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aloud, and is carried off in the arms of her father.)

Disrobe thee, Maro, of those martial weeds.

Cor. Gladly; for him I serve,-my glorious

Master

Hath braced me with an armour that defies

All hostile things; in which I'll strive more proudly
Than I have ever fought in field or breach
With Rome's or Nero's foes.

Lic. Cæsar desires thee also to remember,
That no ignoble audience, e'en thy emperor,
And all the states of Rome, behold thy deeds.

NOTE TO THE DRAMA.

FOR the better understanding of different allusions in the foregoing drama, I beg to transcribe a few passages from Fox's History of Martyrs, taken from book i., which contains an account of the ten persecutions of the primitive church.

He says, on the authority of Justin Martyr,-"And whether earthquake, pestilence, or whatever public calamity befell, it was attributed to the Christians;" (then is added) "over and besides all these, a great occasion that stirred up the emperors against the Christians came by one Publius Tarquinius, the chief prelate of the

Cor. Tell him my deeds shall witness'd be by idolatrous sacrifices, and Mamertinus, the chief governor

those

Compared to whom the emperor of Rome,
With all her high estates, are but as insects
Hovering at midday o'er some tainted marsh.
I know full well that no ignoble audience
Are present, though from mortal eyes conceal'd.
Farewell, my friends! kind, noble friends, farewell!
Apart to Sylvius, while Orceres goes off, reap-
pearing in another part of the theatre.)
Sylvius, farewell! If thou shouldst e'er be call'd
To die a holy martyr for the truth,

God give thee then the joy which now I feel.
But keep thy faith conceal'd, till useful service
Shall call thee to maintain it. God be with thee!
(Looking round.)
Where is Orceres gone? I thought him near me.
Syl. 'Tis but a moment since he left thy side
With eager haste.

of the city, in the time of Trajanus, who, partly with money, partly with sinister, pestilent counsaile, partly with infamous accusations, (as witnesseth Nauclerus,) incensed the mind of the emperor so much against God's people."

In the account of the third persecution (au. 100,) Eustasius, a great and victorious captain, is mentioned as suffering martyrdom by order of the Emperor Adrian, who went to meet him on his return from conquest over the barbarians; but upon Eustasius's refusing on the way to do sacrifice to Apollo for his victory, brought him to Rome, and had him put to death.

In the fourth persecution, (an. 162,) it is mentioned that many Christian soldiers were found in the army

of Marcus Aurelius.

"As these aforesaid were going to their execution, there was a certain soldier who in their defence took part against those who railed upon them, for the which cause the people crying out against him, he was appre hended, and being constant in his profession, was forthwith beheaded."

In the persecutions of Decius, several soldiers are Cor. He would not see my death. I'm glad he's mentioned as martyrs, some of whom had before con

gone.

Say I inquired for him, and say I bless'd him.
-Now I am ready. Earthly friends are gone.
Angels and blessed spirits, to your fellowship
A few short pangs will bring me.
-O, Thou, who on the cross for sinful men
A willing sufferer hung'st! receive my soul!
Almighty God and sire, supreme o'er all!
Pardon my sins and take me to thyself!
Accept the last words of my earthly lips:
High hallelujah to thy holy name!

cealed their faith; and in the tenth persecution, Mauri
tius, the captain of the Theban band, with his soldiers,
to the number of 6666, (a number probably greatly ex-
recorded
aggerated,) are
as having been slain as
martyrs by the order of Maximinian.

Tertullian, in his Apology for the Christians, mentions the slanderous accusations against them, of putting to death children and worshipping an ass's head. And when we consider how fond the ignorant are of excite ment arising from cruel, absurd, and wonderful stories, and how easily a misapprehended and detached expression may be shaped by conjecture into a detailed transaction, such accusations were very probable and (A Lion now appears, issuing from a low door might be naturally expected; particularly when the at the end of the Stage, and Cordenius, advan-unoffending meekness of their behaviour made supposed cing to meet it, enters the Arena, when Orceres hidden atrocities more necessary for the justification of their persecutors. from a lofty stand amongst the spectators, sends an arrow from his bow, which pierces Cordenius through the heart. He then disappears, and re-entering below, catches hold of his hand as Sylvius supports him from falling to the ground.)

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.

Orc. (to Cordenius.) Have I done well, my Is there a man, that from some lofty steep,

friend?-this is a death

More worthy of a Roman.

I made a vow in secret to my heart,

That thou shouldst ne'er be made a mangled sight
For gazing crowds and Nero's ruthless eye.

