My widow'd country! Sweden! when I think Upon thy defolation, spite of rage

And vengeance that would choke them-tears will flow.

And. O, they are villains, ev'ry Dane of them, Practis'd to ftab and fmile, to ftab the babe That smiles upon them.

Arn. What accurfed hours

Roll o'er those wretches who to fiends like thefe,
In their dear liberty, have barter'd more
Than worlds will rate for!

Guf. O Liberty, Heaven's choice prerogative!
True bond of law, thou focial foul of property,
Thou breath of reason, life of life itself!
For thee the valiant bleed. O facred Liberty!
Wing'd from the fummer's fnare, from flatt ring
ruin,

Like the bold ftork you feek the wintry shore,
Leave courts, and pomps, and palaces to flaves,
Cleave to the cold and rest upon the ftorm.
Upborne by thee, my foul difdain'd the terms
Of empire offer'd at the hands of tyrants.
With thee I fought this fav'rite foil; with thee
Thefe fav'rite fons I fought: thy fons, O Liberty!
For e'en amid the wilds of life you lead them,
Lift their low-rafted cottage to the clouds,
Smile o'er their heaths, and from their moun-
tain tops

Beam glory to the nations.

All. Liberty! Liberty!

Guf. Are ye not mark'd, ye men of Dalecarlia, Are ye not mark'd by all the circling world As the great take the laft effort for liberty? Say, is it not your wealth, the thirst, the food, The scope and bright ambition of your fouls? Why elfe have you, and your renown'd forefathers, [thrones From the proud fummit of their glitt'ring Caft down the mightiest of your lawful kings, That dar'd the bold infringement? What but liberty, [years, Thro' the fam'd courfe of thirteen hundred Aloof hath held invafion from your hills, And fanctified their fhade?-And will ye, will ye Shrink from the hopes of the expecting world; Bid your high honours ftoop to foreign infult ; And in one hour give up to infamy

The harvest of a thousand years of glory? ift Dale. No,

2d Dale. Never, never.

3d Dale. Perish all first.

4th Dale. Die all!

[umph!

Guf. Yes, die by piece-meal!
Leave not a limb o'er which a Dane may tri-
Now from my foul I joy, I joy, my friends,
To fee ye fear'd; to fee that e'en your foes
Do juftice to your valours! There they be,
The pow'rs of kingdoms, fumm'd in yonder
host,

Yet kept aloof, yet trembling to affail ye.
And, O, when I look round and fee you here,
Of number short, but prevalent in virtue,
My heart fwells high, and burns for the encounter.
True courage but from oppofition grows;
And what are fifty, what a thoiand flaves,

Match'd to the finew of a fingle arm
That ftrikes for liberty-that ftrikes to fave
His fields from fire, his infants from the sword,
His couch from luft, his daughters from pollution,
And his large honours from eternal infamy?
What, doubt we then? Shall we, fhall we fland

here,

Till motives that might warm an ague's fru,
And nerve the coward's arm, fhall poorly fert
To wake us to refiftance?-Let us on!
O, yes, I read your lovely fierce impatience;
You fhall not be withheld; we will ruth ca
them--

This is indeed to triumph, where we hold
Three kingdoms in our toil! is it not glorious,
Thus to appal the bold, meet force with fury,
And push yon torrent back, till every wave
Flee to its fountain?

3d Dale. On, lead us on, Gustavus; one word

more

Is but delay of conquest.

Guf. Take your wish.

He who wants arms may grapple with the foe,
And fo be furnish'd. You, moft noble Anderfor,
Divide our pow'rs, and with the fam'd Olaus
Take the left route-You, Eric, great in arms!
With the renown'd Nederbi, hold the right,
And skirt the forest down: then wheel at once,
Confefs'd to view, and close up all the vale:
Myfelf, and my moft valiant coufin here,
Th' invincible Arvida, gallant Sivard,
Arnoldus, and thefe hundred hardy vet'rans,
Will pour directly on, and lead the onfet.
Joy, joy, I fee confess'd from ev'ry eye,
Your limbs tread vigorous, and your breas
beat high!

