And my Elizabeth shall smile to see it !-1 SWL. [Exit VIPONT. GOR. Must I then speak of her to you, Sir Alan ? The thought of thee, and of thy matchless strength, Hath conjured phantoms up amongst her dreams. The name of Swinton hath been spell sufficient To chase the rich blood from her lovely cheek, And wouldst thou now know hers? SwI. I know it well, that ancient northern house. GOR. O, thou shalt see its fairest grace and honor In my Elizabeth. And if music touch thee SwI. It did, before disasters had untuned me. Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion, 1 "There wanted but a little of the tender passion to make this youth every way a hero of romance. But the poem has no ladies. How admirably is this defect supplied! In his enthusiastic anticipation of prosperity, he allows a name to Pscape him."-New Edinburgh Review. 2 "Amid the confusion and din of the battle, the reader is 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 VIPOST. Where are thine, De Vipont! VIP. On death-on judgment-on eternity! For time is over with us. Swi. There moves not, then, one pennon to our aid, Of all that flutter yonder! VIP. From the main English host come rushing forward Pennons enow-ay, and their Royal Standard. Thy leader in the battle -I command thee. GOR. No, thou wilt not command me seek my There will not twenty spears be left with us. Gon. 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 honor, If not for warlike rule, for shame at least He must bear down to aid us. SWI. 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, unexpectedly greeted with a dialogue, which breathes indeed the soft sounds of the lute in the clang of trumpets."-Montè ly Review. 3 MS." And am I doom'd to yield the sad consent That thus devotes thy life?" MS.-"O, could there be some lesser sacrifice." Rather than such a victim!—(Trumpets.) Hark, Just kindled, to be quench d so suddenly, they come ! That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. Ere Scotland saw its splendor! GOR. Five thousand horse hung idly on yon hill, GOR. Yet shall my lady's name mix with it Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one stirr'd to aid us! gayly.SwI. It was the Regent's envy.-Out !-alas! Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry, "Gor- Why blame I him!-It was our civil discord, don ! Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred, Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth !" [Exeunt. Loud Alarums. SCENE III Which framed this day of dole for our poor coun try. Had thy brave father held yon leading staff, GOR. Alas! alas! the author of the death-feud Another part of the Field of Battle, adjacent to the He has his reckoning too! for had your sons You want no homeward guide; so threw my reins Нов. And aid young Gordon! [Exeunt. Loud and long Alarums. After which the back Scene rises, and discovers SWINTON on the ground, GORDON Supporting him; both much wounded. And num'rous vassals lived, we had lack'd no aid. SwI. May God assoil the dead, and him who follows! We've drank the poison'd beverage which we brew'd: Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirlwind! But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted; Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no forgive ness, Why should'st thou share our punishment! Did the main battles counter! SwI. Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thou canst, | And tell me how the day goes.—But I guess, Too surely do I guess GOR. All's lost! all's lost!-Of the main Scot tish host, Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward; And some there are who seem to turn their spears Against their countrymen. SwI. Rashness, and cowardice, and secret trea son, Combine to ruin us; and our hot valor, Devoid of discipline, is madmen's strength, More fatal unto friends than enemies! Swi. All are cut down-the reapers have pass'd I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no more GOR. Look there, and bid me fly. !—The oak has The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak, fall'n; And the young ivy bush, which learn'd to climb By its support, must needs partake its fall. VIP. 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 thee, Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse' GOR. Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry. Records shall tell this field had not been lost, Had all men fought like Swinton and like Gordon. [Trumpets. Save thee, De Vipont.-Hark! the Southron trumpets. VIP. Nay, without thee, I stir not. Enter EDWARD, CHANDOS, PERCY, BALIOL, &c. GOR. Ay, they come on-the Tyrant and the Workman and tool, Plantagenet and Baliol.— [He rushes on the English, but is made K. ED. Disarm them-harm them not; though it was they Made havoc on the archers of our vanguard, 2 GOR. Let it suffice, he was a man this morning. CHA. I question'd thee in sport. I do not need Thy information, youth. Who that has fought Through all these Scottish wars, but knows his crest, 1 MS.-"Thou hast small cause to tarry with the corpse." 2 In his narrative of events on the day after the battle of Sheriffmuir, Sir Walter Scott says, " Amongst the gentlemen who fell on this occasion, were several on both sides, alike eminent for birth and character. The body of the gallant young Earl of Strathmore was found on the field watched by a faithful old domestic, who, being asked the name of the person whose body he waited upon with so much care, made this striking reply, 'He was a man yesterday."-Tales of a Grandfather. MS.