[]
THE FATAL DISCOVERY. A TRAGEDY. AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, IN DRURY-LANE.
—Moriens animam abſtulit hoſti,
Tum ſuper exanimem ſeſe projecit amicam,
Conſoſſus, placidaque ibi demum morte quievit.
Fortunati ambo!—Si quid mea carmina poſſunt
Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet aevo.
VIRG.
LONDON: [...]RINTED FOR T. BECKET AND P. A. DE HONDT IN THE STRAND. M DCC LXIX.
[Price One Shilling and Six Pence]
PROLOGUE.
[]WHEN firſt the children of the Muſe began
To try their magic on the mind of man,
Aſtoniſh'd mortals ſaw, with wond'ring eyes,
The fair creation of the bard ariſe.
Hence is deriv'd the Poet's lofty name,
For Poet and Creator mean the ſame;
He, from his fancy, where the ſeeds of things
As in a chaos lie, to order brings
Worlds of his own and builds the lofty rhyme
Whoſe poliſh'd ſtrength defies the rage of time.
Such were the bards, whom we too call divine,
Homer the father of the godlike line,
The Mantuan bard, whom all mankind admire
For ſweet expreſſion and for veſtal fire.
Shakeſpear and Milton, both in England born,
Whoſe glorious names the Queen of Iſles adorn,
Who, proudly ſitting on her azure throne,
In arts and empire will no equal own.
Thus far our Author as a Prologue writ,
And would have been, I think, a-writing yet,
Enamour'd of his theme.—But I drew near,
And whiſper'd that of him you wiſh'd to hear.
'Twas difficult he ſaid—in ſuch a caſe
He could have wiſh'd another in his place;
To tell, with what alternate hopes and fears,
An anxious Author on the Stage appears;
For, like the nightingale, he hath addreſt
Himſelf to ſing—a thorn at his fond breaſt.
If, like the native warbler of the grove,
His plaintive notes are full of tender love;
Your hand may pull the thorn that caus'd his pain
And give him ſpirit for a nobler ſtrain.
[...]
[2]
KATHUL.
My faithful Euran!
Thoſe daſtards left their maſter in the ſtorm
That roſe at eve: my ſon hath paſs'd the night
Alone upon the hill beyond the lake.
EURAN.
Of him no fear; both hill and dale he knows,
Cavern and cave and every ſhelter'd ſpot!
Of the wide foreſt.
KATHUL.
Not one moment's peace
Have I enjoy'd, ſince to the Pictiſh king
I gave my daughter's hand. Unhappy ſhe,
In ſecret anguiſh pines her life away!
My ſon, afflicted, ſhuns his father's ſight,
And, in the woods and foreſts, waſtes his days,
A lonely hunter. To complete my woes,
Our new ally keeps not his promis'd time;
Is this his Pictiſh faith?
EURAN.
Doubt not, O king!
Doubt not the faith of Durſtan, nor the love
He bears his queen.—Soon ſhall you ſee his ſails
Riſe on the diſtant wave, white as the fowls
That chaſe the flying ſhoals.—When he arrives,
Let not indulgence grant the leaſt delay,
But waft Rivine to the Pictiſh ſhore.
When ſhe has left the place, where every tree
And rock and haunted ſtream recal the memory
[3]Of what ſhe ſhould forget, her grief will fly
Like miſt before the wind.
KATHUL.
Rather the miſt
Will thicken into darkneſs. Euran, my heart
Miſgives and chides itſelf. Sprung as I am
From ancient Albion, in her evil days
I left her ſhatter'd ſide. By paſſion ſway'd
And rage at perjur'd Ronan, I forſook
The ſtock of which I came, and join'd myſelf
By ſtrict alliance to her mortal foe;
To him, whoſe arm had hew'd her branches down.
From deeds, like this, in wrong of nature done,
Obſervers date commencement of decay,
And ſtrange diſafter to the guilty line.
EURAN.
Diſaſter ſeize on him who broke his faith,
And threw away the pearl of womankind!
O! could my wiſh recall that ſignal hour
When Elig's hall blaz'd with a thouſand ſhields
Of kings and heroes. Emulous to pleaſe
The all-admired daughter of the Iſles!
Rivine, partial to her brother's friend,
Preferr'd the prince of Morven; tho' by far,
In wealth and power, inferior to the Pict,
And other royal ſuitors for her love.
Yet he, diſtinguiſh'd, favour'd, honour'd thus,
Ungrateful man! forſook the matchleſs maid,
Without complaint, pretence, abandon'd her,
[4]To wed the queen of Erin. *—In my mind
Moſt happily for thee, and for thy houſe;
Elſe thou, the friend of vanquiſh'd Albion, ſtill
Hadſt ſhar'd the fortunes of a ruin'd people.—
KATHUL.
Not ruin'd yet—
EURAN.
Expell'd their native land,
Their king and more than half his princes ſlain.
KATHUL.
Another king ſucceeds: Congallus claims
His right of blood.—Here in the bay laſt night
A rover of the main his veſſel moor'd;
He told me he had ſeen on Norway's coaſt
A fleet immenſe: far off, it ſeem'd a wood,
Stretching from cape to cape; as if the firs
From their eternal mountains had come down,
To grow amidſt the waves.
EURAN.
Was this huge fleet
Prepar'd againſt the Pict?
KATHUL.
It was; and charg'd
With mighty armies: both the kings were there
Of † Lochlin and of Norway—On the deck
Of one, the headmoſt ſhip, Congallus ſtood,
Wooing the winds to fill his hoiſted ſails:
With him, a multitude of warriors, born
In various climes, of the Albanian race;
Who, though they never ſaw their father's land,
[5]Call it their country too. The foremoſt they,
The fierceſt in her cauſe.
EURAN.
'Tis Ronan's cauſe!
For him the ſons of Erin lift the ſpear;
For him the kings of Scandinavia arm.
But let them come, the pirates of the North!—
Strong is the Pict, and mighty his allies!
Who can reſiſt the Romans?
KATHUL.
By their force,
And not his own, tho' he is great in arms,
The Pict o'er Albion's warlike ſons prevail'd;
But now the Roman eagle ſouthward flies;
The dark-ey'd chief his legions has withdrawn,
To quell the Britons; nor can Durſtan hope
Their preſent aid.—
EURAN.
—I truſt he ſhall not need!
Behold Rivine comes.—
[Looking towards the wood.
KATHUL.
—Entranc'd in thought—
See how ſhe toſſes to the ſkies her arms,
Now wrings her folded hands! Thus is ſhe wont
To wander thro' the woods, ever alone,
And ever mourning. Like a wounded deer,
Apart ſhe ſtalks and ſeeks the darkeſt ſhade
Of hanging rocks, and melancholy boughs,
To hide and nouriſh her determin'd ſorrow.—
[6]Let us avoid her. O! unhappy child!
I fear thy father's counſel has undone thee!
[Exeunt.
Enter RIVINE.
RIVINE.
How ſoon is evil done! The ſycamores,
The pines, whoſe bulk ſucceſſive ages rear'd,
The tempeſt of one night hath overthrown!
Thou too art fallen, thou fair and ſtately oak,
Beneath whoſe pleaſant ſhade Rivine ſate,
When firſt ſhe liſten'd to falſe Ronan's love.
O! thou expreſſive emblem of my ſtate!
Like thee, the chief in beauty and in place,
I flouriſh'd once; now rooted up like thee,
I wither on the field. Daily I die!
Delighted, I perceive my ſwift decay.
There will I make my grave; under that rock,
In peace ſhall reſt the daughter of the Iſles,
Who, 'till ſhe's laid in earth, no peace can know,
No peace for me! O! how I envy you,
Ye lovelorn maids! who, ſlighted and forſaken,
Yet entertain no motion of revenge,
But mildly bear your wrongs, decline and die,
The blameleſs victims of inconſtant man!
Enter CONNAN.
Ha! does my brother come to ſee Rivine!
What has procur'd me this unwonted favour?
CONNAN.
Perhaps, in prudence and in love to thee,
I ſhould conceal my tidings; but my heart
[7]Cannot contain them. Tho' it make thee wretched,
Yet I muſt tell thee, that my friend is wrong'd.
Ronan is innocent; he loves thee ſtill;
He never ceas'd to love thee!
RIVINE.
I believe it.
He never ceas'd to love, who never lov'd.
But why pretend, why counterfeit again?
Has Erin's queen found out how falſe he is,
And thrown the ſpecious traitor from her arms?
And does he think once more to find Rivine
Free, credulous and fit to be deceiv'd?
But me he thinks not of; he courts thy aid;
He needs the valour of his partial friend.
A ſtranger ſtill to what his crimes have done,
He knows not who I am; he does not know,
That Connan's valour guards the Pictiſh throne.
CONNAN.
This flaſh of indignation, O! my ſiſter!
Gleams for a moment o'er thy troubled mind;
But darkeſt woe ſhall ſhortly cloſe around thee.
I have a dreadful ſtory for thine ear.—
RIVINE.
A dreadful ſtory! how can he be wrong'd,
Who publicly renounc'd his plighted faith,
Plighted a thouſand times?
CONNAN.
He never did:
He ſent no meſſage to renounce thy love.
RIVINE.
[8]What then was Valma?
CONNAN.
An unhappy wretch,
The ſlave of gold; gain'd by the worſt of men,
To work thine overthrow.
RIVINE.
Leave me to judge
Of my condition. Tell me what thou know'ſt.
CONNAN.
I need not tell Rivine why I ſhunn'd her,
Since Durſtan was her huſband; I have fled
The human race, diſtracted in my mind,
With grief and ſhame and anger: oft my ſoul
Reſolv'd revenge on Ronan. By-and-by
Something would whiſper that we were deceiv'd;
That noble Ronan never could be baſe.
Perplex'd with thoughts like theſe, I rang'd the woods,
And heeded not the game my dogs purſu'd.
The ſtorm of yeſterday ſurpriz'd me, ſtray'd
Beyond my uſual bounds; nor could I find,
Amidſt the darkneſs of the driving blaſt,
A path to guide aright my doubtful ſteps.—
As night came on, more furious grew the ſtorm.
The thunder bellow'd and the lightning glanc'd
Along the dreary heath: before, behind
And on each ſide, the ſudden torrents roar'd.
I wander'd on and frequently I thought,
The world without was like my troubled mind.
At laſt, far in the eaſt, whence the wind blew,
[9] [...] heard the howling of a ſhepherd's dog;
With lighter ſteps, I turn'd me to the ſound
And heard it oft repeated. As I hop'd,
It led me to a hut—I entered there;
And, by the embers of a fire of turf,
I ſaw a ghaſtly man ſtretch'd on a bed
Of ſticks and heath compos'd. Come near, he ſaid,
And liſten to the dying voice of Valma.—
RIVINE.
Of Valma!—
CONNAN.
Valma, whom I had not ſeen
Since he, for Erin, with his maſter ſail'd:
I found he did miſtake me for his hoſt,
And ſilent liſten'd with a beating heart.
