Elegant Extracts

Such meddling priests, who kindle up confufion,
And vex the quiet world with their vain fcruples!
By Heaven, 'tis done in perfect spite to peace,
Did not the king,

Our royal inafter, Edward, in concurrence
With his eftates affembled, well determine
What courfe the fov'reign rule should take hence-
forward?

When thall the deadly hate of faction cenfe,
When fhall our long-divided land have ref,
If every peevish, moody malecontent
Shall fet the fenfelefs rabble in an uproar,
Fright them with dangers, and perplex their
brains,

Each day, with fome fantastic giddy change?
Gloft. What if fome patriot, for the public good,
Should vary from your fcheme, new-mould the
ftate?

Ha. Curfe on the innovating hand attempts it! Remember him, the villain, righteous Heaven, In the great day of vengeance! Blaft the traitor, And his pernicious counfels, who for wealth, For pow'r, the pride of greatnefs, or revenge, Would plunge his native land in civil wars! Glaft. You go too far, my lord. Haft. Your highnefs' pardon-Have we fo foon forgot those days of ruin, When York and Lancafter drew forth the battles? When, like a matron butcher'd by her fons, And caft befide fome common way, a fpectacle Of horror and affright to paffers by, Our groaning country bled at ev'ry vein; When murders, rapes, and maffacres prevail'd; When churches, palaces, and cities blaz'd; When infolence and barbarifm triumph'd, And fwept away diftinction; peasants trod Upon the necks of nobles: low were laid The reverend crofier and the holy mitre, And defolation cover'd all the land; Who can remember this, and not, like me, Here vow to fheath a dagger in his heart Whofe damn'd ambition would renew thofe hor

For me, I ask no more than honour gives,
To think me yours, and rank me with your frien is.
Huft. Accept what thanks a grateful he.rt
fhould pay.

O princely Glofter! judge me nor ungentle,
Of manners rude, and infolent of fpeech,
If, when the public fafety is in question,
My zeal flows warm and eager from my tongue.
Gloft. Enough of this; to deal in wordy com-
pliment

Is much against the plainnefs of my nature;
I judge you by myself, a clear true spirit ;
And, as fuch, once more join you to my bofom,
Farewel, and be my friend.
[Exit.

Haft. I am not read,

Nor fkill'd and practis'd, in the arts of greatnefs,
To kindle thus, and give a fcope to paffion.
The duke is furely noble; but he touch'd me
Ev'n on the tend'reft point, the mafter-fting
That makes moft harinons or difcord to me.
own the glorious fubject files my breaft,
And my foul's darling paffion ftands confefs'd;
Beyond or love's or friendthip's facred band,
Beyond myfelf, I prize my native land:
On this foundation would I build my fame,
And emulate the Greek and Roman name;
Think England's peace bought cheaply with my
blood,

And die with pleafure for my country's good:

Guf Amazement I perceive hath fill'd your
And joy for that your loft Guftavus, 'cap'd
Thro' wounds, imprisonments, and chains, and
deaths,

Thus fudden, thus unlook'd for, ftands before ye.
As one efcap'd from cruel hands 1 come,
From hearts that ne'er knew pity, dark and
vengeful;

Who quaff the tears of orphans, bathe in blood,
And know no mufic but the groans of Sweden.
Yet, not for that my fifter's early innocence,
And mother's age, now grind beneath captivity;
Nor that one bloody, one remorfeleis hour
Swept my great fire and kindred from my fide;
For them Guftavus weeps not; tho' my eyes
Were far lefs dear, for them I will not weep.
3ut, O great parent, when think on theel
Thy numberless, tl y nameless, shameful infamies,
U u 3
My

My widow'd country! Sweden! when I think
Upon thy defolation, spite of rage-

And engeance that would choke them-tears will
flow.

And. O, they are viNains, ev'ry Dane of them,
Practis'd to ftab and finile, to ftab the babe
That fmiles upon them.

Arn. What accurfed hours

Match'd to the finew of a fingle arm
That ftrikes for liberty-that ftrikes to fave
His fields from fire, his infants from the sword,
His couch from luft, his daughters from pollution,
And his large honours from eternal infamy?
What, doubt we then? Shall we, fhall we stand here,
Till motives that might warm an ague's froft,
And nerve the coward's arm, fhall poorly ferve

Roll o'er thofe wretches who to fiends like thefe, To wake us to refiftance?-Let us on!
In their dear liberty, have barter'd more
Than worlds will rate for!

