That strikes for liberty-that strikes to save His fields from fire, his infants from the sword, His couch from lust, his daughters from pollution,
And his large honors from eternal infamy? What doubt we then? Shall we, shall we stand here,
Till motives that might warm an ague's frost, And nerve the coward's arm, shall poorly serve To wake us to resistance ?-Let us on? O, yes, I read your lovely fierce impatience; You shall not be withheld; we will rush on them
This is indeed to triumph, where we hold Three kingdoms in our toil! is it not glorious, Thus to appal the bold, meet force with fury, And push yon torrent back, till every wave Flee to its fountain? [word more 3d Dale. On, lead us on, Gustavus; one Is but delay of conquest.
Gus. Take your wish.
He who wants arms may grapple with the foe, And so be furnish'd. You, most noble Anderson,
Divide our pow'rs, and with the fam'd Olaus Take the left route-You, Eric, great in arms! With the renown'd Nederbi, hold the right, And skirt the forest down then wheel at once,
Confess'd to view, and close up all the vale : Myself, and my most valiant cousin here, Th' invincible Arvida, gallant Sivard, Arnoldus, and these hundred hardy vet'rans, Will pour directly on, and lead the onset. Joy, joy, I see confess'd from ev'ry eye, Your limbs tread vig'rous, and your breasts beat high!
Thin tho' our ranks, tho' scanty be our bands, Bold are our hearts, and nervous are our hands. With us, truth, justice, fame, and freedom Each singly equal to an host of foes: [close, I feel, I feel them fill me out for fight! They lift my limbs as feather'd Hermes light! Or like the bird of glory, tow'ring high [eye! Thunder within his grasp, and lightning in his
9. Gustavus and Cristiern. BROOKE. Crist. TELL me, Gustavus, tell me why is this,
That, as a stream diverted from the banks Of smooth obedience, thou hast drawn those Upon a dry unchannell'd enterprise [men To turn their inundation? Are the lives Of my misguided people held so light, [buke That thus thou'dst push them on the keen re- Of guarded majesty; where justice waits, All awful and resistless, to assert
Th' impervious rights, the sanctitude of kings, And blast rebellion!
Gus. Justice, sanctitude, And rights! O, patience! Rights! what rights, thou tyrant?
Yes, if perdition be the rule of pow'r, [chief, If wrongs give right, O then, supreme in misThou wert the lord, the monarch of the world,
Too narrow for thy claim. But if thou think'st That crowns are vilely propertied, like coir, To be the means, the speciality of lust, And sensual attribution; if thou think'st That empire is of titled birth or blood; That nature, in the proud behalf of one, Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race, And bow her gen'ral issue to the yoke Of private domination; then, thou proud one, Here know me for thy king. Howe'er, be Not claim hereditary, not the trust Of frank election,
Not even the high anointing hand of Heaven, Can authorize oppression, give a law For lawless pow'r, wed faith to violation, On reason build misrule, or justly bind Allegiance to injustice. Tyranny Absolves all faith; and who invades our rights, Howe'er his own commence, can never be But an usurper. But for thee, for thee [kind, There is no name. Thou hast abjur'd man- Dash'd safety from thy bleak, unsocial side, And wag'd wild war with universal nature.
Crist. Licentious traitor! thou canst talk
I come impower'd and strengthen'd in thy For tho' the structure of a tyrant's throne Rise on the necks of half the suff'ring world, Fear trembles in the cement; pray'rs, and tears,
And secret curses, sap its mould'ring base, And steal the pillars of allegiance from it: Then let a single arm but dare the sway, Headlong it turns, and drives upon destruction. [Heaven!
Trol. Profane, and alien to the love of Art thou still harden'd to the wrath divine, That hangs o'er thy rebellion? Know'st thou Thou art at enmity with grace. cast out, [not Made an anathema, a curse enroll'd Among the faithful, thou and thy adherents Shorn from our holy church, and offer'd up As sacred to damnation ?
