Page images
PDF
EPUB

The thousand pangs, which tore the lover's breast?
Upon her breathlefs corfe himself he threw,
And to her clay-cold lips, with trembling haste,
Ten thousand kiffes gave. He ftrove to speak;
Nor words he found: he clafpt her in his arms;
He figh'd, he fwoon'd, look'd up, and died away.
One grave contains this hapless, faithful pair;
And still the Cane-ifles tell their matchless love!

GRAINGER.

CHAP.

XVIII.

M

DOUGLAS TO LORD RANDOLPH.

Y name is NORVAL: on the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flock; a frugal fwain,
Whofe conftant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only fon, myself, at home..
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd

To follow to the field fome warlike lord;

And Heaven foon granted what my fire denied.

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 fafety, and for fuccour. I alone,

With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd

The road he took, then hafted to my friends:
Whom, with a troop of fifty chofen men,
I met advancing. The purfuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd fee.

We

We fought and conquer'd. Ere a fword 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 difdain'd
The shepherd's flothful life; and having heard
That our good king had fummon'd his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron fide,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chofen fervant to conduct my steps:-
Yon trembling coward, who forfook his mafter.
Journeying with this intent, I pafs'd these towers,
And, Heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.

HOME.

[ocr errors]

CHA P. XIX.

OTHELLO's APOLOGY.

OST potent, grave, and reverend Signiors,
My very noble and approv'd good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is moft true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in fpeech,
And little bless'd with the fet phrase of peace;
For fince thefe arms of mine had feven years pith,
Till now fome nine moons wafted, they have us
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle;
And therefore little fhall I grace my cause,
In fpeaking for myself; Yet, by your patience,
D 6

I will

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,

Of my whole courfe of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

(For fuch proceeding I am charg'd withal)

I won his daughter with.

Her father lov'd me, oft invited me;
Still queftion'd me the ftory of my life,

From year to year; the battles, fieges, fortunes,
That I have past.

I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days,
To th' very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of moft difaftrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'fcapes in th'imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the infolent foe,

And fold to flavery; of my redemption thence,

And with it all my travel's hiftory:

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts wild,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whofe heads touch heav'n,

It was my hent to speak.-All these to hear

Would Defdemona feriously incline.

But ftill the houfe-affairs would draw her hence,
Which ever as she could with hafte dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I obferving,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels fhe had fomething heard,
But not diftinctively. I did confent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful Atroke

That

That my youth fuffer'd. My ftory being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of fighs.

She fwore, in faith, 'twas ftrange, 'twas paffing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wond'rous pitiful-

She wish'd she had not heard it

-yet fhe wish'd

That Heav'n had made her fuch a man :-she thank'd me,

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I fhould but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I fpake;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had past;

And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us’d.

SHAKSPEARE,

NOW

CHA P. XX.

ELIZ A.

OW stood ELIZA on the wood-crown'd height,
O'er Minden's plain, fpectatress of the fight;

Sought with bold eye amid the bloody ftrife

Her dearer self, the partner of her life;
From hill to hill the rushing hoft pursued,
And view'd his banner, or believ'd she view’d.
Pleafed with the diftant roar, with quicker tread
Faft by his hand one lifping boy fhe led;
And one fair girl amid the loud alarm

Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm;

While round her brows bright beams of Honour dart,
And Love's warm eddies circle round her heart.
-Near and more near the intrepid Beauty press'd,
Saw through the driving fmoke his dancing creft,

Heard

Heard the exulting fhout," they run! they run!"

"Great God!" fhe cried, "He's fafe! the battle's won!” -A ball now hiffes through the airy tides,

(Some Fury wing'd it, and fome Demon guides!)
Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck,
Wounds her fair ear, and finks into her neck;
The red ftream, iffuing from her azure veins,
Dyes her white veil, her ivory bofom ftains.-
"Ah me!" fhe cried, and, finking on the ground,
Kifs'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound;
"Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn!

"Wait, gufhing Life, oh, wait my Love's return!-
"Hoarfe barks the wolf, the vulture fcreams from far!
"The angel, Pity, fhuns the walks of war!—

"Oh, fpare ye war-hounds, fpare their tender age!-
"On me, on me," fhe cried, " exhaust your rage !”—
Then with weak arms her weeping babes carefs'd,
And fighing hid them in her blood-ftain'd veft.

From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies,
Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes;
Eliza's name along the camp he calls,

Eliza echoes through the canvas walls;

Quick through the murmuring gloom his footfteps tread,
O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead,
Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood,
Lo! dead ELIZA weltering in her blood!—
-Soon hears his liftening fon the welcome founds,
With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds :-

ཝ་

Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand, "ELIZA fleeps upon the dew cold fand;

"Poor weeping Babe with bloody fingers prefs'd,' "And tried with pouting lips her milkless breaft;

44 Alas!

« PreviousContinue »