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Dramatic Pieces.

Halidon Hill;'

A DRAMATIC SKETCH FROM SCOTTISH HISTORY.

PREFACE.

THOUGH the Public seldom feel much interest in such communications, (nor is there any reason why they should,) the Author takes the liberty of stating, that these scenes were commenced with the purpose

Angus and Moray also joined Douglas, who entered England with an army of ten thousand men, carrying terror and devastation to the walls of Newcastle.

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Henry IV. was now engaged in the Welsh war against Owen Glendour; but the Earl of Northumberland, and his son, the Hotspur Percy, with the Earl of March, collected a numerous array, and await

of contributing to a miscellany projected by a much-ed the return of the Scots, impeded with spoil, near defeated by the English on both occasions, and under nearly the same circumstances of address on the part of the victors, and mismanagement on that of the vanquished, for the English long-bow decided the day in both cases. In both cases, also, a Gordon was left on the field of battle; and at Halidon, as at Homildon, the Scots were commanded by an ill-fated represen tative of the great house of Douglas. He of Homildon was surnamed Tincman, i. e. Loseman, from his repeated defeats and miscarriages; and, with all the personal valour of his race, seems to have enjoyed so small a portion of their sagacity, as to be unable to learn military experience from reiterated calamity. I am far, however, from intimating, that the traits of imbecility and envyattributed to the Regent in the following sketch, are to be historically ascribed either to the elder Douglas of Halidon Hill, or to him called Tineman, who seems to have enjoyed the respect of his countrymen, notwithstanding that, like the celebrat

esteemed friend. But instead of being confined to a scene or two, as intended, the work gradually swelled to the size of an independent publication. It is designed to illustrate military antiquities, and the manners of chivalry. The drama (if it can be termed one) is, in no particular, either designed or calculated for the stage.3

The subject is to be found in Scottish history; but not to overload so slight a publication with antiquarian research, or quotations from obscure chronicles, may be sufficiently illustrated by the following passage from PINKERTON'S History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 72.

"The Governor (anno 1402) dispatched a considerable force under Murdac, his eldest son: the Earls of

Milfield, in the north part of Northumberland. Douglas had reached Wooler, in his return; and, perceiving the enemy, seized a strong post between the two armies, called Homildon-hill. In this method he rivalled his predecessor at the battle of Otterburn, but not with like success. The English advanced to the assault, and Henry Percy was about to lead them up the hill, when March caught his bridle, and advised him to advance no farther, but to pour the dreadful shower of English arrows into the enemy. This advice was followed by the usual fortune; for in all ages the bow was the English instrument of victory; and though the Scots, and perhaps the French, were superior in the use of the spear, yet this weapon was useless after the distant bow had decided the combat, Robert the Great, sensible of this at the battle of Ban

1 Published by Constable & Co., June 1822, in 8vo. 6s.

2 The author alludes to a collection of small pieces in verse, edited, for a charitable purpose, by Mrs. Joanna Baillie. See Life of Scott, vol. vii., pp. 7, 18, 169-70.

3 In the first edition, the text added, "In case any attempt shall be made to produce it in action, (as has happened in similar cases,) the author takes the present opportunity to intimate, that it shall be at the peril of those who make such an experiment." Adverting to this passage, the New Edinburgh Review (July, 1822) said, "We, nevertheless, do not believe that any thing more essentially dramatic, in so far as it goes, more capable of stage effect, has appeared in England since the days of her greatest genius; and giving Sir Walter, therefore, full credit for his coyness on the present occasion, we ardently hope that he is but trying his strength in the most arduous of all literary enterprises, and that, ere long, he

will demonstrate his right to the highest honours of the tragic muse." The British Critic, for October, 1822, says, on the same head, "Though we may not accede to the author's declaration, that it is 'in no particular calculated for the stage, we noust not lead our readers to look for any thing amounting to a regular drama. It would, we think, form an underplot of very great interest, in an historical play of customary length; and although its incidents and personages are mixed up, in these scenes, with an event of real history, there is nothing in either to prevent their being interwoven in the plot of any drama of which the action should lie in the confines of England and Scotland, at any of the very numerous periods of Border warfare. The whole interest, indeed, of the story, is engrossed by two characters, imagined, as it appears to us, with great force and probability, and contrasted with considerable skill and ef fect."