Your charitable cares, he ſaid, are vain;
My hour draws nigh.—Good ſhepherd, you have lodg'd'
Under your blameleſs roof, the baſeſt wretch
That ever liv'd on earth. My name is Valma,
The favour'd ſervant of the prince of Morven.
My maſter ſent me, from green Erin's ſhore,
With tokens and a meſſage to his love,
The fair Rivine: but a tempeſt drove
My luckleſs veſſel on the Pictiſh coaſt.
Durſtan, the king, by promiſes and threats,
Compell'd me to deceive the conſtant maid,
And falſely to report, that my brave lord
Renounc'd her love.—Rivine, thou grow'ſt pale!
Lean on my arm.—.
RIVINE.
[10]No: I have ſtrength enough!
Lead me, my brother! lead me to the place
Where Valma is.
CONNAN.
At midnight he expir'd—
RIVINE.
Would he had liv'd one other day for me!
O! I had much to aſk him: did not Ronan,
With eyes of love behold the beauteous queen?
So I have often heard and that was told
Long before Valma came.—
CONNAN.
Ay, ſo it was
Contriv'd and told, on purpoſe to prepare
Thy mind, thus tainted, to receive the tale.
But know, for I explor'd the heart of Valma,
The noble Ronan, in the hall of kings,
Who ſought alliance with ſo brave a chief,
Fondly diſplay'd—his paſſion for Rivine.
With gems of thine he deck'd his conq'ring arms,
And rais'd the ſong of beauty to thy praiſe!
Such oſtentation wither'd the deſire
And kill'd the hope of every bluſhing maid.
The hero comes, unalter'd in his love,
And finds thee—
RIVINE.
Connan! me he ſhall not find!
We ne'er ſhall meet again—when does he come?
CONNAN.
[11]Be-like to-morrow, or perhaps to day.
This is the appointed time, the ſeaſon meet
For enterprize of arms. Now the mild moon
Of autumn riſes when the ſun deſcends,
And at the ſelf-ſame hour, for many a night,
Lifts her fair head, to bleſs with light the world.
I mean to ſhare the perils of my friend;
Nor ſhall Rivine as an hoſtage go
Againſt her brother's and her Ronan's ſword.
RIVINE.
Would that the ſwords of both were in my b eaſt!
Ye winds, that I have wiſh'd ſhould ſleep for ever;
Ye ſouthern winds! from Etha's mountains blow,
And waft to Elig's bay the Pictiſh fleet!
I go to Durſtan's kingdom—
CONNAN.
Go, and periſh!
Haſt thou no rage, no indignation in thee?
No generous drop in thy exhauſted veins?
Art thou ſo tame, ſo vile, ſo baſe of ſoul,
To bear the ſight of Durſtan? Crimes like his
Diſſolve all ties. Beſides his wrongs to thee,
He murder'd Valma on the lonely heath;
Murder'd the traitor to conceal the treaſon.
RIVINE.
Yes, I am baſe and vile; my ſoul ſubmits
To each opprobrious name from Ronan's friend;
But I am not ſo tame: my heart is full
Of rage, of anger and of mortal hatred!—
CONNAN.
[12]To whom?
RIVINE.
To Durſtan's wife.
CONNAN.
Renounce the name,
And thou may'ſt ſtill—Thy brother will defend,
And ſave thee from his power.
RIVINE.
O! ſave not me
From any miſery! But tell me rather,
How I may be more wretched than I am:
If thou can'ſt tell. Farewel my native land!
Ye woods and ſtreams of Elig's vale, farewel!
Rivine leaves you with a broken heart,
To waſte her days in horror and deſpair,
With the deteſted author of her woes.
But welcome woe to me! Fool that I was,
A wretch unworthy of a hero's love,
Who readily believ'd a lying tale,
Againſt the honour of the firſt of men:
Then in the curſed hour of jealous rage,
Gave up myſelf to miſery and Durſtan.
Enter MESSENGER.
MESSENGER.
The fleet, ſo long expected, comes at laſt.
One lofty veſſel far outſails the reſt
And bears the colours of the Pictiſh king.
CONNAN.
'Tis well.
[Exit Meſſ.]
Bethink thee, ſiſter!
RIVINE.
[13]'Tis too late!—
I ſhould have thought before I wedded Durſtan.
Now would'ſt thou have me ſtay till Ronan comes?
'Tis not his anger, nor his hate I fear;
No, nor his ſcorn. My juſt deſert is ſcorn;
But hide me, rocks and mountains, from his pity!
As the fond parent to the child relents,
When ſore affliction lays th' offender low;
So would his generous ſoul to pity melt,
Should he behold the ruins of Rivine!
Come, Pictiſh Durſtan! bear me from his ſight,
To die unpitied in thy hated land!—
[Exit.
CONNAN.
She's deſperate—and what will Ronan be,
When, high in hope, he hears ſhe's loſt for ever?
His words, his geſtures I remember well,
When laſt we parted at the veſſel's ſide:
From his embrace I turn'd me to the ſhore:
His arm he ſtretch'd, and caught my hand again;
He preſs'd it to his breaſt, he wrung it hard;
And, with a look of infinite affection,
Connan! he ſaid, my king commands; I go:
To thee, my friend, I leave my love in charge!
Fondly I promis'd to defend the maid.
What ſhall I anſwer when he claims his bride?—
She muſt not go with Durſtan. O! my ſire!
Thy wrath I fear, and not the Pictiſh ſword!
But Ronan has my faith. Where is my page,
So ſwift of foot? Thy maſter calls thee, Calmar.
[14] Enter CALMAR.
CALMAR.
What would my lord?
CONNAN.
Now, Calmar, win my favour;
I have a meſſage for the eagle's wing,
Or the ſwift pinions of the wind, to bear;
Exert thy utmoſt ſpeed!
CALMAR.
Speak, and I fly,
Swift as the arrow from my maſter's bow.—
CONNAN.
Here lies thy way: come on, and mark my words.
[Exeunt.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
[15]SCENE, the Palace of Kathul
EURAN alone.
EURAN.
I HAVE been ſleeping on a hollow bank,
Above a flood unfathom'd.—O! thoſe ſlaves!
Who gave aſſurance of the death of Valma,
And boaſted each that his good ſword diſpatch'd him.
The blame as yet on Durſtan only falls.
Would I had never join'd my hand to his,
Nor touch'd the proffer'd gold!—Oft have I heard,
And now at laſt believe, 'tis ſafer far
To deal deceitfully with craſty men,
Than practiſe art on unexperienc'd youth,
Whoſe paſſions ſally out beyond conjecture,
And, by extravagance, confound the wiſe.
The paſſions of this prince are like the wind:
The Pictiſh name is odious to the tribes,
Whoſe hearts ſtill ſway to Albion's kindred race.
If Connan calls to arms, enrag'd they riſe,
Like billows when the furious tempeſt blows.—
The kings have met: how ſhall I warn the Pict
Without alarming Kathul?—Here they come.
[16] Enter KATHUL, DURSTAN and ſeveral Pictiſh Chiefs.
DURSTAN.
Excuſe my long, involuntary abſence!
Uncertain is his hour whoſe work is war,
Who takes his way acroſs the changeful main.
Euran, thou faithful ſervant of thy lord,
I greet thee well.
EURAN.
With joyful heart, O king!
I ſee thee in the wiſh'd for hour return.
DURSTAN.
Soon muſt I quit again this friendly ſhore;
For I am doom'd to paſs my life in arms.—
The wandering heir of Albion's vanquiſh'd line,
Congallus, threatens to invade my kingdoms.
This on the ſeas I learn'd.
KATHUL.
I can confirm
The truth of that report.—
DURSTAN.
King of the Iſles!
I'll give thoſe bold invaders warlike welcome!
At eve, with favouring tide, I ſail again.
The radiant moon, with all her ſplendor, ſhines
To light my veſſel thro' the watery way.
Impart my purpoſe to thy beauteous daughter,
And tell the urgent cauſe.
KATHUL.
[17]—Urgent, indeed;
Unwilling as we are ſo ſoon to loſe thee;
Tidings like theſe admit of no delay.
But let us ſpread the feaſt and raiſe the ſong,
Whilſt yet thy ſteps are here. Sweet to the ear
Is melody and pleaſant to the ſoul
The tale of battles fought and woes endur'd,
By chiefs, who long have ceas'd from war and woe.
We, in our turn, O King! ſhall paſs away,
And in the ſong be found.—
EURAN.
The Queen draws near.
Enter RIVINE. [Kathul advances towards her.
EURAN. [To Durſtan.]
Stay not the feaſt, there's danger in the hall;
Demand thy queen; her brother knows too much.
KATHUL.
Now, as becomes thee, meet thy huſband's love,
And look complacent on the Pictiſh chiefs;
Through many dangers they have reach'd the ſhore.
DURSTAN.
Cold is my welcome! ſlowly ſhe approaches,
Silent and ſad, fix'd on the earth her eyes.
With ſuch reluctance, ſuch averted looks,
In bitterneſs of ſoul, a captive comes
Before the conqueror, whoſe hands are red
With her dear kindred's blood.
RIVINE.
[18]King of the Picts,
Thou read'ſt my thoughts aright, within thy breaſt
Dwells an interpreter that cannot err.—
DURSTAN.
To theſe injurious words, I know not, Queen!
What anſwer beſt belongs. Thy gloomy mind
Some foul ſuſpicion of thy huſband ſtains,
Changing to hatred and to harſh diſdain,
That melancholy and that cold reſerve,
Which I regretted once. Unfold thy thoughts!
And ſhow the viper that has ſtung thy ſoul.
She heeds me not. Ha! wherefore doſt thou tremble,
And ſtare ſo wildly on a ſtranger's face?
RIVINE. [to one of the Picts.]
Permit me, ſtranger, to behold that ſword,
Truſt it, I pray, one moment to my hand.
[The Pict gives the ſword.
It is, it is his ſword. I know it well,
This jewel once was mine!
KATHUL.
What means my daughter?
RIVINE.
Behold the ſword of Ronan. O! my father!
Too certain ſign the hero lives no more.
Is this thy nuptial preſent, cruel king!
But I accept it for it ſuits our love.
DURSTAN.
Not in the hearing of theſe gallant chiefs,
Whom I would wiſh to hold thee high in honour,
[19]Will I reply to paſſion. Thou haſt nam'd
The owner of the ſword. His it may be;
But whoſe it was, I never knew before.
RIVINE.
Thou can'ſt no more deceive me. The long train
Of treachery and lies, the murder too
Has been detected. Miſerable Valma
Liv'd only to reveal it.—Now thou com'ſt,
With this proud trophy of thy work complete.
O! thou ſole relique of the firſt of men!
Signal of death! memorial of the brave!
Companion of my woes, perhaps the end!
Why didſt thou thirſt, O! Durſtan for his blood?
Hadſt thou not wrong'd him, was not that enough
But thou didſt wiſely, to conſult thy ſafety,
For conſcience told thee, whilſt the warrior liv'd,
The robber was not ſafe.
DURSTAN.
Thy words are madneſs;
If I had kill'd him, was he not my foe?
