That glances in the tower. Auch. Let us withdraw-for should he spy us sudHe may suspect us, and alarm the family. [denly, Phil. Fear not, MacLellan has his trust and confidence, Bought with a few sweet words and welcomes home. And we are on the sands.-I have broke your slumbers Mac. Quen. The God of Slumber comes not at command. Last night the blood danced merry through my veins. Instead of finding this our land of Carrick The dreary waste my fears had apprehended, I saw thy wife, MacLellan, and thy daughter, And had a brother's welcome;-saw thee, too. Renew'd my early friendship with you both, And felt once more that I had friends and country. So keen the joy that tingled through my system, Join'd with the searching powers of yonder wine, That I am glad to leave my feverish lair, Although my hostess smooth'd my couch herself, To cool my brow upon this moonlight beach, Gaze on the moonlight dancing on the waves. Such scenes are wont to sooth me into melancholy; But such the hurry of my spirits now, That every thing I look on makes me laugh. Mac. I've seen but few so gamesome, Master Quentin, Being roused from sleep so suddenly as you were. Quen. Why, there's the jest on't. Your old castle's haunted. In vain the host-in vain the lovely hostess, Mac. And never see me smile. Then some such trifle Of that too? Quen. I can guess; You have memory Like the memory of a dream, Delusion far too exquisite to last. Mac. You guess not then for what I call It was to meet a friend you forth. Quen. What friend? Thyself excepted, I know not in wide Scotland man or woman Mac. Quen. There flies my fit of mirth. You have a grave And alter'd man before you. Mac. Compose yourself, there is no cause for fear,He will and must speak with you. Quen. Spare me the meeting, Niel. I cannot see him. Say, I'm just landed on my native earth; Say, that I will not cumber it a day; Say, that my wretched thread of poor existence Shall be drawn out in solitude and exile, Where never memory of so mean a thing Again shall cross his path-but do not ask me To see or speak again with that dark man! Mac. Your fears are now as foolish as your mirth— What should the powerful Knight of Auchindrane In common have with such a man as thou? Quen. No matter what-Enough, I will not see him. Mac. He is thy master, and he claims obedience. Quen. My master? Ay, my task-master-Ever since I could write, man, his hand hath been upon me; No step I've made but cumber'd with his chain, And I am weary on't-I will not see him. Mac. You must and shall—there is no remedy. Quen. Take heed that you compel me not to find one, I've seen the wars since we had strife together; To put my late experience to the test Were something dangerous-Ha, I am betray'd! [While the latter part of this dialogue is passing, AUCHINDRANE and PHILIP enter on the Stage from behind, and suddenly present themselves. Auch. What says the runagate? Phil. A modest favour, friend, is this you ask! Quen. (laying aside all appearance of resistance.) | Are we to pace the beach like watermen, Nothing, you are my fate; And in a shape more fearfully resistless, Auch. And so you scruple, slave, at my command, Auch. We shall see; Thou wert my vassal, born upon my land, Quen. Alas! the wealthy and the powerful know not The scene is strange, the food is loathly to him ; Quen. Your words are deadly, and your power re- I'm in your hands-but, surely, less than life Waiting your worship's pleasure to take boat? Auch. (speaks aside to his Son.) What signal Phil. When the light is quench'd, Your fears for Quentin Blane are at an end.— (To Quen.) Come, comrade, come, we must begin our voyage. Quen. But when, O when to end it! [He goes off reluctantly with PHILIP and MAC- Auch. Who is't would deign to think upon thy life? Whene'er he stood a living man before me; I but require of thee to speed to Ireland, Where thou mayst sojourn for some little space, Quen. Noble my lord, I am too weak to combat with your pleasure: Of that dear land which is our common mother, Let me not part in darkness from my country! Then my antipathy awaked within me, Till I could scarce forbear him. -How they linger! What has the poor wretch done to wake my hatred— As well demand what evil has the hare And that must plead my cause.-The vision's gone! Headland, and bay, shall gleam with new-born light. Now seen, now lost, is all that marks her course; And I'll take boat as gaily as the bird That soars to meet the morning. Grant me but this-to show no darker thoughts Are on your heart than those your speech expresses! That soon shall vanish too-then all is over!- The opposing wave, and bears the tiny sparkle (A faint cry heard as from seaward.) And voice of mine will have small force to keep her Auch. Folly and Papistry-Perhaps the ocean Or can you think the dreadful element, Now, how to meet Dunbar - Heaven guard my I'd have thee lock thy little child in safety, senses! My lord, on this wild beach at such an hour? Auch. It is MacLellan's wife, in search of him, Or of the murder'd man.-Go to, Dame Marion, That terrified my child and me-Groans, screams, my And get to Auchindrane before the sun rise; As if a king were coming there to feast him. Mar. But he has a friend, Auch. Fear not; his friend shall be made welcome He has indeed no option-but he comes not. [MARION goes to her Tower, and after entering it is seen to come out, lock the door, and leave the Stage, as if to execute AUCHINDRANE'S commission. He, apparently going off in a different direction, has watched her from the side of the Stage, and on her departure speaks. Auch. Fare thee well, fond woman, Most dangerous of spies-thou prying, prating, What other evidence have we cut short, And by what fated means, this dreary morning!