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DRAMATIS PERSON^.. 
 
 r/t (xcncral Wilford Messrs. BengovgL - ec 
 
 J\ Kcnmurc, (a youno: Laird, in > „ , y 
 
 ^ love with EllenEnfield . . \ ^'''^'^' ^ -^^ 
 
 *> /t Farmer Enfield, (ail Eno^lish > j^r . ., /y5 
 
 , ^ Farmer ?, . .\ ^'^'S^^^' ' ^^ 
 
 yi 'i Edward E.iiield, (his Son) . . Wallach. /ii^ 
 
 A/i Donald, (a Piper) //. Johnston^ / 
 
 ^'L Malcolm, (a Gipsy Cliicf) . . T.P. Cooke ^ O 
 
 3 /t Lindley . G. Smith, j^/a 
 
 I . Evan J \ Kent. I (j'^ 
 
 /. Derncleufrh ....> Gipsies < ^ Coven cj/,(' y/l 
 
 'g . Gabriel \ / ■" ' * Mintoti. O */7 
 
 ;t. Allen ^ ^ Maddocks. 4^/U 
 
 'i'l^erjeant Moreton Afmshail. 
 
 ';4.Peter Mmer. 
 
 /. '4 Steenie ? t- i S ^^- Philips. 
 
 k Gellatlie . . . . ^ I^i^licrmen ^ ^^^^^ 
 
 '' ^^''' EnfieW (Sister to Fur-? ^^^^.^ Harloxcc^^/ 
 mer Enfield) ^ ^ . 
 
 y. Ellen EnfK.l<l, (.laughter to^ ^^.^^ j.^„ _„ /^:,. 
 
 larmer Enneld) 3 ^ rL A j? 
 
 I . .Tanet, (Wife to Steenie) Miss TidsiceUy^^ ^^. 
 
 1^ Jessy, (their Daughter) ... . Miss Cooke, ,^ ^\ 
 
 Seldkrs, Peasants^ Gipsies. 
 
 M5G8^1 
 
%v. 
 
 I 
 
 S^ENE — By and near the Falls of Clyde. 
 
 TIME — From Evening till the break oj 
 
 the next day. 
 
TO 
 THE HONOURABLE GEORGE LAMBE. 
 
 Allow me. Sir, to dedicate to you 
 this Melo-Drama ; not as being in itself 
 worthy of your notice, but as a sincere, 
 though trifling tribute of gratitude to that 
 Hberahty, which has ever fostered my humble 
 efforts. 
 
 Your obliged 
 
 And obedient Servant, 
 
 GEORGE SOANE 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It has for a long* time been customary for 
 Authors to preface new Dramas Avith acknow- 
 ledgments to the 'PerformerSj whose talents 
 have supported their productions^ and never 
 were such acknowledgements more just than on 
 the present occasion. 
 
 Of Miss Kelly, I know not how to write in 
 terms adequate to her merit; the strong ex- 
 pression of her action that speaks as powerfully as 
 any language, the beautiful intonations of her 
 voice, and above all, that vigour of mind which 
 conceives and executes with unequalled bril- 
 liancy, all these may be felt, but can hardly be 
 described ; the part of Ellen is at best no more 
 than trifling, but Miss Kelly's genius, like the 
 vital spark stolen from heaven by Prometheus, 
 infused hfe and beauty into the inanimate crea- 
 tion. She stands alone in her excellence^ and 
 if any superiority of intellect could set a human 
 being above envy, this child of feeling and 
 genius is exalted above its utmost efforts. 
 
 To Mr. Wallace. I owe my grateful acknow- 
 
ledgements, not only for his admirable acting, 
 but for his knidness in undertaking a part so far 
 below his talents, talents that are already ripen- 
 ed into the very first degree of merit, and only 
 want an open field for their display ; highly as 
 the Public esteem him, they are as yet, far from 
 having seen the full extent of his genius. 
 
 The truth and exquisite pathos of Mr. Knight's 
 acting deserve the highest commendation, and 
 if I forbear entering into the detail, it is not be- 
 cause I am insensible of his excellence. The 
 voice of a friend may be thought partial, for to 
 Mr. Knight I owe my Uterary success; his 
 kindness first introduced me to the stage, and 
 his persevering friendship has since encouraged 
 and promoted my exertions; yet thus much 
 let me say and say with sincerity— -werel to use 
 the warmest expressions of admiration, I should 
 but faintly echo the opinion of the public. 
 
 Mr. T. P. CooKE in Malcolm, and Mr. 
 Penley in Kenmure, even surpassed my highest 
 expectations, and that is saying not a little, for 
 authors are not apt to be moderate in their 
 demands. 
 
 To Mr. H. Johnston I am under a double 
 obligation, for his very natural and spirited 
 performance of Donald, and his taste and un- 
 wearied attention in arranging the piece. It is 
 hardly necessary for me to observe upon the 
 beautiful and picturesque grouping introduced 
 
in 
 
 in various parts of the piece^ which met Ivith the 
 undivided approbation of the audience ; indeed 
 all has been effected by him that could be ef- 
 fected by a thorough knowledge of the stage^ 
 united to the skill and taste of a practiced artist. 
 
 To Mr. G. Smith, Mr. Kent, Mr. Bengough^ 
 and Mrs. Harlowe, I must also return my thanks ; 
 their characters were trifling, but their exertions 
 great. 
 
 Mr. T. Cook's music formed a principal fea- 
 ture in the piece, and as such, .requires my 
 gratitude. 
 
 It will be clearly seen that the author can 
 claim little credit to himself, but even from this 
 little another deduction is to be made in favour 
 of Mr. Greenwood, the painter of the scenes, 
 and Mr. Lethbridge, the machinist, who have 
 produced two scenes in this piece that have ne- 
 ver been equalled. Their skill needs not my 
 commendation, yet this machinist as a young 
 man, already beyond the first in his art, and 
 ^ven giving proof of farther advance, might 
 w*ellbe noticed. 
 
ACT I 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A wild spot. In the back ground a few straggling 
 huts. Gipsies in front. Men, women, and chilr 
 dren xariouslt/ occupied ; some around a fire. 
 
 LiNDLEY, DeRNCLEUGH , GaBRIEL , AlLEX , 
 
 chDrus. 
 
 As the lion in the woods, 
 
 As the eagle in the air, 
 As the king-whale in the floods ; 
 
 Such the gipsy in his lair. 
 All the seeds that others sow, 
 For the gipsy's service grow ? 
 All the vines that others feed, 
 For the gipsy's goblet bleed ; 
 All on earth's the gipsy's prey, 
 All his life's a holyday. -, 
 
 After the Chorus ends, MAXCc^j^M^ggiffitJ*^^^ 
 Mai. Out on ye screech-owls ! '^ sing, when ye 
 should curse ! Ye kiss the lass upon the green, when 
 ye should grapple with your enemy in the forest 
 Lind. Sessa, sessa, what wind blows now ? 
 Mai. One that brings with it a smiting pestilence. . 
 The ban of power is upon us — we must fly the iwid. 
 
 B 
 
. 6 
 
 Lind. And who says so? 
 
 A^a/; The y^^'iMig Laird, Kenmure ; his myrmidons 
 will be hipre anon. But I will have vengeance — 
 desolating vengeance ! Hear me ! At night you all 
 will retire to our secret cave by the Falls of Clyde — • 
 no search can find you there. 
 
 Land. »lf it could, Ave should have all swung long 
 ago — many j^ dark work has been done there, which 
 day-light would not look upon. But you — » 
 
 Mai. Must aloifl^upon my dreary errand. Yet 
 hold — I may want'jiid — you two, Lindley and Evan, 
 shall with me. 
 
 Lind, They are coming. 
 
 ^ Kenmure and a large part^ of armed peasants enter. 
 
 Ken. How is this ! Were not my orders instant 
 for your removal ? 
 
 MaL I believe so. 
 
 Ken. Why am I not obey'd ? . 
 
 MaL No man would willingly pull the roof from 
 his own house« 
 
 Ken. (to the peasants.) Let all these hovels — all — 
 be instantly demolished ! 
 
 Mai. Who dares — (recollecting himself.) Aye, 
 aye ; do, do. Burn ! Destroy ! Leave not a stick 
 standing — ^leave not an ember burning! But take 
 heed — take heed I say — the liouj hunted from, his 
 den, may beard you in the forest ! 
 
 Ken. Do you mean to 1:hreaten me ? 
 
 Mai. (laughing spitefiill?/.) No — Oh no! It ii 
 yours to order, mine to obey — it is yours to inflict, 
 
 mine to suffer cruelty. You are rich, I am a beggar 
 
 — ^YoVi ar« a lairo^ I am a gipsy. And shall a begj^ar 
 
gipsy deny the bidding of a rich laird ! No, ho — 
 the earth is yours, and I know not what business )i« 
 have to be crawling on its surface, and eating tl^ 
 fi-uit which only grows for you. 
 
 Ken. Malcolm, Malcolm, you will not stop on 
 this side of the gallows, I can plainly see. 
 
 Mai. A noble invention that to cleajise the land 
 of superfluous poverty, that might else offend the 
 nostrils of you nobles. ^ 
 
 Ken, The comnaon cry is loud against you : and 
 I have warned you, 'till forbearance has become a 
 crime. The general good compels me to this, as the 
 mildest course; yet even this I will lighten to the 
 utmost of my power. Take this purse. 
 
