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In Bifcay's ftormy feas, an armed fhip,
Of force fuperior, from loud Charante's wave
Clapt them on board. The frighted flying crew
The colours ftrike; when dauntless Junio, fir'd
With noble indignation, kill'd the chief,
Who on the bloody deck dealt flaughter round.
The Gauls retreat; the Britons loud huzza;
And touch'd with fhame, with emulation ftung,
So plied their cannon, plied their miffile fires,
That foon in air the hapless Thunderer blew.
Blow profperous breezes; fwiftly fail thou Po:
May no more dangerous fights retard thy way!
Soon Porto Santo's rocky heights they spy,
Like clouds dim rifing in the distant sky.
Glad Eurus whiftles, laugh the sportive crew,
Each fail is fet to catch the favouring gale,
While on the yard-arm the harpooner fits,
Strikes the boneta, or the shark enfnares:
The little nautilus, with purple pride.
Expands his fails, and dances o'er the waves;
Small winged fishes on the shrouds alight;
And beauteous dolphins gently play around.
Though fafter than the tropic bird they flew,
Oft Junio cried, Ah! when shall we fee land?
Soon land they made; and now in thought he clafp'd
His Indian bride, and deem'd his toils o'erpaid.
She, no less anxious, every evening walk'd
On the cool margin of the purple main,
Intent her Junio's veffel to defcry.
One eve (faint calms for many a day had rag'd)
The winged Dæmons of the tempeft rofe!
Thunder, and rain, and lightning's awful power
She fled could innocence, could beauty claim
Exemption from the grave, the ethereal bolt,
That ftretch'd her speechlefs, o'er her lovely head
Had innocently roll'd.
Meanwhile impatient Junio leap'd afhore, Regardless of the Dæmons of the storm.
Ah, youth! what woes, too great for man to bear,
Are ready to burft on thee? Urge not fo
Thy flying courfer. Soon Theana's porch
Receiv'd him; at his fight the ancient slaves
Affrighted fhriek, and to the chamber point:-
Confounded, yet unknowing what they meant,
He enter'd hafty-
Ah! what a fight for one who lov'd fo well!
All pale and cold, in every feature death,
Theana lay; and yet a glimpse of joy
Play'd on her face, while with faint faultering voice
She thus addrefs'd the youth, whom yet fhe knew;
"Welcome, my Junio, to thy native shore !
"Thy fight repays this fummons of my fate:
"Live, and live happy; fometimes think of me :
"By night, by day, you ftill engag'd my care:
"And, next to God, you now my thoughts employ :
"Accept of this-My little all I give ;
Would it were larger.". Nature could no more;
She look'd, embrac'd him, with a groan expir'd.
But fay, what ftrains, what language can exprefs
The thousand pangs, which tore the lover's breast!
Upon her breathlefs corfe himself he threw,
And to her clay cold lips, with trembling hafte,
Ten thousand kiffes gave. He ftrove to speak:
Nor-words he found: he clafp'd her in his arms;
He figh'd, he fwoon'd, look'd up, and died away.
One grave contains this hapless, faithful pair;
And ftill the Cane-ifles tell their matchlefs love!
DOUGLAS TO LORD RANDOLPH.
My name is NORVAL: on the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flock; a frugal fwain,
Whofe conftant cares were to increase his flore,
And keep his only fon, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field fome warlike lord;
And Heaven foon granted what my fire denied.
This moon, which rofe laft night round as my shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians from the hills,
Rufh'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The thepherds fed
For fafety, and for fuccour. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took, then hafted to my friends;
Whom, with a troop of fifty chofen men,
I met advancing. The purfuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the fpoil-encumber'd foe.
We fought and conquer'd. Ere a fword was drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I-wear.
Returning home in triumph, 1 disdain'd
The fhepherd's flothful life; and having heard,
That our good king had fummon'd his bold Peers,
To lead their warriors to the Carron fide,
I left my father's houfe, and took with me
A chofen fervant to conduct my steps:-
Yon trembling coward, who forfook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pafs'd thefe towers,
And, Heaven directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Most potent, grave, and reverend Signiors,
My very noble and approv'd good masters,
I hat I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in fpeech,
And little blefs'd with the fet phrafe of peace;
For fince these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now fome nine moons wafted, they have us'd
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battles;
And therefore little fhall I grace my cause,
In fpeaking for myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For fuch proceedings I am charg'd withal,)
I won his daughter with.
Her father lov'd me, oft invited me ;
Still queftion'd me the story of my life,
From year to year; the battles, fieges, fortunes,
That I have past.
I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach ; Of being taken by the infolent foe,
And fold to flavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel's history:
Wherein of antres vaft, and deserts wild,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whofe heads touch Heav'n,
It was my bent to speak.-All these to hear
Would Defdemona feriously incline.
But fill the house affairs would draw her thence,
Which ever as he could with hafte dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my difcourfe: which I obferving,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not diftinctively. I did confent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth fuffer'd. My ftory being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of fighs,
She fwore, in faith, 'twas ftrange, 'twas paffing ftrange; 'I'was pitiful, 'twas wond'rous pitiful
She wish'd fhe had not heard it.
That Heav'n had made her fuch a man:-she thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint 1 fpake;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd.
Now flood Eliza on the wood-crown'd height,
O'er Minden's plain, fpectatress of the fight;
Sought with bold eye amid the bloody ftrife
Her dearer felf, the partner of her life;