RIVINE.
How did the hero fall?—By fraud he fell!
For he was ſtill invincible in arms,
Alone a match for many in the field.
DURSTAN.
That ſword, the ſight of which diſturbs thy ſoul,
Is not the trophy of a hero ſlain;
In evil hour I ſound it.
RIVINE.
Found it, where?
Was not its owner near?
DURSTAN.
[20]If he was near,
Thou haſt conjectured right, he lives no more:
For where I found it death and horror reign'd.
RIVINE.
Now, I believe thee, Durſtan! Tell me, Pict!
How, when, without a maſter too thou found'ſt
His ſword who never yet was foil'd in arms?
DURSTAN.
As in our way to thee we croſt thoſe ſeas,
Whoſe rage ſcarce ſummer tames, a tempeſt roſe,
A dreadful one, as ever ſwept the main.
All night we labour'd in the jaws of death.
But, when the morning dawn'd, the tempeſt ceas'd;
Red, on the troubled deep, the ſun aroſe,
And ſhew'd a diſmal object to our eyes;
Faſt, on a ridge of rocks, a wreck appear'd,
Which ſeem'd the ruin of a noble veſſel;
Near as our ſafety would permit we ſail'd,
And view'd the fate, which might have been our own.—
The ſhip was broken, by the heavy ſeas
Parted in two; and all about the rocks
Dead bodies floated, on the toſſing waves.
RIVINE.
Was there no living creature?
DURSTAN.
No, not one,
Low are the rocks; their ragged tops are ſeen,
And barely ſeen above the ſmootheſt ſea;
But in a ſtorm their place is known afar,
By the white waves, that rage, and ſwell, and break
[21]Like mountains o'er them; there no man could live.
Who'er aboard that luckleſs veſſel ſail'd,
Embrac'd the ſame inevitable doom.—
RIVINE.
Was the ſword there?
DURSTAN.
It was. About to leave
The wreck, we ſought ſome token of the dead
By which they might be known, that ſword we ſpied,
Caught in the cordage of a maſt it hung
And glitter'd through the water.—
RIVINE.
'Tis enough!
If at my feet his breathleſs body lay,
I could not be more certain of his fate.
In thoſe wild waves the chief of warriors died;
To me he haſten'd through the ſeas and ſtorms;
Unknowing of his wrongs for me he died.
KATHUL.
Forbear, my daughter! for my ſake forbear!
DURSTAN.
And for thine own, O queen! reſpect thyſelf.
RIVINE.
I will. For ever I renounce thee, Durſtan!
To Ronan's memory I devote my days!
Few are the days that of my life remain.
Hear me, amaz'd ſpectators! ye who think
Rivine has forgot her ſex's ſhame;
And judge me with more juſtice. In my hand
I hold the ſword of Ronan. Who he was,
[22]And of what high renown, is not unknown;
For thro' the kingdoms of the North his name
Flew on the wings of Fame.—His love to me
And mine to him, for I avow my love,
My ſire approv'd.—To him I was betroth'd,
But in his abſence, Durſtan did ſeduce,
A faithleſs ſervant to betray his maſter.
He fram'd a meſſage from the noble Ronan,
Rejecting me, and ſetting free my faith;
Then urg'd a fond exaſperated maid,
And with the help of her deceived father,
Precipitated her diſorder'd mind,
To yield a raſh conſent.—That was my crime,
Which I deny not; nor refuſe to bear
My puniſhment, which, like my crime, is great.
Deſpair conſumes me! wither'd like the leaf
Of autumn is my beauty. Now I ſtand
On the dim threſhold of the houſe of darkneſ;
Remorſe purſues Rivine to the tomb.
DURSTAN.
Who with a woman's frenzy can contend?
Thou haſt avow'd thy hatred to thy huſband,
And to another own'd thy guilty love:
For loſs of him thou rav'ſt—
Enter MESSENGER.
MESSENGER.
King of the Iſles!
On Mora's top the fiery ſignal burns.
I ſaw a troop, in ſhining ſteel array'd,
Deſcend the hill, by active Calmar led.
KATHUL.
[23]Whoſe hand preſumes to light the warning fire
That never burns in peace? Where is my ſon?
The feet of Calmar fly at his command.
MESSENGER.
To war they fly. On the high-pointed rock
That runs into the bay, Connan himſelf
Stands like a tower. His angry voice he ſends,
Along the roaring waves, and ſhakes his ſpear
Againſt the Picts approaching to the ſhore.—
DURSTAN.
I am betray'd
KATHUL.
Of me diſtruſtful too?
DURSTAN.
The ſon my enemy, I dread the ſire.
My brave companions, whoſe renown in arms,
Roſe on the ruins of a greater foe
Than Connan is, or thoſe who ſwell his pride,
Now let your valour ſhine. At bay we ſtand,
But not like timid deer.
FIRST PICT.
Our lives are thine:
With thee we conquer, or with thee we fall.—
KATHUL.
Some angry ſpirit hovers in the air,
And ſcatters rage and fury. Hear me, Pict!
Suſpicion argues oft a guilty mind;
A noble ſpirit never. Sheath your ſwords!
[24]I am your guard in Elig. To the ſhore
I go to quell the tumult, and receive
Thy people as my friends.—My daughter! hear
Thy father's counſel. Never was a child
To a fond parent dearer. O! Rivine!
Much of my hope is loſt; but do not thou,
In raſh reſentment, throw the reſt away.
Think who thou art! the daughter of a king,
And of a king the wife! the pledge of peace
Among the nations; be not thou the cauſe
Of war and mortal ſtrife! thy name ſhall go,
To furture times for good, or ill renown'd,
The curſe or bleſſing of thy native land,
And of thy father's houſe. My child be wiſe!
Forget the paſt, which cannot be recall'd;
And arm thyſelf with patience.—
[Exit Kathul and Euran.
DURSTAN.
Sweet the voice
Of thoſe that counſel peace. Rage was not made
Nor laſting anger for a gentle breaſt.—
My ſoul is innocent of Ronan's fate;
And if I uſed ſome art againſt a rival,
Aſcribe it only to exceſs of love.—
Wiſe are thy father's words. Forget the paſt,
And be hereafter happy.—
RIVINE.
Leave me, Pict!
I hate the preſent; I abhor the paſt!
The time to come, Durſtan, is not for me.
[25]I haſten to the tomb! There I ſhall find
Forgetfulneſs. O! leave me to my ſorrows!
Leave me to die here in my native land,
Where once with peace and innocence I liv'd
(Companions whom my ſoul ſhall know no more)
Till thou cam'ſt hither. Thou haſt made me wretched
Beyond all utterance, example, thought
Or ſtretch of fancy. When the mournful bard
Seeks a ſad ſubject for the midnight ſong,
He ſhall reject the woes of other times,
And chooſe Rivine for the tale of tears.
DURSTAN.
Forbear ſuch fond complaints, and henceforth, Queen,
Think of the duty which thy ſtate requires.—
RIVINE.
'Tis my chief duty to renounce that ſtate,
And thee for ever.
[Going.]
DURSTAN.
Hence thou muſt not go.
I will not truſt thee to thy own diſpoſal.—
RIVINE.
Am I a captive?
DURSTAN.
No, nor art thou free
To caſt thy huſband off. Foul ſhame it were
For me to ſuffer ſuch contempt from thee.
Willing or not, forthwith thou muſt embark;
Thy prudent father yielded his conſent;
Be thou perſuaded rather than compell'd.
RIVINE.
I ſhall be neither; my deliverer comes!
[26] Enter CONNAN.
CONNAN.
Unhand my ſiſter! elſe—
DURSTAN.
Thou guard'ſt thyſelf
By mixing with thy threats a name of ſafety.
CONNAN.
My ſafety, Pict, depends not on thy will.
Behold my force, to thine ſuperior far.—
[Calmar appears, with the warriors of Connan.
But fair and equal, man to man, I meet thee,
I uſe no vile deceitful arts like thee.
I take no baſe advantage of a foe.—
DURSTAN.
Am I thy foe?
CONNAN.
Haſt thou not wrong'd my friend?
And doſt thou aſk if Connan be thy foe?
RIVINE.
Alas, the friend of Connan lives no more!
Behold!—
CONNAN.
'Tis Ronan's ſword; with life and this
At once the hero parted. Ah! my ſiſter!
How came it hither?
RIVINE.
Durſtan!
CONNAN.
Ha! the ſpoils
Of Ronan by his foe in triumph borne!
[27]No tears I ſhed: red are thy drops, revenge!
Durſtan, call up thy courage; rear thy creſt,
And to bold defiance, boldly anſwer.
I charge thee firſt with treachery and falſehood,
Crimes that ſtrike down the warrior's gallant plumes:
With murder next, for wretched Valma's death;
For Ronan laſt; for Ronan, baſely ſlain;
By hands like thine, he could not elſe have fallen.
With mortal hate I call thee to the combat.
RIVINE.
My Brother, hear me! Not by Durſtan's hand,
Nor by the arm of man, did Ronan fall.
Far from the ſhore, amidſt the ſtormy waves,
Amongſt the cordage of a veſſel wreck'd
The ſword was found.—Forgiven be my wrongs,
And to his kingdom let the Pict return.
DURSTAN.
Great is thy clemency! Permit the Pict,
Injur'd, defy'd, diſhonour'd, to be gone.—
Is Durſtan's name of ſuch account in Elig?
Are theſe the terms on which he quits the field?
Connan, thy challenge and thy wrath I ſcorn;
Thy ſiſter, as my queen, I juſtly claim:
If ſhe's with held, I ſhall lay waſte your Iſles,
And to my kingdom's add one ſceptre more.
CONNAN.
If ſhe deſires to paſs her days with thee,
She is not worth the ſplinter of a ſpear.
But if her ſoul reveres her lover's ſhade,
And flies from thee to ſolitude and ſorrow,
My ſword from inſult ſhall the mourner guard.—
[28]Thy threats I laugh at; thou unwarlike king,
To boaſt of conqueſt and refuſe the combat.
Wilt thou not fight, thou chief without a ſoul?
Then fly without delay. Now make thy choice;
Begone or draw thy ſword!
DURSTAN.
Vain-glorious youth!
Thou fit companion of the boaſter Ronan,
Whom I could wiſh this moment in thy place!
I'll ſeek the king. If he denies me juſtice,
Unworthy as thou art of Durſtan's ſword,
Expect me ſoon.
CONNAN.
Thou wilt not come ſo ſoon
As Connan wiſhes.—
[Exit Durſtan and Picts.
RIVINE.
Why this ſtrife for me?
Who ſhould be ſhunn'd like the infectious blaſt,
Which, where it takes, deſtroys. Ronan is dead.
Let not the friend of Ronan fall for me.
I have a refuge ſure. Behold yon cliff,
Whoſe ſummit, jutting o'er its wave-worn baſe,
Darkens the deep below.
CONNAN.
Fly from deſpair!
And ſeek the ſhelter of thy brother's love.—
The friend of Ronan will protect Rivine.
