Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter,— When death seemed certain, only uttered-"Brother!" Mal. Ad. By these tears, I can! O, brother! from this very hour, a new, May this sword fence thee in the bloody field. My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine for ever! Ex. CCXXXIX.-LOCHIEL'S WARNING. THOMAS CAMPBELL Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day Lochiel. Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright! Seer. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North? But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshaled my clan: Seer. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight; Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight !—— But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? Say, mounts he the ocean wave, banished, forlorn, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale! For never shall Albin a destiny meet So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame! Ex. CCXL-SECOND SCENE FROM ION. MEDON, CTESIPHON, PHOCION, ION. TALFOURD. [ION endeavors to dissuade CTESIPHON from his purpose of vengeance on ADRASTUS.] Medon. Ctesiphon !-and breathless-Art come to chide me to the council? Ctes. No; To bring unwonted joy; thy son approaches. Medon. Thank Heaven! Hast spoken with him? is he well? Ctes. I strove in vain to reach him, for the crowd, Roused from the untended couch and dismal hearth By the strange visiting of hope, pressed round him! I know that he is well, and that he bears A message which shall shake the tyrant. [Shouts without.] See! The throng is tending this way—now it parts And yields him to thy arms. Enter PHOCION. Medon. Welcome, my Phocion Long waited for in Argos; how detained Pho. I have: Now let Adrastus tremble! Medon. May we hear it? Pho. I am sworn first to utter it to him. Ctes. But it is fatal to him!-say but that! Pho. Ha, Ctesiphon !-I marked thee not before; How fares thy father? Ion [to PHOCION.] Do not speak of him. Cies. [overhearing IoN.] Not speak of him! Dost think there is a moment When common things eclipse the burning thought Of him and vengeance? Pho. Has the tyrant's sword Ctes. No, Phocion; that were merciful and brave Compared to his base deed; yet will I tell it To make the flashing of thine eye more deadly, And edge thy words that they may rive his heart-strings. The sages of the state, although my father, Yielding to nature's mild decay, had left All worldly toil and hope, he gathered strength, In his old seat to speak one word of warning. Thou know'st how bland with years his wisdom grew, And with what phrases, steeped in love, he sheathed The sharpness of rebuke; yet, ere his speech Was closed, the tyrant started from his throne, And with his base hand smote him;-'t was his death-stroke! The old man tottered home, and only once Raised his head after. *Phocion had been dispatched to consult the oracle of Apollo, on wat remedy might be found for the plague which was desolating Argos. Pho. Thou wert absent? Yes! The royal miscreant lives. Ctes. Had I beheld That sacrilege, the tyrant had lain dead, He dropped his withered hands, and sat erect Flushed crimson through his cheeks, his furrowed brow And struck in air: my hand was joined with his Pho. It comes, my friend-haste with me to the king! Oh, give allowance to his softened nature! Ctes. Show grace to him!-Dost dare?—I had forgot. Thou dost not know how a son loves a father! Ion. I know enough to feel for thee; I know Thou hast endured the vilest wrongs that tyranny O think! before the irrevocable deed Shuts out all thought, how much of power's excess |