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Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter,—
I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field,

When death seemed certain, only uttered-"Brother!"
And seen that form like lightning rush between
Saladin and his foes, and that brave breast
Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow
Intended for my own,-I could forget
That 't was to thee I owed the very breath
Which sentenced thee to perish! O, 'tis shameful!
Thou canst not pardon me!

Mal. Ad. By these tears, I can!

O, brother! from this very hour, a new,
A glorious life commences! I am all thine!
Again the day of gladness and of anguish
Shall Malek Adhel share; and oft again

May this sword fence thee in the bloody field.
Henceforth, Saladin,

My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine for ever!

Ex. CCXXXIX.-LOCHIEL'S WARNING.

THOMAS CAMPBELL

Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight :
They rally, they bleed, for their country and crown!
Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair!
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!
O! weep! but thy tears can not number the dead;
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave-
Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave!

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?
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth

From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North?
Lo! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high!
Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh.
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
"Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of Heaven.
O, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood!

Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshaled my clan:
Their swords are a thousand,―their bosoms are one!
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock!
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock!
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws!
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array—

Seer. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day!
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man can not cover what God would reveal.
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.
Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,
Behold, where he flies ins desolate nath!

Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight;

Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight !——
'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors;
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores.

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean wave, banished, forlorn,

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?
Ah! no; for a darker departure is near;

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier;
His death-bell is tolling; O! mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims!
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,

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!
But, by his head erect and fiery glance,

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
Now matters not, since thou art here in joy.
Hast brought the answer of the god ?*

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 last time that Adrastus dared to face

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,
Or I had been torn piecemeal by his minions.
But I was far away; when I returned,
I found my father on the nearest bench
Within our door, his thinly silvered head
Supported by wan hands, which hid his face,
And would not be withdrawn; no groan, no sigh
Was audible, and we might only learn,
By short convulsive tremblings of his frame,
That life still flickered in it—yet at last,
By some unearthly inspiration roused,

He dropped his withered hands, and sat erect
As in his manhood's glory-the free blood

Flushed crimson through his cheeks, his furrowed brow
Expanded clear, and his eyes opening full,
Gleamed with a youthful fire;-I fell in awe
Upon my knees before him-still he spake not,
But slowly raised his arm untrembling; clenched
His hand as if it grasped an airy knife,

And struck in air: my hand was joined with his
In nervous grasp-my lifted eye met his
In steadfast gaze-my pressure answered his
We knew at once each other's thought; a smile
Of the old sweetness played upon
his lips,
And life forsook him. Weaponless I flew
To seek the tyrant, and was driven with scoffs
From the proud gates which shelter him. He lives ---
And I am here to babble of revenge!

Pho. It comes, my friend-haste with me to the king!
Ion. Even while we speak, Adrastus meets his council,
There let us seek him: should ye find him touched
With penitence, as happily ye may,

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
In its worst frenzy can inflict;—yet think,

O think! before the irrevocable deed

Shuts out all thought, how much of power's excess
Is theirs who raise the idol :-do we groan

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