came

Out of the deed. My trust, Saviour! is in thy name!"

LXXIV.

His fate was pitied. Him in iron case (Reader, forgive the intolerable thought) They hung not:-no one on his form or face

By lawless curiosity or chance,

When into storm the evening sky is wrought, Upon his swinging corse an eye can glance, And drop, as he once dropped, in miserable trance.

1793-4.

February 28, 1842.

ACT I.

SCENE-Road in a Wood.

WALLACE and LACY.

Lacy. The troop will be impatient; let us hie

Back to our post, and strip the Scottish Foray Of their rich Spoil, ere they recross the Border.

-Pity that our young Chief will have no part

In this good service,
Wal.
Rather let us grieve
That, in the undertaking which has caused
His absence, he hath sought, whate'er his
aim,
Companionship with One of crooked ways,
From whose perverted soul can come no
good

To our confiding, open-hearted, Leader.

For that another in his Child's affection
Should hold a place, as if 'twere robbery,
He seemed to quarrel with the very
thought.

Besides, I know not what strange prejudice
Is rooted in his mind; this Band of ours,
Which you've collected for the noblest
ends,

Along the confines of the Esk and Tweed To guard the Innocent-he calls us "Outlaws; "

And, for yourself, in plain terms he asserts
This garb was taken up that indolence
Might want no cover, and rapacity
Be better fed.
Mar.

Ne'er may I own the heart That cannot feel for one helpless as he is. Osw. Thou know'st me for a Man not easily moved,

Yet was I grievously provoked to think
Of what I witnessed.

Her. Am I then so soon Forgotten? have my warnings passed so quickly

Out of thy mind? My dear, my only, Child.

Thou wouldst be leaning on a broken reedThis Marmaduke

Idon. O could you hear his voice: Alas! you do not know him. He is one (I wot not what ill tongue has wronged him with you)

All gentleness and love. His face bespeaks

A deep and simple meekness: and that
Soul,

Which with the motion of a virtuous act
Flashes a look of terror upon guilt,
Is, after conflict, quiet as the ocean,
By a miraculous finger, stilled at once.
Her. Unhappy woman!
Iden.

Nay, It was my duty Thus much to speak, but think not I forget

Dear Father! how could I forget and liveYou and the story of that doleful night When, Antioch blazing to her topmost towers,

You rushed into the murderous flames, returned

Blind as the grave, but, as you oft have

told me,

Clasping your infant Daughter to your heart.

Her. Thy Mother too!-scarce had gained the door,

I caught her voice; she threw her arms up

on me,

I felt thy infant brother in her arms;
She saw my blasted face-a tide of soldiers
That instant rushed between us, and I
heard

Her last death-shriek, distinct among a thousand.

Idon. Nay, Father, stop not; let me hear it all.

Her. Dear Daughter! precious relic of that timeFor my old age,

it doth remain with thee To make it what thou wilt. Thou hast been told,

That when on our return from Palestine,
found how my domains had been usurped,
I took thee in my arms, and we began
Our wanderings together. Providence
At length conducted us to Rossland,-
there,

Our melancholy story moved a Stranger
To take thee to her home-and for myself,
Soon after, the good Abbot of St. Cuth-
bert's

Supplied my helplessness with food and rai ment,

And, as thou know'st, gave me that humble Cot

Where now we dwell.-For, many years I bore

Thy absence, till old age and fresh infirmities

Exacted thy return, and our reunion.

I did not think that, during that long ab

sence,

My Child, forgetful of the name of Herbert,
Had given her love to a wild Freebooter,
Who here, upon the borders of the Tweed,
Doth prey alike on two distracted Coun-
tries,
Traitor to both.

Idon.

1

Oh, could you hear his voice! I will not call on Heaven to vouch for me, But let this kiss speak what is in my heart. Enter a Peasant.'

Pea. Good morrow, Strangers! If you want a Guide,

Let me have leave to serve you!
Idon
My Companion
Hath need of rest; the sight of Hut or
Hostel
Would be most welcome.

Pca.
Yon white hawthorn gained,
You will look down into a dell, and there
Will see an ash from which a sign-board
hangs;

The house is hidden by the shade. Old Man,

You seem worn out with, travel-shall I support you?

Her. I thank you: but, a resting-place