Views in his wide survey the boundless deep,
When its vast waters, lined with sun and shade,
Wave beyond wave, in seried distance, fade
To the pale sky;-or views it, dimly seen,
The shifting screens of drifted mist between

Syl. That dying look, which almost smiles upon As the huge cloud dilates its sable form,

thee,

Says that thou hast done well; though words no

more

May pass from these closed lips, whose last bless'd

utterance

Was the soul's purest and sublimest impulse.
(The curtain drops.)

When grandly curtain'd by th' approaching storm,—
Who feels not his awed soul with wonder rise
To Him whose power created sea and skies,
Mountains and deserts, giving to the sight
The wonders of the day and of the night?
But let some fleet be seen in warlike pride,
Whose stately ships the restless billows ride,

While each, with lofty masts and brightening sheen
Of fair spread sails, moves like a vested queen ;-
Or rather, be some distant bark, astray,
Seen like a pilgrim on his lonely way,
Holding its steady course, from port and shore,
A form distinct, a speck, and seen no more,—
How doth the pride, the sympathy, the flame,
Of human feeling stir his thrilling frame!
"O Thou! whose mandate dust inert obey'd!

With heavy sigh and look depress'd,
The greatest men will sometimes hear
The story of their acts address'd
To the young stranger's wandering ear,
And check the half-swoln tear.
Is it or modesty or pride

Which may not open praise abide ?
No; read his inward thoughts! they tell,
His deeds of fame he prizes well.

What is this creature man whom thou hast made !" But, ah! they in his fancy stand,

I.

On Palos' shore, whose crowded strand Bore priests and nobles of the land, And rustic hinds and townsmen trim, And harness'd soldiers stern and grim, And lowly maids and dames of pride, And infants by their mother's side,The boldest seaman stood that e'er Did bark or ship through tempest steer; And wise as bold, and good as wise; The magnet of a thousand eyes, That on his form and features cast; His noble mien and simple guise, In wonder seem'd to look their last. A form which conscious worth is gracing, A face where hope, the lines effacing Of thought and care, bestow'd, in truth, To the quick eyes' imperfect tracing The look and air of youth.

II.

Who, in his lofty gait, and high
Expression of th' enlighten'd eye,
Had recognised in that bright hour

The disappointed suppliant of dull power,
Who had in vain of states and kings desired
The pittance for his vast emprise required ?—
The patient sage, who, by his lamp's faint light,
O'er chart and map spent the long silent night?
The man who meckly fortune's buffets bore,
Trusting in One alone, whom heaven and earth
adore?

III.

Another world is in his mind,
Peopled with creatures of his kind,
With hearts to feel, with minds to soar,
Thoughts to consider and explore;

Souls, who might find, from trespass shriven,
Virtue on earth and joy in heaven.
"That power divine, whom storms obey,"
(Whisper'd his heart,) a leading star,
Will guide him on his blessed way;
Brothers to join by fate divided far.
Vain thoughts! which heaven doth but ordain
In part to be, the rest, alas! how vain!

IV.

But hath there lived of mortal mould,
Whose fortunes with his thoughts could hold
An even race? Earth's greatest son
That e'er earn'd fame, or empire won,
Hath but fulfill'd, within a narrow scope,
A stinted portion of his ample hope.

As relics of a blighted band,
Who, lost to man's approving sight,
Have perish'd in the gloom of night,
Ere yet the glorious light of day
Had glitter'd on their bright array.
His mightiest feat had once another,
Of high imagination born,—

A loftier and a nobler brother,
From dear existence torn;

And she for those, who are not, steeps
Her soul in wo,-like Rachel, weeps.

V.

The signal given, with hasty strides
The sailors climb'd their ships' dark sides;
Their anchors weigh'd; and from the shore
Each stately vessel slowly bore.
High o'er the deeply shadow'd flood,
Upon his deck their leader stood,
And turn'd him to the parted land,

And bow'd his head and waved his hand.
And then, along the crowded strand,
A sound of many sounds combined,
That wax'd and waned upon the wind,

Burst like heaven's thunder, deep and grand;
A lengthen'd peal, which paused, and then
Renew'd, like that which loathly parts,
Oft on the ear return'd again,
The impulse of a thousand hearts.
But as the lengthen'd shouts subside,
Distincter accents strike the ear,
Wafting across the current wide,
Heart-utter'd words of parting cheer:
"O! shall we ever see again

Those gallant souls recross the main ?
God keep the brave! God be their guide!
God bear them safe through storm and tide!
Their sails with favouring breezes swell!
O brave Columbus! fare thee well!"