If the pale ghoſt that dwells amidſt the ſtorm.
Retains th' affections of its former ſtate,
O'er us the ghoſt of Ronan ſhall rejoice.—
To Elig's towers thou muſt not now return.
[29]Come on; I'll lodge thee in a place of ſafety,
The cave of ſad Orellan: now the tide,
Retiring, leaves a paſſage croſs the bay.—
RIVINE. [To Calmar.
Go to the hall of Elig. Tell the maid
Omazia to give out that there I reſt,
And watch as if ſhe guarded my repoſe.
[Exeunt.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
ACT III.
[30]SCENE, a Cliff on the Sea-ſhore, with a Cave.
RIVINE and ORELLAN.
ORELLAN.
BEHOLD the habitation of Orellan!
For threeſcore years and ten this rock has been
My dwelling-place; and here I ſit in ſorrow,
Silent and motionleſs from morn to eve;
'Till the ſea-fowl, that ſkim along the ſhore,
Fearleſs alight, and, ſitting at my feet,
Scream their wild notes, as if I was a ſtone
Or ſenſeleſs trunk, that could not do them harm.—
It was not always thus; I was not born
To miſery; nor in the wild woods bred
Of ſavage race; fair was my morn of youth!
With thy brave grandſire I was train'd to arms,
His choſen warrior, and his truſted friend.
But love and jealouſy ſurpriz'd my ſoul,
Drove me from men, and blotted out my name.
This arm ſlew Namora.
RIVINE.
Father, forgive
My importunity! Vouchſafe to tell
What I in part have heard.
ORELLAN.
[31]My ſtory's old,
Thy ſorrow recent: but to hear my woes
Will teach thee patience. Such as thou art now,
Or as thou waſt, e'er grief had made thee wan,
Namora was. Like thine, her beauty charm'd
Contending princes; but the generous maid
Preferr'd to princes fond Orellan's love.
Daily we met in woods, in groves, in glades,
Remote and ſecret. One unhappy time,
Returning from the chace, I ſought the grove.
Ent'ring, I ſaw Namora; her white arms
Embrac'd a youth; her lips were join'd to his.
My bow was in my hand; I bent it ſoon,
And pierc'd them with one arrow. Ere I reach'd
The ſpot on which they fell, Namora's eyes
Were clos'd for ever. The expiring youth
Was her brave brother, to his native ſhore
That day return'd. His ſiſter's ſteps he trac'd,
To periſh in her arms. I kneel'd me down,
And begg'd the warrior, if he yet had ſtrength,
To give me death. He heard me not, he died,
And left me living.—This bleak cave I choſe,
My everlaſting manſion. In thoſe days
The hollow ſhore reſounded with my cries.
Often the hunter haſten'd from the hill,
And oft the mariner ſteer'd from the deep,
And wonder'd at me. Time, that rage ſubdued
To milder grief. My tears inceſſant flow'd
Like waters from the rock. Here have I mourn'd
[32]An age of man compleat. Alike to me
Summer and winter, autumn an the ſpring,
And night and day the ſame.—
RIVINE.
Thus would I wiſh
To waſte my days, a ſpectacle of woe!
Without or change or interval. I feel
Within myſelf a ſource and ſpring of ſorrow,
That ne'er will ceaſe to flow, 'till death ſhall ſtop it.
Surely the ſpirits of the dead delight
To be remember'd, and lamented, father.
ORELLAN.
Daughter, they do—my own experience tells.—
Once every year, that day Namora died,
A wondrous viſion comes. In the ſtill air
(For not a breath then ſtirs the ſilent bay)
Are heard the ſaddeſt, yet the ſweeteſt ſounds,
That ever touch'd the ear or heart of man,
The melody of woe.—Then from the ſkies
Deſcend the ſhadows of the murder'd pair,
Pale as the colours of the lunar bow.
Hov'ring before the cavern's mouth they ſpread
Their arms; they fix on m [...] their pitying eyes,
And, with a ſhriek, they vaniſh into air:
Does hoar tradition tell a tale like this?
Was ever mortal deſtiny like mine?
RIVINE.
Could I but hope to ſee my love ariſe,
And look on me with pity; I would live
In the vaſt ocean on a rock alone.
[33]But Ronan's injur'd ghoſt deteſts Rivine.—
In the dark world of ſpirits thou ſhalt join
Thy dear Namora's ſhade; but far from mine
The angry ſpirit of my love will fly.—
ORELLAN.
I have another charge beſides thee, daughter!
Within my cave a wretched ſtranger lies,
Who taſted all the bitterneſs of death;
But ſcarce yet knows his wonderful eſcape.
RIVINE.
Eſcape from what?
ORELLAN.
From ſhipwreck in the ſtorm
That raged laſt night upon the rocky ſhore.
RIVINE.
From ſhipwreck! ha! Is he a man in years,
Or of the youthful time?
ORELLAN.
In prime of youth,
And beautiful he ſeem'd, tho' in the arms
Of death upon the naked beach he lay.
I found him there. Attentive I perceiv'd
That the warm life was not wholly fled.
I call'd a ſhepherd ſwain to give me help,
Who from a neighbouring hill ſurvey'd the deep.
He came, and willing in his arms he bore
The youth inſenſible; he brought him hither.
Within he lies, ſtretch'd on the ſkins of deers;
A ſleep profound has ſeiz'd him; when he wakes
He will not know, if in a friendly place,
[34]Or in the dwelling of his foes he lies.—
I'll go—
RIVINE.
Not yet a while.
ORELLAN.
Thy colour ſhifts
From pale to red, from red to pale again.
What doſt thou hope or fear?
RIVINE.
A ſtrange event!
Yet, like the fate and fortune of my life,
Wild and incredible. Perhaps this youth
Sav'd from the wreck, and ſleeping in thy cell,
Is Ronan.
ORELLAN.
No; deluſive are thy hopes;
The various veſt and floating robe I know
Of Albion's warlike race. He wore not thoſe.
His dreſs is ſplendid, bright with foreign gold,
And marks the chieftain of a diſtant land.
RIVINE.
Enter, and if he ſleeps, to me return,
I will behold and bleſs him where he lies;
Then from his preſence fly, if it is Ronan.
ORELLAN.
I hear a noiſe within; the ſtranger comes;
His ſteps ſound on the rock.
RIVINE.
Now, now my heart!
Thy moment this.
[Rivine retires to the ſide-ſ [...].
[The ſtranger from the inner part of the cave ſees Orellan.
STRANGER.
[35]Thou venerable man,
Preſerver of my life! for ſo methinks
I ought to call thee: tell me on what ſhore
The waves have thrown me? For the place imports
Almoſt as much as life.
RIVINE.
'Tis he! 'Tis Ronan!
RONAN.
Rivine's voice! I am where I would wiſh;
My love is here!
RIVINE.
Thy love! approach me not!
Thou noble youth! nor call Rivine thine.
RONAN.
Not call thee mine!
RIVINE.
No, never, never more!
I am unworthy of thy leaſt regard;
Unworthy of the air that Ronan breathes.
When thou ſhalt know what cannot be conceal'd
Thou muſt abhor me.
RONAN.
I abhor Rivine!
Ah! thou art chang'd indeed ſince I beheld thee!
Anguiſh gleams in thine eye, and wild deſpair
Contends with ſhame.—Rivine, ſpeak and ſave me
From horrible conjectures.
RIVINE.
Spare a wretch,
Whoſe heart is breaking! Fain, fain wou'd I ſpeak,
And tell thee how Rivine was betray'd.
RONAN.
[36]Betray'd! to what betray'd?
RIVINE.
Will not the rock
Fall down and cover with a heap my ſhame.
Follow me not! this hoary ſire will tell
My crime; my miſery cannot be told!
[Runs into the cave.
RONAN.
It muſt be ſo. Thou confident of guilt,
Perhaps the counſellor!
ORELLAN.
Young man! attend
To every circumſtance of this misfortune,
And thou wilt pity her whom once thou lov'd'ſt.
RONAN.
Tell me one circumſtance, I aſk no more;
Is ſhe not wedded?
ORELLAN.
Liſten to my words,
And thou ſhalt have an anſwer to thy queſtion.
RONAN.
I have no patience for a tedious tale;
Anſwer at once: is ſhe not wedded, ſay?
Then I may hear thy ſtory.
ORELLAN.
It were better,
Better for thee, raſh youth! to let me tell
How this diſaſter did o'ertake thy love.—
RONAN.
Wilt thou not ſay what the diſaſter is?
How tedious, hard, and obſtinate is age!
ORELLAN.
[37]Unleſs I ſhould deceive thee to thy hurt,
I can no longer hide from thee the truth.
RONAN.
Then ſhe is wedded?
ORELLAN.
Yes.
RONAN.
Doſt thou ſay yes?
ORELLAN.
Unwillingly I ſpeak the painful truth:
My ſoul is griev'd for thee.
RONAN.
Thou art the cauſe
Of what I ſuffer. Thy officious hand
Sav'd me from death, to make me periſh worſe.
My lateſt thought when ſinking in the ſtorm
Was of Rivine; of her love, her truth,
Her grief eternal for her Ronan loſt.—
And now I find her in another's arms;
Of me regardleſs, though my faithful heart,
Full of her image, for her ſake deſpis'd
The beauteous queen of Erin's warlike land.
ORELLAN.
Young man! thou wrong'ſt Rivine.—
RONAN.
Wou'd that thou
Who ſay'ſt I wrong her were a young man too,
And ſtrong and valiant to defend her cauſe!
Let me behold the trait'reſs, and confound
Her guilty ſoul.—
ORELLAN.
[38]Go, give thy paſſion way,
Purſue and ſeize her in thy frantic arms;
Then throw her headlong from the airy cliff!
I kill'd the maid I lov'd; I thought her falſe,
But ſhe was truth itſelf.
RONAN.
And wedded too?
But who is he that durſt invade my right?
What is his name? She ſays ſhe was betray'd.
Who of mankind is he?
ORELLAN.
Her huſband!
RONAN.
Oh!
ORELLAN.
The Pictiſh king.
RONAN.
Durſtan, my mortal foe!
The curſt oppreſſor of my native land!
From all mankind has ſhe ſelected him,
Whom moſt my ſoul abhorr'd?
ORELLAN.
She never choſe:
She was betray'd, deluded, and compell'd.
Thy ſervant Valma, gain'd by Durſtan's gold,
Deliver'd to Rivine a falſe meſſage;
Cold and contemptuous, full of ſlight excuſe,
For breach of faith confeſt, and worſt of all
Fraught with the praiſes of the beauteous queen,
Whoſe love had made thee lord of Erin's land.
RONAN.
[39]Could ſhe believe him?
ORELLAN
The bold traitor ſwore,
That he was witneſs to the proud eſpouſals.
RONAN.
O! villain! villain! Did ſhe credit this?
ORELLAN.
How could ſhe doubt it?
RONAN.
Ha! did ſhe not know me?
Did not each action of my life belie
The monſtrous tale?
ORELLAN.