 Malcolm dashes the purse on the ground^ and 
 tramples on it in a paroxysin of rage, 
 
 Mai, I trample on it, as I would on you, were you 
 beneath my ieeX, 
 
 Ken. Do you despise my kindness ? 
 
 Mai. Despise! — Words cannot measure my cou- 
 tempt. Look on these people — their tears are on the 
 land of their dwelling, and every drop is for you a 
 curse ! A fearful curse ! that like thejjjiptting of the 
 dog-star shall scatter misery and madiiie^. tFp, my 
 brothers. Up ! Shake the dust of this soil from your 
 feet — Howl a curse on the oppressor, and away ! 
 
 The gipsies go up to Ken mure, one after the othevy 
 and chaunt their curses. 
 
 RECITATIVE GIPSIES. 
 
 First gipsi/. May thy steps be still in sorrow ! 
 Second gipsi/. May thy deep night have no iiionrow ! 
 B 2 
 
8 
 
 Third gipsj/. May a brother's blood accuse thee! 
 Fourth gipsy. May a sister's dark love lose thee ! 
 Fifth gipsy. May a mother's curses smite thee ! 
 Sixth gipsy. May the wrath' of madness blight thee ! 
 Seventh gipsy May thy death be on the tree ! 
 May thy death be misery ! 
 
 A long distant peal of thunder is heard. — The gipsies 
 jP burst into full clwrus. 
 
 EIORUS OF GIPSIES. 
 
 Hark ! Hark ! the thunder answering hoarse ! 
 
 Our work is done ! 
 The curse shall strike ere its accustom'd coui^ 
 
 The night hath run. 
 Women. And now, brothers, hie away ! 
 Sisters ! 
 Ere expires the fading day, 
 We must be far, far away. 
 
 3%e gipsies go out tumultuously on one side. 
 Kenmure goes out on the other. The peasants 
 continue destroying the huts till the scenfi closer. 
 
SCENE II. 
 
 The outside o/" Farmer Enfield's Cottage. 
 
 Sound offfes and drums at a distance. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Enfield awc? Farmer Enfield yro;/i 
 
 the cottage. 
 
 r 
 
 Mrs. En. The heavens be praised! At last we 
 shall have peace and quiet again, now these rebels are 
 thoroughly beaten. 
 
 Farmer En. True Dame ; but mayhap you forget 
 what follows. 
 
 Mrs. En. Heading and hanging for the rebels 
 that's all. 
 
 Farmer En. Poor souls ! They may have de- 
 served their fate, but somehow my eyes do dazzle, 
 and all do grow dark about me, when I think of it. 
 
 Mrs. En. Why, are they not foreigners ? 
 
 Farmer En. Foreigners ! 
 
 Mrs. En. Yes; highlanders. And are not we of 
 England ? 
 
 Farmer En. For shame! They are men — they 
 are our brothers. Driven by poverty from our home 
 in England, where did we find refuge ? Here ! 
 amongst a people, whose souls are like their moim- 
 tains, bidding proud defiance to the storm ; but whose 
 hearts are like their vallies, yielding an ample haipvest 
 for the smallest grain that industry or kindness hrfs 
 cast upon them. • f - 
 
 / 
 
10 
 
 Mrs. En, Ah, you are always right, brother;— 
 but still 
 
 Farmer En, But still you will be arguing, and 
 trying to prove me in the wrong. Where be Ellen ? 
 I don't know what's come to the girl of late ! She do 
 seem to shun me ; and to my poor thinking, some- 
 thing must be wrong when a child cannot look her 
 father in the face 1 
 
 Mrs. En, I fancy she is in love with one of those 
 wild highlanders. 
 
 Farmer En, Well ; I would not wish her a .better 
 husband. 
 
 Mrs, En, But one of the rebels? 
 
 Farmer En, Damn it, dame — No ! I hope not — 
 that would be cross indeed ! ^y/li^/£ 
 
 - ' ^ ^^ 
 
 Donald enters, 
 
 Don, Weel neighbours — have ye seen your bairn 
 yet? 
 
 Farmer En, What Ellen? 
 
 Don, Nae, by my trotn — your brae lad, Edward. 
 
 Mrs, Ell, Edward! 
 
 Farmer En, Thee beest dreaming, man — Edward 
 is far away with his regiitient. 
 
 Don, His regiment is far away sure aneugh! 
 quietly sleeping on the soldier's bed. 
 
 Farmer En, The soldier's bed! 
 
 Don, Aye, in gude troth, the bed of honour— and 
 that's a bed that nae wants making. But anent Ed- 
 ward — I saw him not ten minutes syne, looking as 
 tale and as stiff as his ain halberd. 
 
 Farmer En, Then he have left colonel Ormond ? 
 
II 
 
 Dow. By my certies has he — and in vera gude 
 time he did sae. The colonel, puir saul, is in the 
 tomb of his ain noble kith, and it wad na hae ^been 
 for your bairn to intrude himsel into th^ company of 
 his betters. 
 
 Farmer En. Well said, Donald — I long to see my 
 boy. 
 
 Don. Ah, he looks so brae in his highland trews, 
 and his kilt, and his 
 
 Farmer En. What be he turned highlander ? 
 
 Mrs. En. Mercy on me ! Have they put the lad 
 into petticoats ? 
 
 Don. His ain regiment had melted awa like snaw 
 before the sun, sae he was drafted into a highland 
 corps, that is— do you mind me a loyal highland 
 corps. Wow ! But he looks amaist as fine as any 
 Scot of all. 
 
 ** Edward speaks without. 
 Edw. (without) Very well ! I shall not forget. 
 
 ARD enters* 
 
 Edw. Ah, father! Aunt! 
 
 Farmer En. But let us look at thee boy. D^fig 
 it, lad, thee beest so £ne— I— Ha ! ha! ha ! The air I 
 think do make me dnuik ! And how art thee, boy ? 
 And what hast thee seen ? And — what an old fool am 
 4 ! Whereas Ellen J All is so warm here. Call Ellen, 
 dame. 
 
 Mrs. En. She't not at home. 
 
 Farmer En. NoTathomc! ZauudsJ >S1w» im1!?t' 
 be at home. Where be the girl ?— Efl warti: 
 
 Edw. W^lljiathw, 
 
12 
 
 Farmer En. Father ! There now — that I should 
 ever live to hear such a fine looking fellow call me 
 feyther! 
 
 Mrs. En. Well — I must look to our supper — and 
 tap the ale — and set — 
 
 Farmer En. Oh aye ; go along with you. 
 
 Don. And tak me wi' ye, dame — ye sail find me a 
 canny hand in the kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Enfield a^c? Donald go into the cottage,^ 
 
 Farmer En. Now Edward, that we be got rid of 
 them, tell meW4lark! your sister's voice ^'^ 
 
 Ellen appears crossing a little rustic bridge at the 
 back. She pauses for a few momemts in a melaw 
 choli/ posture, and sings. . 
 
 SONG. \ 
 
 Ellen Enfield. 
 
 Round her head a drooping willow, 
 On the cold earth is her pillow . 
 
 Poor Rosa ! 
 
 ¥ All from guilt with scorn are flying, 
 None to look upon her dying. 
 
 Poor Rosa ! 
 
 Fanner En. There — you ^^»f Edward — she'll sit 
 for hoiurs singing in that mournful way, with tears 
 in her eyes, that hang me but I do often cry too. 
 without well knowing why. 
 
 Edw. (aside.) This agrees strangely with my 
 friend's information. 
 
IS 
 
 Ellen enters. 
 
 Js^-^ 
 
 Farmer En. What ; drooping still, girl ? Do bold 
 up thy head — thee dost look for all the world, as thee 
 had something bad upon thy conscience ; and that 
 (taking her tenderly hy the hand) I do know 
 can*t be. 
 
 Ellen, (falling on his arm,) Father, I have not 
 deserved your kindness. 
 
 Farmer En. Nonsense, nonsense! Here's your 
 brother, girl. 
 
 Ellen, (trembling) My brother ! 
 
 Edw. EUen! 
 
 Edward takfs Ellen by the hand^ and 
 eyes her siernly-^shc seems to shrink 
 from his glance. 
 
 Edw. You do not seem very glad to see me. 
 
 Ellen, (falling on his neck) Dear, dear Edward ! 
 
 Edw. That voice so sweet ! That look so warm 
 with tenderness — she is not— she cannot be guilty— 
 or if she is — I still must love her. 
 
 Farmer En. Guilty! What's that? 
 
 Edw. (hastily) Nothing — nothing. 
 
 Farmer En. I don't understand you, children; I 
 be but a plain spoken man, and I have brought you 
 both up to know more than I do ; but I do suppose I 
 be your feyther all the same. 
 
 Edw. Come, come ; make me welcome ; the best 
 ale must flow ; we soldiers drink stoutly. 
 
 Farmer En. And thee shalt be welcome! But 
 tb«€ must not cross sister Ellen ; «he is a good girl ! 
 
 c 
 
14 
 
 j&//ew. Noj no, no! 
 
 Farmer En, I say yes. Thee didst work for thy 
 poor old feyther, when he was too ill to work for 
 himself. Every body loves Ellen, young or old ; and 
 she whom every body loves, can't be very bad. 
 