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nockburn, ordered a prepared detachment of cavalry Halidon Hill for Homildon. A Scottish army was to rush among the English archers at the commencement, totally to disperse them, and stop the deadly effusion. But Douglas now used no such precaution; and the consequence was, that his people, drawn up on the face of the hill, presented one general mark to the enemy, none of whose arrows descended in vain. The Scots fell without fight, and unrevenged, till a spirited knight, Swinton, exclaimed aloud, 'O my brave countrymen! what fascination has seized you to-day, that you stand like deer to be shot, instead of indulging your ancient courage, and meeting your enemies hand to hand? Let those who will, descend with me, that we may gain victory, or life, or fall like men.'1 This being heard by Adam Gordon, between whom and Swinton there remained an ancient deadly feud, attended with the mutual slaughter of many followers, he instantly fell on his knees before Swinton, begged his pardon, and desired to be dubbed a knight by him whom he must now regard as the wisest and the boldest of that order in Britain. The cere-ed Anne de Montmorency, he was either defeated, or

mony performed, Swinton and Gordon descended the
hill, accompanied only by one hundred men; and a
desperate valour led the whole body to death. Had
a similar spirit been shown by the Scottish army, it is
probable that the event of the day would have been
different. Douglas, who was certainly deficient in the
most important qualities of a general, seeing his army
begin to disperse, at length attempted to descend the
hill; but the English archers, retiring a little, sent a
flight of arrows so sharp and strong, that no armour
could withstand; and the Scottish leader himself,
whose panoply was of remarkable temper, fell under
five wounds, though not mortal. The English men-
of-arms, knights, or squires, did not strike one blow,
but remained spectators of the rout, which was now
complete. Great numbers of the Scots were slain,
and near five hundred perished in the river Tweed
upon their flight. Among the illustrious captives was
Douglas, whose chief wound deprived him of an eye;
Murdac, son of Albany; the Earls of Moray and An-
gus; and about twenty-four gentlemen of eminent
rank and power. The chief slain were, Swinton, Gor-
don, Livingston of Calendar, Ramsay of Dalhousie,
Walter Sinclair, Roger Gordon, Walter Scott, and
others.
Such was the issue of the unfortunate battle
of Homildon."

It may be proper to observe, that the scene of action has, in the following pages, been transferred from Homildon to Halidon Hill. For this there was an obvious reason; - for who would again venture to introduce upon the scene the celebrated Hotspur, who commanded the English at the former battle? There are, however, several coincidences which may reconcile even the severer antiquary to the substitution of

1 "Miles magnanimus dominus Johannes Swinton, tanquam voce horrida præconis exclamavit, dicens, O commilitones inclyti! quis vos hodie fascinavit non indulgere solitæ probitati, quod nec dextris conseritis, nec ut viri corda erigitis, ad iuvadendum æmulos, qui vos, tanquam damulos vel hinnulos

wounded, or made prisoner, in every battle which he fought. The Regent of the sketch is a character purely imaginary.

The tradition of the Swinton family, which still survives in a lineal descent, and to which the author has the honour to be related, avers, that the Swinton who fell at Homildon in the manner related in the preceding extract, had slain Gordon's father; which seems sufficient ground for adopting that circumstance into the following dramatic sketch, though it is rendered improbable by other authorities.

If any reader will take the trouble of looking at Froissart, Fordun, or other historians of the period, he will find, that the character of the Lord of Swinton, for strength, courage, and conduct, is by no means exaggerated.

