« AnteriorContinuar »
Thou canst not?-and a king!-his dust be mountains on thy head!'
He loosed the steed,-his slack hand fell-upon the silent
He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place
His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial
His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain.
CLARENCE AND BRAKENBURY.
Brak. WHY looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days;
Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me.
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy,
And in my company my brother Glo'ster;
Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward England,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we passed along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Glo'ster stumbled, and, in falling,
Oh! Heaven! methought what pain it was to drown!
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels;
Some lay in dead men's sculls; and in those holes
Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
The first that there did greet my stranger-soul,
SOLILOQUY OF WALLENSTEIN.
Translated from the German of Schiller.
THERE's no return! My innocence is gone! Myself have reared the wall by mine own works, That towers behind insuperably high,
And bars return forever. Had I been
The traitor I am deemed, I should have smoothed
I should have stilled the throbs of indignation,
And fearlessness of firm, though tried allegiance-
And gave my feelings vent.
Is fatally, irrevocably past
Now that the line
Each little word or look, each threat by wrong
Ah! wo to him, that tramples, in his course,
And what is gray with years, to man is godlike.
With ancient and anointed majesty
I've striven. I've wrenched the bonds strong custom wreathes About the hearts of men-and in their hearts
I've reared a foe, that ever fights against me.
Thy Country's love is lost-and that-the force
Which called thee Lord, enflamed thy pride, seduced
Of treacherous confidants, and watchful foes,
Thy Prince-Prince!-Am I not a rebel, traitor?—
Dug not thy guilt his early grave?-Alas!
Methinks I stand alone. Now, soul,
Still urging onward o'er the waves of life;-
Prove an ungrateful favourite-O! no—
Fortune, I blame thee not. Thou hast ta'en thine ownWho calls thee false? To me thou hast been true.
High o'er the vulgar paths of men-high up
The steps of life, thy godlike arm of love
Hath borne me on. And yet again-though sunk,
To the dim eye of common men, full low-
THE HIGHLANDER TO HIS SON.-Scott.
KENNETH, said the old outlaw, hear the last words of the sire of thy father. A Saxon soldier, and Allan of the Redhand, left this camp within these few hours, to travel to the country of Caber-foe. Pursue them as the blood-hound pursues the hurt deer-swim the lake-climb the mountain -thread the forest-tarry not until you join them.
They will ask thee news from the camp-say to them that Annot Lyle of the Harp is discovered to be the daughter of Duncan of Ardenvohr; that the thane of Menteith is
to wed her before the priest; and that you are sent to bid guests to the bridal. Tarry not their answer, but vanish like the lightning when the black cloud swallows it. And now depart, beloved son of my best beloved! I shall never more see thy face, nor hear the light sound of thy footstep— yet tarry an instant, and hear my last charge-remember the fate of our race, and quit not the ancient manners of the Children of the Mist.
We are now a straggling handful, driven from every vale by the sword of every clan, who rule in the possessions where their forefathers hewed the wood, and drew the water to ours. But in the thicket of the wilderness, and in the mist of the mountain, Kenneth, son of Erocht, keep thou unsoiled the freedom which I leave thee as a birthright. Barter it not, neither for the rich garment, nor for the stone roof, nor for the covered board, nor the couch of down-on the rock or in the valley, in abundance or in famine-in leafy summer or in the days of the iron winter-Son of the Mist! be as free as thy forefathers.
Own no lord-receive no law-take no hire-give no stipend-build no hut-enclose no pasture-sow no grain; -let the deer of the mountain be thy flocks and herds—if these fail thee, prey upon the goods of our oppressors-of the Saxons and of the Gael who are Saxons in their souls, valuing herds and flocks more than honour and freedom. Well for us that they do so-it affords the broader scope for our revenge. Remember those who have done kindness to our race, and pay their services with thy blood, should the hour require it. If a Mac Ian shall come to thee with the head of the king's son in his hand, shelter him, though the avenging army of the father were behind him; for in Glencoe and Ardnamurchan, we have dwelt in peace in the years that have gone by.
The sons of Diarmid-the race of Darnlinvarach-the riders of Menteith-my curse on thy head, Child of the Mist, if thou spare one of those names, when the time shall offer for cutting them off! and it will come anon, for their own swords shall devour each other, and those who are scattered shall fly to the Mist, and perish by its children. Once more begone-shake the dust from thy feet against the habitations of men, whether banded together for peace or for war-Farewell, beloved! and mayst thou die like thy forefathers, ere infirmity, disease, or age shall break thy spirit-begone, begone!-live free-requite kindness— avenge the injuries of thy race.