 Donald appears at the door of the cot- T" 
 tage^ with a cup of ale in his hand, 
 
 Don. Ye had better a' gang in, for the supper is 
 a maist ready — dinna ye hear how it sings in the 
 frying-pan ? Ah, it is a brae music ! . P 
 
 Donald goes in again, J^ 
 
 Farmer En, Come then, children, come. 
 
 (Edw. goes in) Come Ellen. 
 
 £//ew. Directly. (Farmer Enfield enters the 
 cottage.) This situation is dreadful ! I can bear up 
 against it no longer. Oh Kenmure! The church 
 must this hour hallow our union, or chaunt its kst 
 requiem over my grave ! 
 
 ,i^;iirA 
 
 (Mimch 
 ....enters. A ' 
 Ken, Ellen! Ellen! 
 
 Kenmurb enters. 
 
 /lat 
 
 Ellen, Is it you? At last! 
 
 Ken, \ could not come before. My father wished 
 me to see the gipsies dispersed ; for their outrages of 
 late have become intolerable. But, my dear Ellen, 
 look not so sad! No tears! They seem like re- 
 proaches on my love. 
 
 Ellen. Love ! Do you love me ? 
 
 Ken, Can that be a question ? • ^ 
 
 Ellen, Answer ! A nswer ! 
 
15 
 
 Ken. By my life ! By my honour ! By that which 
 is dearer to me than life or honor — your lovely self! 
 
 Ellen, Then let our promised marriage be instant ; 
 not an hour's delay ! 
 
 Ken. But consider. 
 
 Ellen. I should have considered before — this hour — 
 this very hour ! 
 
 Ken. Then be it as you wish — but don't be so 
 agitated ! I had indeed hopes of gaining my father's 
 consent by time and management, for though, a proud 
 he is yet a kind man. 
 
 Ellen. Would you rather see me your bride, or in 
 the grave ? For one must be ere the sun shall rise 
 again. 
 
 Ken. My dearest Ellen, your despair is frightful ! — 
 since you will have it so 
 
 Ellen. Yes, yes. The piercing looks of my bro- 
 ther ! and worse, much worse, the unsuspicious kind- 
 ness of my father. Kenmure ; should the shame of his 
 daughter break his heart! This hour; this very 
 hour! 
 
 Ken. Be calm, be calm ! Your wish shall-be gra- 
 tified Witfioxit delay ! Meet me an hour hence at the 
 ivy cottage, and the holy sanction of the church shall 
 heal your grief. 
 
 Ellen. Are you sincere ? But yes ; I will believe 
 you, for heaven is above us. Go ; I will rejoin you 
 at the ivy cottage. 
 
 Edward appears at the cottage door 
 just in time to catch the last words, 
 Musick. Kenmure takes leave of 
 .LLEN, and goes out. 
 
 c 2 
 
16 
 
 Edw. (aside) At the ivy cottage. 
 
 Jle comes forxcard^ and addresses 
 Ellen in a peremptory/ tone. 
 
 £dw. Go in Ellen. 
 I lien, (imploringly) Brother! 
 £dw. Go in, I say. You have given me a right U 
 use this tone. 
 
 Elkn, Only hear me! 
 
 Edw, I have heard enough already. Go in ! 
 Ellen, (seizing his hand,) Brother ! 
 Edm* Away! 
 
 He Jlings her from him, and rushes 
 out the same side that Ken mure 
 went, ter 
 
 Elten. Hear me ! He's gone and will not hear me ! 
 Cruel! cruel! Yet there is mercy, yonder ; {pointing 
 to heaven) although I can find none in a brother's 
 
 heart. 
 
 MusicL — She staggers into the cottage, ^t^ 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 A thick wood. 
 ^w/er Malcolm, Lindley, cwrfEvAN. 
 
 Mai. Now you know my purpose. This way he 
 must pass in his return home. But again I warn you, 
 touch not his life whatever may be your peril. 
 
 Lin. We understand. 
 
 Mai. I must have him whole— lantouched. If if e 
 have him alive in our power, we may make profit of 
 him: perhaps, even force him to restore us to our 
 dwellings. If we fail, we can but murder him at 
 last. 
 
 Lin. I hear footsteps rustling amongst the fallen 
 leaves. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis he ! But be comes not alone — a soldier 
 follows near upon his steps. Confusion ! Hide your 
 selves. 
 
 Music Thei/ conceal themselves in 
 
 ^ the rushes, /f ;^. 
 
 ''^^^ *< £w/er Kenmure. 
 
 Ken. That I should forget to give Ellen the jewels, 
 I brought on purpose to present her ! But, tio matter, 
 an hour will make her mine ; and though an liour is 
 a long time in Love's calendar, yet it must have an 
 end, and then Who have we here ? 
 
IS 
 
 Enter Edward. 
 
 Edw. I have caught you at last, villain ! 
 
 Ken, How! Villain! 
 
 Edxc, Aye; villain was my word. The brother ^ 
 Ellen Enfield has no other name for the future laird 
 Kenmure. (Draws a brace of pistols from his belt.) 
 Take your choice ; and be quick. 
 
 Ken. First let me explain. 
 
 Edw. What ! a coward too ! 
 
 Ken. CoAvard ! That word demands chastisement, 
 though we stood in a sactuary ! 
 
 Edw. I am glad that something can stir your blood. 
 •Take your ground. 
 
 Music — Kenmure takes the nistol iti- 
 dignantli/ and places himself op- 
 posite to Edward. 
 
 Edw. Now then, the first chance is yours. WiM ! 
 
 Ken. No : this is folly ! I must decline it. To- 
 morrow we will talk over this aifair, and you shall be 
 satisfied. 
 
 ^dw. (contemptuously) To-morrow! Ha! ha! ha! 
 Poor paltry subterfuge of cowardice ! But this shall 
 not save you. Either you or I must fall 1 No apo- 
 logy heals a^wrong like this. 
 
 Ken. Insolent boaster ! you have forfeited all claim 
 to explanation. v^v^-j.-,'^ r 
 
 Edw. I ask for none. JFire ! 
 
 Musick'— Kenmure Jires and misses 
 Edward, who returns thefire-^Ken- 
 mure falls. 
 
^ 
 
 19 
 
 Ken. The. fortune of the day is yours! But you 
 are the brotlier of my Ellen. Let us exchange for- 
 giveness. — You have killed your sister's husband ! 
 
 Edxa:. Husband. 
 
 Ken, Another hour had repaired her wrongs by 
 iftiiting us — but your violence, and my foolish pride, 
 that would not be tasked to explanation, because of 
 that violence, have laid me low ! Your hand : we 
 are friends — and give this {giving the casket of jewels) 
 to Ellen— and tell her — . 
 
 Voice (without J This way ; this way. 
 
 (Edward receives the casket as if 
 unconsciously.) \ 
 
 Ken. Fly ; I hear steps approaching. Fly, I con- 
 jure you. It is enough to die ; let not Ellen have to 
 lament her brother on the scaffold. Haste : martial 
 law reigns now, and you know the severity of its 
 justice. 
 
 Music— Kenmure sinks into a swoon, 
 Edward kisses his hand and rushes 
 off in agony. 
 
 E7iter Steenie and Gei.i.xti.ie. ^ 7!r. 
 
 Steen. I told you so ; I told you murder was gotng 
 forward. Look, here lies a man dead and weltering 
 in his blood! (They gaze awhile on Kenmure. 
 
 GelL It is— yes ; by heavens ! it is the young Laird 
 Kenmure. 
 
 Steen. My life to a shilling, the fellow who flicfs 
 ^Jong yon field is the murderer! Follow, follow j he 
 is ours. 
 
 Musick. — They go ont 
 
90 
 
 Mai. Our victim then has escaped us. Let me 
 look on him in death ! 
 
 Mustek. — Malcolm gazes awhile stead' 
 fastly on Kenmure. 
 
 He is not dead! See; his breast heaves with life; 
 a light begins to sparkle in his eye. He lives! he 
 lives! He is yet ours. Quick, maVo a MUtm ^f 
 l» n ghc; and bear him to the cave : it is the only home 
 that he has left to us, and he shall be nobly welcomed. 
 
 Mustek. — Thet/ cut down branches from 
 the treeSy and form a litter^ on which 
 thet/ place Kenmure. 
 
 Mai. Now then, away. 
 
 Musich'-Thei/ bear offKenmur*' 
 
21 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A Green behind Farmer Enfield's Cottage. 
 
 Enter Farmer ENFiELDj^om the Cottage^ followed 
 by Donald. Jessy and a party of Peasants, 
 T^ale and female^ enter from the back. 
 
 Farmer En. What, my kind neighbours come to 
 see my boy, I suppose— Main glad to see you all, and 
 sD will Edward be. Where has the lad run to Donald ? 
 
 Don. De'il a bit do I ken ; I hae had an e'e a' the 
 time 'tull the kitchen. 
 
 Farmer En. Belike he will not stay. Well, girls, 
 there be some difference I see between myself and 
 Ned. You did never flock about the old man, smirk- 
 ing, and capering, and dizzened out so fine like, as 
 it were to a fair, when my boy was away. Eh lasses ! 
 And you, {to Jessy) my little Jessy, my rose-bud. 
 I looked you'd be among the first. Dame, Eiten, 
 zounds! where have you all hid yourselves ? 
 
 Enter Ellen^o^ the Cottdg^. • ^'^ ^' '^ 
 
 Ellen. Did you call me, father ? 
 