ABBOTSFORD, 1322.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

SCOTTISH.

THE REGENT OF SCOTLAND.
GORDON,
SWINTON,

LENNOX,

SUTHERLAND,
Ross,

MAXWELL,
JOHNSTONE,

LINDESAY,

W. S.

Scottish Chiefs and Nobles.

imparcatos, sagittarum jaculis perdere festinant. Descendant mecum qui velint, et in nomine Domini hostes penetrabinus, ut vel sic vita potiamur, vel saltem ut milites cum honore occumbamus," &c.-FORDUN, Scoti-Chronicon, vol. ü.. p. 434.

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PRI. I cannot gaze on't with undazzled eye, So thick the rays dart back from shield and helmet, And sword and battle-axe, and spear and pennon. Sure 'tis a gallant show! The Bruce himself Hath often conquer'd at the head of fewer

And worse appointed followers.

VIP. Ay, but 'twas Bruce that led them. Reverend
Father,

'Tis not the falchion's weight decides a combat;
It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it.
Ill fate, that we should lack the noble King,
And all his champions now! Time call'd them not,
For when I parted hence for Palestine,

The brows of most were free from grizzled hair.

PRI. Too true, alas! But well you know, in Scot. land

Few hairs are silver'd underneath the helmet; 'Tis cowls like mine which hide them. 'Mongst the

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VIP. No farther, Father-here I need no guidance- Think not on me. Here comes an ancient friend,
I have already brought your peaceful step
Brother in arms, with whom to-day I'll join me.
Back to your choir, assemble all your brotherhood,

Too near the verge of battle.

PRI. Fain would I see you join some Baron's banner, And weary Heaven with prayers for victory.3

Before I say farewell. The honour'd sword That fought so well in Syria, should not wave

Amid the ignoble crowd.

VIP. Each spot is noble in a pitched field, So that a man has room to fight and fall on't. But I shall find out friends. 'Tis scarce twelve years Since I left Scotland for the wars of Palestine, And then the flower of all the Scottish nobles Were known to me; and I, in my degree, Not all unknown to them.

PRI. Alas! there have been changes since that time! The Royal Bruce, with Randolph, Douglas, Grahame, Then shook in field the banners which now moulder Over their graves i' the chancel.

VIP. And thence comes it,

That while I look'd on many a well-known crest
And blazon'd shield,1 as hitherward we came,

The faces of the Barons who displayed them

Were all unknown to me. Brave youths they seem'd; Yet, surely, fitter to adorn the tilt-yard,

Than to be leaders of a war. Their followers,

Young like themselves, seem like themselves unprac

tised

Look at their battle-rank.

1 MS.-"I've look'd on many a well-known pennon Playing the air," &c.

PRI. Heaven's blessing rest with thee,

Champion of Heaven, and of thy suffering country! [Exit PRIOR. VIPONT draws a little aside and lets down the beaver of his helmet.

Enter SWINTON, followed by REYNALD and others, to whom he speaks as he enters.

SWI. Halt here, and plant my pennon, till the Regent

Assign our band its station in the host.

REY. That must be by the Standard. We have had That right since good Saint David's reign at least. Fain would I see the Marcher would dispute it.

SWI. Peace, Reynald! Where the general plants the soldier,

There is his place of honour, and there only
His valour can win worship. Thou'rt of those,

Who would have war's deep art bear the wild sem

blance

Of some disorder'd hunting, where, pell-mell,
Each trusting to the swiftness of his horse,
Gallants press on to see the quarry fall.
Yon steel-clad Southrons, Reynald, are no deer;
And England's Edward is no stag at bay.