VI.

From shore and strait, and gulf and bay, The vessels held their daring way, Left far behind, in distance thrown All land to Moor or Christian known, Left far behind the misty isle, Whose fitful shroud, withdrawn the while, Shows wood and hill and headland bright To later seamen's wondering sight, And tide and sea left far behind That e'er bore freight of human kind; Where ship or bark to shifting gales, E'er tack'd their course or spread their sails. Around them lay a boundless main In which to hold their silent reign;

But for the passing current's flow,

And cleft waves, brawling round the prow, They might have thought some magic spell

A gentler mien; relations, friends, Glare on him now like angry fiends; And, as he moves, ah, wretched cheer!

Had bound them, weary fate! for ever there to Their mutter'd curses reach his ear:

dwell.

VII.

What did this trackless waste supply
To soothe the mind or please the eye?
The rising morn through dim mist breaking,
The flicker'd east with purple streaking;
The midday cloud through thin air flying,
With deeper blue the blue sea dying;
Long ridgy waves their white mains rearing,
And in the broad gleam disappearing;
The broaden'd, blazing sun declining,
And western waves like fire flood shining;
The sky's vast dome to darkness given,
And all the glorious host of heaven.

VIII.

Full oft upon the deck, while other's slept,
To mark the bearing of each well-known star
That shone aloft, or on th' horizon far,
The anxious Chief his lonely vigil kept;
The mournful wind, the hoarse wave breaking near,
The breathing groans of sleep, the plunging lead,
The steersman's call, and his own stilly tread,
Are all the sounds of night that reach his ear.
His darker form stalk'd through the sable gloom
With gestures discomposed and features keen,
That might not in the face of day be seen,
Like some unblessed spirit from the tomb.

Night after night, and day succeeding day,

So pass'd their dull, unvaried time away;

But all undaunted, firm and sage,

He scorns their threats, yet thus he soothes their

rage:

"I brought you from your native shore

An unknown ocean to explore.

I brought you, partners, by my side,
Want, toil, and danger, to abide.

Yet weary stillness hath so soon subdued

The buoyant soul, the heart of pride,

Men who in battle's brunt full oft have firmly stood.
That to some nearing coast we bear,
How many cheering signs declare!
Wayfaring birds the blue air ranging,
Their shadowy line to blue air changing,
Pass o'er our heads in frequent flocks;
While seaweed from the parent rocks
With fibry roots, but newly torn

In tressy lengthen'd wreaths are on the clear wave borne.

Nay, has not e'en the drifting current brought
Things of rude art,—of human cunning wrought?
Be yet two days your patience tried,
And if no shore is then descried,
E'en turn your dastard prows again,
And cast your leader to the main."

XI.

And thus a while with steady hand He kept in check a wayward band, Who but with half-express'd disdain Their rebel spirit could restrain.

Till hope, the seaman's worshipp'd queen, had flown The veteran, rough as war-worn steel,

From every valiant heart but his alone;

Where still, by day, enthroned, she held her state With sunny look and brow elate.

IX.

Oft spurn'd the deck with grating heel;

The seaman, bending o'er the flood,
With stony gaze all listless stood;

The sturdy bandit, wildly rude,
Sung, as he strode, some garbled strain,

But soon his dauntless soul, which naught could Expressive of each fitful mood,

bend,

Nor hope delay'd, nor adverse fate subdue,

With more redoubled danger must contend

Than storm or wave-a fierce and angry crew.

"Dearly," say they, "may we those visions rue Which lured us from our native land,

A wretched, lost, devoted band,
Led on by hope's delusive gleam,
The victims of a madman's dream!
Nor gold shall e'er be ours, nor fame;
Not e'en the remnant of a name,
On some rude-letter'd stone to tell
On what strange coast our wreck befell.
For us no requiem shall be sung,
Nor prayer be said, nor passing knell
In holy church be rung."

X.

To thoughts like these, all forms give way
Of duty to a leader's sway;
All habits of respect that bind
With easy tie the human mind.
E'en love and admiration throw
Their nobler bands aside, nor show

Timed by his sabre's jangling chain
The proud Castilian, boasted name!

Child of an ancient race

Which proudly prized its spotless fame,
And deem'd all fear disgrace,

Felt quench'd within him honour's generous flame,
And in his gather'd mantle wrapp'd his face.

XII.