Thin tho' our ranks, tho' scanty be our bands,
Bold are our hearts, and nervous are our hands.
With us, truth, juftice, fame, and freedom close,
Each fingly equal to an hoft of foes:
I feel, I feel them fill me out for fight!
They lift my limbs as feather'd Hermes light!
Or like the bird of glory, tow'ring high [eve!
Thunder within his grafp, and lightning in his

That, as a stream diverted from the banks
Of Imooth obedience, thou haft drawn those men
Upon a dry unchannell'd enterprife,
To turn their inundation? Are the lives
Of my mifguided people held fo light, [buke
That thus thoud'ft push them on the keen re
Of guarded majesty; where justice waiss,
All awful and refiitless, to affert
Th' impervious rights, the fanctitude of kings;
And blaft rebellion!

Guf. Juftice, fanctitude, And rights! Q, patience! Rights! what rights, thou tyrant?

Yes, if perdition be the rule of pow'r, [chief, If wrongs give right, O then fupreme in mil Thou wert the lord, the monarch of the world!

Of frank election,

Not even the high anointing hand of Heaven,
Can authorife oppreffion, give a law
For lawliefs pow'r, wed faith to violation,
On reafon build mifrule, or justly bind
Allegiance to injuftice. Tyranny
Abfolves all faith; and who invades our rights
Howe'er his own cominence, can never be
But an ufurper. But for thee, for thee
There is no name. Thou haft abjur'd mankind,
Dafh'd fafety from thy bleak, unfocial fide,
And wag'd wild war with univerfal nature.
Crif. Licentious traitor! thou canft talk it
largely.

Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings,
And pow'r, prime attribute-as on thy tongue
The poife of battle lay, and arms of force,
To throw defiance in the front of duty?
Look round, unruly boy! thy battle comes
Like raw, disjointed muft'ring, feeble wrath,
A war of waters, borne against the rock
Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe,
And fhiver in the toil.

Guf. Miftaken man!

I come impower'd and ftrengthen'd in thy weak

nefs;

For tho' the ftructure of a tyrant's throne
Rife on the necks of half the fuff'ring world,
Fear trembles in the cement; pray'rs, and tears,
And fecret curfes, fap its mould'ring bafe,
And fteal the pillars of allegiance from it:
Then let a fingle arm but dare the fway,
Headlong it turns, and drives upon deftruction.
Trol. Profane, and alien to the love of heaven!
Art thou ftill harden'd to the wrath divine,
That hangs o'er thy rebellion? Know't thou not
Thou art at enmity with grace, caft out,
Made an anathema, a curfe enroll'd
Among the faithful, thou and thy adherents
Shorn from our holy church, and offer'd up

As facred to damnation?

Guf. Yes, I know,
When fuch as thou, with facrilegious hand,
Seize on the apoftolic key of heaven,
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves
To hut out virtue, and unfold thofe gates
That heaven itselt had barr'd against the lufts
Of avarice and ambition. Soft and tweet,
As looks of charity, or voice of lambs
That bleat upon the mountain, are the words
Of Chriftian meeknels! miflion all divine !

Ye Swedish prelacy, your gall hath turn'd
The words of fweet, but indigefted peace,

To wrath and bitterness. Ye hallow'd men, In whom vice fanctifies, whofe precepts teach Zeal without truth, religion without virtue; Who ne'er preach heaven but with a downward eye, [loofe That turns your fouls to drofs! who, fhouting, The dogs of hell upon us. Thefts and rapes, Sack'd towns, and midnight howlings thro' the realm,

Receive your fanction. O, 'tis glorious mischief! When vice turns holy, puts religion on, Affumes the robe pontifical, the eye

Of faintly elevation, blefleth fin,

And makes the feal of fweet offended Heaven
A fign of blood, à label for decrees
That hell would fhrink to own.

Crift. No more of this.

Guftavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace,
And hold thy motions in the fphere of duty,
Acceptance might be found.

Guf. Imperial fpoiler!

Give me my father, give me back my kindred! Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans, Give me the fons in whom thy ruthless sword Has left our widows childlefs. Mine they were, Both mine,and ev'ry Swede's, whofe patriot breaft Bleeds in his country's woundings. O, thou

canft not!

