But down let him stoop from his havoc on high !|
Ah! home' let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. |
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast |
Those em'bers, like stars from the firmament, cast? |
'Tis the fire-shower of ru'in, | all dreadfully driven |
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heav'n. |
O 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 marshall'd my clan :
Their swords are a thou'sand; their bosoms are one:
They are true to the last of their blood, and their breath', |
And like reap'ers, 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,|
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud;|
All plaided, and plum'd in their tartan array-

WIZARD (interrupting).

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day!|
For, dark, and despairing, my sight I may seal, |
Yet man cannot cover what God would reveal
"Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, |
And coming events cast their shadows before. I
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring |
With the bloodhounds 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 finish'd. Their thunders are hush'd on the moors; |
Cullodena 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, | banish'd, forlorn', |
Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding, and torn, ?'
Ah! no; for a dark'er departure is near; |

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ;|
His death-bell is tolling; Oh! mercy, dispel |
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! |
Life flutters, convuls'd in his quivering limbs, |
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims.
Accurs'd 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-1

LOCHIEL.

Down', soothless insulter ! | I trust not the tale;¦
For never shall Al'bin, a destiny meet |

So black with dishonour- - so foul with retreat. |
Tho' his perishing ranks should be strow'd in their gore
Like o'cean-weeds, heap'd 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 feet to the foe!
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,

Look proudly to heaven | from the death-bed of fame. I

CATO'S SOLILOQUY.

(JOSEPH ADDISON.)

SCENE.-CATO sitting in a thoughtful posture, with Plato's book on the Immor tality of the Soul in his hand; and a drawn sword on the table by him.

It must be so—| Plato, thou reasonest well!—| Else whence this pleasing hope, | this fond desire', | b Soth'les.

a Cůl-lo'den; not Cål-lo'dn.

This longing after immortality?|

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, |
Of falling into nought? | why shrinks the soul |
Back on herself, and star'tles at destruction ? |
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ; |
'Tis heaven itself' that points out an hereafter, |
And intimates eternity to man. |

Eternity! thou pleas'ing, dreadful thought!|
Through what variety of untried being, |

Through what new scenes, and changes must we pass ! |
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; |
But shadows, clouds', and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us, |
And that there is all nature cries aloud

Through all her works, he must delight in virtue ; |
And that which he delights in, | must be happy. |

But when! or where this world was made for

Cæsar.

I'm weary of conjectures- this must end them. |

[Laying his hand on his sword. Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death, and life, | My bane', and antidote | are both before me:| This in a moment brings me to an end; | But this informs me I shall never die. |

The soul, secured in her existence, smile
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years; |
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth', |
Unhurt amidst the war of elements, |

The wreck of mat'ter, and the crush of worlds. |

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY.

(WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.)

To be, or not to be- that' is the question: | ether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings, and arrows of outrageous fortune; |
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, |

And, by opposing, end them? To die-to sleep-|
No more | and, by a sleep, | to say we end

The heart-ache, | and the thousand natural shocks |
That flesh is heir to : | 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. |

To die-to sleep-|

To sleep' perchance to dream-ay, there's the rub; |
For, in that sleep of death, | what dreams may come, |
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,a

Must give us pause. There's the respect |
That makes calamity of so long life: |

For who would bear the whips, and scorns of time |
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, | the law's delay', |
The insolence of of'fice, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, |
When he himself might his quietus make |
With a bare bod kin?d |

Who would far delse bear,
To groan, and sweat under a weary life, |
But that the dread of something after death |
(That undiscover'd country | from whose bournf
No traveller returns), 2puzzles the will; |
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of! |

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; |
And thus the native hue of resolution, |
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; |
And enterprises of great pith, and moment, |
With this regard, their currents turn awry', |
And lose the name of action. |

a Stir, bustle. b Consideration. d The ancient term for a small dagger. boundary, limit.

e

•Kỏntu-mê-lẻ,
Packs, burdens.

rudeness. f Born,

G

BRUTUS' ORATION ON THE DEATH OF CÆSAR.

(WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.)

Romans, coun'trymen, and lovers! | hear me for my cause; and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honoura; and have respect' unto mine honour that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your sen'ses that you may the better judge. |

If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I say that Bru'tus' love to Cæsar, was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand | why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Cæsar, less, but that I loved Rome, more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves', than that Cæsar were dead, and live all free men? |

As Cæsar loved me, | I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice' at it; as he was valiant, | I honour him;| but, as he was ambitious, | I slew him. There are tears for his love, joy' for his fortune, | honour for his val、our,| and death for his ambition.

Who is here so base that [he] would be a bond man? | If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that [he] would not be a Roman? | If any, speak; for him have I offended. | Who is here so vile that [he] will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. |

nor his

None'! Then none have I offended. |_ I have done no more to Cæsar, | than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death | is enrolled in the Ca'pitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; offences enforced', | for which he suffered death. | Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive

a Mine honour; not mine-non'nur. b Cæsar less; not Cæ'sar-less. The words in brackets are not in the original; they are introduced to make the language good English.