Long before that, the Iſles
Reſounded with the fame of thy great acts
In Erin's wars perform'd; and rumour ſpread
Abroad the ſtory of the grateful queen.
RONAN.
Where was my friend?
ORELLAN.
When Durſtan came to Elig,
Connan was abſent in the diſtant iſles;
His faith to thee this day of danger proves.
RONAN.
This day!
ORELLAN.
The fraud of Durſtan was detected,
And from preſumption ſtrong thy death believ'd;
Rivine, who till then conceal'd her anguiſh
[40]And veil'd with ſickly ſmiles her broken heart,
Then own'd her love and publiſh'd her deſpair.
With threats the Pict requires his wedded wife:
Connan defies him, and demands the combat.
RONAN.
I knew he wou'd; my brave, my faithful friend!
But mine the cauſe, and mine ſhall be the combat.
ORELLAN.
The tribes are up in arms; for ſtrong the hoſt
That haughty Durſtan leads.
RONAN.
I have no arms,
The deep hath ſwallowed up my ſword and ſhield.
ORELLAN.
Here is a ſword.
RONAN.
A ſword! It is my own.
Never more welcome to thy maſter's hand.
I'll truſt thy temper tried. This on the ſhore
Didſt thou not find?
ORELLAN.
Rivine brought it hither,
And bath'd it with her tear.—
RONAN.
Did ſhe, Rivine?
Of her I muſt not think while Durſtan lives;
Father, farewell.—
Enter RIVINE.
RIVINE.
Yet ſtay and hear me, Ronan.
Behold Rivine, proſtrate at thy feet!
[41]I know I never muſt behold thee more;
And from that certainty derive the boldneſs
To offer to thine ear my laſt requeſt.
When I am dead, as I ſhall ſhortly be,
Think not too hardly of me. By the ghoſts
And ſpirits of the air that wait for me,
I never ceas'd to love thee. My fond heart,
Ev'n when I thought thee falſe, and ſtrove to hate thee,
Ev'n then my tortur'd heart was full of thee.
Tis this that ſends me to an early grave;
I could not bear to be and not be thine.—
O Ronan! Ronan! when in duſt I lie,
And thou art wedded to ſome lovely maid,
Worthy of thee, unlike the raſh Rivine;
Then let thine anger ceaſe! my fleeting ghoſt
For ever near thee ſhall ſome pleaſure know.
RONAN.
May Durſtan's jav'lin nail me to the ground,
And may my dying eyes behold thee borne
Aboard his veſſel, if I do not love thee!
Then of my pity judge.—
RIVINE.
Thou giv'ſt too much.
Firſt let the earth receive my lifeleſs clay,
Before thou pitieſt me. My fate is fix'd,
The place is choſen, where my tomb ſhall riſe:
A little hillock in the narrow plain,
Beſide the rock, faſt by the water-fall,
Where in my better days we oft have met.
[...]un not the place which thou waſt wont to love:
[42]But come alone, come when the mourner's voice
For me hath ceas'd and ſilent is the vale;
Then if thy ſoul is willing to be ſad,
Look on my grave.
RONAN.
Thy grave! thou ſhalt not die
My ſoul is in my voice; forgive thyſelf,
What Ronan has forgiven. Speak not of death,
Let me not hear thee utter ſuch a ſound,
Unleſs thou mean'ſt to ſend me to the field
Subdu'd by thee, diſhearten'd and unman'd,
An eaſy prey to ſome inglorious arm,
The conqueſt of a coward. Doſt thou hear,
And not reply to this? No, not one word!
But ſullen ſilence, and a down-caſt eye.
Thy will ſhall be obey'd: when I am ſlain—
Within thy deſtin'd grave let me be laid,
If the ſtern umpire of thy fate and mine,
Permit ſo much and thou doſt not diſdain
To reſt beſide the victim of thy pride.—
RIVINE.
To what a narrow ridge thou driv'ſt Rivine!
A dreadful precipice on either hand!
And I can only chuſe which way to fall.
I've wrong'd thee much, let me not wrong thee mo [...]
Nor come a dark eclipſe acroſs thy fame.
Go where thy valour bids; go in full ſtrength
And confidence; let not a fear for me,
Unnerve thy mighty arm. I will endure
The load of life: embrace all ſhame and ſorrow;
[43]Rather than thou ſhould'ſt bow thy noble head,
Beneath the ſword of an inſulting foe.—
RONAN.
Now I am ſtrong!
ORELLAN.
A nimble foot deſcends
The winding path.—
RIVINE.
'Tis Calmar's airy gait.
Enter CALMAR.
CALMAR. [ſess Ronan.]
come in haſte to warn—
RONAN.
Be not afraid!
Believe thine eyes; the friend of Connan live .
CALMAR.
Friend of my maſter's ſoul, for whom he mourns,
[...] prince of Morven! like the morning beam
Thou com'ſt to chace the heavy night of woe
That darkens Connan; haſten to his aid,
Many the foes whom he for thee defies.
RONAN.
Where is thy lord?
CALMAR.
On the wood-ſkirted lawn
Beyond the hill of pines his warriors ſtand;
[...]he Pictiſh army covers all the ſhore.—
[...]aw our aged king tear his grey locks,
[...] he implor'd them to forbear the fight.—
RONAN.
[44]Shame to my ſoul! why do I tarry here?
Farewell! farewell! Rivine!
[Exit.]
RIVINE.
To the field,
Rejoicing in his might the hero goes,
And ſo he ſhould; from me he parted well.—
I ſee, I ſee the path that I muſt follow,
Bright as the ſtarry way that ſhines above,
When the blue froſt is beautiful in Heaven.
Thy tydings, Calmar?
CALMAR.
Your retreat is known.
RIVINE.
To Durſtan?
CALMAR.
No, but to your troubled ſire,
Who partial to the Pict his daughter blames.
Connan intreats you to forſake this place,
And ſeek the ſhelter of the inland vale.
I am your guide and guard.
RIVINE.
I'll leave this place,
And thou ſhalt be my guide. Father, farewell!
[To Orellan.]
The joy that dwells with tender grief be thine,
To me alas! denied.—No pleaſant ray
Can ever reach the dark abode of ſhame.
One iſſue yet is left.—
ORELLAN.
[45]I read thy thoughts,
Hadſt thou been ſilent I had known thy purpoſe.
Thy port exalted, thine enlightened eye,
Denote the pitch of thy determin'd mind;
The ſtorm-toſs'd veſſel ſeeks a ſhore unknown.
I blame thee not, O! daughter of affliction.
Strange is thy deſtiny! thyſelf alone
Can be thy counſellor.—
RIVINE.
Affliction's friend!
Devoted vaſſal of eternal ſorrow,
Thanks for thy gentle ſympathy, if thou
Should'ſt give a tear to me or my ſad ſtory,
Namora's memory wou'd not be wrong'd.
ORELLAN.
[Exit Rivine and Calmar.]
Bright ſtar! that haſtes to ſet. O child of youth,
Like the green oak, before its head is bare,
Untimely torn from ſome high mountain's brow.
So ſhalt thou fall, but not without thy praiſe.
This cave, a while the manſion of thy woes,
Thoſe hoary cliffs, and yon reſounding bay,
Shall often echo thy lamented name.
My voice ſhall pierce the ſtillneſs of the morning,
And evening's milder calm, bewailing thee.
Namora's gentle ſhade will love the ſong
That joins her ſiſter-memory to thine.—
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
ACT IV.
[46]SCENE, a Thick Wood.
Enter KATHUL and CONNAN.
CONNAN.
MY friend is dead. But friendſhip never dies.
Remember, Sir, how Ronan fought for me.
The youth were met in the ſequeſter'd vale,
And held a feaſt of joy. The bards aroſe,
And ſung heroic deeds atchiev'd of old.
Rous'd with the ſong the chiefs began to boaſt
Their own exploits in arms. Above the reſt
Proud Armor vaunted, truſting in his ſtrength;
Truth he regarded not; he told how once,
In Ardven's vale he met the blue-ey'd maid,
Old Alpine's daughter; Connan was her guard,
Who ſhun'd the combat, and reſign'd the maid.
Silent and pale my ſad companions heard;
But from the banquet generous Ronan roſe,
And dar'd the giant to maintain his words,
By combat on the plain. Furious they met,
Like two ſtrong bulls contending for the herd;
They fought from mid-day 'till the ſetting ſun
Gilded the vale; then Ronan's arm prevail'd,
And Armor bit the ground. Faſt by the lake,
Mark'd with a ſtone, is ſeen his lengthen'd grave;
[47]Eternal monument of Ronan's faith
And of his glory; but of ſhame to me,
If e'er my ſoul forgets the hero's love.
KATHUL.
Ha! who comes yonder ruſhing from the wood,
Swift as the roe? ſee at one bound he leaps
From bank to bank the brook. Connan, beware!
His ready weapon glitters in his hand.
CONNAN.
Spirits of earth and air! 'tis Ronan's form!
Thus have I ſeen him haſten to the field,
Thus ſpring exulting when the foe drew near.
KATHUL.
Oft have I heard the voice of mournful ghoſts,
Borne on the wings of the careering winds,
But ne'er 'till now beheld—It ſtops and glares
With angry eyes on me. Speak thou, my ſon!
For ye were one.
Enter RONAN.
CONNAN.
O ſpirit of my friend!
Com'ſt thou to urge thy Connan to revenge?
RONAN.
I am no ſpirit: come, my faithful friend,
And in my arms feel that thy Ronan lives.
Now art thou ſatisfy'd?—
[They embrace.]
CONNAN.
I am tranſported!
Ronan to life reſtor'd and at my ſide,
[48]When in deſpair againſt his foes I arm'd!
I have a thouſand queſtions, but not now.
I muſt be ſudden and abrupt, my friend!
The times are ſo.—Sad tidings thou muſt hear.
But let reſentment chaſe thy grief away:
The ſalve of ſorrow is a brave revenge.
RONAN.
I come to ſeek revenge; my wrongs I know,
For I have ſeen Rivine. Where is Durſtan?
I hop'd to meet him in the battle's front;
But peace is here.
KATHUL.
No, prince of Morven, no!
Peace dwells not here. Between the ſwords I came
Of raging warriors and obtain'd a truce
Until to-morrow's dawn. Altho' my hope
Of reconcilement at thy preſence fades,
My troubled ſoul rejoices in thy ſafety.
Thy timeleſs death I mourn'd.
RONAN.
King of the iſles!
Why didſt thou give thy daughter to the Pict?
KATHUL.
Ronan, I was deceiv'd. I hold thee dear,
And wiſh—But nothing can recal the paſt.—
RONAN.
Recal the paſt!
CONNAN.
Ronan!
RONAN.
[49]Be not alarmed!
O! King! thou art the father of my friend,
The father of my lov'd my loſt Rivine.
And that reſtrains my tongue. Yet I muſt ſay,
Hadſt thou been conſtant to thy old allies,
Hadſt thou been faithful, and preſerv'd my bride,
This day had crown'd thy hoary head with joy.