So pass'd the day, the night, the second day With its red setting sun's extinguish'd ray. Dark, solemn midnight coped the ocean wide, When from his watchful stand Columbus cried, "A light, a light!"-blest sounds that rung In every ear. At once they sprung With haste aloft, and, peering bright, Descried afar the blessed sight. "It moves, it slowly moves like ray Of torch that guides some wanderer's way! And other lights more distant, seeming As if from town or hamlet streaming! "Tis land, 'tis peopled land; man dwelleth there, And thou, O God of heaven! hast heard thy servant's prayer!"

XIII.

Returning day gave to their view
The distant shore and headlands blue
Of long-sought land. Then rose on air
Loud shouts of joy, mix'd wildly strange
With voice of weeping and of prayer,
Expressive of their blessed change
From death to life, from fierce to kind,

From all that sinks, to all that elevates the mind.
Those who, by faithless fear insnared,
Had their brave chief so rudely dared,
Now, with keen self-upbraiding stung,
With every manly feeling wrung,
Repentant tears, looks that entreat,
Are kneeling at his worshipp'd feet.
"O pardon blinded, stubborn guilt!
O henceforth make us what thou wilt!
Our hands, our hearts, our lives, are thine,
Thou wondrous man! led on by power divine !"

XIV.

Ah! would some magic could arrest
The generous feelings of the breast,
Which thwart the common baser mass
Of sordid thoughts, so fleetly pass,-
A sun glimpse through the storm!
The rent cloud closes, tempests swell,
And its late path we cannot tell;
Lost is its trace and form.

No; not on earth such fugitives are bound;

In some veil'd future state will the bless'd charm

be found.

XV.

Columbus led them to the shore,
Which ship had never touch'd before;
And there he knelt upon the strand
To thank the God of sea and land;
And there, with mien and look elate,
Gave welcome to each toil-worn mate.
And lured with courteous signs of cheer,
The dusky natives gathering near;
Who on them gazed with wandering eyes,
As mission'd spirits from the skies.
And there did he possession claim,
In Isabella's royal name.

XVI.

It was a land, unmarr'd by art,
To please the eye and cheer the heart:
The natives' simple huts were seen
Peeping their palmy groves between,-
Groves, where each dome of sweepy leaves
In air of morning gently heaves,
And, as the deep vans fall and rise,
Changes its richly verdant dyes;
A land whose simple sons till now
Had scarcely seen a careful brow;
They spent at will each passing day
In lightsome toil or active play.
Some their light canoes were guiding,
Along the shore's sweet margin gliding.
Some in the sunny sea were swimming,

The bright waves o'er their dark forms gleaming;

Some on the beach for shell-fish stooping,
Or on the smooth sand gayly trooping;
Or in link'd circles featly dancing
With golden braid and bracelet glancing.
By shelter'd door were infants creeping,
Or on the shaded herbage sleeping;
Gay feather'd birds the air were winging,
And parrots on their high perch swinging,
While humming-birds, like sparks of light,
Twinkled and vanish'd from the sight.

XVII.

They eyed the wondrous strangers o'er and o'er,-
Those beings of the ocean and the air,

With humble, timid reverence; all their store
Of gather'd wealth inviting them to share;
To share whate'er their lowly cabins hold;
Their feather'd crowns, their fruits, their arms,
their gold.

Their gold, that fatal gift!-0 foul disgrace!
Repaid with cruel wreck of all their harmless race.

XVIII.

There some short, pleasing days with them he dwelt,

And all their simple kindness dearly felt.
But they of other countries told,

Not distant, where the sun declines,
Where reign Caziques o'er warriors bold,
Rich with the gold of countless mines.
And he to other islands sail'd,
And was by other natives hail'd.
Then on Hispaniola's shore,
Where bays and harbours to explore
Much time he spent ; a simple tower
Of wood he built, the seat to be,
And shelter of Spain's infant power;
Hoping the nurseling fair to see,
Amidst those harmless people shoot
Its stately stem from slender root.
There nine and thirty chosen men he placed,
Gave parting words of counsel and of cheer;
One after one his nobler friends embraced,
And to the Indian chieftain, standing near,
"Befriend my friends, and give them aid,
When I am gone," he kindly said,

Blest them, and left them there his homeward course to steer.

XIX.

