Doug. O, deeper than thou think'st, I've read thy heart.

A gilded insect to the world you seemed;
The fashion's idol; person, pen, and lyre,
The soft devoted darling of the Fair.
By slow degrees I found Herculean nerve,
Hid in thy tuneful arm;-that hunger, thirst,
The sultry chase, the bleakest mountain bed,
The dark, rough, winter torrent, were to thee
But pastime; more were courted than repose.
To others, your discourse still wild and vain,
To me, when none else heard thee, seemed the voice
Of heavenly oracles.

Per. O, partial friendship.

Doug. Yet I had never guessed your brooded purpose.Rememberest thou the Regent's masque? the birth-night ?— Per. Well.

Doug. That night you glittered through the crowded halls, Gay, and capricious as a sprite of air.

Apollo rapt us when you touched the lyre;
Cupid fanned odors from your purple wings;
Or Mercury amused with magic wand,*
Mocking our senses with your feathered heel.
In every fancy, shape, and hue, you moved,
The admiration, pity, theme of all.-

One bed received us. Soon, your moaning voice
Disturbed me. Dreaming, heavily you groaned,
'O, Percy! Percy! Hotspur! O, my father!
Upbraid me not! hide, hide those ghastly wounds!
Usurper! Traitor! thou shalt feel me !'

Per. Heavens !

Doug. 'Tis true :—and more than I can now remember. Per. And never speak of it?

Doug. Inly I burned;

But honor, pride, forbade.† Pilfer from dreams!
Thou knew'st the ear, arm, life of Douglas, thine-
Per. And long ago I had disclosed to thee

My troubled bosom, but my enterprise

So rife with peril seemed to hearts less touched,
So hopeless! Knowing thy impetuous soul,
How could I justify the deed to heaven,

How to thine aged sire? Armed proof I stand,

To fate: come what will come-the wide earth bears
No heart of kindred blood to mourn my fall.

* Pronounced as the first syllable in wander.

† Pron. forbad,

Doug. The heart of Douglas beats not with thy blood, But never will I trust in mercy more,

In justice, truth or heaven, if it forsake thee.

Per. Douglas, thy friendship is my choicest treasure ;Has been a radiant star on my dark way; And never did I doubt thy zeal to serve me. Lend, now, a patient ear.- -While with my doom Alone, I strive, no dread or doubt distracts me. No precious fate with mine involved, my heart Is fearless, firm my step. Exposing thee, The adamantine buckler falls, and leaves me, Naked, and trembling, to a double death. Doug. Thou lov'st me not.

Per. Let Heaven be witness there!

The thought of bringing down thy father's hairs
With sorrow to the grave, would weigh like guilt,
Palsy my soul, and cripple all my powers.

Doug. Lo!-have I wondered o'er the hills for this?
Per. I would not wound thee, Douglas, well thou know'st;
But thus to hazard on a desperate cast

Thy golden fortunes

Doug. Cursed be the blood within me,

Plagues and the grave o'ertake me, if I leave thee:
Though gulfs yawned under thee, and roaring seas
Threatened to whelm thee !

Per. For thy father's sake

Doug. Peace! I'd not go if staying here would strew* His hoar hairs in the tomb-not stir, by heaven!

Must I toss counters? sum the odds of life,

When honor points the way?—When was the blood
Of Douglas precious in a noble cause?

Per. Nay, hear me, hear me, Douglas

Doug. Talk to me

Of dangers? Death and shame! is not my race
As high, as ancient, and as proud as thine?
Per. I've done.

Doug. By heaven, it grieves me, Harry Percy,

Preaching such craven arguments to me.

Now tell me how thou stand'st; thy cause how prospered. What has been done? What projects are afoot?

Acquaint me quickly.

Per. Gently; lest some busy ear

Be near us.

Little have I yet to tell thee.

* Pron. strów.

Thinking my rival's coat would best conceal me,
I won his favor by a tale scarce feigned.