Gus. Yes, I know, When such, as thou, with sacrilegious hand, Seize on the apostolic key of heaven, It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves To shut out virtue, and unfold those gates That heaven itself had barr'd against the lusts Of avarice and ambition. Soft and sweet As looks of charity, or voice of lambs That bleat upon the mountain, are the words Of Christian meekness! mission all divine' The law of love sole mandate. But your gall Ye Swedish prelacy, your gall hath turn'd
The words of sweet, but indigested peace, |Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy To wrath and bitterness. Ye hallow'd men, lord. [now I feel. In whom vice sanctifies, whose precepts teach Lady Ran. My lord, I cannot speak what Zeal without truth, religion without virtue; My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heaven, Who ne'er preach heaven but with a down-And to this noble youth, who, all unknown [loose To you and yours, deliberated not, Nor paus'd at peril-but, humanely brave, Fought on your side against such fearful odds. Have you yet learnt of him whom we should thank, [life? Whom call the saviour of Lord Randolph's Lord Ran. I ask'd that question, and he answer'd not;
ward eye, That turns your souls to dross! who, shouting, The dogs of hell upon us. Thefts and rapes, Sack'd towns, and midnight howlings thro' the realm, [chief! Receive your sanction. O, 'tis glorious mis- When vice turns holy, puts religion on, Assumes the robe pontifical, the eye Of saintly elevation, blesseth sin,
And makes the seal of sweet offended Heaven A sign of blood, a label for decrees That hell would shrink to own.
Crist. No more of this.
Gustavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace, And hold thy motions in the sphere of duty, Acceptance might be found.
Gus. Imperial spoiler !
Give me my father, give me back my kindred! Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans, Give me the sons in whom thy ruthless sword Has left our widows childless. Mine they were,
But I must know who my deliverer is.
[To the Stranger. Norv. A low-born man, of parentage ob
Who nought can boast but his desire to be A soldier, and to gain a name in arms.
Lord Ran. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobled
By the great King of kings: thou art ordain'd And stamp'd a hero by the sovereign hand Of nature! Blush not, flow'r of modesty As well as valor, to declare thy birth. Norv. My name is Norval: on the Gram- pian Hills
Both mine and ev'ry Swede's, whose patriot My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Bleeds in his country's woundings. O, thou Whose constant cares were to increase his canst not!
Thou hast outsinn'd all reck'ning! Give me And keep his only son, myself, at home.
My all that's left, my gentle mother there,
And spare yon little trembler.
Crist. Yes, on terms
Of compact and submission.
Gus. Ha! with thee?
For I had heard of battles and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike lord; And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied. This moon, which rose last night round as my shield,
Compact with thee? and mean'st thou for my Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light, For Sweden? No, so hold my heart but firm, A band of fierce barbarians from the hills Altho' it wring for 't, tho' blood drop for tears, Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale, And at the sight my straining eyes start Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepforthherds fled
They both shall perish first.
10. Lady Randolph, Lord Randolph, and young Norval, not known at the time to be Lady Randolph's Son. HOME.
Lady Ran. How fares my lord? Lord Ran. That it fares well, thanks to this gallant youth,
Whose valor sav'd me from a wretched death. As down the winding dale I walk'd alone, At the cross way four armed men attacked me, Rovers I judge from the licentious camp, Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph low,
Had not this brave and generous stranger come, Like my good angel, in the hour of fate, And, mocking danger, made my foes his own. They turn'd upon him: but his active arm Struck to the ground, from whence they rose
The fiercest two: the others fled amain, And left him master of the bloody field. Speak, Lady Randolph; upon beauty's tongue Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold, VOL. VI. Nos. 87 & 88.
