And yet he's used to this!—The mutterer !—— Smite him! ARNOLD. My lord! GESLER. How durst he pray? Enough The storm should talk of death!—How durst he pray? Sees he not heaven is deaf?-It may shew mercy; But none to us!-You see!-It waxes fiercer And fiercer! Heaven abandon its own likeness GESLER. Speak, slave. GEORGE. One man alone Can save us. He's acquainted with each shoal And inlet of the lake. GESLER. Where is he? GEORGE. There! (pointing to Tell.) In chains, my lord. Set him at liberty! Each moment lost, lets go a chance of life. The storm's not fairly on as yet— Its fury 's all to come! You hear, my lord, What roar and crashing are a-head. GESLER. Take off his chains! (Tell is lifted by the soldiers from the bottom of the boat, and his chains taken off.) TELL. Give me the helm-you do not trim the boat; She's far too light a-head. A steady stroke, and strong! There-there-lie to 't. Let all beside Lie flat, to shew less surface to the wind; (To Gesler) Heed not the storm, my lord! No stranger 't is To me. GESLER. And fear you not those waves? We're old acquaintance. Many a time we've met. GESLER. Why the waves Seem subject to him!-Now we 're making way. I will reward thee. -(thunder) What a peal was there! TELL. Nothing, my lord! A rough-tongued friend of mine, No more. You know me, do you?-We have talked GESLER. Why turn you? TELL. See, my lord, that wave Rolls foaming towards us! We must shun its stroke! (Tell seizes his bow and quiver, which lie at the head of the boat, and springs on the rock.) Liberty! The man that follows me Rushes on certain death!-Exit. GESLER. Pursue the traitor!— (Gesler and his party land, and follow Tell.) TELL. I have the speed of them— They cannot scale this cliff. Once on its top, ARNOLD. We cannot follow him! GESLER. (Without.) Why do you pause? where are your arrows, Slaves, They can overtake him!-Send them after him. TELL. Look to your master first.-Tyrant! take that For Melctal's eyes! (Gesler, transfixed with the arrow, staggers in, and falls dead into the arms of Arnold.) MELCTAL, thou art revenged! Liberty! Exit Tell. LINES, WRITTEN BENEATH A PORTRAIT OF THE MARCHIONESS OF SALISBURY, BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. BY JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. Ir breathes, a mild convincing dignity; There's what worth is, and what rank ought to be; THE perfume of a lily pure, the lunar rainbow's light, The faint farewell of parting day, fast fading into night; The whispered sorrows of a friend, still softening as they flow, The gentle murmur of a kiss, which lovers only know; II. The texture of that seven-hued scarf, from dying tempests won, Which like a gorgeous trophy hangs, around the joyous sun; The thrill a long mute voice inspires-a youthful virgin's vow, And the first dream whose blissfulness flits o'er an infant's brow; |