

(6 Lady R. If time to come

"Should prove as ineffectual, yet, my lord, "Thou cans't not blame me.

youth

When our Scottish

"Vy'd with each other for my luckless love, "Oft I besought them, I implor'd them all "Not to assail me with my father's aid, "Nor blend their better destiny with mine. "For melancholy had congeal'd my blood, "And froze affection in my chilly breast. "At last my Sire, rous'd with the base attempt "To force me from him, which thou rend'red'st vain, "To his own daughter bow'd his hoary head,

66 Besought me to commiserate his age,

"And vow'd he should not, could not die in peace, "Unless he saw me wedded, and secur'd

"From violence and outrage. Then, my lord! extreme distress I call'd on thee,

"In my

"Thee I bespake, profess'd my strong desire
"To lead a single, solitary life,

"And begg'd thy Nobleness, not to demand
"Her for a wife whose heart was dead to love.
"How thou persisted'st after this, thou know'st,
"And must confess that I am not unjust,

"Nor more to thee than to myself injurious.
"Lord R. That I confess; yet ever must regret
"The grief I cannot cure." Would thou wert not
Compos'd of grief and tenderness alone,

"But had'st a spark of other passions in thee,

"Pride, anger, vanity, the strong desire

74

But thy known v
Methinks, I fain
Make up this mos
With thine and H

Shrink to my grav
Hor. By heav'n,
moment,

I feel thy pangs of "Is it not pity tha "That all his won "And the world no

Give me thy sorrow And shelter thee fr Lav. Oh, my bro Think not but we w We'll sit all day, an And when we light Some beauty, like C We'll fix our grief, We'll curse the nym And mourn the you

dy R. If time to come

id prove as ineffectual, yet, my lord, a cans't not blame me.

youth

When our Scottish

with each other for my luckless love,
besought them, I implor'd them all
assail me with my father's aid,
lend their better destiny with mine.
elancholy had congeal'd my blood,
roze affection in my chilly breast.

t my Sire, rous'd with the base attempt

ce me from him, which thou rend'red'st vain, own daughter bow'd his hoary head,

ht me to commiserate his age,

row'd he should not, could not die in peace, he saw me wedded, and secur'd violence and outrage. Then, my lord! extreme distress I call'd on thee,

I bespake, profess'd my strong desire d a single, solitary life,

erg'd thy Nobleness, not to demand

a wife whose heart was dead to love.

Thou persisted'st after this, thou know'st, nust confess that I am not unjust,

ore to thee than to myself injurious.

R. That I confess; yet ever must regret ef I cannot cure." Would thou wert not of grief and tenderness alone,

1'st a spark of other passions in thee, anger, vanity, the strong desire

"Of admiration, dear to woman-kind; "These might contend with, and allay thy grief, "As meeting tides and currents smooth our firth. "Lady R. To such a cause the human mind oft

Owes

"Its transient calm, a calm I envy not."

Lord R. Sure thou art not the daughter of Sir Mal-` colm:

my

fathers:

Strong was his rage, eternal his resentment:
For when thy brother fell, he smil'd to hear
That Douglas' son in the same field was slain.
Lady R. Oh! rake not up the ashes of
Implacable resentment was their crime,
And grievous has the expiation been.
Contending with the Douglas, gallant lives
Of either house were lost; my ancestors
Compell'd, at last, to leave their ancient seat
On Tiviot's pleasant banks; and now, of them
No heir is left. Had they not been so stern,
I had not been the last of all my race.

Lord R. Thy grief wrests to its purposes my words. I never ask'd of thee that ardent love

Which in the breasts of fancy's children burns.
Decent affection and complacent kindness
Were all I wish'd for; but I wish'd in vain.
Hence with the less regret my eyes behold
The storm of war that gathers o'er this land:
If I should perish by the Danish sword,
Matilda would not shed one tear the more.

Lady R. Thou dost not think so: woeful as I am,