DOUGLAS'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF.

My name is Norval. On the Grampian Hills My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike lord: And heav'n soon granted what my sire deny'd. This moon, which rose last night, round as my shield, Had not yet fill'd her horns, when by her light, A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills Rush'd, like a torrent, down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled For safety and for succour. I alone, With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd The road he took; then hasted to my friends; Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, I met advancing. The pursuit I led, Till we o'ertook the spoil encumber'd foe. We fought—and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn, An arrow, from my bow, had pierc'd their chief, Who wore, that day, the arms which now I wear. Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd The shepherd's slothful life: and having heard That our good king had summon'd his bold peers, To lead their warriors to the Carron side, I left my father's house, and took with me A chosen servant to conduct my steps— Yon trembling coward who forsook his master. Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers; And, heaven directed, came this day, to do The happy deed, that gilds my humble name.