Guf. O Liberty, Heaven's choice prerogative!
True bond of law, thou focial foul of property,
Thou breath of reafon, life of life itfelf!
For thee the valiant bleed. O facred Liberty!
Wing'd from the fummer's fnate, from fiatt ring

ruin,

Like the bold flork you feek the wint'ry fhore,
Leave courts, and pomps, and palaces to flaves,
Cleave to the cold, and reft upon the storm.
Upborne by thee, my foul ditdain'd the terms
Of empire, ofier'd at the hands of tyrants.
With thee I fought this fav'rite foil; with thee
These fav'rite fons I fought, thy fons, O Liberty!
For e'en amid the wilds of life you lead them,
Lift their low-rafted cottage to the clouds,
Smile o'er their heaths, and from their mountain
tops

Beam glory to the nations.

All. Liberty! Liberty!

Guf. Are ye not mark'd, ye men of Dalecarlia,
Are ye not mark'd by all the circling world
As the great ftake, the laft effort for liberty?
Say, is it not your wealth, the thirst, the food,
The fcope and bright ambition of your fouls?
Why elfe have you, and your renown'd forefa-
thers,

From the proud fummit of their glitt'ring thrones
Caft down the mightiest of your lawful kings,
That dar'd the bold infringement? What but
liberty,

Thro' the fam'd courfe of thirteen hundred years,
Aloof hath held invafion from your hills,
And fanctified their fhade-And will ye, will ye
Shrink from the hopes of the expecting world;
Bid your high honours ftoop to foreign infult;
And in one hour give up to infamy

The harvest of a thousand years of glory?
ift Dale. No.

2d Dale. Never, never. 3d Dale. Perish all first. 4th Dale. Die all!

Guf. Yes, die by piece-meal!

Leave not a limb o'er which a Dane may triumph!
Now from my foul I joy, I joy, my friends,
To fee ye fear'd; to fee that e'en your foes
Do juftice to your valours! There they be,
The pow'rs of kingdoms, fumm'd in yonder
hoft,

Yet kept alcof, yet trembling to affail ye.
And, O, when I look round and fee you here,
Of number hert, but prevalent in virtue,
My heart fwells high, and burns for the encounter.
Tue courage but from oppofition grows;
And what are fitty, what a thousand flaves,

O, yes, I read your lovely fierce impatience;
You fall not be withheld, we will rush on
them--

This is indeed to triumph, where we hold
Three kingdons in our toil! Is it not glorious,
Thus to appal the bold, meet force with fury,
And pufa yon torrent back, till ev'ry wave
Flee to its fountain?

3d Dule. On, lead us on, Guftavus; one word

Is but delay of conquest.

Guf. Take your wish.

He who wants arms may grapple with the for,
And fo be furnith'd. You, moft noble Anderfon,
Divide our pow'rs, and with the fam'd Olaus
Take the left route-You, Eric, great in arms!
With the renown'd Nederbi, hoid the right,
And skirt the foreft down: then wheel at once,
Confefs'd to view, and close up all the vale:
Myfelf, and my moft valiant coufin here,
Th' invincible Arvida, gallant Sivard,
Arnoldus, and thefe hundred hardy vet'rans,
Will pour directly on, and lead the onfet.
Joy, joy, I fee confefs'd from ev'ry eye,
Your limbs tread vigorous, and your breasts beat
high!

Thin tho' our ranks, tho' fcanty be our bands,
Bold are our hearts, and nervous are our hands.
With us, truth, juftice, fame, and freedom close,
Each fingly equal to an hoft of foes:
I feel, I feel them fill me out for fight,
They lift my limbs as feather'd Hermes light!
Or like the bird of glory, tow'ring high,
Thunder within his grafp, and lightning in his eye!

That, as a ftream diverted from the banks
Of fmooth obedience, thou haft drawn thofe men
Upon a dry unchannell'd enterprise,
To turn their inundation? Are the lives
Of my mifguided people held fo light,
That thus thou'dit puth them on the keen rebuke
Of guarded majefty; where juftice waits,
All awful and refiftlefs, to affert
Th' impervious rights, the fanctitude of kings;
And blaft rebellion?

Guf. Juftice, fan&titude,
And rights! O, patience Rights! what rights,
thou tyrant?

Yes, if perdition be the rule of pow'r,
If wrongs give right, O then, fupreme in mifchief,
Thou wert the lord, the monarch of the world!

