_Raby._ Should some rash man, regardless of thy fame, And in defiance of thy marriage vows, Presume to plead a guilty pa.s.sion for thee, What would'st thou do?

_Elw._ What honour bids me do.

_Raby._ Come to my arms! [_they embrace._

_Elw._ My father!

_Raby._ Yes, Elwina, Thou art my child--thy mother's perfect image.

_Elw._ Forgive these tears of mingled joy and doubt; For why that question? who should seek to please The desolate Elwina?

_Raby._ But if any Should so presume, canst thou resolve to hate him, Whate'er his name, whate'er his pride of blood, Whate'er his former arrogant pretensions?

_Elw._ Ha!

_Raby._ Dost thou falter? Have a care, Elwina.

_Elw._ Sir, do not fear me: am I not your daughter?

_Raby._ Thou hast a higher claim upon thy honour; Thou art Earl Douglas' wife.

_Elw._ [_weeps._] I am, indeed!

_Raby._ Unhappy Douglas!

_Elw._ Has he then complain'd?

Has he presum'd to sully my white fame?

_Raby._ He knows that Percy----

_Elw._ Was my destin'd husband; By your own promise, by a father's promise, And by a tie more strong, more sacred still, Mine, by the fast firm bond of mutual love.

_Raby._ Now, by my fears, thy husband told me truth.

_Elw._ If he has told thee, that thy only child Was forc'd a helpless victim to the altar, Torn from his arms who had her virgin heart, And forc'd to make false vows to one she hated, Then I confess that he has told the truth.

_Raby._ Her words are barbed arrows in my heart.

But 'tis too late. [_aside._] Thou hast appointed Harcourt To see thee here by stealth in Douglas' absence?

_Elw._ No, by my life, nor knew I till this moment That Harcourt was return'd. Was it for this I taught my heart to struggle with its feelings?

Was it for this I bore my wrongs in silence?

When the fond ties of early love were broken, Did my weak soul break out in fond complaints?

Did I reproach thee? Did I call thee cruel?

No--I endur'd it all; and wearied Heaven To bless the father who destroy'd my peace.

_Enter Messenger._

_Mes._ My lord, a knight, Sir Hubert as I think, But newly landed from the holy wars, Entreats admittance.

_Raby._ Let the warrior enter. [_exit Messenger._ All private interests sink at his approach; All selfish cares be for a moment banish'd; I've now no child, no kindred but my country.

_Elw._ Weak heart, be still, for what hast thou to fear?

_Enter Sir Hubert._

_Raby._ Welcome, thou gallant knight! Sir Hubert, welcome!

Welcome to Raby Castle!--In one word, Is the king safe? Is Palestine subdu'd?

_Sir H._ The king is safe, and Palestine subdu'd.

_Raby._ Blest be the G.o.d of armies! Now, Sir Hubert, By all the saints, thou'rt a right n.o.ble knight!

O why was I too old for this crusade!

I think it would have made me young again, Could I, like thee, have seen the hated crescent Yield to the Christian cross.--How now, Elwina!

What! cold at news which might awake the dead?

If there's a drop in thy degenerate veins That glows not now, thou art not Raby's daughter.

It is religion's cause, the cause of Heaven!

_Elw._ When policy a.s.sumes religion's name, And wears the sanctimonious garb of faith Only to colour fraud, and license murder, War then is tenfold guilt.

_Raby._ Blaspheming girl!

_Elw._ 'Tis not the crosier, nor the pontiff's robe, The saintly look, nor elevated eye, Nor Palestine destroy'd, nor Jordan's banks Deluged with blood of slaughter'd infidels; No, nor the extinction of the eastern world, Nor all the mad, pernicious, bigot rage Of your crusades, can bribe that Power who sees The motive with the act. O blind, to think That cruel war can please the Prince of Peace!

He, who erects his altar in the heart, Abhors the sacrifice of human blood, And all the false devotion of that zeal Which ma.s.sacres the world he died to save.

_Raby._ O impious rage! If thou would'st shun my curse, No more, I charge thee.--Tell me, good Sir Hubert, Say, have our arms achiev'd this glorious deed, (I fear to ask,) without much Christian bloodshed?

_Elw._ Now, Heaven support me! [_aside._

_Sir H._ My good lord of Raby, Imperfect is the sum of human glory!

Would I could tell thee that the field was won, Without the death of such ill.u.s.trious knights As make the high-flush'd cheek of victory pale.

_Elw._ Why should I tremble thus? [_aside._

_Raby._ Who have we lost?

_Sir H._ The n.o.ble Clifford, Walsingham, and Grey, Sir Harry Hastings, and the valiant Pembroke, All men of choicest note.

_Raby._ O that my name Had been enroll'd in such a list of heroes!

If I was too infirm to serve my country, I might have prov'd my love by dying for her.

_Elw._ Were there no more?

_Sir H._ But few of n.o.ble blood.

But the brave youth who gain'd the palm of glory, The flower of knighthood, and the plume of war, Who bore his banner foremost in the field, Yet conquer'd more by mercy than the sword, Was Percy.

_Elw._ Then he lives! [_aside._

_Raby._ Did he? Did Percy?

O gallant boy, then I'm thy foe no more; Who conquers for my country is my friend!