Impatient to behold my love, I fail'd
And left behind the Scandinavian fleet
Of warriors full. With theſe lerne's ſons
And Erin's chiefs for injur'd Albion arm.
Selma ſhall riſe again.
KATHUL.
May Selma riſe,
And Albion's honour'd race for ever reign.
Yet hear me Ronan! from my heart I ſpeak;
Thou bear'ſt a noble mind; thy fame is great
For juſtice as for valour; with the Pict
Thou haſt a rightful quarrel; but reſpect
This hoſpitable ſhore; contend not here,
Nor fight with Durſtan for his wedded wife.
RONAN.
Not fight with Durſtan! then let Durſtan fly
And I ſhall follow, to whatever ſhore
He takes his flight.
KATHUL.
I underſtand thee well.—
My ſon do thou regard thy ſiſter's fame!
[...] fairer aſpect much her conduct wore,
[50]When thy lov'd friend was number'd with the dead,
Than now, when he in arms her huſband braves.—
I go to meet the antients of the land,
The hoary counſellors, who can compare
The preſent trouble with the times of old,
And call experience to vouch their counſel.
Under the ſpreading beech that ſhades the brook
They ſit and ruminate.
[Exit.
RONAN.
Their thoughts I know.
Cold are the counſels of inactive age,
Patient of injury, averſe to arms.
I long for vengeance and my ſoul is ſick
Of this delay. But why ſhou'd I defer
My juſt revenge? no truce was made for me;
I'll ſend him a defiance.—
CONNAN.
Not to day,
Nor yet to morrow do I wiſh the Pict
By Ronan's hand to fall.—
RONAN.
If he ſhould fall
By any other hand, I'm not reveng'd.
We're interrupted. Ha! what man is that,
Who ſteps ſo haughtily before the reſt?
CONNAN.
It is the Pict.—
RONAN.
I thought ſo.
CONNAN.
[51]Yet be calm!
Your eyes flaſh fire; your heart beats in your breaſt
As it would burſt your boſom.
RONAN.
Mark me, Connan!
This hour let my own ſpirit guide itſelf.
He knows me not. Beware of naming me,
I'll take my time to ſpeak.
[Walks aſide.]
Enter DURSTAN attended.
DURSTAN.
I ſought the king—
But thou, who haſt uſurp'd thy father's power,
May in his abſence anſwer.—
CONNAN.
What's thy queſtion?
DURSTAN.
A plain one, whither was the veſſel bound,
That left the ſhore juſt now with crouded ſails?
CONNAN.
I know not what ſhe is, nor whither bound.
Why doſt thou aſk of me?
DURSTAN.
I do ſuſpect,
She is diſpatch'd to ſummon to your aid,
The warriors of the iſles.
CONNAN.
Perhaps ſhe is;
Credit thy worſt ſuſpicion; break the truce
[52]And I will thank thee. I deſir'd no truce
And never will have cordial peace with thee.
DURSTAN.
My faith, young man, is plighted to thy father,
And he ſhall own, to vindicate my fame,
That Durſtan ſought not to lay waſte his iſles,
Nor ſtay his people.—
CONNAN.
If thou art ſincere,
And tender of the lives of blameleſs men,
With me decide the quarrel; ſhou'd I fall,
Rivine's dowry is a kingdom then.
DURSTAN.
Not that I fear thine arm, do I decline
To anſwer thy proud challenge; but thou art
The brother of Rivine.
RONAN.
Wiſe thy words,
And juſt the reaſon thou aſſign'ſt, O! King!
But I am not the brother of Rivine;
And I accuſe thee; I defy thee too!
DURSTAN.
Thou! who art thou!
RONAN.
Not leſs in blood and birth
Than Durſtan is; of royal lineage born,
To Ronan near allied. Ha! doſt thou ſtart
And tremble, Pict, at injur'd Ronan's name?
DURSTAN.
[53]Boaſter, I know no fear; but thee I ſcorn.
Who vaunts his lineage and conceals his name,
Is of his race the ſtain.
RONAN.
Soon ſhalt thou know,
Perhaps, ſomewhat too ſoon, the name I bear;
But, firſt, I'll tell thee thy deteſted deeds,
And gall, if poſſible, thine iron heart.—
Unlike a prince, a warrior and a man,
Meanly thou didſt ſeduce a ſervile ſoul
To wrong his maſter's honour and his love;
And by the blackeſt artifice betray'd
To endleſs miſery, a royal fair,
Who dies of grief and hate to the aſſaſſin!
And ſtill thou doſt preſume—
DURSTAN.
Away! begone!
RONAN.
I will not; nor ſhalt thou, from Ronan go.—
DURSTAN.
Thou, Ronan!
RONAN.
I! now, robber, doſt thou tremble?
Unſheath thy ſword! Each moment ſeems an age
'Till I avenge on thee my mighty wrongs,
And give thy ſpirit to the winds of heav'n.
DURSTAN.
So confident! Behold this ſword I draw,
'Tis ſtain'd with blood of Albion's vanquiſh'd kings,
To Ronan near allied: I lift it now
To ſend thee to thy fathers.—
RONAN.
[54]Take my anſwer.—
[They engage.
FIRST PICT. [Interpoſing.
Let kings with kings contend and ſubjects meet
A ſubject's arm.—
CONNAN.
If thou lov'ſt honour, Pict,
Or fear'ſt eternal ſhame, command theſe men,
Thy ſubjects, to retire.—
FIRST PICT.
Should he command,
It is our duty now to diſobey.
RONAN.
Let us aſſail them all!
CONNAN. [Advancing.
Ronan, my friend!
Step not before me; let me guard thy ſide.—
Enter KATHUL, and EURAN.
[Kathul, coming between their ſwords.]
KATHUL.
My gueſts, forbear! and thou rebellious boy,
Put up thy ſword, or ſhed thy father's blood!
RONAN.
Why doſt thou guard my foes, King of the iſles!
What is thine aim? This is no ſudden ſtrife,
Sprung from a light and accidental cauſe;
It is a mortal quarrel founded deep
On wrongs not to be borne. Let honour'd age
Avoid the ſight of blood.—
KATHUL.
[55]Hear me, raſh youth!
My aim is to be juſt, and to prevent
A combat, whoſe event muſt fatal prove
To my allies, my children and my fame.
Do thou hereafter, on ſome diſtant ſhore,
Purſue thy quarrel with the Pictiſh king,
And bear the cauſe of Albion on thy ſword.
Now I forbid the war and will propound
Impartial terms of peace. He who believes
His cauſe is juſt, will readily aſſent.
DURSTAN.
Altho' with us the odds of combat lie,
Not leſs in valour, and in number more;
If full aſſurance that my cauſe is good
Implies aſſent, on mine thou may'ſt depend.
RONAN.
May my ſword ſhiver, when it ſtrikes thy helm,
If it does not defend the better cauſe.
KATHUL.
Thy ſoul is like the torrent of thy hills!
O! chief of deſart Morven! Fierce thy words,
But confident and ſuited to my purpoſe.
Behold where yonder white and ragged cliff
Points the long ridge and terminates the bay;
There, in a cave, the ſea-mark of the main,
A man unlike the reſt of mortals dwells!
Once great in arms, a-breaſt of mighty chieſs,
The brave Orellan trod the paths of Fame:
But ſtrange misfortune croſt the warrior's way.
[56]In early youth he kill'd the fair he loved,
Then left mankind, to live alone with ſorrow!
Bare is his boſom to the howling winds,
And wet his hoary head, with foam that flies
From the reſounding ſurges of the main;
The coot, the cormorant are his companions.
Sometimes, he ſays, his cries bring from her cloud
The pallid image of the murdered maid!
RONAN.
I know the ſad Orellan. To what end
Doſt thou deſcribe to us the man of ſorrow?—
KATHUL.
He is the judge who cannot be unjuſt;
For his pure mind no partial paſſion knows:
The ſole affection of his breaſt is pity;
The man of ſorrow feels for human woes!
To him ſubmit the cauſe of doubtful ſtrife,
And let his voice determine of Rivine.
RONAN.
Is this thy counſel, king? and doſt thou think
That it will be regarded? Shall Rivine,
Like flocks or herds in conteſt, be adjudged?
No. Whilſt I live, Rivine ſhall be free;
Rivine ſhall determine of herſelf.
She has determin'd never to behold
The face of Durſtan and I will defend
The reſolution which my ſoul approvies
DURSTAN.
Art thou the judge?
RONAN.
[57]I am, and thou ſhalt find ſo;
Follow my ſteps. In ſuch a ſtrife as this
The valiant know no umpire but the ſword—
[Exit.
[Kathul ſtops Connan.]
KATHUL.
By all the reverence thou oweſt thy father
And by the love thou bear'ſt thy native land,
Stay 'till thou hear'ſt the Pict—
[While Kathul ſpeaks, Euran whiſpers Durſtan.
CONNAN.
What can he ſay?
Who ſtill, tho' oft defy'd, declines the combat.
DURSTAN.
Kathul, I ſpeak to thee. In juſt reſpect
To thy fair conduct and thy choſen judge,
To his deciſion, conſcious of my right,
I would ſubmit my cauſe. But ſince the pride
Of haughty Ronan to the ſword appeals,
I anſwer him—His challenge I accept;
And will to morrow, with the riſing ſun,
Meet him in arms. Here, where we firſt encounter'd.
Tis thine, O King! to regulate the combat.—
KATHUL.
Durſtan, I diſapprove—
DURSTAN.
I know thou doſt;
But thou can'ſt not prevent. It muſt be ſo:
King of the iſles, farewel!
KATHUL.
[58]Tarry a while;
Enter my hall, and of the feaſt partake.
The hall of Semo ſhines with many fires.
DURSTAN.
Faſt by my ſhips, upon the ſandy ſhore,
I'll paſs the night. The feaſt of foes I ſhun.—
Oft, when the circling ſhell awakes the ſoul,
Like flints the words of enemies ſtrike fire.
Forth comes the haſty ſteel. Whoe'er prevails
A doubtful fame th'inglorious ſtrife attends.
[Going.
KATHUL.
Let me conduct thy footſteps to the ſhore,
And ſhew our people that in peace we part.—
[Exeunt all but Connan.
CONNAN.
'Tis not what I deſir'd—'Twas my prime wiſh
To meet the Pict and to revenge my friend.
Yonder he comes impatient—
Enter RONAN.
RONAN.
Ha! they're gone!
What ſaid the Pict?
CONNAN.
Thy challenge he accepted.
RONAN.
Did he?
CONNAN.
[59]He did; to-morrow is the time,
And this the appointed place.
RONAN.
Why not to-day?
CONNAN.
It is too late, ſunk in the weſtern wave,
The ſun but half his glorious circle ſhews,
Soon will the ſplendor of his path be dim,
And his pale ſiſter rule the ſilent world.
RONAN.
O, thou fair light! whoſe beams rejoice the heart
Of him whoſe thoughts are open as his deeds!
In thy dark chamber do not tarry long:
But, with unwonted ſpeed, thy courſe purſue,
Till the grey eaſtern cloud grows red again,
Before thy flaming ſteps.—
CONNAN.
My warriors wait.
Some care the buſineſs of to-morrow claims;
An equal number drawn from either hoſt
Muſt guard the liſts! Oh! were the combat mine;
My deareſt friend once for his Connan fought—
RONAN.
When Connan was not there.
CONNAN.
Go to the hall.
RONAN.
Where is Rivine?
CONNAN.
To ſome place remote,
[...]ar in the foreſt, Calmar has convey'd her.
[60]Uncertain is the ſpot, and vain it were
To ſeek her at this hour. Turn to the hall,
And for my ſake ſpeak gently to my father.
[Exit Connan.
RONAN.
I wiſh I could avoid the ſight of him
And every perſon. When the heart is full
Of its own ſwelling thoughts, ſociety
Is moleſtation. Solitude is beſt.
Ye woods and groves! where I was wont to roam
With her I lov'd; I left you in your glory!
Fair as the grove of June I left my love!
Not long my abſence, yet the leaf is fallen.
Trees of the foreſt! you ſhall hear again
The voice of ſpring and cloath yourſelves anew
In the green robe you loſt—But never more
Shall bud or bloſſom—Ha! what new event
Brings this keen meſſenger.
Enter EURAN haſtily.
EURAN.
O prince of Morven!
Thy haughty courage and thy upright heart
Expoſe thee to the ſnafts of ſecret fraud
Which Durſtan aims.
RONAN.
At me!
EURAN.
Of that be judge.
Whilſt every eye, ſecure of peace, is clos'd,
Amidſt the darkneſs of the night he means
To bear Rivine from her father's houſe,
And ſail e'er morning riſe.
RONAN.
[61]Ha! I believe it.
This is the ſecret which explains his conduct.
Has he abettors in the houſe of Kathul,
Or does the robber truſt in force alone?
EURAN.
He truſts in me.
RONAN.
In thee!
EURAN,
I plant the watch
Which guards the hall of Kathul; that he knows,
And with immenſe rewards aſſail'd my faith.
I ſeem'd to yield; and thus the plan is laid:
The youth that watch to-night, by me aſſur'd
That they obey in mine their king's command,
Seize the princeſs. One bold and faithful Pict
Waits near the northern gate to give the word,
And lead them ſafely through the Pictiſh hoſt:
That office Durſtan choſe.
RONAN.
Durſtan!
EURAN.
Himſelf!
Wrapt in the ſhades of night, alone in arms.—
RONAN.
I have my ſoul's deſire! ghoſt of my king!
Ghoſts of my kinſmen, ſlain that evil day
When Albion fought without her Ronan's arm.
Leave the dark mountains where you mourn your fate
Not yet reveng'd and ſee me meet your foe!
[62]Euran! whate'er the laviſh Pict has promis'd
To tempt thee to betray thy maſter's houſe,
Tenfold I'll give thee to preſerve thy faith.
But let no man, not Kathul, Connan know;
The wrong is mine, and vengeance is my right.—
The northern gate! what is the appointed time
Of his approach?
EURAN.
The time that's moſt remote
From the ſun's riſing or his ſetting beams,
When o'er the caſtle, red Tonthena burns.—
Shall I thy ſteps attend?
RONAN.
Not for the world!
The moon, the ſtars, the ſpirits of the night,
They only ſhall behold the rough encounter.
[Exit Ronan.
EURAN.
There goes the chief whoſe arm in battle rules,
Whoſe name alone brings nations to the field.
Yet, ſimple as the fry, he takes the bait:
Beyond my hopes this laſt device ſucceeds.
One night of care, then I ſhall ſhake no more.
[Exit.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
ACT V.
[63]SCENE, a Wood.
Enter RONAN.
RONAN.
TWICE have I made the circuit of the wood,
To waſte the weary interval; and now
Right o'er the caſtle red Tonthêna burns.
Ye fleecy clouds that ſail along the ſky,
Come not too near the moon, to ſpread a veil
Tho' tranſient o'er her face. Lift up your heads,
Ye ſtars of heav'n! and light the liſted field.
Methinks I ſee the figure of a man
Moving this way; within the ſhade he keeps,
A little onward, and the ſhade will fail.
'Tis he; his armour ſhines, he draws his ſword,
And reſolute advances. Here I'll ſtand
'Till he comes nearer; then I ſpring upon him.
Now robber, villain, Durſtan!
[Runs to the ſide-ſcene.
Enter CONNAN.
CONNAN.
Ronan, ſtay
Thy furious arm, 'tis Connan bids thee ſtay.
RONAN.
Connan, what ſtrange encounter!
CONNAN.
[64]Strange it is,
And fatal might have been; but let us trace
This error to its ſource. You call'd me Durſtan,
When ruſhing on my ſhield: if I had ſpoken,
I ſhould have call'd thee by no other name.
RONAN.
Did'ſt thou come hither too, to meet the Pict?
CONNAN.
I came to meet the Pict. Now anſwer me,
Who gave the information of his purpoſe?
RONAN.
Euran.
CONNAN.
The traitor! 'tis as I ſuſpected.
That villain is confederate with Durſtan,
To you, to me, he told the ſelf-ſame tale,
And ſent us forth, to ſhock, and ſink together,
Like veſſels in a ſtorm.
RONAN.
It muſt be ſo;
The circumſtances baniſh every doubt.
This is another plot of that dark brain
Whoſe cruel guile at firſt o'erthrew my love.
Am I a beaſt of chace, a harmleſs deer,
For whom the hunter plants his mortal toils,
Himſelf ſecure and ſafe?
CONNAN.
One ſilent ſhaft,
Wing'd like the bird of night, hath o'er us ſlown.
Another's on the ſtring—if right I judge,
Durſtan is near and many are our foes.
RONAN.
[65]Would I could ſee them.
CONNAN.
We may feel them firſt,
If on this ſpot unguarded you remain.
RONAN.
Shall they not feel us too?
CONNAN.
My friend, be calm.
Not far from hence, a little to the left,
There is a dell, whoſe ſloping ſides are rough
With thick-grown hazel.—In that place obſcure
The beſt and braveſt of my warriors lie.
Miſtruſtful of the Pict, I plac'd them there.
Now let us join them and explore with ſteel
Each angle of the wood.
RONAN.
Prince of the people!
Valour and wiſdom hand in hand advance,
When thou doſt guide the war—let us divide
Thy band and, parting, ſooner ſweep the vale.—
[Exeunt.
Enter RIVINE and CALMAR.
RIVINE.
Did'ſt thou not hear a voice?
CALMAR.
It was the wind
[...]f midnight in the trees and hollow rocks.
This is no place of ſafety.
RIVINE.
Yes—it is
[...] place of ſafety, and of reſt for me.
[66]Calmar, begone, and leave me to myſelf.
Why ſtand'ſt thou motionleſs? Doſt thou not hear?
I bad thee leave me.
CALMAR.
Oh! I heard too well!
I have obſerv'd the toſſing of your mind
E'er ſince we parted from Orellan's cave.
I led you to the foreſt dark and wild,
Full of ſequeſter'd and ſecure retreats:
But you diſlik'd each one, and roam'd about,
'Till dewy night deſcended on your head.
Then all at once, with a determin'd tone,
You bad me follow you; and here you are
Between the towers of Elig and the ſhore.
What ſort of reſt, Forlorn!—
RIVINE.
Doſt thou preſume
On my diſtreſs? and am I fall'n ſo low
That thou controul'ſt me. Go—
CALMAR.
I muſt obey—
But full of ſorrow is the ſoul of Calmar.—
[going
RIVINE.
Farewel! true-hearted Calmar! But thy truth
And loving ſervice are intruders here,
The part I've taken I muſt act alone.
CALMAR.
I fear her much. I'll haſten to the hall,
And bring her brother or her father hither.
[aſide.
[Exit.
RIVINE.
[67]It is but weakneſs, when on death reſolv'd,
Fendly to ſeek for eaſy ways to die.
Yet it is nature. Thrice I lifted up
The ſteel againſt my life, and thrice let fall
Mine arm, afraid to ſtrike the fatal blow.
I ſee the oak beſide the froth-clad pool,
Where, in old time, as I have often heard,
A woman deſperate, a wretch like me,
Ended her woes; her woes were not like mine.
I love thee, Ronan! love thee to exceſs,
Nor am I leſs belov'd. Who hears me now?
Silence, and night, and death, dumb as you are,
I will not utter more. Ronan will know
When he beholds me floating on the ſtream,
His heart will tell him why Rivine died.—
[Running off.
Enter DURSTAN and EURAN.
DURSTAN.
Stop!
RIVINE.
Ah!
DURSTAN.
Again thou'rt found. I'll hold thee now,
Outrageous woman.
RIVINE.
Durſtan, from thy mouth
Reproaches pleaſe me beſt. Thou haſt o'erheard
A portion of my words and needs muſt know
I am above thy threats, beyond the reach,
The aim of human power.
DURSTAN.
[68]That ſhall be tried.
I'll bear thee hence, confine and watch thee cloſe,
Leſt thy wild frenzy work thine own perdition.
Thy ſhatter'd judgment ſhall have time to join,
And to unite again. Then thou wilt bleſs
Thy huſband's lenity, which could forgive
Offences groſs as thine—This is the path
That thou muſt walk in.
RIVINE.
Never will I walk
In the ſame path with thee.
DURSTAN.
Thou haſt no choice.
I have a right to rule thee—and the power
Is in my hands. I'll uſe it.
RIVINE.
Right! what right,
Deceiver and betrayer of my ſoul,
Haſt thou? But it were madneſs, I confeſs,
With thee to argue. For thy heart obdured
Admits no plea of reaſon or of nature.—
But Durſtan this at leaſt may comprehend,
I am reſolv'd, immutable, to die.
And who can hinder me? Aboard thy fleet,
Amidſt thy warriors, in the field, the hall,
In the dark dungeon or the vaulted cell,
Alike my ſoul is free to take its flight.
No chains, no fetters, can the ſpirit bind;
Which makes each inſtrument of oppoſition
[69]The weapon of its will. Art thou convinc'd?
Or would'ſt thou have me call thoſe horrors forth
Which here inhabit and to thy confuſion
Blazon and vindicate my juſt deſpair?
Tell thee, if words can tell—
DURSTAN.
'Tis loſs of time
To liſten to thy words—
[Lays bold of Rivine.
RIVINE.
Is there no help? what will my brother think,
And Ronan, when they hear I am with Durſtan?
Tear me in pieces.—
[Struggling.
[Ronan behind the ſcenes.]
RONAN.
Villain, quit thy prey,
And guard thyſelf.—
DURSTAN.
Euran, bring up my men:
I'll ſtop his courſe.—
[Exit Euran.
[Durſtan holding Rivine with one hand, and drawing his ſword with the other.]
Enter RONAN.
DURSTAN.
Halt. If thou doſt advance
One ſtep, Rivine on the motion dies.
RONAN.
Inhuman murderer! withdraw thine arm
And drop thy point. Thou ſee'ſt I do not ſtir.
DURSTAN.
