[Pause.
Enter Mrs. Bland and Children.
Mrs. Bland.
O my good friend!
M'Donald [taking her hand].
I know thy cause of sorrow.
Art thou now from our Commander?
Mrs. Bland [drying her tears, and assuming dignity].
I am.
But vain is my entreaty. All unmov'd
He hears my words, he sees my desperate sorrow.
Fain would I blame his conduct—but I cannot.
Strictly examin'd, with intent to mark
The error which so fatal proves to me,
My scrutiny but ends in admiration.
Thus when the prophet from the Hills of Moab,
Look'd down upon the chosen race of heaven,
With fell intent to curse; ere yet he spake,
Truth all resistless, emanation bright
From great Adonai, fill'd his froward mind,
And chang'd the curses of his heart to blessings.
M'Donald.
Thou payest high praise to virtue. Whither now?—