This night our scenes no common tear demand,
He comes, the hero of your native land!

DOUGLAS, a name thro' all the world renown'd,
A name that rouses like the trumpet's sound!
Oft have your fathers, prodigal of life,

A DOUGLAS follow'd thro' the bloody strife ;
Hosts have been known at that dread name to yield,
And, DOUGLAS dead, his name hath won the field.
Listen attentive to the various tale,

Mark if the author's kindred feelings fail;
Sway'd by alternate hopes, alternate fears,
He waits the test of your congenial tears.
If they shall flow, back to the muse he flies,
And bids your heroes in succession rise;
Collects the wand'ring warriors as they roam,
DOUGLAS assures them of a welcome home.

DOUGLAS.

ACT I. SCENE 1.

The Court of a Castle, surrounded with Woods. Enter Lady

RANDOLPH.

Lady Randolph.

YE woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom
Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth
The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart,
Farewel a while: I will not leave you long;
For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells,
Who from the chiding stream, or groaning oak,
Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan.
Oh, Douglas! Douglas! if departed ghosts
Are e'er permitted to review this world,
Within the circle of that wood thou art,
And with the passion of immortals hear'st
My lamentation: hear'st thy wretched wife
Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost.
My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn
Who perish'd with thee on this fatal day.—

C

To thee I lift my voice; to thee address

The plaint which mortal ear has never heard.
O disregard me not; tho' I am call'd
Another's now, my heart is wholly thine.
Incapable of change, affection lies

Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody grave.
But Randolph comes, whom fate has made my lord,
To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead.

Enter Lord RANDOLPH.

Again these weeds of woe! say, dost thou well
To feed a passion which consumes thy life?
The living claim some duty; vainly thou
Bestow'st thy cares upon the silent dead.

Lady R. Silent, alas! is he for whom I mourn:
Childless, without memorial of his name,
He only now in my remembrance lives.
"This fatal day stirs my time-settled sorrow,
"Troubles afresh the fountain of my heart.

"Lord R. When was it pure of sadness! These
black weeds

"Express the wonted colour of thy mind,
"For ever dark and dismal. Seven long years

"Are pass'd, since we were join'd by sacred ties :
"Clouds all the while have hung upon thy brow,
"Nor broke, nor parted by one gleam of joy."
Time, that wears out the trace of deepest anguish,
"As the sea smoothes the prints made in the sand,”
Has pass'd o'er thee in vain.

“ Lady R. If time to come

"Should prove as ineffectual, yet, my lord, "Thou cans't not blame me.

youth

When our Scottish

"Vy'd with each other for my luckless love, "Oft I besought them, I implor'd them all "Not to assail me with my father's aid, "Nor blend their better destiny with mine. "For melancholy had congeal'd my blood, "And froze affection in my chilly breast. "At last my Sire, rous'd with the base attempt "To force me from him, which thou rend'red'st vain, "To his own daughter bow'd his hoary head,

"Besought me to commiserate his age,

"And vow'd he should not, could not die in peace,
"Unless he saw me wedded, and secur'd
"From violence and outrage. Then, my lord!
"In my extreme distress I call'd on thee,
"Thee I bespake, profess'd my strong desire
"To lead a single, solitary life,

"And begg'd thy Nobleness, not to demand
"Her for a wife whose heart was dead to love.
"How thou persisted'st after this, thou know'st,
"And must confess that I am not unjust,

"Nor more to thee than to myself injurious.

"Lord R. That I confess; yet ever must regret "The grief I cannot cure." Would thou wert not Compos'd of grief and tenderness alone,

"But had'st a spark of other passions in thee,

"Pride, anger, vanity, the strong desire