Bewildered in the mountain game,

Whence the bold boast by which we know
Vich Alpine's vowed and mortal foe?

James. Warrior, but yester morn, I knew
Nought of thy chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
Save as an exil'd, desperate man,
The chief of a rebellious clan,
Who in the regent's court and sight,
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight.
Yet this alone should from his part
Sever each true and loyal heart.

Sold. [Frowning, and both rising hastily] And heard'st thou why he drew his blade?

Heard'st thou, that shameful word and blow
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe?
What recked the chieftain, if he stood
On Highland heath or Holy Rood?
He rights such wrong where it is given,
Though it were in the court of heaven.

James. Still it was outrage; yet 'tis true,
Not then claimed sovereignty his due,
The young king, mewed in Sterling tower,
Was stranger to respect and power.
But then thy chieftain's robber life,
Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
Wrenching from ruined lowland swain
His flocks and harvest reared in vain-
Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn
The spoils from such foul conflict borne.
Sold. Saxon, from yonder mountain high,
I marked thee send delighted eye,
O'er waving fields and pastures green,
With gentle slopes, and groves between;
These fertile plains, that softened vale
Were once the birthright of the Gael.
The Saxons came with iron hand,
And from our fathers reft the land.
Where dwell we now? see rudely swell
Crag o'er crag, and fell o'er fell.
Ask we this savage hill we tread,
For fattened steer, or household bread;

Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,
And well the mountain might reply,
"To you as to your sires of yore,
Belong the target and claymore!
I give you shelter in my breast,
Your own good blades must do the rest."
Pent in this fortress of the north,
Think'st thou we will not sally forth
To spoil the spoiler as we may,
And from the robber rend the prey?
Ay, by my soul! while on yon plain
The Saxon rears one shock of grain;
While of ten thousand herds, there strays
But one along yon river's maze-
The Gael, of plain and river heir,
Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.
Where live the mountain chiefs who hold
That plundering lowland field and fold
Is ought but retribution due?-

Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu.
James.
And if I sought,
Think'st thou no other could be brought?
What deem ye, of my path way-laid,
My life given o'er to ambuscade?

Sold. As a reward to rashness due;
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true,
Free hadst thou been to come and go;
But secret path marks secret foe.

James. Well, let it pass; nor will I now Fresh cause of enmity avow,

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.
Enough, I am by promise tied

To match me with this man of pride.
Twice have I sought Clan Alpine's glen
In peace; but, when I come again,
I come with banner, brand, and bow,
As leader seeks his mortal foe.
For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower,
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour
As I, until before me stand

This rebel chieftain and his band.

Sold. Have thy wish.

[He whistles and soldiers

rush in on all sides.] How say'st thou now?

These are Clan Alpine's warrior's true;

And Saxon- -I am Roderick Dhu.

[King James starts back a little, then draws his sword and places his back against the rock.]

James. Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I.

[Roderick waves his hand and the soldiers retire.]
Rod. Fear not, nay, that I need not say,

But doubt not ought from mine array.
Thou art my guest, I pledged my word
As far as Coilantogle ford.

So move we on; I only meant

To show the reed on which you leant,
Deeming this path you might pursue
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.
Bold Saxon! to his promise just,
Vich Alpine shall discharge his trust.

This murderous chief, this ruthless man,

This head of a rebellious clan,

Will lead thee safe through watch and ward,
Far past Clan Alpine's outmost guard,
Then man to man, and steel to steel,
A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.
James.-
I ne'er delayed
When foeman bade me draw my blade;
Nay more, brave chief, I vowed thy death;
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,
And my deep debt for life preserved
A better meed have well deserved;
Can nought but blood our feud atone?
Are there no means?

Rod.

No, stranger, none!

James. Nay, first to James at Sterling go. When if thou wilt be still his foe,

Or if the king shall not agree

Το grant thee grace and favour free,
I plight mine honour, oath, and word,
That to thy native holds restored,
With each advantage shalt thou stand,

That aids thee now to guard thy land.
Rod. Thy rash presumption now shall rue,
The homage named to Roderick Dhu.
He yields not, he, to man nor fate-
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate!

My clansmen's wrongs demand revenge
Not yet prepared; by Heaven! I change
My thought, and hold thy valour light
As that of some vain carpet knight,
Who ill deserved my courteous care,
And whose best boast is but to wear

A braid of his fair lady's hair. [Pointing to a braid on James's breast.]

James. I thank thee, Roderick, for the word; It nerves my heart, it steels my sword,

I had it from a frantick maid

By thee dishonoured and betrayed;
And I have sworn the braid to stain
In the best blood that warms thy vein.
Now truce, farewell! and ruth, begone!
I heed not that my strength is worn-
Thy word's restored; and if thou wilt,
We try this quarrel, hilt to hilt.

Henry the Fourth's Soliloquy on Sleep.

SHAKSPEARE.

How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!-0 gentle Sleep!
Nature's soft nurse! how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case to a common larum-bell?

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,

And, in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery shrouds,
That with the hurly, death itself awakes:
Canst thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king?—Then happy, lowly clown!-
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN HAMLET AND HORATIO. SHAKSPEARE.

Horatio. HAIL to your lordship!

Hamlet. I am glad to see you well:

Horatio or I do forget myself.

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant

ever..

Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name

Hor.

with you.

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
A truant disposition, good my lord.
Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself. I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee do not mock me, fellow-student;

I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon. Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio; the funeral baked

meats

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven,