But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze That drinks away their voices in echoless repose, And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes, And dreamier the gloaming grows. And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky When the falcon's shadow saileth across the open shaw, Are hushed the maiden's voices, as cowering down they lie In the flutter of their sudden awe. For, from the air above, and the grassy ground beneath, And from the mountain-ashes, and the old white A thorn between, power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe, And they sink down together on the green. Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed, Soft o'er their bosoms beating-the only human sound They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd, Like a river in the air, gliding round. Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say, But wild, wild the terror of the speechless threeFor they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away, By whom they dare not look to see. They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold, And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws, They feel her sliding arms from their trancèd arms unfold, But they dare not look to see the cause: For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze; And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes, Or their limbs from the cold ground raise. Till out of Night the Earth has rolled her dewy side, With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below; When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide, The maidens' trance dissolveth so. Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may, vain; They pined away and died within the year and dayAnd ne'er was Anna Grace seen again. (By permission of the Author.) A SCENE FROM DOUGLAS. THE REV. JOHN HOME, [John Home was born in Roxburghshire in 1724. He was educated for the Church, but in the rebellion of 1745, entered the Royal army, and was taken prisoner at the Battle of Falkirk. He contrived to escape, and was ordained minister of Athelstaneford, in East Lothian, 1750. His tragedy of "Douglas" was performed with great success in Edinburgh; but the fact of a clergyman writing a play at all so offended the presbytery, that he was com pelled to resign his living. He wrote four other plays, none of which attracted, and "A History of the Rebellion of 1745-6," which was also considered a failure. He died, aged 85, 1808.] CHARACTERS. LORD RANDOLPH. GLENALVON. NORVAL. Glen. His port I love: he's in a proper mood [Aside, To chide the thunder, if at him it roared. Has Norval seen the troops? Norv. The setting sun With yellow radiance lightened all the vale, Glen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host, In sounds more lofty, talks of glorious war. Norv. If I should e'er acquire a leader's name Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration Of praise pertaining to the great in arms. Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir, your martial deeds Have ranked you with the great. But mark me, Norval; Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth Above his veterans of famous service. Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you. Norv. Sir, I have been accustomed all my days Glen. I did not mean To gall your pride, which now I see is great. Glen. Suppress it as you wish to prosper; If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men, Norv. A shepherd's scorn! Glen. Yes, if you presume To bend on soldiers those disdainful eyes What will become of you? Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me? Norv. Didst thou not hear? Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe Had not been questioned thus; but such as thee— Glen. Norval. Norv. So I am And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes? Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar-boy; At best no more, even if he speak the truth. Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth? I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, Norv. Villain, no more! Draw and defend thy life. I did design To have defied thee in another cause; But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee. Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs. Enter LORD RANDOLPH. Lord Rand. Hold! I command you both! The man that stirs Makes me his foe. Norv. Another voice than thine, That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous condescending! Mark the humility of shepherd Norval! Taunting each other, but unfold to me The cause of quarrel; then I judge betwixt you. I owe a subject's homage; but even him Lord Rand. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice: The ancient foe of Caledonia's land Now waves his banner o'er her frighted fields; The private quarrel. Glen. I agree to this. Norv. And I. Glen. Norval, Let not our variance mar the social hour, Smooth thou thy brow; Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame. Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment; When we contend again, our strife is mortal. |