GOR. Must I then speak of her to you, Sir Alan? GOR. I penetrate thy purpose; but I go not. GOR. No, thou wilt not command me seek my For such is thy kind meaning-at the expense I would, nay must. Of the last hope which Heaven reserves for Scotland. Thy father in the paths of chivalry, by. GOR. Nay, then, her name is-hark [Whispers. Swi. I know it well, that ancient northern house. Swi. It did, before disasters had untuned me. Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion, Or wake the knight to battle; rouse to merriment, What power can stay them? and, our band dispersed, VIP. The noble youth speaks truth; and were he And am I forced to yield the sad consent, I do it as the patriarch doom'd his issue; I at my country's, he at Heaven's command; Though you smile, Rather than such a victim!-(Trumpets.) Hark, VIP. From the main English host come rushing Art thou dismounted too? Pennons enow-ay, and their Royal Standard. Spur to the Regent-show the instant need 1 MS.-"And am I'doom'd to yield the sad consent That thus devotes thy life?' Нов. Ha, thou knave, I know, Sir Alan, 2 MS. "O, could there be some lesser sacrifice." SwI. My lamp hath long been dim! But thine, O linger not !-1 'll be your guide to them. young Gordon, Just kindled, to be quench'd so suddenly, Ere Scotland saw its splendour ! GOR. Five thousand horse hung idly on yon hill, Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one stirr'd to aid us! SwI. It was the Regent's envy.-Out !-alas! Why blame I him!-It was our civil discord, Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred, Which framed this day of dole for our poor country.— Had thy brave father held yon leading staff, As well his rank and valour might have claim'd it, We had not fall'n unaided.-How, O how Is he to answer it, whose deed prevented GOR. Alas! alas! the author of the death-feud, He has his reckoning too! for had your sons And num'rous vassals lived, we had lack'd no aid. SwI. May God assoil the dead, and him who follows! We've drank the poison'd beverage which we brew'd: Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirlwind! But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart GOR. Look there, and bid me fly!-The oak bas fall'n; And the young ivy bush, which learn'd to climb By its support, must needs partake its fall. VIP. Swinton? Alas! the best, the bravest, strongest, And sagest of our Scottish chivalry! Forgive one moment, if to save the living, My tongue should wrong the dead.-Gordon, bethink thee, Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse 2 GOR. Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry. He taught my youth to soar above the promptings Of mean and selfish vengeance; gave my youth A name that shall not die even on this death-spot. Records shall tell this field had not been lost, Had all men fought like Swinton and like Gordon. [Trumpets. Save thee, De Vipont.-Hark! the Southron trumpets. VIP. Nay, without thee I stir not. Enter EDWARD, CHANDOS, PERCY, BALIOL, &c. GOR. Ay, they come on-the Tyrant and the Traitor, Workman and tool, Plantagenet and Baliol. O for a moment's strength in this poor arm, To do one glorious deed! [He rushes on the English, but is made prisoner with VIPONT. K. ED. Disarm them-harm them not; though it was they Made havoc on the archers of our vanguard, 1 This speech of Swinton's is interpolated on the blank 2 MS." Thou hast small cause to tarry with the corpse." page of the manuscript. GOR. Let it suffice, he was a man this morning.' And that huge mace still seen where war was wildest! Grim chamberlain, who in my tent at Weardale, K. ED. As belted Knight and crowned King, I will. Sleep at his side, in token that our death Ended the feud of Swinton and of Gordon. K. ED. It is the Gordon !--Is there aught beside Edward can do to honour bravery, Even in an enemy? GOR. Nothing but this: Let not base Baliol, with his touch or look, [still, CHA. Baliol, I would not brook such dying looks, To buy the crown you aim at. K. ED. (to VIP.) Vipont, thy crossed shield shows ill in warfare Against a Christian king. VIP. That Christian King is warring upon Scotland. K. ED. I will but know thee as a Christian cham- And set thee free unransom'd. Enter ABBOT OF WALTHAMSTOW. K. ED. It is a day of much and high advantage; Sound trumpets, and pursue the fugitives, Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. Berwick 's render'd | [Dies. These wars, I trust, will soon find lasting close." 1 In his narrative of events on the day after the battle of Sheriffmuir, Sir Walter Scott says, "Amongst the gentlemen who fell on this occasion, were several on both sides, alike eminent for birth and character. The body of the gallant young Earl of Strathmore was found on the field watched by a faithful old domestic, who, being asked the name of the person whose body he waited upon with so much care, made this striking reply, 'He was a man yesterday.'' .'"'— Tales of a Grandfather. 2 MS.-"Stood arm'd beside my couch," &c. Edward, in whom any interest is endeavoured to be excited. With some exceptions, the dialogue also is flat and coarse ; and for all these defects, one or two vigorous descriptions of battle scenes, will scarcely make sufficient atonement, except in the eyes of very enthusiastic friends."-Monthly Review. "Halidon Hill, we understand, unlike the earlier poems of its author, has not been received into the ranks of popular favour. Such rumours, of course, have no effect on our critical judgment; but we cannot forbear saying, that, thinking as we do very highly of the spirit and taste with which an interesting tale is here sketched in natural and energetic verse, we are yet far from feeling surprised that the approbation, which it is our pleasing duty to bestow, should not have been antici 3 "The character of Swinton is obviously a favourite with the author, to which circumstance we are probably indebted for the strong relief in which it is given, and the perfect verisimilitude which belongs to it. The stately commanding figure of the veteran warrior, whom, by the illusion of his art, the au-pated by the ordinary readers of the work before us. It bears, thor has placed in veritable presentment before us;-his venerable age, superior prowess, and intuitive decision;-the broils in which he had engaged, the misfortunes he had suffered, and the intrepid fortitude with which he sustained them,-together with that rigorous control of temper, not to be shaken even by unmerited contumely and insult ;-these qualities, grouped and embodied in one and the same character, render it morally impossible that we should not at once sympathize and admire. The inherent force of his character is finely illustrated in the effect produced upon Lord Gordon by the first appearance of the man who had made him fatherless.'"