— [Exit. For bidding me go forth with yonder traitor. Boys of the belt, who aid their master's pleasures, Ser. Go up, then, to the tower. You've younger limbs than mine-there shall you find Lounging and snoring, like a lazy cur [him Before a stable door; it is his practice. [The OFFICER goes up to the Tower, and after knocking without receiving an answer, turns the key which MARION had left in the lock, and enters; ISABEL, dressed as if for her dance, runs out and descends to the Stage; the OFFICER follows. Offi. There's no one in the house, this little maid Excepted- Is. It was the water-spirit, sure, which promised [more; SCENE II. [Exeunt separately. Scene changes to a remote and rocky part of the sea-beach. Auch. The devil's brought his legions to this beach, I'm right glad to see them, Offi. (detaining her.) You shall, when you have told For I've contended with a lifeless foe, to me distinctly [night, Is. After you went last night, my father Grew moody, and refused to doff his clothes, Or go to bed, as sometimes he will do When there is aught to chafe him. Until past midHe wander'd to and fro, then call'd the stranger, The gay young man, that sung such merry songs, Yet ever look'd most sadly whilst he sung them, And forth they went together. Offi. And you've seen Or heard nought of them since? Is. Seen surely nothing, and I cannot think I heard my mother praying, for the corpse-lights And I have lost the battle. I would give A thousand crowns to hear a mortal steel Ring on a mortal harness. [turn Auch. How now!-Art mad, or hast thou done the The turn we came for, and must live or die by? Phil. 'Tis done, if man can do it; but I doubt If this unhappy wretch have Heaven's permission To die by mortal hands. Auch. Where is he?—where's MacLellan ? Phil. In the deepBoth in the deep, and what's immortal of them Gone to the judgment-seat, where we must meet them. Auch. MacLellan dead, and Quentin too?-So be it To all that menace ill to Auchindrane, Or have the power to injure him!-Thy words Are full of comfort, but thine eye and look Have in this pallid gloom a ghastliness, Which contradicts the tidings of thy tongue. '— Phil. Hear me, old man-There is a heaven above us, As you have heard old Knox and Wishart preach, Though little to your boot. The dreaded witness Is slain, and silent. But his misused body Comes right ashore, as if to cry for vengeance; It rides the waters like a living thing, Erect, as if he trode the waves which bear him. Auch. Thou speakest frenzy, when sense is most required. 2 Phil. Hear me yet more!-I say I did the deed [This man's brow, like to a title leaf, 24 King Henry IV. ] [ ---Walks the waters like a thing of life."] BYRON-The Corsair. With all the coolness of a practised hunter Auch. It was enchantment!-Did you strike at it? Auch. 'Twas Hell's own work!- MacLellan then grew restive Would join the chase-but he sunk down at once. Auch. He had enough of mortal sin about him, To sink an argosy. Ser. What, are you men ? Fear ye to look on what you must be one day? I, who have seen a thousand dead and dying Phil. But now resolve you what defence to make, We look upon the corpse when life has left it. If Quentin's body shall be recognised; For 'tis ashore already; and he bears Marks of my handiwork; so does MacLellan. Auch. The concourse thickens still-Away, away! We must avoid the multitude. SCENE III. [They rush out. Scene changes to another part of the Beach. Children are seen dancing, and Villagers looking on. ISABEL seems to take the management of the Dance. Village woman. How well she queens it, the brave little maiden ! [cradle, 1st Villager. Ay, they all queen it from their very [This passage was probably suggested by a striking one in Southey's Life of Nelson, touching the corpse of the Neapolitan Prince Caraccioli, executed on board the Foudroyant, then the great British Admiral's flag-ship, in the bay of Naples in 1799. The circumstances of Caraccioli's trial and death form, it is almost needless to observe, the most unpleasant chapter in Lord Nelson's history : "The body," says Southey, "was carried out to a considerable distance and sunk in the bay, with three double-headed shot, weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, tied to its legs. Between two or three weeks afterwards, when the King (of Naples) was on board the Foudroyant, a Neapolitan fisherman came to the ship, and solemnly declared, that Caraccioli had risen from the bottom [He goes to the back scene, and seems attempting to turn the body, which has come ashore with its face downwards. Will none of you come aid to turn the body? [man. Have been the prologue to an act of darkness; of the sea, and was coming as fast as he could to Naples, swimming half out of the water. Such an account was listened to like a tale of idle credulity. The day being fair, Nelson, to please the King, stood out to sea; but the ship had not proceeded far before a body was distinctly seen, upright in the water, and approaching them. It was recognised to be, indeed, the corpse of Caraccioli, which had risen and floated, while the great weights attached to the legs kept the body in a position like that of a living man. A fact so extraordinary astonished the King, and perhaps excited some feelings of superstitious fear, akin to regret. He gave permission for the body to be taken on shore, and receive Christian burial."—Life of Nelson, chap. vi.] |