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Gondon. Nay, then, her name is—hark—— swinton. I know it well, that ancient northern house. Gordon. O, thou shall see its fairest grace and honour, In my Elizabeth. And if music touch thee—— sw in To N. It did, before disasters had untuned me. GoR do N. O, her notes Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion, Or melt them to such gentleness of feeling, That grief shall have its sweetness. Who, but she, Knows the wild harpings of our native land? Whether they lull the shepherd on his hill, Or wake the knight to battle; rouse to merriment, Or soothe to sadness; she can touch each mood. Princes and statesmen, chiefs renown'd in arms, And gray-haird bards, contend which shall the first And choicest homage render to the enchantress. sw intox. You speak her talent bravely. Gordon. Though you smile, I do not speak it half. Her gift creative New measures adds to every air she wakes; Varying and gracing it with liquid sweetness, Like the wild modulation of the lark, Now leaving, now returning to the strain : To listen to her, is to seem to wander In some enchanted labyrinth of romance, Whence nothing but the lovely fairy's will, Who wove the spell, can extricate the wanderer: Methinks I hear her now !— sw inton. Bless'd privilege Of youth ! There's scarce three minutes to decide "Twixt death and life, 'twixt triumph and defeat, Yet all his thoughts are in his lady's bower, List'ning her harping!— Enter Wipo NT. Where are thine, De Vipont? vipont. On death—on judgment—on eternity! For time is over with us. Swinton. There moves not then one pennon to our aid, Of all that flutter yonder 1 vipont. From the main English host come rushing forward


Pennons enow—ay, and their royal standard.
But ours stand rooted, as for crows to roost on.
swinton (to himself).

I'll rescue him at least.—Young Lord of Gordon,
Spur to the Regent—show the instant need—

I penetrate thy purpose; but I go not.

Not at my bidding 2 I, thy sire in chivalry—
Thy leader in the battle?—l command thee.

Gondon. No, thou wilt not command me seek my safety,+ For such is thy kind meaning, at the expense Of the last hope which Heaven reserves for Scotland. While I abide, no follower of mine Will turn his rein for life; but were I gone, What power can stay them? and, our band dispersed, What swords shall for an instant stem yon host, And save the latest chance for victory !

The noble youth speaks truth; and were he gone,
There will not twenty spears be left with us.

Goft don.
No, bravely as we have begun the field,
So let us fight it out. The Regent's eyes,
More certain than a thousand messages,
Shall see us stand, the barrier of his host
Against yon bursting storm. If not for honour,
If not for warlike rule, for shame at least,
He must bear down to aid us.

swinto N.

Must it be so : And am I forced to yield the sad consent, Devoting thy young life? O, Gordon, Gordon : I do it as the patriarch doom'd his issue: I at my country's, he at Heaven's command; But I seek vainly some atoning sacrifice, Rather than such a victim'—(Trumpets.)—Hark, they come !

That music sounds not like thy lady's lute.

Go Bloon. Yet shall my lady's name mix with it gaily.— Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry • Gordon' Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth !”

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Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose.
within an hour he stands before my gate;
And Magdalen will need no other token
To bid the Melrose monks say masses for me.

Thou art resolved to cheat the halter, then?

hob hatre LY.
It is my purpose,

Having lived a thief, to die a brave man's death;
And never had I a more glorious chance for 't.

swi Nton.
Here lies the way to it, knave.—Make in, make in,
And aid young Gordon!

[Exeunt. Loud and long alarums. After uhich the back scene rises, and discovers Swinton on the ground, Gordon supporting him; both much wounded.

sw into N. All are cut down—the reapers have pass'd o'er us, And hie to distant harvest.— My toil's over; There lies my sickle. (Dropping his sword.) Hand of mine again Shall never, never wield it! Go Roon. 0 valiant leader, is thy light extinguish'd! That only beacon-flame which promised safety In this day's deadly wrack! sw inton. My lamp hath long been dim. don, Just kindled, to be quench'd so suddenly, Ere Scotland saw its splendour!—— Gondon. Five thousand horse hung idly on yon hill, Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one stirr'd to aid us! swixton. It was the Regent's envy—Out!—alas! Why blame I him —It was our civil discord, Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred, Which framed this day of dole for our poor country.— had thy brave father held yon leading staff, As well his rank and valour might have claim'd it, We had not fall'n unaided.—How, O how ls he to answer it, whose deed prevented Goft do N. Alas! alas! the author of the death-feud, He has his reckoning too! for had your sons And numerous vassals lived, we had lack'd no aid. swin to N. May God assoil the dead, and him who follows!— we've drank the poison'd beverage which we brewd; have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirlwind – but thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart Pourd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted; Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no forgiveness, why shouldst thou share our punishment? gon don. All need forgiveness—(Distant alarum.)-Hark! in yonder shout Did the main battles counter 'swinto N. Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thou canst, And tell me how the day goes.- But I guess, Too surely do I guess——

But thine, young Gor

Of him who slew thy father.