[then

I would attend awhile this mighty motion,
Wait till the tempeft were quite overblown,
That I may take thee in the calm of nature,
With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee;
So hufh'd a ftillness, as if all the gods
[ing;
Look'd down, and liften'd to what we were fay-
Speak then, and tell me, O my best belov'd,
My fon, my Titus, is all well again? [thing?

Tit. So well, that faying how muft make it noSo well, that I could wish to die this moment, For fo my heart, with powerful throbs perfuades That were indeed to make you reparation, [me; That were, my lord, to thank you home, to die: And that for Titus too would be most happy. Brut. How's that, my fon? Would death for

thee be happy?

Tit. Moft certain, Sir; for in my grave I 'scape All thote affronts which I in life muft look for, All thofe reproaches which the eves, and fingers, And tongues of Rome will daily caft upon me ;

From

344 Lady Randolph, Lord Randolph, and young Norval, not known at the time to be Lady Randolph's Son.

HOME.

Lady Ran. How fares my Lord?
Lord Ran. That it fares well, thanks to
this gallant youth,

Whofe valour lav'd me from a wretched death:
As down the winding dale I walk'd alone,
At the cross way four armed men attacked me,
Rovers I judge from the licentious camp [low,
Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph
Had not this brave and generous ftranger come,
Like my good angel, in the hour of tate,
And, mocking danger, made my foes his own.
They turn'd upon him: but his active arm
Struck to the ground, from whence they rofe no

more,

The fierceft two; the others fled amain,
And left him master of the bloody field.
Speak, Lady Randolph; upon beauty's tongue
Dwell accents pleafing to the brave and bold.
Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy Lord.
Lady Ran. My Lord, I cannot speak what now
I feel.

My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heaven,
And to this noble youth, who, all unknown
To you and yours, deliberated not,
Nor paus'd at peril- but, humanely brave,
Fought on your fide against such fearful odds.
Have you yet learnt of him whom we fhould thank,
Whom call the faviour of Lord Randolph's life?
Lord Ran. I afk'd that queftion, and he an-
fwer'd not:

But I must know who my deliverer is.

[To the Stranger. Norv. A low-born man, of parentage obfcure, Who nought can boaft but his defire to be A foldier, and to gain a name in arms.

Lord Ran. Whoe'er thou art, thy fpirit is en

nobled

By the great King of Kings; thou art ordain'd
And ftamp'd a hero by the fovereign hand
Of nature! Blush not, flow'r of modefty
As well as valour, to declare thy birth."

Norv. My name is Norval: on the Grampian
Hills

My father feeds his flocks; a frugal fwain,
Whose conftant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only fon, myfelf, at home.
For I had heard of battles: and I long'd
To follow to the field fome warlike lord;
And Heaven foon granted what my fire denied.
This moon, which rofe laft night round as my
shield,

Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians from the hills
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds
Açd

For fafety, and for fuccour. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took: then hafted to my friends
Whom, with a troop of fifty chofen men,
Till we o'ertook the fpoil-encumber'd foe.
I met advancing. The purfuit I led,
We fought, and conquer'd, Ere a fword was

drawn,

An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I difdain'd
The fhepherd's flothful life: and having heard
That our good king had fummon'd his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron fide,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chofen fervant to conduct my steps:
Yon trembling coward, who forfook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pafs'd these tow'rs;
And, heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Lord Ran. He is as wife as brave; was ever
tale

With fuch a gallant modefty rehears'd?
My brave deliv'rer! thou fhalt enter now
A nobler lift; and, in a monarch's fight,
Contend with princes for the prize of fame,
I will prefent thee to our Scottish king,
Whose valiant spirit ever valour lov'd.
Ha! my Matilda! wherefore farts that tear?

Lady Ran. I cannot fay; for various affections
And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell :
Yet each of them may well command a tear.
I joy that thou art fafe; and I admire
Him, and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy
safety ;

Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own.
Obfcure and friendlefs, he the army fought;
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Refolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his fword
To gain diftinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt unknown he might have pes
rifh'd,

And gain'd with all his valour but oblivion.
Now, grac'd by thee, his virtue ferves no more
Beneath defpair. The foldier now of hope,
He ftands confpicuous; fame and great renown
Are brought within the compafs of his fword.
On this my mind reflected, whilft you spoke,
And blefs'd the wonder-working hand of Hea