 Farmer En. Ees, to be sure I did— do lay aside 
 ^y sad faces and make thy neighbours welcome. 
 
 Don. Brae! brae! But Ise thinking my gudje 
 friend, though the lazy loon of a sun is ganging to 
 bed so early, the lassies wad hae nae objection to jig 
 
bsu. .- 23 
 
 it a wee bit, and I am nae without the inst ruments of 
 my trade ; (making signs qfplat/ing on the bagpipes) 
 I left them in jour cottage. 
 
 During this dialogue^ a young peasant 
 comes in and beckons Ellen aside ; 
 she listens to him in great agitation^ 
 and steals off unperceixed, - 
 
 Donald goes into the cottage for his 
 bagpipes. 
 
 Far. En. What do you say girls ? But I see there 
 be no great call for asking. And Jessy, since Ed- 
 ward do think proper to desert his colours, the red 
 and white of thy cheeks, dang it but I will take thee 
 myself. 
 
 Donald re-enters with bagpipes, 
 
 A SCOTCH DANCE. 
 
 Which after a time is inteirupted^bt/ the entrance of 
 Peter. 
 
 Peter. Your son, Enfield — ^your son ! 
 
 Don. Eh, sirs ! What does the laddie make siccan 
 clatter about. 
 
 Peter. Kenmure is murdered ! Edward murdered 
 him! 
 
 Don. Hauld your tongue, ye daft fallow, it canna 
 be true. 
 
 Peter, 1 speak no more than truth. They hav« 
 taken him up to the general's house. 
 
 Far. En. {hastih/) Donald, do you, mon, look tu 
 my firiends. x 
 
23 
 
 Don. By your laive, the friend that wants Donald 
 is the friend that's in trouble. I winna stay behind. 
 
 Far. En. You must ; it is my desire. 
 
 Z)ow. (/7rowcf/y) Eh, gude faith ! Your desire! , 
 
 Far, En. Well ; I do ask it of thee as a favour. 
 
 Don. Aweel ! aweel ! You are a strange mon, and 
 I suppose maun gang your ain gait. // y 
 
 ^^ Farmer Enfield hurries out. The 
 rest follow Donald into the cottage. 
 
 
 
 -^ a/zt^ ^ /7v^ J^^^^sT^^y^^..- ' ■• /^"^ ^/^ 
 
 ,^ r-f 
 
 /7v"^ J^^^^^t^ ^ /Uu^ iy^^^^^cj^ -' 
 
M 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 A room in General Wilford's house. 
 
 7/ jEf?fch General Wilford, followed hy edward 
 guarded. Ellen, the Peasant, Steenie, Gel- 
 latlie ajid Serjeant Moreton. <'_yvUu^^ 
 
 A table with writing materials^ and a chair qt9 
 brought on. 
 
 Gen. JVil. So : this is your prisoner ! Young man, 
 1 am sorry to find a criminal in a soldier ! 
 
 }w. No man is a criminal 'till he is proved such : 
 t^^^m would have been better spared. 
 
 ?. Wil. Gentler words, I advise you ; 'twill be 
 >ur own good. You are accused of having mur- 
 dered the young laird Kenmure. 
 
 Edw. Murdered ! He fell by my hand, it is true : 
 but he fell in fair and honourable combat. 
 
 Gen. Wil. It was a duel then ! 
 
 Edw. It was. 
 
 Gen. Wil. What was the subject 
 long silence.) What was the cai 
 your quarrel ? Am I not underst( 
 
 Edw. Perfectly. 
 
 Gen. Wil. I repeat the question.' 
 nature of the difference that led to this 
 pause) Remember your silence will be con 
 
2b 
 
 a confession of guilt! (Edward is still silent) 
 He is — 
 
 Ellen, (rushing forward) Stay! stay! I— I was 
 the cause. 
 
 Gen. Wil. You! 
 
 Ellen. Speak Edward 1 cannot tell my shame. 
 
 Gen. Wil. I will spare your feelings, girl. I 
 understand you; something of this I remember to 
 have heard before. But {to Edward) this proves 
 nothing, or proves against you. It was just as likely 
 that resentment should provoke a murder as a duel. 
 Besides ; how happens it that the body of Kenmure 
 *Gah be no where found ? If he fell fairly, why should 
 you have concealed it ? 
 
 Edw. I conceal it ! 
 
 Gen. Wil. If not you, your partners in the act : no 
 one but the murderer could have any interest in the 
 concealment, and you confess he fell by you ! 
 
 Edw. I have answered truly. I know no more. 
 
 Gen. Wil. That is, you will not know. But let 
 me warn you, that you are not before a civil tribunal, 
 where justice slowly limps after guilt, and, nine times 
 out of ten is outrun by it. My justice will be speedy. 
 
 Edw. Your justice ! 
 
 Ellen, (aside to him) Do not provoke them, Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 Gen. Wil. A fine spirit ! It's a great pity it had 
 not found some better employment, (to Serjeant 
 Moreton) Where, are the different articles taken 
 from the prisoner ? 
 
 Ser. Mor. Here, please your honour. 
 
 Musick. — General Wilford looks 
 orcer the different articles and starts 
 en seeing the jewels* 
 
26 
 
 Gen, WiL Were these yours? {shewing the jewels 
 to Edward.) 
 
 Edw, They were entrusted to me, for my sister by 
 the dying Kenmure. 
 
 Gen. WiL Jewels to a peasant girl ! — Improbable ! 
 Impossible ! This confirms alL The death-warrant. 
 
 Musick, Ellen screams and holds 
 
 his arm. 
 
 Gen. WiL What now? 
 Ellen. He is not guilty. 
 Gen, WiL The girl is frantic ! 
 
 General Wilford signs the death- 
 warrant, and gives it to Serjeant 
 
 M OR ETON,. 
 
 Gen. WiL There ^ see that this order is executed 
 at five to-morrow morning, (to Edward) So long, 
 in mercy, I allow you to make up your earthly audit, 
 but expect no pause beyond — that is your latest limit. 
 
 Edw. Were it now, I should be ready to meet my 
 fate ! But here, in the sight of man, and heaven, I 
 protest against the justice of the sentence by which I 
 am sacrificed ! 
 
 Gen. WiL Young man I pity you ! as a soldier you 
 shall not be mingled with common felons. 
 
 Edw. Even for this I thank you. 
 
 Gen. WiL (to Serjeant Moreton) Let his friends 
 have access to him. 
 
 Edw. They seldom trouble the unfortunate. 
 
 Gen, WiL But guard him strictly I Your lives are 
 on the peril ! 
 
27 
 
 All go out, except Edwaro, Ellen, 
 
 Serjeant and Guard. A lotig 
 
 pause. 
 
 Edw. Come, my dear Ellen. One last kiss, and 
 then farewell — for ever. 
 
 Ellen. No Edward, no — I cannot leave you ! 
 
 Edw. To-morrow the parting will be more bitter. 
 
 Ellen. We will not part to-morrow. Death shall 
 not part us ; for we will die together. 
 
 Edw. Nay, this is weakness, Ellen. For my sake 
 — ^for your father's. 
 
 Ellen. My father's! ^f^BBOSX Q Gt^^I 
 
 Edw. Come, come ; this grief is out of all reason. 
 True, I shall die, but not a felon's death ! I shall 
 fall, as a soldier should fall, by the arms of a soldier. 
 Time too will soon clear up the suspicion that now 
 taints my name. And as to death ; why it must come 
 to all. 
 
 Ellen, {falling on his neck) Oh, my brother ! 
 
 Edw. I can face death unmoved, but not your tears. 
 Believe me my dear Ellen, the thought of what you 
 may feel in my loss, is to me the only sorrow of this 
 moment. 
 
 Ellen. What a iirBetch am I! I have murdered 
 him ! Yet I loved you, dearly loved you, Edward. 
 
 Farmer Enfield speaks without. 
 
 Far. En. This way, say you ? 
 Ellen. Ha ! my father's voice ! Oh, that the earti) 
 would open, and swallow me in its abvss f ^ f^ >^j 
 
£if 
 
 28 
 Enter Farmer Enfield. 
 
 Far. En, Edward! What be all this? Why 
 beest thee here ? What hast thou done ? What hast 
 thou done ? 
 
 Edw, The unfortunate Kenmure has fallen by my 
 hand in a duel ! 
 
 Far. En. In a duel ! 
 
 Edw. But this general, with his martial law, calls 
 it murder ! 
 
 Far. En. Heaven do call it so; but among yon 
 soldiers it has a fairer name. 
 
 Edw. True, but circumstances combine in appear- 
 ance against me, and this general will not Mieve 
 Kenmure fell fairly in a duel. 
 
 Far. En. But why was this duel ? 
 
 Edw. A trifling dispute was the cause. 
 
 Far. En. And thee didst dip thy hands in a fellow- 
 creature's blood for a trifling dispute! Horrible! 
 Horrible ! But what was this quarrel ? 
 
 Edw. It was about — I hardly remcmljer what — it's 
 a long story. 
 
 Farmer Enfield looks at Edward 
 fixedly and keenly for several mO' 
 ments. 
 
 Far. En. Thee beest to— to— to die to-morrow! 
 Wilt thee tell thy feyther a falsehood ? ^ 
 
 *Edw. Ask mc not— I must not — cannot sayfiny 
 more. 
 
 Farmer Enfield takes off Ms hat. 
 
Far, En, By these gr^ hairs, I do bid thee tell 
 me. .T-^. 
 
