Oft has their battle hung upon the brow

Of yon wild steep, a living cloud of mischiefs, Pregnant with plagues, and empty'd on the heads Of many a monarch.

Enter ARVIDA guarded, and a GENTLEMAN.

Arv. Now, fate, I'm caught, and what remains is obvious.

Gent. A prisoner, good my lord.

Christ. When taken?

Gent. Now, ev'n here, before your tent;
I mark'd his careless action, but his eye
Of studied observation-then his port
And base attire ill suiting-I inquir'd,
But found he was a stranger.

Christ. A sullen scorn

Knits up his brow, and frowns upon our presence.
What-ay-thou wou'dst be thought a mystery,
Some greatness in eclipse-Whence art thou, slave?
Silent! Nay, then-Bring forth the torture!

A smile! damnation!-How the wretch assumes
The wreck of state, the suff'ring soul of majesty !
What, have we no pre-eminence, no claim?
Dost thou not know thy life is in our pow'r?
Arv. 'Tis therefore I despise it.

Christ. Matchless insolence!

What art thou? speak!

Arv. Be sure no friend to thee;

For I'm a foe to tyrants.

Christ. Fiends and fire!

A whirlwind tear thee, most audacious traitor.
Arv. Do rage and chafe, thy wrath's beneath me,
Christiern.

How poor thy pow'r, how enpty is thy happiness,
When such a wretch, as I appear to be,

Can ride thy temper, harrow up thy form,
And stretch thy soul upon the rack of passion!

Christ. I will know thee !-Bear him hence! Why, what are kings, if slaves can brave us thus ? Go, Peterson, hold him to the rack-Tear, search

him,

Sting him deep.

[Exit PETERSON with ARVIDA, guarded.

Enter a MESSENGER.

What wou'dst thou, fellow?

Mess. O, my sovereign lord,

I come fast and far, from ev'n till morn,
Five times I've cross'd the shade of sleepless night,
Impatient of thy presence.

Christ. Whence?

Mess. From Denmark.

Commended from the consort of thy throne
To speed and privacy.

Christ. Your words would taste of terror-
Mess. A secret malady, my gracious liege,
Some factious vapour, rising from off the skirts
Of southmost Norway, has diffus'd its bane,
And rages now within the heart of Denmark.
Christ. It must not, cannot, 'tis impossible!
What, my own Danes!

Enter PETERSON, who kneels, and gives a Letter. CHRISTIERN reads it.

Christ. Gustavus !

So near us, and in arms!

What's to be done? Now, Peterson, now's the time; Waken all the wond'rous statesman in thee.

This curs'd Gustavus

Invades my shrinking spirits, awes my heart,

And sits upon my slumbers-All in vain

Has he been daring, and have I been vigilant ;
He still evades the hunter,

And if there's pow'r in heav'n or hell, it guards him.

His naine's a host, a terror to my legions.
And by my triple crown I swear, Gustavus,
I'd rather meet all Europe for my foe
Than see thy face in arms!

Peter. Be calm, my liege,

And listen to a secret big with consequence,
That gives thee back the second man on earth,
Whose valour could plant fears around thy throne :
Thy pris'ner-

Christ. What of him?

Peter. The Prince Arvida.

Christ. How!

Peter. The same.

Christ. My royal fugitive!

Peter. Most certain.

Christ. Now, then, 'tis plain who sent him hither. Peter. Yes.

Pray give me leave, my lord-a thought comes

across me

If so, he must be ours―

Your pardon for a question-Has Arvida

[Pauses

E'er seen your beauteous daughter, your Christina?
Chist. Never-yes-possibly he might, that day
When the proud pair, Gustavus and Arvida,
Thro' Copenhagen drew a length of chain,

And grac'd my chariot wheels. -But why the question?

Peter. I'll tell you-While e'en now he stood before us,

I mark'd his high demeanour, and my eye

Claim'd some remembrance of him, tho' in clouds
Doubtful and distant, but a nearer view
Renew'd the characters effac'd by absence.
Yet, least he might presume upon a friendship
Of ancient league between us, I dissembled,
Nor seem'd to know him.-On he proudly strode,
As who should say, back fortune, know thy dis-
tance!

Thus steadily he pass'd, and mock'd his fate.
When, lo! the princess to her morning walk
Came forth attended-Quick amazement seiz'd
Arvida at the sight; his steps took root,

A tremor shook him; and his alter'd cheek
Now sudden flush'd, then fled its wonted colour,
While with an eager and intemp❜rate look,
He bent his form, and hung upon her beauties.
Christ. Ha! did our daughter note him?
Peter. No, my lord;

She pass'd regardless-Straight his pride fell from him,

And at her name he started.

Then heav'd a sigh, and cast a look to Heav'n,
Of such a mute, yet eloquent emotion,

As seem'd to say- Now, fate, thou hast prevail'a,
And found one way to triumph o'er Arvida!
Christ. But whither would this lead?

Peter. To this, my lord

While thus his soul's unseated, shook, by passion,
Could we engage him to betray Gustavus―
Christ. O empty hope! Impossible!

Do I not know him, and the curs'd Gustavus?
Both fix'd in resolution deep as hell.

Peter. Ah, my liege,

No mortal footing treads so firm in virtue,
As always to abide the slipp'ry path,

Nor deviate with the bias-Some have few,

But each man has his failing, some defect,

Wherein to slide temptation-Leave him to me. Christ. If thou canst bend this proud one to our

purpose,

And make the lion crouch, 'tis well-if not,
Away at once, and sweep him from remembrance.
Peter. Then I must promise deep.

Christ. Ay, any thing; outbid ambition.
Peter Love?—

Christ. Ha! Yes-our daughter too-if she can

bribe him:

But then to win him to betray his friend!

Peter. Oh, doubt it not, my lord-for if he loves, As sure he greatly does, I have a stratagem That holds the certainty of fate within it. Love is a passion, whose effects are various. It ever brings some change upon the soul, Some virtue, or some vice, 'till then unknown, Degrades the hero, and makes cowards valiant. Christ. True; when it pours upon a youthful temper,

Open and apt to take the torrent in,

It owns no limits, no restraint it knows,

But sweeps all down, tho' Heav'n and Hell oppose.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Prison.

ARVIDA discovered in Chains; GUARDS preparing Instruments of Death and Torture. He advances in Confusion.

Arv. Off, off, vain cumbrance, ye conflicting thoughts!

Leave me to Heav'n.-O peace!—It will not be-
Just when I rose above mortality,

To pour her wond'rous weight of charms upon me!
At such a time, it was-it was too much!-
For ev'ry pang these tortur'd limbs shall feel,
Descend in tenfold blessings on Gustavus!

Yes, bless him, bless him! Crown his hours with joy,

His head with glory, and his arms with conquest;
Set his firm foot upon the neck of tyrants,
And be his name the balm of every lip,