-"Stood arm'd beside my couch," &c. 4 "The character of Swinton is obviously a favorite with the author, to which circumstance we are probably indebted for the strong relief in which it is given, and the perfect verisimilitude which belongs to it. The stately commanding figure of the veteran warrior, whom, by the illusion of his art, the author has placed in veritable presentment before us:—his ven erable age, superior prowess, and intuitive decision ;—the broils in which he had engaged, the misfortunes he had suffered, and the intrepid fortitude with which he sustained them,-together with that rigorous control of temper, not to be shaken even by unmerited contumely and insult ;-these qualities, grouped and embodied in one and the same character, render it morally impossible that we should not at once sympathize and admire. The inherent force of his character is finely illustrated in the effect produced upon Lord Gordon by the first appearance of the man who had made him fatherless.'"- Edinburgå Magazine, July, 1822. 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,-" Fight on! we were Venetians before we were Christians." Fought like these two brave champions.-Strike Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. Berwick's the drums, Sound trumpets, and pursue the fugitives, "It is generally the case that much expectation ends in disappointment. The free delineation of character in some of the recent Scottish Novels, and the admirable conversations interspersed throughout them, raised hopes that, when a regular drama should be attempted by the person who was considered as their author, the success would be eminent. Its announcement, too, in a solemn and formal manner, did not diminish the interest of the public. The drama, however, which was expected, turns out to be in fact, and not only in name, merely a dramatic sketch, which is entirely deficient in plot, and contains but three characters, Swinton, Gordon, and Edward, in whom any interest is endeavored to be excited. With some exceptions, the dialogue also is flat and coarse; and for all these defects, one or two vigorous descriptions of battle scenes will scarcely make sufficient atonement, except in the eyes of very enthusiastic friends."-Monthly Review. "Halidon Hill, we understand, unlike the earlier poems of its author, has not been received into the ranks of popular favor. Such rumors, of course, have no effect on our critical judgment; but we cannot forbear saying, that, thinking as we do very highly of the spirit and taste with which an interesting tale is here sketched in natural and energetic verse, we are yet far from feeling surprised that the approbation, which it is our pleasing duty to bestow, should not have been anticipated by the ordinary readers of the work before us. It bears, in truth, no great resemblance to the narrative poems from render'd These wars, I trust, will soon find lasting close.1 which Sir Walter Scott derived his first and high reputation, and by which, for the present, his genius must be characterized. It is wholly free from many of their most obvious faults --their carelessness, their irrégularity, and their inequality both of conception and of execution; but it wants likewise no inconsiderable portion of their beanties-it has less pomp and cir cumstance,' less picturesque description, romantic association, and chivalrous glitter, less sentiment and reflection, less perhaps of all their striking charms, with the single exception of that one redeeming and sufficing quality, which forms, in our view, the highest recommendation of all the author's works of imagination, their unaffected and unflagging VIGOR. This perhaps, after all, is only saying that we have before us a dramatic poem, instead of a metrical tale of romance, and that the author has had too much taste and discretion to bedizen his scenes with inappropriate and encumbering ornament. There is, however, a class of readers of poetry, and a pretty large class, too, who have no relish for a work, however naturally and strongly the characters and incidents may be conceived and sustained-however appropriate and manly may be the imagery and diction-from which they cannot select any isolated passages to store in their memories or their commonplace books, to whisper into a lady's ear, or transcribe into a lady's album. With this tea-table and watering-place school of critics, Halidon Hill' must expect no favor; it has no rant -no mysticism-and, worst offence of all, no affectation."British Critic, October, 1822. MacDuff's Cross. INTRODUCTION. THESE few scenes had the honor to be included in a Miscellany, published in the year 1823, by Mrs. Joanna Baillie, and are here reprinted, to unite them with the trifles of the same kind which owe their birth to the author. The singular history of the Cross and Law of Clan MacDuff is given, at length enough to satisfy the keenest antiquary, in The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. It is here only necessary to state, that the Cross was a place of refuge to any person related to MacDuff, within the ninth degree, who, having committed homicide in sudden quarrel, should reach this place, prove his descent from the Thane of Fife, and pay a certain penalty. The shaft of the Cross was destroyed at the Reformation. The huge block of stone which served for its pedestal is still in existence near the town of Newburgh, on a kind of pass which commands the county of Fife to the southward, and to the north, the windings of the magnificent Tay and fertile country of Angus-shire. The Cross bore an inscription, which is transmitted to us in an unintelligible form by Sir Robert Sibbald. ABBOTSFORD, January, 1830. I mean that rough-hewn block of massive stone That shake, or rouse, or thrill the human heart, Shall move with step familiar to his eye, And accents which, once heard, the ear forgets nct, Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine, PRELUDE. NAY, smile not, Lady, when I speak of witchcraft, And say, that still there lurks amongst our glens Some touch of strange enchantment.-Mark that fragment, 1 Vol. iv. p. 266, in the Appendix to Lord Soulis, “Law of Clan MacDuff." MacDuff's Cross. SCENE I The summit of a Rocky Pass near to Newburgh about two miles from the ancient Abbey of Lindores, in Fife. In the centre is Mac Duff's Cross, |