 Edw, Peace, my father — peace ! 
 
 A short paus/^y during which Farmer 
 Enfield gazes on his son with 
 astonishment. While the alio'ce dia- 
 logue passes Ell EX appears con- 
 vulsed hy strong feelings y and turning 
 from her father's gaze, whenever it 
 is hy chance directed towards her. fn , 
 
 Far. En. He will not ! He will not— and yet he 
 is my son ! 
 
 Ellen. Speak Edward! My tongue cleaves in 
 dryness to the roof of my mouth. I would, but can- 
 not tell him. 
 
 Far. En. (with a sudden expression of deep iJ 
 horror.) Ellen ! (the expression changes into abhor- ' 
 rence of his own thoughts) What a damned thought 
 did flash across here, (striking his forehead.) A 
 suspicion of hell ! Bless thee, bless thee, girl ! Give 
 me thy hand. 
 
 Ellen. Not for worlds ! a brother's blood is on it ! 
 
 Farmer En. Eh ! what was that ? 
 
 Edw. Leave us, my dear sister; I would speak 
 with my father alone. Leave us 
 
 Far. En. I do bid thee stay! Look up at thy 
 feyther ! Look at him ; thee canst not ! It is then 
 — it is— and yet thee beest so like thy poor dear 
 mother ;. I cannot believe it. 
 
 Ellen. Spare me — spare me — 
 
 Edw. You judge too harshly father — you — 
 
 Far. En. Art thee guilty? But why do I ask-^- 
 
30 
 
 thjr jsilence tells all. Ellen! thee wast so dear to 
 me ! I was so proud of my lovely flower — thee wast 
 always the darling of my heart ! When thee wast 
 no more than a child, and didst prattle in these arms, 
 I little looked for an hour like this. 
 
 Edw. Let me entreat you — her heart is breaking ! 
 
 Far. En, Peace — I tell thee peace — Ellen (seizing 
 her hand) when the death-bell do toll thy poor 
 feyther to liis long home, then do thee remember, 
 it was his daughter killed him ! 
 
 Ellen laughs hi/stericall?/, and is 
 falUngj when Farmer Enfield 
 runs up to her^ and catches her in 
 his amis. 
 
 Far. En, My child! my child! 
 
 Edward, who stood at the hft hand 
 of Farmer Enfield ■passes behind 
 him to the other side, so that Ellen 
 is now between them, A low plain- 
 tive melody as the act drop falls. 
 
 'f 
 
 END OF ACT 1. 
 
 V 
 
 i 
 
31 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE. I. 
 
 The Cl^de. — At the back are the fails, 
 
 MOON-LIGHT. 
 
 Enter Ellen alone. W^T* 
 
 Ellen. Whither shall I fly? the dark fancy is 
 ever with me — Whither shall I fly? At home by 
 the cheerful blaze — in the depth of the forest — from 
 the bosom of the waters the voice still shouts murder, 
 murder. — But he is not dead — it is not yet morn^ 
 the moon still beams brightly in the heavens — PalQ 
 star — thy light is lovely, I could bow and worship 
 thee! look ever so — let no day rise to cloud thy 
 brilliancy ! 
 
 Music — She gazes on the moony which 
 is suddenly/ obscured — ^Ellen shud- 
 ders convulsivelj/y and covers heir face 
 with her cloak. 
 
 Darkness veils it, as if to mock the /ancy of d^pair. 
 
 Enter Donald. (^Tr 
 
 Don. By my certies, my legs are w?ft>y ftjid n*y 
 heart is heavy. Where can the silly b^rti bfc f . f b«e 
 e2 
 
32 
 
 no mickle love lull the falls at this uncanny hour. 
 {seeing Ellen) Ah ye are there? I hae fand ye at 
 last. Ah lassie, lassie. What a weary gait hae ye 
 led auld Donald. Ye maUn come haim wi'me tull 
 your puir father — Ise gien him my promise to fand 
 ye — he himself is w|' ypiir ,brotlier. 
 
 Ellen. Leave me, good old man — I pray you leave 
 me. 
 
 Don, What ! in sica place^! by the falls ! Na, na. 
 
 Ellen, Your zeal is out of time now — it offends me- 
 
 JDon, And what wad ye be doing here? dinnaye 
 ken 'tis lang past midnight — and the grey spectre 
 walks upon the water, and — 
 
 Ellen, Look! look! 
 
 Don, Eh, what now ? 
 
 Ellen gazes wildly on a imrtktdar 
 spot^ unable to answer. 
 
 Don. Why dinna ye speak lassie, she's gang gyte 
 -^she's gang gyte. 
 
 Ellen. There's blood upon the ground, 'tis Ken- 
 mure's bk)od. '<- . « 
 
 Don. Bluid sure aneugh — Ise jealous naething 
 gude has been - abbot here — -Will ye listen tull reason 
 and comfe awa?-^~Nae— the fiend ia, bit! and what an 
 auld doited carl am J to talk reason tull a woman. 
 
 Ellen. Is not that a boat upon the water ? 
 
 Do7i. Aye in gude troth is it — Well ! Syne I was 
 a lad sae high, I neef heard of ohy moii bauld aneugh 
 to be on this part o' the river a'ter sunset — out-taken 
 that ranting carl wicked Avill. I doubt nae gude is 
 ganging forward, and gin ye were no here—^Iwad 
 spear a bit intujl iheir doings. 
 
33 
 
 ^ 
 
 EUen. Hush! they come towards the shore. 
 Don. They'll maybe see us an we gang out upon 
 the plain — we maun hide oursell here a wee-bit. 
 
 Music — Thet/ conceal themselves in the 
 underwood. A boat makes towards 
 the shore with Malcolm, Evan, 
 Allen. a/2(^ other Gypsies — Thei/ 
 
 ■^ 
 
 land, 
 
 Mai. Draw up the boat to its old place amongst 
 the rushes, for fear any "stragglers should pass. 
 
 Allen, and the: other Gypsies haul 
 up the boat amongst the rushes that 
 grozi) thickli/ bi/ the water^s edge. 
 
 Evan. That's not very likely, what with the tales 
 of gliosts and devils, inherited from the grandames 
 of the village, not one would dare set his foot here 
 after night-fall. Who the devil, excepting the devil 
 himself, would imagine such a place lay hid behind 
 the falls ? Or who, if he were told so much, would 
 suppose the narrow ledge, waslied by the sprinkling 
 of the torrent, were the road to it. 
 
 Male. Why, if they knew that, and more, that the 
 lichen conceal'd its entrance ; yet the roar of the 
 torrent below, and the splash of its waters, as they 
 fall, were enough to turn a brain, unaccustom'd to 
 tread so dizzy a path. Aye, and even one »that was 
 accustom'd to it ; in my time five of our people have 
 been lost there — but what are you about all this time ? 
 have n't you haul'd up the boat yet. 
 
 Allen. Long ago — but I was looking for my dirk 
 that fell from my belt amongst the rushes. 
 
3+ 
 
 Malc» It would be of little use to you, if you had 
 it ; for your heart is none of the stoutest, and we can't 
 waste the night in waiting for you — so come — ^to 
 business. 
 
 Evan, And woe betide am stray purse that falls in fi 
 our way. ^H{f/l<t^,^r (Exeunt Gypsies. ^*C 
 
 Ellen owe? Donald come forward. 
 
 Don. Ah — and ye are sad loons — ill luck be wi* 
 you! An the lairds were o' my thinking, the whole 
 clamjamfray would ride upon the gallows. 
 
 Ellen. No — I am convinced of it — Kenmure is not 
 dead— or he has perish'd by their hands. 
 
 Don. And for why say ye sae lassie ? 
 
 Ellen. He fell in yon thicket. 
 
 Don. Ye are right, ye are right; the folk that 
 seized Edward said sae much. 
 
 Ellen. And here also is the track of blood — here 
 then he must have been, and no fartlier, unless across 
 the water ; for look, the ground bears no st^in beyond 
 this spot. 
 
 Don. I doubt but ye gie a right guess o'. the matter. 
 
 Ellen. Perhaps even now he lives — and in the cave 
 they spoke of. 
 
 Don. No unlikely. 
 
 Ellen. Come Uien — 
 
 Don. Where wad ye gang tuU? 
 
 Ellen. To the cave. 
 
 Don. Oh? 
 
 Ellen. They are abroad, therefore there can be no 
 danger, their boat is hid among the rushes; we, have 
 heard enough to find no difficulty in — 
 
35 
 
 Don. Say nae mair, lassie, say nae mair ; ye are 
 a brae bairn, and ill befa' the heart that wad say ye 
 nay, whatever was your asking. 
 
 Music — Donald drags out the boat 
 from amongst the rushes, and rows 
 away with Ellen to the falls. 
 
y " 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 An inner branch of the gipsies cavern. 
 
 Voices and the clash of swords are heard without, f V^ 
 
 Lind. (without) Down with your swords fools — 
 Dern, (without) Bat I say — ; 
 Lind, (without) And I say — we'll have no (^[uar- 
 relling. 
 
 LiNDLEY enters, parting Dbrn- 
 CLEUGH and Gabriel — other 
 Gypsies pour in from the dif- 
 ferent entrances. 
 
 Lind, You that way — and you that — ^tlie first who 
 offers to strike, I'll blow his brains out. 
 
 Voices. What's the matter — what's the matter ? 
 