-Edinburgh Magazine, July, 1822. 4 A Venetian General, observing his soldiers testified some unwillingness to fight against those of the Pope, whom they regarded as father of the Church, addressed them in terms of similar encouragement,-" Fight on! we were Venetians before we were Christians." "It is generally the case that much expectation ends in disappointment. The free delineation of character in some of the recent Scottish Novels, and the admirable conversations interspersed throughout them, raised hopes that, when a regular drama should be attempted by the person who was considered as their author, the success would be eminent. Its announcement, too, in a solemn and formal manner, did not diminish the interest of the public. The drama, however, which was expected, turns out to be in fact, and not only in name, merely a dramatic sketch, which is entirely deficient in plot, and contains but three characters, Swinton, Gordon, and in truth, no great resemblance to the narrative poems from which Sir Walter Scott derived his first and high reputation, and by which, for the present, his genius must be characterised. It is wholly free from many of their most obvious faults-their carelessness, their irregularity, and their inequality both of conception and of execution; but it wants likewise no inconsiderable portion of their beauties-it has less 'pomp and circumstance,' less picturesque description, romantic association, and chivalrous glitter, less sentiment and reflection, less perhaps of all their striking charms, with the single exception of that one redeeming and sufficing quality, which forms, in our view, the highest recommendation of all the author's works of imagination, their unaffected and unflagging VIGOUR. This perhaps, after all, is only saying, that we have before us a dramatic poem, instead of a metrical tale of romance, and that the author has had too much taste and discretion to bedizen his scenes with inappropriate and encumbering ornament. There is, however, a class of readers of poetry, and a pretty large class, too, who have no relish for a work, however naturally and strongly the characters and incidents may be conceived and sustained-however appropriate and manly may be the imagery and diction-from which they cannot sclect any isolated passages to store in their memories or their commonplace books, to whisper into a lady's ear, or transcribe into a lady's album. With this tea-table and watering-place school of critics, 'Halidon Hill' must expect no favour; it has no rant-no mysticism-and, worst offence of all, no affectation."-British Critic, October 1822. MacDuff's Cross. INTRODUCTION. THESE few scenes had the honour to be included in a Miscellany, published in the year 1823, by Mrs. Joanna Baillie, and are here reprinted, to unite them with the trifles of the same kind which owe their birth to the author. The singular history of the Cross and Law of Clan MacDuff is given, at length enough to satisfy the keenest antiquary, in The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. It is here only necessary to state, that the Cross was a place of refuge to any person related to MacDuff, within the ninth degree, who, having committed homicide in sudden quarrel, should reach this place, prove his descent from the Thane of Fife, and pay a certain penalty. The shaft of the Cross was destroyed at the Reformation. The huge block of stone which served for its pedestal is still in existence near the town of Newburgh, on a kind of pass which commands the county of Fife to the southward, and to the north, the windings of the magnificent Tay and fertile country of Angus-shire. The Cross bore an inscription, which is transmitted to us in an unintelligible form by Sir Robert Sibbald. Some touch of strange enchantment.-Mark that fragment, I mean that rough-hewn block of massive stone, Shall render back their terrors with their woes, And accents which, once heard, the ear forgets not, Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine, Take one which scarcely is of worth enough To give or to withhold. Our time creeps on, Fancy grows colder as the silvery hair Tells the advancing winter of our life. But if it be of worth enough to please, That worth it owes to her who set the task; If otherwise, the fault rests with the author. ment; and, at a small distance, on one side, a Chapel, with a Lamp burning. Enter, as having ascended the Pass, NINIAN and WALDHAVE, Monks of Lindores. NINIAN crosses himself, and seems to recite his devotions. WALDHAVE stands gazing on the prospect, as if in deep contemplation. NIN. Enough, that from that time De Berkeley bore NIN. Here stands the Cross, good brother, conse- He hath return'd of late; and, therefore, brother, crated By the bold Thane unto his patron saint Scarcely within our sea-girt province here, [some. WAL. I spoke not of the literal path, good father, The Prior hath ordain'd our vigil here, WAL. What rights are these? NIN. Most true! you are but newly come from Rome, And do not know our ancient usages. On the Highland hills Know then, when fell Macbeth beneath the arm NIN. 'Tis good morality.-But yet forget not, nence, Yet doth the Prince of all the airy space, Arch foe of man, possess the realms between. WAL. Most true, good brother; and men may be To see the custom of the place observed ? farther From the bright heaven they aim at, even because They deem themselves secure on 't. NIN. (after a pause.) And still more northward lie the ancient towers- NIN. NIN. Even so;-such is our convent's holy right, NIN. Honour'd and fear'd he was -- but little WAL. How now, Sir Priest! (fiercely)-Forgive me How? know you the towers of Edzell? Of wrath and injury. Long the tale Indeed was Reynold;-and methinks, moreover, Enough to say that the last Lord of Edzell, |