Doug. A keeper of his chase thy garb bespeaks. Per. Chief huntsman. Thus diguised, I day by day Traverse my native hills, viewing the strength And features of the land; its holds of safety; And searching patriot spirits out. For, still, Though kings and gaudy courts remember not, Still, in the cottage and the peasant's heart, The memory of fathers lives. When there, The old, the good old day is cited, tears

my

Roll down their reverend beards, and genuine love
Glows in their praises of my sires.

To

Doug. I long

press the sons,

and tell them what a lord

Lives yet to rule them.

Per. When first I mixed among them, oft I struck,
Unwittingly, a spark of this same fire.

Encouraged thus, I sought its latent seeds;
Seized opportunities to draw the chase
Into the bosom of the hills, and spent
Nights in their hospitable, happy cots.
There, to high strains, the minstrel harp I tuned,
Chănting the glories of the ancient day,
When their brave fathers, scorning to be slaves,
Rushed with their chieftain to the battle field,
Trod his bold footsteps in the ranks of death,
And shared his triumphs in the festal hall.

Doug. That lulled them, as the north wind does the sea.
Per. From man to man, from house to house, like fire

The kindling impulse flew; till every hind,

Scarce conscious why, handles his targe and bow;
Still talks of change; starts if the banished name
By chance he hears; and supplicates his saint,
The true-born offspring may his banner rear,
With speed upon the hills.

Doug. What lack we? Spread

The warlike ensign. On the Border side,
Two hundred veteran spears await your summons.

Per. What say'st thou?

Doug. Sinews of the house;

Ready to tread in every track of Douglas.

By stealth I drew them in from distant points,

And hid amidst a wood in Chevy-Chase.

Per. O, Douglas! Douglas! even such a friend,
For death or life, was thy great sire to mine.

Doug. Straight let us turn our trumpets to the hills;
Declare aloud thy name, and wrongs; in swarms
Call down the warlike tenantry, and teach
Aspiring Neville fatal is the day

The Percy and the Douglas league in arms.

Per. If he were all-Remember haughty Henry, The nephew* of his wife, whose word could speed A veteran army to his kinsman's aid.

Doug. Come one, come all; leave us to welcome them. [Exit Douglas.

* *

* * *

Per. Too long, too long a huntsman, Arthur comes
Stripped of disguise, this night, to execute
His father's testament,-whose blood lies spilt ;
Whose murmurs from the tomb are in his ears;
Whose injuries are treasured in a scrōll
Steeped in a mother's and an orphan's tears.
O'er that cursed record has my spirit groaned,
Since dawning reason, in unuttered anguish.
When others danced, struck the glad wire, or caught
The thrilling murmurs of loved lips, I've roamed
Where the hill-foxes howl, and eagles cry,
Brooding o'er wrongs that haunted me for vengeance.
Ay!-I have been an outcast from my cradle;
Poor and in exile, while an alien called

My birth-right, home. Halls founded by my sires
Have blazed and rudely rung with stranger triumphs;
Their honorable name cowards have stained;
Their laurels trampled on-their bones profaned.
Hence have I labored ;-watched while others slept ;
Known not the spring of life, nor ever plucked
One vernal blossom in the day of youth.-
The harvest of my toils this night I reap;
For death, this night, or better life awaits me.

LESSON CLXIV.

The Prodigal Son.

A CERTAIN man had two sons: and the younger of them said unto his father, "Father, give me the portion of goods

* Pron. ne'vew.

1

that falleth to me." And he divided unto them his living. And, not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And, when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled himself with the husks that the swine did eat; and no man gave unto him.

And, when he came to himself, he said, "How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough, and to spare ;— and I perish with hunger!—I will arise, and go to my father, and will say unto him-Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son-make me as one of thy hired servants."

And he arose, and was coming to his father:-but, while he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son." But the father said to his servants, “Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet;-and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat and be merry:-for this, my son, was dead, and is alive again;-he was lost, and is found." Now his elder son was in the field and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, "Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound."

And he was angry;—and would not go in therefore came his father out and entreated him. And he, answering, said to his father, "Lo, these many years have I served thee, neither transgressed I, at any time, thy commandment; and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends-But, as soon as this-thy son was come, who hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf."

And the father said unto him-" Son, thou art ever with me; and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry and be glad for this-thy brother-was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found."