Keep farther off; bend not thy body forward,
As if preparing to ſpring in upon me,
[70]And I will talk with thee. What would'ſt thou have?
Why comeſt thou with thy weapon ruffian like,
To rob a huſband of his wedded wife?
Is ſhe not mine?
RONAN.
No, traytor! robber, no!
Fraud is the ſole foundation of thy right,
And therefore thou haſt none. If thou dar'ſt truſt
Thy valour, or thy cauſe, let go her arm,
And in her preſence with thy ſword defend
Thy title like a man. Ha! doſt thou ſmile
And mock at me? Thou coward! thou aſſaſim!
Baſeſt of men! leſs valiant than the deer
That graze the hills. They for their mates will bleed
And in their ſight are bold.
DURSTAN.
Rage on, rail on,
Thy ineffectual paſſion I enjoy.—
Our nations, Ronan, ever have been foes.
In enmity our fathers liv'd and dy'd,
And we were born and nurs'd in mortal hate
Hereditary, ne'er to be appeas'd.—
To fill the meaſure up—Thou waſt my rival,
I triumph'd o'er thee, and I triumph now.
Behold this woman here! is ſhe not fair?
Tho' frowardneſs has ſomewhat marr'd her beauty.
Thou doat'ſt upon her, and ſhe loves thee too.
But I—
RONAN.
Inſulting villain!—
DURSTAN.
If thou lift'ſt
Thine arm, ſhe dies.
RIVINE.
[71]Advance and let me die,
For I have liv'd too long.—Ah! doſt thou ſhrink,
Lean on thy ſword and gnaw thy quivering lip?
More tender of my life than of my fame
Or peace of mind. Thou but prolong'ſt the term
Of ſhame and anguiſh. Know I was reſolv'd
(Tho' I diſſembled to appeaſe thee, Ronan)
Before this dreadful parley, not to live.
That Durſtan knows full well.
DURSTAN.
I know not that.
I know the nature of a woman's mind,
Direct in paſſion for a moment only,
And ſhifting like a whirlwind as it flies
To every point of heav'n—
RIVINE.
Thou ſpeak'ſt the truth.
I change my purpoſe now. And be aſſur'd
If I eſcape from thee, I ſhall return
To him, to Ronan, to the rightful lord
Of me and my affections. Do not riſk
By frivolous delay thy dear revenge:
Wer't thou ſtuck round with eyes on ev'ry ſide,
And hung with hands to wield a thouſand ſwords,
Yet thou might be ſurpriz'd: ſtrike, while thou canſt
And diſappoint thy rival.—
DURSTAN.
Tho' indeed,
I ſeldom do believe what women ſay,
Yet, from my ſoul, I do believe thee now.—
[72]This rage of death, this fury, this deſpair
Are but the ſmoke and vapor of that fire,
That amorous fire which in your boſom burns.
Give it the air of hope.
RONAN.
Curſe on thy tongue:
What doſt thou mean in ſuch diſcourſe as this,
Self-loving Durſtan, to conſume the time?
Thou can'ſt not ſcape from hence. Connan is near,
With all the youth of Elig at his ſide.
E'er he arrives, once more I offer thee
The equal combat. If thou doubt'ſt thine arm
Commit Rivine to her father's care.
DURSTAN.
Commit Rivine to her father's care,
To Ronan's care, to her dear lover's care!
He will be tender of her and perhaps
May reconcile her to the love of life.
[Looking to the ſide ſcene.]
Now mighty warrior, of thy valour vain,
And truſting for ſucceſs to force alone,
I have amus'd thee, till the hour is paſt.
The moment of equality between us:
For tho' I deem mine arm as ſtrong as thine,
Chance might have thrown the advantage on thy ſide.
Behold—
RIVINE.
Ha! Euran with the Picts returns.
Now let the ſpirit of her race inſpire,
In this extreme, the daughter of the Iſles.
[73]O prince of Morven! guard thy noble life.
From ſhame, from Durſtan, this ſhall ſave Rivine.
[Stabs herſelf.
RONAN.
O dreadful act!
[To Durſtan.]
On thee, thou wretch accurs'd!
Auther of all our woes, I'll be reveng'd
[They fight, and are both wounded.]
This to thy heart, and this—down to the ground.
[As Durſtan falls, Euran enters with the Picts, and receives him in his arms.]
DURSTAN.
[...]hou haſt it too. I leave thee to enjoy
[...]hy conqueſt and thy love.
FIRST PICT.
Hence; Connan comes.
[They bear him off.]
RONAN.
[...]'s dead—Diſhonour reſt upon his name,
[...]y love! my love!—How couldſt thou?—But 'tis done.—
[...]hall not long ſurvive thee, that's my comfort.—
RIVINE.
[...]hat's the torture which I cannot bear,
[...]as prepar'd for death, but not for thine.
[...] me there was no refuge but the tomb:
[...] thee I could not, nor without thee, live.
RONAN.
[...]o not ſpeak ſo tenderly, nor look
[...] ſuch heart-piercing eyes.
RIVINE.
[74]I had one hope
On which I lean'd, now I am all deſpair.
I thought (when I was dead) that from the cloud
Of grief, my hero would break forth again:
And run his courſe of glory and of fame.—
But thou art ſnatch'd away, I have undone thee,
Blaſted thy youth, cut ſhort thy noble life,
This is the fruit that thou haſt gather'd, Ronan!
The only fruit of curſt Rivine's love.
RONAN.
O! I could ſpeak ſuch things, but not to thee,
Whoſe generous heart, regardleſs of thyſelf,
Amidſt deſpair and death for Ronan mourns.—
'Tis not thy fault. Fortune has croſs'd our love,
But I wou'd rather be what now I am,
Than love thee leſs, or yet be leſs belov'd.
RIVINE.
Belov'd thou art. I die, give me thy hand.—
RONAN.
My heart my ſoul are thine.—
RIVINE.
O! beſt of men!
And beſt belov'd! farewel, farewel for ever!
[Dies.]
RONAN.
Flow faſt my blood—why doſt thou linger, death?
My heart is torn with agonizing thoughts.
O! memory would I could fly from thee!
And give my moments to a ſofter ſorrow.—
Caught in an eddy, up and down the ſtream
[75]I drive and wheeling to one point return.
That monſter there! that villain! land of ghoſts!
Shall I forget it there?
[Dies.]
Enter CALMAR haſtily.
CALMAR.
Alas! my lord!
Too true the traitor's words.
Enter CONNAN with his warriors.
CONNAN.
Oh! Ronan! Ronan!
O! my ill-fated ſiſter! love of thee
Brought down the towering eagle of the war,
From his high rock of fame. Let me not blame,
Pity forbid that I ſhould blame the duſt
Of poor Rivine—Bear the bodies hence,
Let not old Kathul ſee his daughter's blood:—
I left him ſtanding by the corſe of Euran.
O'erwhelm'd and dumb with grief.—
Enter KATHUL.
KATHUL.
I am the cauſe
Of all that has befallen. Thy father's ſteps
Turn to his hall no more: deaf is mine ear
For ever to the voice of youth and joy.
Orellan's lonely cave ſhall hide my grief.
There we will dwell together and decay
Like two old trees, whoſe roots hang uppermoſt
On ſome bare mountain's ſide, from which each ſtorm
Waſteth a portion of the mould'ring ſoil
'Till down they fall.
CONNAN.
[76]Do not indulge
Such melancholy thoughts.
KATHUL.
I am reſolv'd:
To thee, my ſon, the ſceptre I reſign;
I truſt 'twill proſper in thy ſtedfaſt hand.
Thou wilt not liſten to the tale of lies,
Nor in raſh mood forſake thine antient friends.
Oh! friend of Ronan! be the peoples friend.
Still let thy open gate receive the ſtranger,
Who from the hill or from the ſhip deſcends,
So ſhall thy name like grateful odour ſpread
From thy own dwelling to far diſtant lands.
I have no other wiſh. My ſon farewel!
[Exit Kathul.
CONNAN.
To morrow we a monument ſhall raiſe
To mark the place where mighty Ronan reſts
With fair Rivine, in the houſe of death.
If right my ſoul forebodes they ſhall not lie
In dark oblivion; on their buried woes
The light refulgent of the ſong ſhall riſe
And brighten the ſad tale to future times.
The brave, the fair ſhall give the pleaſing tear
Of nature, partial to the woes of love.
FINIS.
EPILOGUE.
[][Enters in a Hurry.]
FORGIVE my coming thus, our griefs to utter—
I'm ſuch a figure!—and in ſuch a flutter—
So circumſtanc'd, in ſuch an aukward way,
I know not what to do, or what to ſay.
Our bard, a ſtrange unfaſhionable creature,
As obſtinate, as ſavage in his nature,
Will have no Epilogue!—I told the brute—
If Sir, theſe trifles don't your genius ſuit;
We have a working Prologue-ſmith, within,
Will ſtrike one off, as if it were a pin.
Nay, Epilogues are Pins,—whoſe points, well-plac'd,
Will trick your Muſe out, in the tip-top taſte!
[...] Pins, madam! (frown'd the Bard) the Greeks us'd none,
(Then mutt'ring Greek—ſomething like this,—wenton)
Pinnos, painton, patcheros, non Graeco Modon."
coax'd, he ſwore—"That tie him to a ſtake,
He'd ſuffer all for Decency's fair ſake;
No Bribery ſhould make him change his plan."
[...]ere's an odd mortal. Match him if you can.
[...]h, ſir! (ſaid I)—your reaſoning is not deep,
[...] when at Tragedies ſpectators weep,
They oft, like children, cry themſ elves aſleep.
[...] if no jogging Epilogue you write,
[...] Box, and Gallery, may ſleep all night:
"Like harmleſs infants mourn themſelves aſleep. ALEX.
[] "Better (he ſwore)—a nap ſhould overtake ye,
"Than Folly ſhould to Folly's pranks awake ye;
"Rakes are more harmleſs nodding upon benches,
"Than ogling to inſnare poor ſimple wenches;
"And ſimple girls had better cloſe their eyes,
"Than ſend 'em gadding after butterſlies.
"Nay, ſhould a ſtateſman make a box his neſt;
"Who, that his country loves, would break his reſt?
"Let come what may, I will not make 'em laugh,
"Take for an Epilogue—This Epitaph.
"For as my lovers lives, I would not ſave,
"No pois'nous weeds ſhall root upon their grave."
Tis thus theſe pedant Greek-read poets vapour—
Is it your pleaſure I ſhould read the paper?
Here, in the arms of death, a matchleſs pair,
A young-lov'd hero, and beloved fair,
Now find repoſe.—Their virtues tempeſt-toſt,
Sea-ſick, and weary, reach the wiſh'd-for coaſt.
Whatever mortal to this ſpot is brought,
O may the living, by the dead be taught!
May here Ambition learn to clip her wing,
And Jealouſy to blunt her deadly ſting;
Then ſhall the Poet every with obtain,
Nor Roman and Rivine die in vain.
Notes
*
Ireland.
†
Denmark.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3977 The fatal discovery A tragedy As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5AAC-E