 Lind. Only these two fools, would cut each other's 
 throats. Bijt we'll have no storms here — shake hands 
 fools, and j^ friends. 
 
 Gabri. With all my heart. 
 
 Derncleugh draws back sullenlM. 
 
 Lind, Come Bruin, put forth thy paw, thy fore- 
 foot — what, you will not. (threatening) Take care. ^ 
 
 Dern, There — there's my hand — we are friends. 
 
 Lind, Bring out a flaggon or two, and a score of 
 horns — and we'll teach old father time to trudge it 
 merrily. 
 
 rriA^^ i ^^ n\Aj\^ ^QnuDiM^, 
 
37 
 
 Light playful music, while they bring 
 out a table with flaggons^ horns, S^c. 
 and seats. 
 
 Lind, A bumper round, and a song to crown it, 
 that this old cavern may know how merrj we arc. 
 
 '•W&Ue^d 
 
 CHORUS OF GYPSIES, t t /ti / n^ QA. 
 
 Oh ! wine is the child of the star of the day, Ttj-u^^w-^^ 
 And like the pale moon that feeds on his light 
 
 It sparkles most bright when its sire is away, ^/t 
 And burns like a god on the shades of night, i 
 
 Oh wine is the night's most brilliant star, 
 
 The star that awakes love's heart thrilling bliss, 
 
 That stirs the faint maid to the myrtle Avar, 
 And lights in her heart the fire of bliss. 
 
 Then fill, fill, my friends, and drain the red bowl, 
 'Till ev'ry eye beams like the beaming wine, 
 
 'Till the madness of love in each vein shall roll, 
 And melts the soft maid, and she sighs " ever thine." 
 
 At the end of the chorus, a loud noise 
 is heard as of something heavy fall- 
 ing on the rocky floor without — the 
 music breaks off into an expression 
 of doubt and surprise ; the men rush 
 forwards, some drawing pistols fom 
 their belts, others unsheathing the 
 short dirk worn beneath their cloaks, 
 
 Lind. We are surprized. 
 
 Dern. That's not likely — they must be cunning 
 who find out this cave. 
 
38 
 
 JLind, You heard tliat noise ? 
 
 Dern, Aye ! 
 
 Gabriel. What can it mean ? 
 
 Liind, I know not — all again is still. 
 
 Dem, No — hark ! I hear a noise as of one in deep 
 pain. 
 
 Lind. That must be our prisoner K^nmure. But 
 what are we afraid of? give me a light. 
 
 Music— He seizes a candle from the 
 table and goes out followed bi/ the 
 
39 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 An outer branch of the carerii ; the entrance ft om 
 without is through a narrow opening, high up in 
 the rock. A brazen lamp is suspended from the 
 arch by a chain ; a ladder Jies on the ground below, 
 by the side of which is Ellen, as if just fallen* 
 Donald is looking down from the opening. El- 
 len rises with difficulty, 
 
 Don, Gude guide us, did ony one e'er see the like 
 o't ! how could ye be sae donnert to throw the lad- 
 der? What maun we do ? Ye canna speel up abune, 
 and I downa come tull you. 
 
 Ellen, Oh heavens! I cannot move. 
 
 Don, I wuss we had ne'er come hither. 
 
 Ellen. To what horrible fate am I reserved? my 
 brain grows dizzy — would that I were dead at once. 
 
 Don. It would be a sweer piece of wark io pu' 
 you out o' that ugsom cove — Oh lassie, lassie, I fear 
 ye winna die a fair-strae death ! My certie, ye will 
 be torn to pieces by the warlocks and bogle — I'se 
 warrant there's a hantle o' them in that mirky hole — 
 they muster in siccan places, like frogs in a marsh. 
 
 Ellen. I hear footsteps — a light too gleams upon 
 the dark rock of yonder passage — ^they come, and I 
 am lost. 
 
 Donald, You'll nae help yoursel by skirliiio- that 
 gait — hide among yon faggots. 
 f2 
 
40 
 
 Music — She endeavours to movCy bzU 
 Jails again, 
 
 Ellen, I cannot ; I cannot move. 
 
 Donald. Ye maun try, lassie ; ye maun try. 
 
 Music — Ellen again rises, and with 
 dijfficulti/ conceals herself amongst 
 thefaggots ; just ashi^nhEY, DEtm- 
 CLE UGH, Gabriel, and other gj/p- 
 sies enter, Donald c^ the same time 
 retreats from the opening, h 
 
 Dern. Do you see any thing ? 
 
 Lind. No, all's quiet, what could it be ? (he stumbles 
 against the ladder.) What's this ? It was this ladder 
 that fell and friglilen'd all your valours. 
 
 Dern. And your's too, for that matter ; but say no 
 more about it. 
 
 Lind, Yes, but I have something more to say to 
 you about it; why was the ladder left standing ? 
 
 Dern. I forgot to take it down when Malcolm and 
 his party went out on their evening forage. 
 
 Und, You did ? and I have a great mind to 
 quicken your memory. If any chance had discovered 
 our retreat, we had been surprized, and our lives had 
 paid the forfeit of your neglect. However, for this 
 time I overlook it, and take care that Malcolm does 
 jiot liear a word of this business; simple hanging 
 "would be tlie least you might expect ; and now, let*s 
 return to the flaggon. 
 
 \^^wt 
 
41 
 
 Music — Derncleugh hides the lad' 
 der behind the ledges at the hottonhof 
 the rode. All the Gypsies go out. 
 Ellex steals forward. 
 
 Elleti. They are gone ; there is yet hope, Donald. 
 Donald! How shall I make him hear me, without 
 again alarming these ruffians ? Donald ! still he hears 
 me not; Donald! can he have deserted mcf Ah! 
 no ; I wrong the old man ; his courage and fidelity 
 never shrunk from any trial. Perhaps he ifls fallen 
 in the torrent ; yon rocks covered with sheets of foam, 
 and shaken by the thunders of the waters, might well 
 make liis worn age tremble in dizziness, and tumble 
 into the roaring tide. — What shall I do? the 
 ladder was placed among the clefts — 'tis here — if I 
 could but raise it to the opening — {Music. She tries 
 to raise the ladder.)— la vain, my weak powers sink 
 beneatli the effort — to perish thus hopelessly ! Donald ! 
 Donald ! Ha ! steps, again they are returning. 
 
 Music — She endeavours to escape, and 
 falls down exhausted. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Ken MURE enters. 
 
 Ken. At last then I have reached the outer ca- 
 vern ; but my limbs grow faint, and the greater toil of 
 the task yet remains — III rest awhile to recruit ray 
 exhausted spirits. — ( Music — He sits down on a jut- 
 ting piece of rock on the side.) — How fortunate, that 
 trusting to the security of my wounds and weakness, 
 they forbore to chain me ; ah ! they knew not the 
 force* of despair, the energy that swells even in the 
 
42 -^ 
 
 Veins of sickness, when it comes to tlie last desperate 
 stniggle — the struggle for life. — (He rises and looks 
 round.) — Here should be the opening; right — ^the 
 ladder, if I remember well, was left in the fissuws of 
 the rock below. — (Music — He searches for the ladder.) 
 — The pale light of yon lamp shows every thing so 
 dimly, or the loss of blood makes my sight uncertain. 
 — (Ellen "partly raises herself as if to listen.) 
 
 J^^/to.'Methinks in those murmurings, my ear lis- 
 tens to a familiar voice. 
 
 Kenmure perceives a heap ofszeords 
 and pistols that are piled up in the 
 hollow of the rock. 
 
 Ken. Blessed chance ! if I am surprized, I shall not 
 die unrevenged. — (Music — He takes a pistol and a 
 sword^ and again seeks for the ladder^ which at last he 
 finds.) — 'Tis here; now Malcolm, we shall meet 
 again, but not as you expected ; look to yourself, for 
 the hour of mercy and forbearance is long since past. 
 
 Ellen. 'Tis he, *tisKenmure! — (Kenmure starts, 
 and presents the pistol at her.) — 'Tis Ellen calls you. 
 
 JSTew.^Hlten! great powers! by what chance do we 
 meet here ? Has the lawless Malcolm dared to stretch 
 his violence even to you ? 
 
 Ellen. It was to seek you, to save my brother from 
 a shameful death, that I ventured into this abode of 
 guilt and horror. 
 
 Ken. Your brother ! 
 
 Ellen. Yes ; he dies as your supposed murderer ; 
 come, haste, let us hence ; peril grows strong from the 
 least pausing of delay. 
 
43 
 
 Ken. We will not pause, the way of escape is ope* 
 to us. 
 
 Music — Ellen has ascended a few 
 l**/> steps, when Malcolm's horn sounds 
 
 ^%r CC^Vy^ from above. She starts back. 
 
 Ellen. Our last hope dies ! the entrance is beset. 
 
 Lind. (without) Malcolm's signal! Derncleugh, 
 Gabriel! 
 
 Ken. To die together, is all that now is left us. 
 
 Ellen. Conceal yourself if possible amongst the 
 hollows of the rock. 
 
 Music — Ken mure replaces the ladder 
 amongst the ledges, and then hides 
 himself behind a large jyrojeetion of 
 the rocks. Ellen conceals herself 
 amongst the faggots as before. Majl- 
 COLM, Evan, Sfc. appear above. 
 LiNDLEY, Gabriel, Allen, <Sc 
 enter from the sides below. 
 
 Lind. What can bring them back so soon? No 
 good, I fear. 
 
 Mai. The ladder!— quick! 
 
 Music — The ladder is placed against 
 the opening; Malcolm, S^c. de- 
 scend. 
 
 JLind. Well, Malcolm! What news now? You 
 look as dark as midnight ! 
 Mai. And well I may ! 
 \^Und. What brings you back so early ? 
 ' Mai. Why, there is no stirring foj us, at least to do 
 
44 
 
 any good — the red coats are abroad, and such a prize 
 too missed ! — the fat farmer of Liddiesdale, and Jock 
 
 of Monkbams, and 1 know not who beside — I 
 
 could cut my own throat from pure vexation ! ^ 
 
 Lind, No, don't do tliat; don*t cut your own 
 throat ; the least you can do after cheating the whole 
 world in your life, is to be honest in your death,- and 
 not disappoint the gallows. 
 
 MaL Why, you rascal ! Psha ! You are a fool, 
 and folly should have its privileges. 
 
 Lind. I know that; but what has sent the red 
 coats abroad again ? the country is as still as a stand- 
 ing pool ! 
 
 Mai. Oh, some nonsense of rebels, and fresh ris- 
 ings, and— I can't tell you what. 
 
 Liind. Nor themselves either. 
 
 MaL No, indeed ; the people are heartily fright- 
 ened, and every wind that blows, they fancy is a tem- 
 pest : not one of them but is afraid to look behind 
 him for fear be should see his own shadow. 
 
 Li7id. I don't wonder at that, braver men than they 
 have been frightened at a shadow. 
 
 MaL Our boat too is lost. 
 
 Lind, The devil it is. 
 
 MaL Drifted away with the current I suppose. We 
 were forced to go up as far as Francis, and take his. 
 
 During this dialogue Eli.en shews 
 herself at times watching them. As 
 she is about to leave the place of her 
 concealment^ she accidcntlt/ pushes 
 down one of the faggots^ and hastily 
 conceals herself again, mthout having 
 been perceived by the gypsies. 
 
45 
 
 '■^MaL What noise was that ? 
 
 Dern. Only a faggot fell down. 
 
 £jind. I verily believe every thing in this cavern 
 
 has got St. Vitus's dance on the sudden ; nothing but 
 
 is in motion to-night. — Malcolm ! 
 
 Mai. What now ? 
 
 » 
 
 Lind. I should not wonder if your time were come, 
 and these so many messages from — (pointing down- 
 wards) — ^you know whom I mean ; your old friend in 
 the cellar, to request your attendance ; ecod, beseems 
 mighty impatient. 
 
 Mai. Away you fool ! — away ! 
 
 During the latter part of the above 
 dialogue, Ellen has tiearlj/ reached 
 the top of the ladder. Malcolm, in 
 turning awai/ from Lind ley, pcr- 
 ceives her. 
 
 Mai. We are betrayed ! 
 
 Malcolm takes from his girdle a pis- 
 tol, which he lexels at Ellen y she 
 shrieks aloud, and Ken mure, who 
 has watched the action of the scene, 
 shoots him just as he is about to fire 
 at Ellen. Malcolm drops. El- 
 len escapes thro'' the aperture at 
 the top, and flings down the ladder 
 to retard their pursuit. The gyp- 
 sies seize Kenmurr. 
 
 Lind. Some of you after her. 
 
46 
 
 The ladder is set up against the openings 
 and several gipsies go^ out: in piersuit 
 of Ellen. ? 
 
 Mtil ftevefigfe tht Lihdlfe^— -ReveiigeU- 
 Lind. (grasping his Hdftdj I will, I will. 
 
 MaL T^en I am satisfied. / ^'pi^^ (*^ ) 
 tu//OLi . Malcolm dies; Lind ley is about tt 
 
 s^c^Kenmure, a^^ew Derncleugh 
 //J^^^^^ ^nt^rposes. 
 
 Dern. Hold ! were that revenge ? 
 
 Lind, You are riglit ; lie shall not paiss so easily. 
 
 Ken. Do your worst; no Scot fears to die. Cou- 
 iage is the birth-right of our land. You are not wor- 
 thy of my anger. 
 
 Lind. Chain him to the rock, and there let him me- 
 ditate till all is ready for him. Depend upon it we 
 shall put your courage to the proof. 
 
 Musick. — Thet/ chain Kenmx/rIe to 
 the rock, and then go out, bearing 
 off the body of Malcolm. 'Tc 
 
 Ken. {alone) Wretches I But let me not waste a 
 moment in regret. Ellen has escaped from them; 
 'her brother will be saved, and — ^I die contented. 
 
 Musick. — He lies down. DoNALD«p- 
 pe<n^s at the opening. 
 
 Don. Lassie ! Ellen ! I have been tul the boat, and 
 got some o' the tackle, sae wem^y pu' ye up in a 
 gliffling — ^but the haill clamjamfray hae been close 
 upon my heels, and I thought at ane time wad hae 
 fund ma. But why for dinna ye speak ? Ellen, El- 
 
leii-^r-Aiblins, the bairn has swarvit — ^I raaun gang 
 down till her myself, and yet ise' iiae fond of this ugly 
 cove. 
 
 Musick. — He fastens u rope to the 
 rock, and descends. 
 
 She is nae here ; the pure bairn. What can hae 
 befa'en her ? The place is as glunclu and as goutie 
 as — (starts on seeing Kenmure) eh ! Gude guide us 
 Kenmure ! 
 
 Ken, Is my time come ? I am ready. 
 
 Don. Ready ! ready for what mon ? Dinna ye 
 ken Donald ? 
 
 Xen. Donald ! 
 
 Don, But Where's the puir lassie ? Wliere's Ellen ? 
 
 Ken. Escaped. 
 
 Don. Ah, Sir, that is brae news. 
 
 Ken. What brings you here ? 
 
 Don. Hau ! that is nae a question now ; it wad be 
 muckle better we should talk of what may tak en awa' 
 for I'se jealous your ain shanks are nae stour enough. 
 
 Ken. Were I only free from this chain, I should 
 not fear that. 
 
 Don. Gin that be all, we'll try for it howe'er. 
 
 Musick. — He endeavours to break the 
 lock of the chain. 
 
 Wow ! but its ill ta do. 
 
 Ken. 'Tis done ! 
 
 Don. Now, my lad, shank it off; this is nae plac« 
 for us. 
 
 Ken. The ladder is gone. 
 g2 
 
48 
 
 Don, Yc are sair hurt, and will hardly be able to 
 speel the rock, though ye hae a rope to help ye. 
 Ken, One desperate effort. 
 
 J He l^egins to ascend hi/ means of the 
 
 rope, supporting his feet on the diffe- 
 rent rough points and projections of 
 the rock. Donald directs and en- 
 ' p courages him. 
 
 "^^^ Don, Canny lad ; canny now ; tak tent, and tak 
 time ; your foot on that muckle braid stone. Varce 
 well. And now to that wee bit black point — n^, nae, 
 not that ; yell fa' ! that's right ; dinna be in a hurry ; 
 vera well — ^AfrjVye are a bauld craigsman. 
 
 (Kenmure reaches the top.) 
 
 Ken. Now Donald, quick. 
 
 Don. Tak ye nae heed tull me ; Fse be wi' ye in 
 
 a gliff. 
 
 (Musick, Donald ascends the rock.) 
 
 Ken. Stop; a party of the gypsies is coming this 
 way across the rocks. 
 
 Don. The de'il they are ! Hide then among the 
 ^bushes. Have I time to come up afore they can see 
 us ? 
 
 Ken. Yes, but haste. 
 
 Don. Aye by my certies will I. 
 
 ^Mimck. Dos aJjD disappears through the opening.) 
 
 rUxf 
 

 Steenie's cottage. — {Day-break 
 Enter Janet. 
 
 Jmi. Jessy ! Jessy ! Almost five o'clock, and the sun 
 is already high above the mountains. Why Jessy, I 
 say — fie upon the sluggard ! 
 
 Enter Jessy. ^^^/^ 
 
 How you crawl child, like a snail with his house on 
 his back. What's the matter with thee ? 
 
 Jes, Nothing, mother, nothing. 
 
 Jan, Crying and mourning about that young fellow 
 Enfield, I suppose, when you ought to have been 
 asleep ; and sleeping now that you ought to be awake 
 and at work. 
 
 Jes. Dear mother. 
 
 %Ta72. Child, child, I have no patience with you ; 
 and so I have told you a hundred times — Jessy said I — 
 
 Jes.. I know my dear mother — I know very well. 
 
 Jan, Why you foolish thing, the gay Edward En- 
 field would never think of the like of you in ^n honest 
 way ; but the lad will be hung or shot, and that ends 
 the matter ; so bustle, bustle, dust the chairs, rub the 
 table, and open the window that i\\^ sun may locvk in 
 upon us. 
 
 ^ (Jessy opens the zciadow.) 
 
50 
 
 Jes. Oh mother! 
 
 Jan, ^®laat now, child ? /* 
 
 t/e5. Father is coming home. / 
 
 Jff??. So early ? The lazy lopii. / 
 
 Jes, And with poor Ellen Enfield dead in his arms. 
 Jan. Good heaven deliver us ! You don't say so r 
 Jes, She looks dripping wet, as if she had just 
 
 come out of the water. 
 Jan, Ah, poor thing ! Drowned herself in despair 
 
 for the untimely end of her brother. Well, from my 
 
 heart I pity the old man. 
 
