Mrs. Bland. Poor thing! Come, let us home and weep. Alas!
I can no more, for war hath made men rocks.
(Exeunt Mrs. Bland and Children.)
Bland. Colonel, I used thee ill this morning.
M'Donald. No! Thyself thou used'st most vilely, I remember.
Bland. Myself sustained the injury, most true;
But the intent of what I said and did
Was ill to thee alone; I 'm sorry for it.
See'st thou these blushes? They proceed from warmth
As honest as the heart of man e'er felt;
But not with shame unmingled, while I force
This tongue, debased, to own it slander'd thee,
And utter'd—I could curse it—utter'd falsehood.
Howe'er misled by passion, still my mind
Retains that sense of honest rectitude
Which makes the memory of an evil deed
A troublesome companion. I was wrong.
M'Donald. Why, now, this glads me; for thou now art right.
O, may thy tongue, henceforward, utter naught
1 The lines marked <> were omitted after the first night and the following were inserted. (See Introduction.)
Bland. Noble M'Donald, truth and honor's champion!
Yet think not strange that my intemperance wrong'd thee:
Good as thou art! for, would'st thou, can'st thou, think it?
My tongue unbridled, hath the same offence,
With action violent, and boisterous tone,
Hurl'd on that glorious man, whose pious labors
Shield from every ill his grateful country.
That man, whom friends to adoration love,
And enemies revere. Yes, M'Donald,
Even in the presence of the first of men
Did I abjure the service of my country,
And reft my helmet of that glorious badge
Which graces even the brow of Washington.
How shall I see him more?
But Truth's sweet precepts, in fair Virtue's cause!
Give me thy hand. (Takes his hand.) Ne'er may it grasp a sword
But in defence of justice.
Bland. Yet, erewhile,
A few short hours scarce past, when this vile hand
Attempted on thee insult; and was raised
Against thy honor; ready to be raised
Against thy life. If this my deep remorse—
M'Donald. No more, no more! 'T is past. Remember it
But as thou would'st the action of another,
By thy enlighten'd judgment much condemn'd;
And serving as a beacon in the storms
Thy passions yet may raise. Remorse is vice;
Guard thee against its influence debasing.
Say to thyself: "I am not what I was;
I am not now the instrument of vice;
I 'm changed; I am a man; Virtue's firm friend;
Sever'd forever from my former self;
No link, but in remembrance salutary."
< Bland.[1] How all men tower above me!
M'Donald. Nay, not so.
M'Donald. Alive himself to every generous impulse,
He hath excused the impetuous warmth of youth,
In expectation that thy fiery soul,
Chasten'd by time and reason, will receive
The stamp indelible of godlike virtue.
To me, in trust, he gave this badge disclaim'd,
With power, when thou should'st see thy wrongful error,
From him, to reinstate it in thy helm,
And thee in his high favor.
Bland. (Takes the cockade and replaces it.)
Shall I speak my thoughts of thee and him?
No! let my actions henceforth show what thou
And he have made me. Ne'er shall my helmet
Lack again its proudest, noblest ornament,
Until my country knows the rest of peace,