2 MS." The youths who hold," &c., "are."
a MS.
with prayers for Scotland's weal."

VIP. (advancing.) There needed not, to blazon forth Only a sapling, which the fawn may crush
the Swinton,

His ancient burgonet, the sable Boar
Chain'd to the gnarl'd oak,1-nor his proud step,
Nor giant stature, nor the ponderous mace,
Which only he, of Scotland's realm, can wield:
His discipline and wisdom mark the leader,

As doth his frame the champion. Hail, brave Swinton.
SwI. Brave Templar, thanks! Such your cross'd
shoulder speaks you;

But the closed visor, which conceals your features,
Forbids more knowledge. Umfraville, perhaps-

As he springs over it.

VIP. All slain?-alas!

SWI. Ay, all, De Vipont. And their attributes,
John with the Long Spear-Archibald with the Axe-
Richard the Ready-and my youngest darling,
My Fair-hair'd William-do but now survive
In measures which the grey-hair'd minstrels sing,
When they make maidens weep.

VIP. These wars with England, they have rooted out
The flowers of Christendom. Knights, who might win
The sepulchre of Christ from the rude heathen,

VIP. (unclosing his helmet.) No; one less worthy of Fall in unholy warfare!
our sacred Order.

Yet, unless Syrian suns have scorch'd my features
Swart as my sable visor, Alan Swinton

Will welcome Symon Vipont.

SWI. (embracing him.) As the blithe reaper
Welcomes a practised mate, when the ripe harvest
Lies deep before him, and the sun is high!

Thou 'lt follow yon old pennon, wilt thou not?
'Tis tatter'd since thou saw'st it, and the Boar-heads
Look as if brought from off some Christmas board,
Where knives had notch'd them deeply.

VIP. Have with them, ne'ertheless. The Stuart's
Chequer,

The Bloody Heart of Douglas, Ross's Lymphads,
Sutherland's Wild-cats, nor the royal Lion,
Rampant in golden treasure, wins me from them.
We 'll back the Boar-heads bravely. I see round them
A chosen band of lances-some well known to me.
Where's the main body of thy followers?

SWI. Symon de Vipont, thou dost see them all
That Swinton's bugle-horn can call to battle,
However loud it rings. There's not a boy
Left in my halls, whose arm has strength enough
To bear a sword-there's not a man behind,
However old, who moves without a staff.

Striplings and greybeards, every one is here,
And here all should be-Scotland needs them all;
And more and better men, were each a Hercules,

And yonder handful centuplied.

SWI. Unholy warfare? ay, well hast thou named it;
But not with England-would her cloth-yard shafts
Had bored their cuirasses! Their lives had been
Lost like their grandsire's, in the bold defence
Of their dear country2-but in private feud
With the proud Gordon, fell my Long-spear'd John,
He with the Axe, and he men call'd the Ready,
Ay, and my Fair-hair'd Will-the Gordon's wrath
Devour'd my gallant issue.

VIP. Since thou dost weep, their death is un-
avenged?

SWI. Templar, what think'st thou me? - See yonder
rock,

From which the fountain gushes-is it less
Compact of adamant, though waters flow from it?
Firm hearts have moister eyes.--They are avenged;
I wept not till they were-till the proud Gordon
Had with his life-blood dyed my father's sword,
In guerdon that he thinn'd my father's lineage,
And then I wept my sons; and, as the Gordon
Lay at my feet, there was a tear for him,
Which mingled with the rest. We had been friends,
Had shared the banquet and the chase together,
Fought side by side, and our first cause of strife,
Woe to the pride of both, was but a light one!

VIP. You are at feud, then, with the mighty Gor-
don?

SWI. At deadly feud. Here in this Border-land, Where the sire's quarrels descend upon the son,

VIP. A thousand followers-such, with friends and As due a part of his inheritance, kinsmen,

Allies and vassals, thou wert wont to lead

A thousand followers shrunk to sixty lances

As the strong castle and the ancient blazon,
Where private Vengeance holds the scales of justice,
Weighing each drop of blood as scrupulously

In twelve years' space?-And thy brave sons, Sir As Jews or Lombards balance silver pence,

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