Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
'Tis the fire shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven.
Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn:
Return to thy dwelling-all lonely return!

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.

Lochiel. False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan,
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one;
They are true, to the last of their blood and their breath;
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock;
Let him dash his proud foam, like a wave on the rock!
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws;
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array-

Wizard. -Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day!
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal:
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king!
-Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path!

Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight.
Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight!-

'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors:
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores!

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn,

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?
-Ah no! for a darker departure is near;

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier-
His death-bell is tolling! O mercy! dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims!
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,

Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat,

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale

Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale,

For never shall Albin a destiny meet,

So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat.

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,

Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,

With his back to the field, and his face to the foe!

And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,

Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame.

X.—GLENALVON, NORVAL, AND LORD RANDOLPH.—Home.

Glen. His port I love: he's in a proper mood To chide the thunder, if at him it roared.Has Norval seen the troops?

Norv. The setting sun

With yellow radiance lighted all the vale;

And, as the warriors moved, each polished helm,
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams.
The hill they climbed, and, halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, towering, they seemed
A host angelic, clad in burning arms.

Glen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host
In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war.
Norv. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty

Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine

Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.

[Aside.]

Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deeds Have ranked you with the great. But mark me, Norval; Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth

Above his veterans of famous service.

Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you :-
Give them all honour; seem not to command;
Else they will hardly brook your late-sprung power,
Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns.

Norv. Sir, I have been accustomed, all my days,
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth;
And though I have been told that there are men
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn,
Yet in such language I am little skilled:

Therefore, I thank Glenalvon for his counsel,
Although it sounded harshly! Why remind
Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
With such contemptuous terms?

Glen. I did not mean

To gall your pride, which now I see is great.
Norv. My pride!

Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper.

Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake,

I will not leave you to its rash direction.

If thus you swell and frown at high-born men,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn?
Norv. A shepherd's scorn!

Glen. Yes; if you presume

To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
As if you took the measure of their minds,

And said in secret, "You're no match for me!"

What will become of you?

Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me!

Norv. Didst thou not hear?

Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe

Had not been questioned thus; but such as thou
Norv. Whom dost thou think me?

Glen. Norval.

Norv. So I am—

And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?

Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy; At best no more, even if he speaks the truth?

Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?
Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie; and basely false
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.
Norv. If I were chained, unarmed, or bed-rid old,
Perhaps I should revile; but, as I am,

I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race-who strive not but with deeds!
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour,

And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,

I'd tell thee-what thou art! I know thee well!

Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born to command Ten thousand slaves like thee?

Norv. Villain, no more!

Draw and defend thy life. I did design

To have defied thee in another cause;

But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.

Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs!

[Both draw their swords.]

[Lord Randolph, as he advances.] Hold! I command you both! The

man that stirs

Makes me his foe.

Norv. Another voice than thine

That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph.

Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous condescending!

Mark the humility of Shepherd Norval!

Norv. Now you may scoff in safety. [Sheathes his sword.]
Lord Ran. Speak not thus

Taunting each other, but unfold to me

The cause of quarrel; then I judge betwixt you.

Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.

I blush to speak-I will not, cannot speak

The opprobrious words that I from him have borne.
To the liege lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage; but even him
And his high arbitration I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord-
Honour! sole judge and umpire of itself.
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,
Revoke your favours, and let Norval go

Hence as he came; alone-but not dishonoured!

Lord Ran. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice.

XI.

The ancient foe of Caledonia's land

Now waves his banner o'er her frighted fields:
Suspend your purpose till your country's arms
Repel the bold invader; then decide

The private quarrel.

Glen. I agree to this.

Norv. And I.

Glen, Norval,

Let not our variance mar the social hour,

Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph.

[Lord Randolph retires.]

Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate,

Shall stain my countenance. Smoothe thou thy brow;
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.

Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment;

When we contend again, our strife is mortal.

GESLER, SARNEM, WILLIAM TELL, AND HIS SON ALBERT.—
J. S. Knowles.

Sar. Down, slave, upon thy knees, before the governor,

And beg for mercy.

Ges. Does he hear?

Sar. He does, but braves thy power. Down, slave, [To Tell] And ask for life.

Ges. [To Tell.] Why speak'st thou not?

Tell. For wonder.

Ges. Wonder?

Tell. Yes, that thou shouldst seem a man.
Ges. What should I seem ?

Tell. A monster.

Ges, Ha! Beware!-think on thy chains.

Tell. Though they were doubled, and did weigh me down
Prostrate to earth, methinks I could rise up

Erect, with nothing but the honest pride
Of telling thee, usurper, to thy teeth,
Thou art a monster.-Think on my chains!
How came they on me?

Ges. Darest thou question me?
Tell. Darest thou answer?

Ges. Beware my vengeance.
Tell. Can it more than kill?
Ges. And is not that enough?
Tell. No, not enough :-

It cannot take away the grace of life—
The comeliness of look that virtue gives-

Its port erect, with consciousness of truth

Its rich attire of honourable deeds

Its fair report that's rife on good men's tongues :-
It cannot lay its hand on these, no more

Than it can pluck his brightness from the sun,

Or with polluted finger tarnish it.

Ges. But it may make thee writhe.

Tell. It may, and I may say,

"Go on!" though it should make me groan again.

Ges. Whence comest thou?

Tell. From the mountains.

Ges. Canst tell me any news from them?
Tell, Ay;-they watch no more the avalanche.
Ges. Why so?

Tell. Because they look for thee. The hurricane
Comes unawares upon them: from its bed

The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track-
Ges. What then?

Tell. They thank kind Providence it is not thou!-
Thou hast perverted nature in them. The earth
Presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked.
The harvest sun is constant, and they scarce
Return his smile. Their flocks and herds increase,
And they look on, as men who count a loss.
There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but
The thought of thee doth wither to a curse-
As something they must lose, and had far better lack.
Ges. 'Tis well. I'd have them as their hills

That never smile, though wanton summer tempt
Them e'er so much.

Tell. But they do sometimes smile.

Ges. Ah!-when is that?

Tell. When they do pray for vengeance.

Ges. Dare they pray for that?

Tell. They dare, and they expect it, too.

Ges. From whence?

Tell. From Heaven, and their true hearts.

Ges. [To Sarnem.] Lead in his son.

Now will I take

Exquisite vengeance. [To Tell, as the Boy enters.] I have destined

him

To die along with thee.

Tell. To die! for what? he's but a child.

Ges. He's thine, however.

Tell. He is an only child!

Ges. So much the easier to crush the race.

Tell. He may have a mother!

Ges. So the viper hath

And yet who spares it for the mother's sake?

Tell. I talk to stone. I'll talk to it no more!
Come, my boy, I taught thee how to live,-
I'll teach thee how to die.

Ges. But first, I'd see thee make

A trial of thy skill with that same bow.
Thy arrows never miss, 'tis said.

Tell. What is the trial?

Ges. Thou look'st upon thy boy

As though instinctively thou guessest it.

Tell. Look upon my boy! What mean you?

Look upon my boy as though I guessed it!-
Guessed at the trial thou wouldst have me make!-
Guessed it instinctively! Thou dost not mean-.
No, no-Thou wouldst not have me make

A trial of my skill upon my child?
Impossible! I do not guess thy meaning.