Goh bon.
All's lost! all's lost!—Of the main Scottish host,
Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward;
And some there are who seem to turn their spears
Against their countrymen.

swinto N.
Rashness, and cowardice, and secret treason,
Combine to ruin us, and our hot valour,
Devoid of discipline, is madmen's strength,
More fatal unto friends than enemies!
I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no more on't.—
Let thy hand close them, Gordon—I will think
My fair-haird William renders me that office!

Goft don.
And, Swinton, I will think I do that duty
To my dead father.


Enter DE Wipo NT.


Fly, fly, brave youth !—A handful of thy followers,
The scatter'd gleaning of this desperate day,
Still hover yonder to essay thy rescue.—
O linger not!—I'll be your guide to them.

Look there, and bid me fly!—The oak has fallen;
And the young ivy-bush, which learn'd to climb
By its support, must needs partake its fall.

Swinton? Alas! the best, the bravest, strongest,
And sagest of our Scottish chivalry!
Forgive one moment, if to save the living,
My tongue should wrong the dead.—Gordon, bethink


Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse

Gordon. Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry, He taught my youth to soar above the promptings Of mean and selfish vengeance; gave my youth A name that shall not die even on this death-spot. Records shall tell this field had not been lost, Had all men fought like Swinton and like Gordon. Save thee, De Vipont—Hark! the southron trumpets. | vi Po NT. | Nay, without thee I stir not.

Enter Edward, Ch.ANdos, Pency, BAliol, etc.

Ay, they come on, the tyrant and the traitor,
Workman and tool, Plantagenet and Baliol,
O for a moment's strength in this poor arm,
To do one glorious deed!
[He rushes on the English, but is made pri-
soner with Vipont.
king Edward.

Disarm them—harm them not; though it was they
Made havoc on the archers of our van-guard,
They and that bulky champion. Where is he?

ch A Nixos.

Here lies the giant! Say his name, young knight! Gora do N.

Let it suffice, he was a man this morning. ch ANdos.

I question'd thee in sport. I do not need
Thy information, youth. Who that has fought
Through all these Scottish wars, but knows that crest,

The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak,
And that huge mace still seen where war was wildest.
Ring Edward.
"T is Alan Swinton |
Grim Chamberlain, who, in my tent at Weardale,
Stood by my startled couch with torch and mace,
When the Black Douglas' war-cry waked my camp.
gondon (sinking down).
If thus thou know'st him,
Thou wilt respect his corpse.
ring Edward.
As belted knight and crowned king, I will.
And let mine
Sleep at his side, in token that our death
Ended the feud of Swinton and of Gordon.
King ed WAR d.
It is the Gordon'—Is there aught beside
Edward can do to honour bravery,
Even in an enemy?
Gob don.
Nothing but this:
Let not base Baliol, with his touch or look,
Profane my corpse or Swinton's. I've some breath still,
Enough to say—Scotland–Elizabeth ! [Dies.
Baliol, I would not brook such dying looks
To buy the crown you aim at.
King Edward (to Vipont).
Vipont, thy crossed shield shows ill in warfare
Against a Christian king.
That Christian king is warring upon Scotland.
I was a Scotsman ere I was a Templar, (2)
Sworn to my country ere I knew my order.

King Edw AR d. I will but know thee as a Christian champion, And set thee free unransom'd.

Enter Abbot of WALTHAMsTow.

Heaven grant your majesty
Many such glorious days as this has been
King Edwara D.

It is a day of much advantage;
Glorious it might have been, had all our foes
Fought like these two brave clampions.—Strike the

drums, Sound trumpets, and pursue the fugitives, Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. Berwick's ren

der'd— These wars, I trust, will soon find lasting close.


Note 1. p. 437. A rose bas fallen from thy chaplet. The well-known expression by which Robert Bruce censured the negligence of Randolph, for permitting an English body of cavalry to pass his flank on the day preceding the battle of Bannockburn. Note 2. p. 440. I was a Scotsman ere I was a Templar. A Venetian general observing his soldiers testified some unwillingness to fight against those of the pope whom they regarded as Father of the Church, addressed them in terms of similar encouragement, a Fight on! we were Venetians before we were Christians.»

33állalog and £ptical Jieces.



For them the viewless forms of air obey,
Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair;
They know what spirit brews the stormful day,
And heartless ost, like moody madness, stare,
To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.

The tradition upon which the following stanzas are founded runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bothy (a hut built for the purpose of hunting), and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and

1 coronach is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the aged of the clan.

singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the syren. who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut: the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called, The Glen of the Green Women. Glenfinlas is a tract of forest ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its remantic avenue called the Trosachs. Beniedi, Benmore and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district. and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the castle of Doune, and

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so termed.

* Pibroch—A piece of martial music, adapted to the Highland


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