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For all are mindful of the glorious rule

Thy father bore, when Flanders, prosperous then,
From end to end obeyed him as one town.

Art. They may remember it-and, Van den Bosch,
May I not, too, bethink me of the end

To which this people brought my noble father?
They gorged the fruits of his good husbandry,
Till, drunk with long prosperity, and blind

With too much fatness, they tore up the root

From which their common weal had sprung and flourished.
Van den B. Nay, Master Philip, let the past be pasi.
Art. Here on the doorstead of my father's house,
The blood of his they spilt is seen no more.
But when I was a child I saw it there;
For so long as my widow-mother lived
Water came never near the sanguine stain.
She loved to show it me, and then with awe,-
But hoarding still the purpose of revenge,
I heard the tale-which, like a daily prayer
Repeated, to a rooted feeling grew—

How long he fought, how falsely came like friends
The villains Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette,-
All the base murder of the one by many!
Even such a brutal multitude as they

Who slew my father—yea, who slew their own

(For like one had he ruled the parricides),

Even such a multitude thou'dst have me govern.

Van den B. Why, what if Jacques Artevelde was killed? He had his reign, and that for many a year,

And a great glory did he gain thereby.

And as for Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette,
Their breath is in their nostrils as was his.

If you be as stout-hearted as your father,

And mindful of the villanous trick they played him,
Their hour of reckoning is well-nigh come.
Of that, and of this base false-hearted league
They're making with the earl, these two to us
Shall give account.

Art. They cannot render back

The golden bowel that's broken at the fountain,
Or mend the wheel that's broken at the cistern,
Or twist again the silver cord that's loosed.
Yea, life for life, vile bankrupts as they are,
Their worthless lives, for his of countless price,-

HENRY TAYLOR.

Is their whole wherewithal to pay their debt.
Yet retribution is a goodly thing,

And it were well to wring the payment from them
Even to the utmost drop of their hearts' blood.

Van den B. Then will I call the people to the square,
And speak for your election.

Art. Not so fast.

Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm:
She rolls dismasted in an ugly swell,

And you would make a jury-mast of me,
Whereon to spread the tatters of your canvas.
And what am I ?-Why, I am as the oak
Which stood apart, far down the vale of life,
Growing retired beneath a quiet sky.

Wherefore should this be added to the wreck ?

495

Van den B. I pray you, speak it in the Burghers' tongue :

I ack the scholarship to talk in tropes.

Art. The question, to be plain, is briefly this:

Shall I, who, chary of tranquillity,

Not busy in this factious city's broils,

Nor frequent in the market-place, eschewed

The even battle,-shall I join the rout?

Van der B. Times are sore changed, I see; there's none in Ghent

That answers to the name of Artevelde.

Thy father did not carp nor question thus

When Ghent invoked his aid. The days have been

When not a citizen drew breath in Ghent

But freely would have died in Freedom's cause.

Art. The cause, I grant thee, Van den Bosch, is good: And were I linked to earth no otherwise

But that my whole heart centered in myself,

I could have tossed you this poor life to play with,

Taking no second thought. But as things are,

I will revolve the matter warily,

And send thee word betimes of my conclusion.

Van den B. Betimes it must be, for the White-Hood chiefs

Meet two hours hence, and ere we separate

Our course must be determined.

Art. In two hours,

If I be for you, I will send this ring

In token I have so resolved. Farewell!

Van den B. Philip Van Artevelde, a greater man

Than ever Ghent beheld, we'll make of thee,

If thou be bold enough to try this venture.
God give thee heart to do so.

Fare thee well.

[Exit VAN DEN BOSCH.

Art. (after a long pause). Is it vain glory that thus whis

pers me,

That 'tis ignoble to have led

my life

In idle meditations-that the times

Demand me, that they call my father's name?
Oh! what a fiery heart was his ! such souls
Whose sudden visitations daze the world,
Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind
A voice that in the distance far away
Wakens the slumbering ages. Oh! my father!
Thy life is eloquent, and more persuades
Unto dominion than thy death deters!