Too

Too narrow for thy claim. But if thou think'ft To wrath and bitternefs. Ye hallow'd men,

That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin,
To be the means, the ipecialty of luft,
And fenfual attribution, if thou think 'st
That empire is of titled birth or blood;
That nature, in the proud behalf of one,
Shall difenfranchise all her lordly race,
And bow her gen'ral iffue to the yoke

Of private domination; then, thou proud one,
Here know me for thy king. Howe'er, be told,
Not claim hereditary, not the trust

Of frank election,

In whom vice fanctifies, whofe precepts teach
Zeal without truth, religion without virtue;
Who ne'er preach Heaven but with a downward
eye,
floofe

That turns your fouls to drofs! who, fhouting.
The dogs of hell upon us. Thefts and rapes,
Sack'd towns, and midnight howlings thro' the
realm,

Receive your fanction. O, 'tis glorious mifchief!
When vice turns holy, puts religion on,
Affumes the robe pontifical, the eye

Of faintly elevation, bleffeth fin,

And makes the feal of fweet offended Heaven
A fign of blood, a label for decrees
That Hell would fhrink to own.
Crift. No more of this.

rights,Guftavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace,
And hold thy motions in the fphere of duty,
Acceptance might be found.

Not evin the high anointing hand of Heaven,
Can authorife oppreffion, give a law
For lawless pow'r, wed faith to violation,
On reafon build mifrule, or justly bind
Allegiance to injuftice. Tyranny
Abfolves all faith; and who invades our
Howe'er his own commence, can never be
But an ufurper. But for thee, for thee
There is no name. Thou haft abjur'd mankind,
Dash'd fafety from thy bleak, unfocial fide,
And wag'd wild war with univerfal nature.
Crif. Licentious traitor! thou canft talk
largely.

Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings,
And pow'r, prime attribute-as on thy tongue
The poife of battle lay, and arms of force,
To throw defiance in the front of duty?
Look round, unruly boy! thy battic comes
Like raw, disjointed muft'ring, feeble wrath,
A war of waters, borne against the rock
Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe,
And fhiver in the toil.

Guf. Miftaken man!

Guf. Imperial fpoiler!

Give me my father, give me back
my
kindred,
Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans,
Give me the fons in whom thy ruthless fword
Has left our widows childlefs. Mine they were,
Both mine, and ev'ry Swede's, whofe patriot breaft
Bleeds in his country's woundings. O, thou canst

not!

Thou haft outfinn'd all reck'ning! Give me then
My all that's left, my gentle mother there,
And fpare yon little trembler.

Crift. Yes, on terms
Of compact and fubmiffion.
Guf. Ha! with thee?

[try,

Compact with thee? and mean' thou for my coun

I come impower'd and strengthen'd in thy weak- For Sweden? No, fo hold my heart but firm,

nefs;

For tho' the ftructure of a tyrant's throne
Rife on the necks of half the fuff ring world,
Fear trembles in the cement; pray'rs, and tears,
And fecret curfes, fap its mould ring bafe,
And freal the pillars of allegiance from it:
Then let a fingle arm but dare the sway,
Headlong it turns, and drives upon deftruction.

Trol. Profane, and alien to the love of heaven!

Art thou ftill harden'd to the wrath divine,

Altho' it wring for 't, tho' blood drop for tears,
And at the fight my ftraining eyes ftart forth-
They both fhall perish first.

I would attend awhile this mighty motion,

That hangs o'er thy rebellion? Know ft thou not Wait till the tempeft were quite overblown,

Thou art at enmity with grace, cast out,
Made an anathema, a curfe enroll'd
Among the faithful, thou and thy adherents
Shorn from our holy church, and offer'd up
As facred to damnation?

Gaf. Yes, I know,

When fuch as thou, with facrilegious hand,
Seize on the apoftolic key of heaven,
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves
To thut out virtue, and unfold thofe gates
That Heaven itfelf had barr'd against the lufts
Of avarice and ambition. Soft and fweet,"
As looks of charity, or voice of lambs
That bleat upon the mountain, are the words
Of Chriftian meeknefs! miffion all divine!
The law of love fole mandate. But your gall,
Ye Swedish prelacy, your gall hath turn'd
The words of fweet, but indigefted peace,

That I may take thee in the calm of nature,
With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee;
So huth'd a stiilnefs, as if all the gods
Look'd down, and liften'd to what we were faying;
Speak then, and tell me, O my best belov'd,
My fon, my Tirus, is all well again? [thing;

Tit. So well, that faying how muft make it uo-
So well, that I could with to die this moment,
For fo my heart with pow'rful throbs perfuades me;
That were indeed to make you reparation,
That were, my lord, to thank you home, to die :
And that for Titus too would be moft happy.
Brut. How's that, my fon? Would death for
thee be happy?

