All's for the best!-be a man but confiding,
Providence tenderly governs the rest;
And the frail bark of his creature is guiding
Wisely and warily, all for the best.
Oh! I have passed a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days.
So full of dismal terror was the time!
My dream was lengthened after life:--
Oh! then began the tempest to my soul!-
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell,
Such terrible impression made my dream!
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves that apes would beat!-Pluto and hell! All hurt behind: backs red, and faces pale
With flight and agued fear!-Mend, and charge home, Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe,
And make my wars on you: look to't: come on!
How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him, for he is a Christian;
But more, for that, in low simplicity,
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance with us here in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him!
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest.
Seems, madam! nay, it is: I know not seems,
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath;
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: these, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within which passeth show,
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Thou slave! thou wretch! thou coward!
Thou little valiant, great in villainy!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou fortune's champion, thou dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety! Thou art perjured, too,
And sooth'st up greatness! What a fool art thou,
A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and sweat,
Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?
Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
Thou wear a lion's hide? Doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs
Whither shall I turn? wretch that I am! To what place shall
I betake myself? Shall I go to the Capitol?
with my brother's blood! Or shall I return to
Alas! it is stained my home? there I
behold my mother weeping, plunged in misery and despair.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition!
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee,-
Corruption wins not more than honesty;
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
With many holiday and lady terms,
He questioned me; among the rest, demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf:
I, then, all smarting with my wounds, being galled
To be so pestered with a popinjay,
Out of my grief and my impatience
Answered neglectingly-I know not what
He should, or should not; for he made me mad
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds-God save the markAnd telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti-for an inward bruise.
Blaze, with your serried columns! I will not bend the knee;
The shackle ne'er again shall bind the arm which now is free!
I've mailed it with the thunder, when the tempest muttered low;
And where it falls, ye well may dread the lightning of its blow.
I've scared you in the city; I've scalped you on the plain:
Go, count your chosen where they fell beneath my leaden rain!
I scorn your proffered treaty; the paleface I defy;
Revenge is stamped upon my spear, and "blood" my battle cry!
I do mistrust thee, woman! and each word
Of thine stamps truth on all suspicion heard.
Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai—
Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly?
Thou need'st not answer, thy confession speaks,
Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks!
Then, lovely dame, bethink thee! and beware:
'Tis not his life alone may claim such care:
Another word-and-nay-I need no more.
Accursed was the moment when he bore
Thee from the flames, which better far-but-no-
I then had mourned thee with a lover's woe-
Now 't is thy lord that warns, deceitful thing!
Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing?
In words alone I am not wont to chafe :
Look to thyself, nor deem thy falsehood safe.
He read their thoughts-they were his own"What! while our arms can wield these blades, Shall we die tamely? die alone?
Without one victim to our shades,
One Moslem heart, where, buried deep,
The saber from its toil may sleep?
No-God of Iran's burning skies!
Thou scorn'st the inglorious sacrifice.
No-though of all earth's hope bereft,
Life, swords, and vengeance still are left:
We'll make yon valley's reeking caves
Live in the awe-struck minds of men,
Till tyrants shudder when their slaves
Tell of the Gueber's bloody glen!
Follow, brave hearts! this pile remains
Our refuge still from life and chains;
But his the best, the holiest bed,
Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead!"
Strange! that one lightly-whispered tone
Is far, far sweeter unto me,
Than all the sounds that kiss the earth
Or breathe along the sea;
But, lady, when thy voice I greet,
Not heavenly music seems so sweet.
I look upon the fair, blue skies,
And naught but empty air I see;
But when I turn me to thine eyes,
It seemeth unto me
Ten thousand angels spread their wings
Within those little azure rings.
Banished! I thank you for't. It breaks my chain!
I held some slack allegiance till this hour;
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords!
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you! here, I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your Consul's merciful-for this all thanks:
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline!
No change, no pause, no hope! yet I endure!
I ask the earth, have not the mountains felt?
I ask yon heaven, the all-beholding sun,
Has it not seen? The sea, in storm or calm,
Heaven's ever-changing shadow, spread below,-
Have its deaf waves not heard my agony?
Ah, me! alas, pain, pain ever, forever!
The crawling glaciers pierce me with the spears
Of their moon-freezing crystals: the bright chains
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