Lord Ran. He is as wise as brave: was In a deep cave dug by no mortal hand,
With such a gallant modesty rehears'd? My brave deliv❜rer! thou shalt enter now A nobler list; and, in a monarch's sight, Contend with princes for the prize of fame. I will present thee to our Scottish king, Whose valiant spirit ever valor lov'd. Ha! my Matilda! wherefore starts that tear? Lady Ran. I cannot say; for various af- fections,
And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell: Yet each of them may well command a tear. I joy that thou art safe; and I admire Him, and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy safety;
Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own. Obscure and friendless, he the army sought; Bent upon peril, in the range of death Resolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his sword To gain distinction which his birth denied. In this attempt unknown he might have pe- rish'd,
And gain'd with all his valor but oblivion. Now grac'd by thee, his virtue serves no more Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope, He stands conspicuous: fame and great re-
Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon, In honor and command shall Norval be. [I am Norv. I know not how to thank you: rude In speech and manners: never till this hour Stood I in such a presence: yet, my lord, There's something in my breast which makes me bold
To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy favor. Lady Ran. I will be sworn thou wilt not. Thou shalt be
My knight; and ever, as thou didst to-day, With happy valor guard the life of Randolph. Lord Ran. Well hast thou spoke. Let me forbid reply. [To Norval. We are thy debtors still; thy high desert O'ertops our gratitude. must proceed, As was at first intended, to the camp; Some of my train, I see, are speeding hither, Impatient doubtless of their lord's delay. Go with me, Norval; and thine eyes shall see The chosen warriors of thy native land, Who languish for the fight, and beat the air With brandish'd swords.
A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains. Austere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed, Water his drink, his food the shepherds' alms. I went to see him; and my heart was touch'd With reverence and with pity. Mild he spake, And ent'ring on discourse, such stories told, As made me oft revisit his sad cell. For he had been a soldier in his youth; And fought in famous battles, when the peers Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led, Against the usurping infidel display'd The cross of Christ, and won the Holy Land. Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire His speech struck from me, the old man would shake
His years away, and act his young encounters: Then, having show'd his wounds, he'd sit him down,
And all the live-long day discourse of war. To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts; Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use Of the deep column, and the lengthen❜d line, The square, the crescent, and phalanx firm; For all that Saracen or Christian knew Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known. -Unhappy man!
Returning homewards by Messina's port, Loaded with wealth and honors bravely won, A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought; The stranger fell; and with his dying breath, Declar'd his name and lineage. Mighty God! The soldier cried, my brother! O my brother! -They exchang'd forgiveness:
And happy, in my mind, was he that died; For many deaths has the surviver suffer'd. In the wild desert on a rock he sits, Upon some nameless stream's untrodden banks, And ruminates all day his dreadful fate. At times, alas! nor in his perfect mind, Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost; And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch, To make sad orisons for him he slew. § 12. Douglas's Soliloquy in the Wood, wait- ing for Lady Randolph, after he was known to be her Son. HOME.
THIS is the place, the centre of the grove. Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood! How sweet and solemn is this midnight scene! The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way Thro' skies, where I could count each little star. [leaves; The fanning west-wind scarcely stirs the The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed, Imposes silence with a stilly sound. § 11. Young Norval informs Lord Randolph In such a place as this, at such an hour, by what Means he acquired a Knowledge in If ancestry can be in aught believ'd, the Art of War. HOME. Descending spirits have convers'd with man,
Norv. Let us begone, my lord.
BENEATH a mountain's brow, the most re- And told the secrets of the world unknown.
Eventful day! how hast thou chang'd my And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst
Once on the cold and winter-shaded side Of a bleak hill mischance had rooted me, Never to thrive, child of another soil; Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale, Like the green thorn of May, my fortune flow'rs.
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of rea
True fortitude is seen in great exploits That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides; [host! All else is tow'ring phrensy and distraction. Are not the lives of those who draw the sword In Rome's defence intrusted to our care? Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter,
Ye glorious stars! high heaven's resplendent To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd, Hear, and record my soul's unalter'd wish! Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd! May Heav'n inspire some fierce gigantic Dane To give a bold defiance to our host! Before he speaks it out, I will accept :
Might not th' impartial world with reason say, We lavish'd at our deaths the blood of thousands,
Like DOUGLAS Conquer, or like DOUGLAS die. To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious?
13. Cato. ADDISON.
Enter Cato.
Cato. FATHERS, we once again are met in council';
Lucius, we next would know what's your opi- nion. [turn'd on peace. Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are Already have our quarrels fill'd the world With widows and with orphans: Scythia
Cæsar's approach has summon'd us together, And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions How shall we treat this bold aspiring man? Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome : Success still follows him, and backs his crimes; Pharsalia gave him Rome, Egypt has since Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cæsar's.