Tit. Moft certain, Sir; for in my grave I 'fcape
All thofe affronts which I in life must look for,
All thofe reproaches which the eyes, and fingers,
And tongues of Rome will daily caft upon me;
From

U u 4

From whom, to a foul fo fenfible as mine,
Each fingle fcorn would be far worse than dying:
Befides, I fcape the ftings of my own confcience,
Which will for ever rack me with remembrance,
Haunt me by day, and torture me by night,
Cafting my blotted honour in the way
Where'er my melancholy thoughts thall guide me.
Brut. But is not death a very dreadful thing:
Tit. Not to a mind refolv'd. No, Sir, to me
It feems as natural as to be born:

Groans, and convulfions, and difcolour'd faces,
Friends weeping round us, blacks and obfèquies,
Make it a dreadful thing; the pomp of death
Is far more terrible than death itself.

Yes, Sir, I call the pow'rs of heaven to witness,
Titus dares die, if fo you have decreed;
Nay, he fhall die with joy to honour Brutus,
To make your juftice famous thro' the world,
And fix the liberty of Rome for ever:
Not but I must confefs my weakness too;
Yet it is great thus to refolve against it,
To have the frailty of a mortal man,
But the fecurity of the immortal gods.

Brut. O Titus! O thou abfolute young man!
Thou flatt'ring mirror of thy father's image,
Where I behold my elf at fuch advantage!
Thou perfect glory of the Junian race!
Let me endear thee once more to my bofom,
Groan an eternal farewel to thy foul;
Inftead of tears, weep blood, if poflible,
Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus, on his child:
For thou must die, my Titus, die, my fon;
1 fwear the gods have doom'd thee to the grave:
The violated genius of thy country
Rears his fad head, and paffes fentence on thee:
This morning fun, that lights my forrows on
To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance,
Shall never fee thee more.

Tit. Alas, my lord!

Why are you mov'd thus? Why am I worth your forrow?

Why fhould the godlike Brutus fhake to doom me: Why all thefe trappings for a traitor's hearse? The gods will have it fo.

Brut. They will, my Titus:

Nor heaven nor carth can have it otherwife.
Nay, Titus, mark: the deeper that I fearch,
My harafs'd foul returns the more confirin'd;
Methinks I fee the very hand of Jove
Moving the dreadful wheels of this affair,
That whirl thee, like a machine, to thy fate.
It feems as if the gods had pre-ordain'
n'd'it,
To fix the reeling fpirits of the people,
And fettle the loofe liberty of Rome,

'Tis fix'd; O therefore let not fancy fond thee:
So fix'd thy death, that 'tis not in the pow'r
Of gods or men to fave thee from the axe.

And heal her wounded freedom with thy blood:
I will afcend myself the fad tribunal,
And fit upon my fons; on thee, my Titus;
Behold thee fuffer all the fhame of death,
The lictor's lafhes, bleed before the people;
Then with thy hopes, and all thy youth upon thee,
See thy head taken by the common axe,
Without a groan, without one pitying tear,
If that the gods can hold me to my purpose,
To make my juftice quite tranfcend example.
Tit. Scourg'd like a bondman! ah! a beaten
flave!

But I deferve it all; yet here I fail !
The image of this fuff'ring quite unmans me
Nor can I longer stop the guthing tears.
O, Sir! O, Brutus! muft I call you father,
Yet have no token of your tenderness ?
No fign of mercy? What, not bate me that!
Can you refolve, O all th' extremity
Of cruel rigour! to behold me too?

To fit unmov'd, and fee me whipt to death?
Where are your bowels now? Is this a father?
Ah, Sir, why should you make my heart fufpect
That all your late compaffion was diffembled?
How can I think that you did ever love me?

Brut. Think that I love thee by my prefent paffion,

By thefe unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, Thefe fighs, that twitch the very ftrings of life: Think that no other caufe on earth could move

To tremble thus, to fob, or fhed a tear,
Nor thake my foiid virtue from her point,
But Titus' death: O do not call it fhameful,
That thus fhall fix the glory of the world.
I own thy fuff rings ought t' unman me thus,
To make me throw my body on the ground,
To bellow like a beaft, to gnaw the earth,
To tear my hair, to curfe the cruel fates,
That force a father thus to drag his bowels.

