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Not even that shall torture,-will it, then,
Think'st thou, thy slumbers render quieter,
Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect,
That when thy voice had doomed a brother's death,
The last request which e'er was his to utter
Thy harshness made him carry to the grave?

Sal. Speak, then; but ask thyself if thou hast reason
To look for much indulgence here.

Mal. Ad. I have not!

Yet will I ask for it. We part for ever;
This is our last farewell; the king is satisfied;
The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence.
None sees, none hears, save that omniscient power,
Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon
Two brothers part like such. When, in the face
Of forces once my own, I'm led to death,
Then be thine eye unmoistened; let thy voice
Then speak my doom untrembling; then,
Unmoved, behold this stiff and blackened corse.
But now I ask-nay, turn not, Saladin !—
I ask one single pressure of thy hand;
From that stern eye one solitary tear-
O, torturing recollection!-one kind word

From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kind

ness.

Still silent? Brother! friend! beloved companion

Of all my youthful sports!-are they forgotten?-
Strike me with deafness, make me blind, O Heaven!
Let me not see this unforgiving man

Smile at my agonies! nor hear that voice

Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word,
One little word, whose cherished memory
Would soothe the struggles of departing life!
Yet, yet thou wilt! O, turn thee, Saladin !

Look on my face,-thou canst not spurn me then;
Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel

For the last time, and call him

Sal. [seizing his hand.] Brother! brother!

Mal. Ad. [breaking away.] Now call thy followers. Death has not now

A single pang in store. Proceed! I'm ready.

Sal. O, art thou ready to forgive, my brother? To pardon him who found one single error,

One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng
Of glorious qualities-

Mal. Ad. O, stay thee, Saladin!

I did not ask for life. I only wished
To carry thy forgiveness to the grave.
No, Emperor, the loss of Cesarea

Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel.
Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost
What cost them many a weary hour to gain
Should expiate his offences with his life.
Lo! even now they crowd to view my death,
Thy just impartiality. I go!

Pleased by my fate to add another leaf
To thy proud wreath of glory. [Going.]

Sal. Thou shalt not. [Enter Attendant.]

Atten. My lord, the troops assembled by your order Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death Not one of them but vows he will not suffer.

The mutes have fled; the very guards rebel.
Nor think I, in this city's spacious round,

Can e'er be found a hand to do the office.

Mal. Ad. O faithful friends! [To Atten.] Thine shall. Atten. Mine? Never!

The other first shall lop it from the body.

Sal. They teach the Emperor his duty well.

Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too,

That ere their opposition reached our ears,
Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel.

Atten. O joyful news!

I haste to gladden many a gallant heart,
And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek,
Unused to such a visitor. [Exit.]

Sal. These men, the meanest in society,
The outcasts of the earth,-by war, by nature,
Hardened, and rendered callous, these, who claim
No kindred with thee,-who have never heard
The accents of affection from thy lips,-

O, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance,
Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives,
To save thee from destruction! While I,
I, who can not, in all my memory,

Call back one danger which thou hast not shared,
One day of grief, one night of revelry,

Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed,

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.-LO CHIEL'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 math!

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

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