His prayer to Heaven for them preferr'd
Was not, alas! with favour heard.
Oft, as his ship the land forsook,
He landward turn'd his farewell look,
And cheer'd his Spaniards cross the wave,
Who distant answer faintly gave;
Distant but cheerful. On the strand
He saw their clothed figures stand
With naked forms link'd hand in hand!-
Saw thus caress'd, assured, and bold,
Those he should never more behold.
Some simple Indians, gently won,
To visit land, where sets the sun
In clouds of amber, and behold,
The wonders oft by Spaniards told;

Stood silent by themselves apart,
With nature's yearnings at their heart,
And saw the coast of fading blue
Wear soft and sadly from their view.
But soon by their new comrades cheer'd,
As o'er the waves the ship carcer'd,
Their wandering eyes aloft were cast
On white swoln sails and stately mast,
And checkering shrouds, depicted fair,
On azure sea and azure air;

And felt, as feels the truant boy,

Who, having climb'd some crumbling mound
Or ruin'd tower, looks wildly round
A thrilling, fearful joy.

XX.

Then with his two small barks again
The dauntless chief traversed the main;
But not with fair and favouring gales
That erst had fill'd his western sails :
Fierce winds with adverse winds contended;
Rose the dark deep,-dark heaven descended;
And threaten'd, in the furious strife,

The ships to sink with all their freight of precious life.

XXI.

In this dread case, well may be guess'd
What dismal thoughts his soul depress'd:
"And must I in th' o'erwhelming deep,
Our bold achievement all unknown,
With these my brave adventurers sleep,-
What we have done to dark oblivion thrown?
Sink, body! to thy watery grave,
If so God will; but let me save
This noble fruitage of my mind,

And leave my name and deeds behind!"

XXII.

Upon a scroll, with hasty pen,
His wondrous tale he traced,
View'd it with tearful eyes, and then
Within a casket placed.

46

Perhaps," said he, " by vessel bound On western cruise, thou wilt be found; Or make, sped by the current swift, To Christian shore they happy drift. Thy story may by friendly eyes be read; O'er our untimely fate warm tears be shed; Our deeds rehearsed by many an eager tongue, And requiems for our parted souls be sung." This casket to the sea he gave; Quick sunk and rose the freightage light,Appear'd on many a booming wave,

Then floated far away from his still gazing sight.
Yet, after many a peril braved,-

Of many an adverse wind the sport,
He, by his great Preserver saved,
Anchor'd again in Palos' port.

XXIII.

O, who can tell the acclamation loud
That, bursting, rose from the assembled crowd
To hail the hero and his gallant train,
From such adventure bold return'd again!-
The warm embrace, the oft-repeated cheer,
And many a wistful smile and many a tear!-

How, pressing close, they stood; Look'd on Columbus with amaze,"Is he," so spake their wondering gaze, "A man of flesh and blood ?” While cannon far along the shore His welcome gave with deafening roar.

XXIV.

And then with measured steps, sedate and slow
They to the Christian's sacred temple go.
Soon as the chief within the house of God
Upon the hallow'd pavement trod,

He bowed with holy fear :

"The God of wisdom, mercy, might, Creator of the day and night,

This sea-girt globe, and every star of light,

Is worshipp'd here."

Then on the altar's steps he knelt,

And what his inward spirit felt,
Was said unheard within that cell
Where saintly thoughts and feelings dwell;
But as the choral chanters raise

Through dome and aisle the hymn of praise
To heaven his glistening eyes were turn'd,
With sacred love his bosom burn'd.

On all the motley crowd

The generous impulse seized; high dons of pride Wept like the meekest beedsman by their side, And women sobb'd aloud.

XXV.

Nor statesmen met in high debate
Deciding on a country's fate,
Nor saintly chiefs with fearless zeal
Contending for their churches' weal,
Nor warriors, midst the battle's roar,
Who fiercely guard their native shore ;-
No power by earthly coil possest
To agitate the human breast,
Shows, from its native source diverted,
Man's nature noble, though perverted,
So strongly as the transient power
Of link'd devotion's sympathetic hour.
It clothes with soft unwonted grace
The traits of many a rugged face,
As bend the knees unused to kneel,
And glow the hearts unused to feel;

While every soul, with holy passion moved,
Claims one Almighty Sire, fear'd, and adored, and
loved.

XXVI.

With western treasures, borne in fair display,
To Barcelona's walls, in grand array,
Columbus slowly held his inland way.
And still where'er he pass'd along,
In eager crowds the people throng.
The wildest way o'er desert drear
Did like a city's mart appear.
The shepherd swain forsook his sheep;
The goatherd from his craggy steep
Shot like an arrow to the plain;
Mechanics, housewives, left amain
Their broken tasks, and press'd beside
The truant youth they meant to chide:
The dull hidalgo left his tower,
The donna fair her latticed bower;

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