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree
What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And envies us even Libya's sultry deserts. Fathers, pronounce your thoughts: are they still fix'd
To hold it out, and fight it to the last?
Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and wrought
By time, and ill success, to a submission? Sempronius, speak.
Sem. My voice is still for war. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose-slav'ry or death? No, let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And, at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.
Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help;
Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, Or share their fate! The corps of half her
"'Tis time to sheathe the sword and spare
It is not Cæsar, but the gods, my fathers, The gods declare against us, and repel Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle (Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair) Were to refuse th' awards of Providence, And not to rest in Heaven's determination. Already have we shown our love to Rome, Now let us show submission to the gods. We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves, But free the commonwealth; when this end fails, [cause,
Arms have no farther use. Our country's That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands,
And bids us not delight in Roman blood Unprofitably shed. What men could do, Is done already heaven and earth will wit-
If Rome must fall, that we are innocent.
Sem. This smooth discourse, and mild behavior, oft
Conceal a traitor. Something whispers me All is not right-Cato, beware of Lucius. [Aside to Cato.
Cato. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident; Immod'rate valor swells into a fault; And fear admitted into public councils, Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both. Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs Are grown thus desp'rate; we have bulwarks round us;
Manure the fields of Thessaly; while we Sit here delib'rating in cold debates, If we should sacrifice our lives to honor, Or wear them out in servitude and chains. Rouse up, for shame! our brothers of Pharsalia Point at their wounds, and cry aloud-To But wait at least till Cæsar's near approach [slow, Force us to yield. "Twill never be too late Great Pompey's shade complains that we are To sue for chains, and own a conqueror.
Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil In Afric's heat, and season'd to the sun; Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us, Ready to rise at its young prince's call. While there is hope, do not distrust the gods;
Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time ?
No: let us draw her term of freedom out In its full length, and spin it to the last, So shall we gain still one day's liberty; And let me perish, but in Cato's judgment, A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. Enter Marcus.
Mar. Fathers, this moment, as I watch'd the gate,
Lodg'd in my post, a herald is arriv'd
From Cæsar's camp, and with him comes old
The Roman knight; he carries in his looks Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato. Cato. By your permission, fathers-bid [Exit Marcus.
Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom- [ne'er employ'd
Cato. Nay more-tho' Cato's voice was To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Myself will mount the rostrum in his favor, And strive to gain his pardon from the people. Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman.
Dec. What is a Roman that is Cæsar's foe? Cato. Greater than Cæsar: he's a friend
Dec. Consider, Cato, you 're in Utica, And at the head of your own little senate; You don't now thunder in the capitol, With all the mouths of Rome to second you. Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us hither; [little, Decius was once my friend; but other pros-Tis Cæsar's sword has made Rome's senate pects [Cæsar. And thinn'd its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye Have loos'd those ties, and bound him fast to Beholds this man in a false glaring light, His message may determine our resolves. Which conquest and success have thrown
upon him; [him black Didst thou but view him right, thou'dst see With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes That strike my soul with horror but to name them.
I know thou look'st on me, as on a wretch Beset with ills, and cover'd with misfortunes; But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds Should never buy me to be like that Cæsar. Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Cæsar [ship? For all his gen'rous cares and proffer'd friend- Cato. His cares for me are insolent and
vain : [Cato. Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Would Cæsar show the greatness of his soul, Bid him employ his care for these my friends, And make good use of his ill-gotten pow'r, By shelt'ring men much better than himself.
Dec. Your high unconquer'd heart makes you forget
You are a man; you rush on your destruction. But I have done. When I relate hereafter The tale of this unhappy embassy, All Rome will be in tears. [Exit Decius. 14. Cato solus, sitting in a thoughtful Posture; in his Hand Plato's Book on the Immortality of the Soul. ADDISON. A drawn Sword on the Table by him. It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well- Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond de- This longing after immortality? [sire,
Or whence this secret dread, and inward hor
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man : Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought Through what variety of untried being, [pass? Through what new scenes and changes must we
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