Oh! jailer, haste that fate to tell;
Oh! haste my father's heart to cheer:
His heart at once 't will grieve and glad
To know, though kept a captive here,
I am not mad, I am not mad.

He smiles in scorn, and turns the key;
He quits the grate; I knelt in vain ;
His glimmering lamp still, still I see -
"T is gone! and all is gloom again.
Cold, bitter cold! - No warmth no light!.
Life, all thy comforts once I had;
Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night,
Although not mad; no, no, not mad.

"Tis sure some dream

What! I, the child of rank and wealth, Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, Bereft of freedom, friends, and health? Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,

Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head; But 't is not mad; no, 't is not mad.

Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this,

A mother's face, a mother's tongue? She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,

Nor round her neck how fast you clung;

Nor how with her you sued to stay ;

Nor how that suit your sire forbade ; Nor how I'll drive such thoughts away! They'll make me mad, they'll make me mad

His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled!

His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone!

None ever bore a lovelier child:

And art thou now forever gone?
And must I never see thee more,
My pretty, pretty, pretty lad?
I will be free! unbar the door!
I am not mad, I am not mad.

Oh! hark! what mean those yells and cries?
His chain some furious madman breaks;

He comes! I see his glaring eyes;

Now, now, my dungeon-grate he shakes
Help! help! He's gone!

Oh! fearful woe,

Such screams to hear, such sights to see!
My brain, my brain, I know, I know,

Your task is done - I'm mad! I'm mad!

CCXXVIII.

RIENZI TO THE ROMANS.

RIENDS!

FRIEND

I come not here to talk.

The story of our thraldom.

Ye know too well
We are slaves!

The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave; not such, as swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame, —
But base, ignoble slaves! slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords,

Lewis.

Rich in some dozen paltry villages;
Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great

In that strange spell a name!

Each hour, dark fraud

Or open rapine, or protected murder,

Cries out against them. But this very day,

An honest man, my neighbor, there he stands
Was struck - struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini! because, forsooth,

He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor?

The stain away in blood?

men, and wash not

Such shames are common.

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,

I had a brother once, a gracious boy,

Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of Heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son ! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks
a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried

For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl

To see them die! Have ye fair daughters?

- Look

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash!
That sate on her seven hills,
Of beauty ruled the world!

Why in that elder day to be

Yet, this is Rome,
and from her throne
Yet, we are Romans.
a Roman

Was greater than a King! And once again
Hear me, ye walls that echoed to the tread

Of either Brutus !

once again I swear

The Eternal City shall be free!

Miss Mitford.