HENRY TAYLOR

21. TELL AND HIS COUNTRYMEN.

Tell, Erni, Verner, Furst.

SCENE-A Lake and Mountains.

Tell. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!
I hold to you the hands ye first beheld,

To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,

And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again!-O, sacred forms, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are! how mighty and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine-whose smile
Makes glad-whose frown is terrible-whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear

Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,

I'm with you once again! I call to you
With all my voice!I hold my hands to you

To show they still are free. I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!

Erni (without). William! William !
Tell. Here, Erni, here!

J. S. KNOWLES.

497

(Erni enters.)

Erni. You're sure to keep the time That comes before the hour.

Tell. The hour

Will soon be here. Oh, when will liberty

Be here, my Erni ? That's my thought, which still
I find beside. Scaling yonder peak,

I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow

O'er the abyss-his broad-expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively
I bent my bow; yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as in the delight

Of measuring the ample range beneath,
And round about absorbed, he heeded not

The death that threatened him.-I could not shoot!
'Twas liberty!--I turned my bow aside,

And let him soar away!

(Enter Verner and Furst.)

Tell. Here, friends !-Well met !-Do we go on?

Verner. We do.

Tell. Then you can count upon the friends you named?
Verner. On every man of them.

Furst. And I on mine.

Erni. Not one I sounded, but doth count his blood

As water in the cause! Then fix the day

Before we part.

Verner. No, Erni; rather wait

For some new outrage to amaze and rouse

The common mind, which does not brood so much

On wrongs gone by, as it doth quiver with

The sense of present ones.

Tell (to Verner). I wish with Erni,

But think with thee.

Yet when I ask myself

On whom the wrongs shall light for which we wait—

Whose vineyard they'll uproot-whose flocks they'll ravage—

Whose threshold they'll profane-whose hearth pollute

Whose roof they'll fire?—when this I ask myself,

And think upon the blood of pious sons,

The tears of venerable fathers, and

The shrieks of mothers, fluttering round their spoiled
And nestless young-I almost take the part

Of generous indignation, that doth blush

At such expense to wait on sober prudence.
Furst. Yet it is best.

Tell. On that we're all agreed !

Who fears the issue when the day shall come?

Verner. Not I!

Furst. Nor I!

Erni. Nor I!

Tell. I'm not the man

To mar this harmony. Nor I, no more
Than any of you! You commit to me
The warning of the rest. Remember, then,
My dagger sent to any one of you,

As time may press, is word enough: the others
I'll see myself. Our course is clear-

When next we meet upon this theme,

All Switzerland shall witness what we do!

J. S. KNOWLES.

22. THE FRENCHMAN'S LESSON IN ENGLISH.

Frenchman. Ha, my friend! I have met one very strange word in my lesson. Vat you call h-o-u-g-h, eh ?

Tutor. Huff.

Fr. Tres bien, huff; and snuff you spell s-n-o-u-g-h, eh? Tu. Oh no, no! snuff is spelled s-n-u-ff. In fact, words in ough are a little irregular.

Fr. Ah, very good! 'tis beautiful language! H-o-u-g-h is huff. I will remember; and of course c-o-u-g-h is cuff; I have one very bad cuff, ha?

Tu. No, that is wrong; we say kauff, not cuff.

Fr. Kauff, eh? Huff and Kauff, and, pardonnez moi, how you call d-o-u-g-h-duff, eh? is it duff?

Tu. No, not duff.

Fr. Not duff! Ah, oui; I understand, it is dauff, ha?
Tu. No, d-o-u-g-h spells doe.

Fr. Doe! It is very fine! wonderful language! it is doe; and t-o-u-g-h is toe, certainement. My beef-steak is very toe. Tu. Oh no, no! you should say tuff.

Fr. Tuff? Le Satan! and the thing the farmer uses, how

you

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