Tit. O rife, thou violated majesty,
Rife from the earth, or I fhall beg those fates
Which you would curfe, to bolt me to the centre.
I now fubmit to all your threaten'd vengeance:
Come forth, you executioners of justice,
Nay, all you lictors, flaves, and common hangmen,
Come, ftrip me bare, unrobe me in his fight,
And lafh me till I bleed, whip me like furies;
And when you've fcourg'd me till I foam and fall,
For want of fpirits grovelling in the duft,
Then take my head, and give it his revenge;
By all the gods, I greedily refign it!

Brut. No more-farewel, eternally farewel! If there be gods, they will referve a room, A throne for thee in heaven. One laft embrace! What is it makes thy eyes thus fwim again? Tit. I had forgot: be good to Teraminta

Tit. The axe! O Heaven! then muft I fall fo When I am in afhes. bafely?

What, fhall perish by the common hangman? Brut. If thou deny me this, thou giv't me nothing.

Yes, Titus, fince the gods have fo decreed

That I muft lofe thee, I will take th' advantage
Of thy important fate, cement Rome's flaws,

Brut. Leave her to my care.

Sce her thou must not, for thou canst not bear it. O for one more, this pull, this tug of heartftrings!

Farewel for ever!

Tit. O Brutus! O my father!
Brut. Canit thou not fay farewel

Tit. Farewel for ever!

Brut. For ever then! but O, my tears run o'er; Groans choak my words, and I can speak no more.

44. Lady Randolph, Lord Randolph, and young Norval, not known at the time to be Lady Randolph's Son. HOME

Lady Ran. HOW fares my Lord?
Lord Ran. That it fares well, thanks to this
gallant youth,

Whofe valour fav'd me from a wretched death:
As down the winding dale I walk'd alone,
At the crofs way four armed men attack'd me,
Rovers I judge from the licentious camp,
Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph low,
Had not this brave and generous ftranger come,
Like my good angel, in the hour of fate,
And, mocking danger, made my foes his own.
They turn'd upon him: but his active arm
Struck to the ground, from whence they rose no

more,

The fierceft two; the others fled amain,
And left him mafter of the bloody field.
Speak, Lady Randolph; upon beauty's tongue
Dwell accents pleafing to the brave and bold.
Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy Lord.
Lady Ran. My Lord, I cannot speak what now
I feel.

My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heaven,
And to this noble youth, who, all unknown
To you and yours, deliberated not,

Nor paus'd at peril-but, humanely brave, Fought on your fide against such fearful odds. Have you yet learnt of him whom we should thank. Who call the faviour of Lord Randolph's life? Lord Ran. I afk'd that question, and he anfwer'd

not:

But I must know who my deliverer is.

[To the Stranger. Noru. A low-born man, of parentage obfcure, Who nought can boast but his defire to be A foldier, and to gain a name in arms. Lord Ran. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobled

By the great King of Kings; thou art ordain'd
And ftamp'd a hero by the fovereign hand
Of nature! Blush not, flow'r of modefty
As well as valour, to declare thy birth.

Norv. My name is Norval: on the Grampian
Hills

My father feeds his flocks; a frugal fwain,
Whofe conftant cares were to increase his store,
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 rose last night round as my
fhield,

Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
1.A band of fierce barbarians from the hills
Rufh'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds

ficd

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, I difchin'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 fteps:
Yon trembling coward, who forfook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pafs'd these tow'rs;
And, heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Lord Ran. He is as wife as brave: was ever
tale

With fuch a gallant modefty rehears'd?
My brave deliv'rer! thou shalt enter now
A nobler lift; and, in a monarch's fight,
Contend with princes for the prize of fame.
will prefent thee to our Scottish king,
Whofe valiant fpirit ever valour lov'd.
Ha! my Matilda! wherefore starts that tear?
Lady Ran. I cannot fay; for various affections,
And ftrangely mingled, in my botom fwell:
Yet each of them may weil command a tear.
I joy that thou art fafe; and I admire
Him, and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy
fafety;

Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own."
Obfcure and friendlefs, he the army fought;
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Refolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his fword
To gain diftinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt unknown he might have pe-
rish'd,

And gain'd with all his valour but oblivion.
Now, grac'd by thee, his virtue ferves no more
Beneath defpair. The foldier now of hope,
He ftands confpicuous; fame and great renown
Are brought within the compafs of his fword.
On this my mind reflected, whilft you spoke,
And blefs'd the wonder-working hand of Hea-

« Anterior Continuar »

Libros

Elegant Extracts: Or, Useful and Entertaining Pieces of Poetry, Selected for ...