 Musick, — Je s s y opens the door ; S.t e e- 
 NiE enters^ bearing in his arms El- 
 len, to all appearance lifeless. 
 
 Steen, A chair, Jessy. 
 
 
 Jessy places a chair^ in which he seats 
 Ellen. 
 
 And now run to tlie village for assistance ; make haste. 
 Enli/t Jessy, 
 
 Jan. Poor child ! Poor child ! How did this hap- 
 pen, Steenie. 
 
 Steen. She tumbled from the rocks close above the 
 falls, as I was casting my net. I did but just ccwne 
 up in time to save her. ^ 
 
 Jan, Aye ; threw herself in on purpose, I wc;rrant 
 Bie. 
 
 Steen. I don't know how that may be; I rather 
 think not; she seemed to run along the rocks as if fly- 
 ing from something she was afraid of However I am 
 sorry I had any thing to do in taking her brother. 
 
51 
 
 Jan. She begins to revive. 
 
 h How \^ildlyilielooli about her! 
 
 j;\ Where afi I ? Ml looks so dark ! 
 
 *r«wMIer senges begm to rejlirm. 
 
 EL What a dreadful aream. It was but a dream — 
 yet it was more dreadful than death. The hissing of the 
 waters ; the hideous shapes that mocked and moved — 
 and tumbled about me in the flood— the gasp for breath. 
 (She shudders coldli/ at the idea.) Yet it was but a 
 dteam — and it is past — it is past ; the strong agony of 
 the vision is over. Ha ! the horrid sleep is coming on 
 me again ! I must awake. 
 
 She starts up^ and Jails back again in 
 a moment, exhausted, into the Hair. 
 
 ,^t.ea^. I wish Jessy would come back. 
 
 EL Where am I? a heap of thoughts is flitting 
 darkly before me; there was something — would I 
 could recollect it; this dreadful weight upon my 
 brain! I cannot shake itofi*; there was sometliing — 
 
 Ellen struggles to recollect herself, 
 her face expresses deep pain mingled 
 mth 'oacancy. 
 
 J^in. What agony is in that look ! How ftfeftrfolly 
 her Wes roll! ■^, 
 
 A momentary gleam of recollection 
 lights up her face. 
 
 EL Ha ! I remember now — my brother ! 
 
 Her features relapse into vacanct/. 
 
52 
 
 It's gone ! it's gone ! 
 
 She bursts into tears, overpowered hy 
 her efforts, and disappointed in their 
 failure. 
 
 _§l. It were better I were dead. [OOXL iW^^ 
 
 — . — ' — — -" »; 
 
 The bell begins to toll for Edward's 
 
 execution, and is heard faintly. YaL' 
 
 i.E^ shrieks aloud, and starts up 
 
 with frantic energy. 
 
 El. I know all now ; tjjp weight no longer presses 
 on my brain; the mist has fallen from ray eyes; that 
 sound has burst the spell ; it calls my brother to the 
 grave ; but he is not guilty ; he shall not die. 
 
 (Steenie holds her back.) 
 
 Steen. Whither would you go ? 
 
 El. To save a brother; unhand me; away ! 
 
 (She rushes out.) 
 
 Steen. I'll fpUow her. 
 
 Jan. Aye, do, Steenie; and FU coftie after as fast 
 as I can. 
 
 (He hurries out followed by Janet.) 
 
^3- 
 
 
 SCENE last. 
 
 m 
 
 Ofi the left hand, reaching nearlj/ to 
 
 I the fiont, are the falls. Edward 
 
 -^/L /1/7 enters as to execution, preceded and 
 
 followed hy soldiers^ &^c. Sfc. Fat^- 
 
 mer Fiif FIELD follows slowli/. The 
 
 hMtoUs.Jt^^^^^^ 
 
 Edw, (to the Serjeant) Now, Sir, I would so- 
 licit a brief pause; I will not long intrude upon your 
 kindness. 
 
 S^rJ. (to soldiers) Halt. 
 
 Edw. Father, we must part here ; what follows 
 may wTing a father's heart to look on, though the son 
 may endure it without a sigh. 
 
 (Farmer EnfIeld grasps his hand 
 without being able to speak. After a 
 pause, he falls on his n<x:k in excess 
 of grief) 
 
 Farm. Eft. My son! my son! 
 
 Edzi^. I omnot'bear tHisJ father! call up your best 
 spirits to the task; you promised to part without a 
 tear. 
 
 Farm. Eti. Yes, yes— I did — ^but I cannot ; no, I 
 cannot. 1 knew not half the bitterness of this hour. 
 
 Edw. Your agony wrings from me the teai* that 
 the terror of my fate could never h^ve compelled 
 
 H 
 
54 
 
 But it must not be; tliey shall not see me subdued to 
 such weakness. 
 
 Farm. Et?. EdwarcJ, this be a sore trial for us 
 both. May Heaven give thee strength to bear the 
 dreadful moment. 
 
 Edw. Fear not me, father ; I am a soldier ; I am a 
 man ! Death has for me no terrors. 
 
 Farm. En, I have looked many a weary day for 
 thy return ; aye, many a long hour have I sate by tlie 
 old elm, when the toil of the day was over, and said 
 io myself as the brown harvest waved around me, 
 " all this be for Edward," — yes, though my legs were 
 weary, and my arms ached, my heart was light. I 
 did rejoice in my toil, for it was to make my Edward 
 ricli. 
 
 Edzt\ I must not listen to you ; I dare not. 
 V Fann. En. I did look to carry thy children in my 
 arms, as I did cai'fylhee, and after many a happy hour, 
 to have dropped quietly into my grave, as the leaves do 
 fall away in Autumn. Yet Heaven's will be done ! 
 We trust to the calm of evening, but the storm do rise 
 in the sleep of night, and when we awake, the harvest 
 do lie beaten to the earth, and rotting ere it be ripe. 
 
 Edio. You must not think of the past. 
 
 Farm. En. What be left for me in the future ? the 
 death of my child, and an old age without honour, and 
 without hope ; yes, the old man will wither in his 
 loneliness, and when he do die, a stranger will bear him 
 to his grave. 
 
 Edzo. {pointed! I/) You have another child ? 
 
 Farm. En. {wildlj/) Aye ; and she have broken hpr 
 feyther's heart. 
 
 Ediji\ Hush! hush! Isthisyour.promise? My pooi; 
 Ellen! you must forgive her — your dying sou im- 
 
55 
 
 plorcs it; it is the last boon he will ever ask, and c^n 
 you deny him that ? 
 
 Farm. En. Well, well! 
 ' Edzo'. You must do more; you must forget. 
 
 Farm. En. Forget I Never !-^I do forgive. 
 
 EdvO' Then, no. more remains but this — your 
 blessing. 
 
 Farm. En. Thee hast it, boy — the blood of a fel- 
 low creature is upon thee ; but I do hope a feyther's 
 tears may wasli it from thy hands. 
 
 JjJj^^k^Farmei'^^FiEJ.T>la7/sJiis?umd 
 ow Edward's head, and blesses him. 
 He suddenly starts np. Ellen 
 appears on the bridge, and shrieks 
 on seeing them, l^ , 
 
 f:</ci\ Ellen here! fWvy^' 
 
 Ellen rushes in. Her agitation is sa 
 great that she is scarccli/ able to 
 speak. 
 
 Ellen. Hold ! — Innocent ! — He — he — did not. — 
 {She struggles to speahy and appears convulsed icith 
 her efforts.) — Ken — Kenmure 
 
 Fann. En. Go, Edward ; her grief will only add 
 to the bitterness of the howr. Heaven bless thee, boy ! 
 
 Ellen seizes him eonvulsiielj/, and 
 gasping for breath. 
 
 Serj. This delay is only cruelty to the poor girl. On. 
 Mdw. FarcAvell! 
 
 Ellen screams, and clasps her hands 
 together in utter despair. All go 
 out except Ellen, and Farmer Ex- 
 
 - FIELD. 
 
 II 9 
 
56 
 Farm, En. Goitfe, n^ chiW, \^ fke riot to^^ 
 
 .Several inusktt shots are diischars^&fL 
 DoNAT.n and Kf.^mtjrr appear on 
 
 Jk rofk, Gimf!^ at a dWrnf^ft 
 
 JTfw.Hold! 
 Farfn. En. Kenmure ! 
 Don. Stop, a' of you, Kenmure lives ! 
 Voices (without) The Laird lives ! the Laird liv^s ! 
 and the gipsies are pursued by the soldiery. 
 
 Music. El len lools with a wild ex- 
 pression of loy. Donald and KeN' 
 mure' rush down ihe rock. The 
 f^ipsies rush across. The troops 
 prh on opposite sidti. Ellen and 
 Farmer Enfield are^oing out to 
 ijop the ExecuiiGn^ when Ed\vard;> 
 <^(?. re-enter. EtLj^EN- catches hold 
 >7/J Ed w A rd's o rg^SxEEN lE^ J jj^E ;r_ 
 '.*nd Ji^ssY enter. 
 
 Music. General poiw. The Curtain 
 falls tog soft plaintine^ir. 
 
 <^ 
 
 ^1 
 
 ^^^^^yMm 
 
 riociwell, Printer, Theatre Royal, Drwy ^.^ne. 
 
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