Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow,
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.

Norval. Think not so lightly, Sir, of my resentment :
When we contend again, our strife is mortal.

HOME

2. LOCHIEL'S WARNING.

Wizard. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight:
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown;
Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!

Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead :
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,-
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.

Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,

Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,

This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

Wizard. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn !

Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth,

From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north?
Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;
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 embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
'Tis the fire shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven.

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 marshalled my clan,
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one;
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers 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,
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array-

Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day!
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal;
But man cannot cover what God would reveal:
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
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 finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moo
Culloden 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, banished, forlorn,
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?
Ah! no-for a darker departure is near:-
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ;
His death-bell is tolling! O mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell !—
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims !
Accursed 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-

Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale

For never shall Albin a destiny meet

So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat.

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped 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.

CAMPBELL

3. A SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL.

Gesler, Tell, and Albert, Verner, Sarnem, and Soldiers.

Sarnem. Down, slave!

Behold the governor. Down! down! and beg

For mercy!

Gesler. Does he hear?-Thy name?

Tell. My name?

It matters not to keep it from thee now:
My name is Tell.

Ges. Tell!-William Tell?

Tell. The same.

Ges. What! he so famed 'bove all his countrymen For guiding o'er the stormy lake the boat!

And such a master of his bow, 'tis said

His arrows never miss !—(Aside.) Indeed! I'll take
Exquisite vengeance !-Mark! I'll spare thy life,
Thy boy's too. Both of you are free,―on one
Condition.

Tell. Name it.

Ges. I would see you make

A trial of your skill with that same bow

You shoot so well with.

Tell. Name the trial you

Would have me make. (Tell looks on Albert.)
Ges. You look upon your boy,

As though instinctively you guessed it.

Tell. Look

Upon my boy!-What mean you ? Look upon
My boy, as though I guessed it! Guessed the trial
You'd have me make! Guessed it

Instinctively! You do not mean—
—No-no-
You would not have me make a trial of
My skill upon my child! Impossible !
I do not guess your meaning.

Ges. I would see

Tell. No!—I'll send the arrow through the core!
Ges. It is to rest upon his head.

Tell. Great Heaven,

Thou hear'st him!

Ges. Thou dost hear the choice I give-
Such trial of the skill thou'rt master of,
Or death to both of you, not otherwise
To be escaped.

Tell. O, monster!

Ges. Wilt thou do it?

Alb. He will! he will!

Tell. Ferocious monster! Make

A father murder his own child!

Ges. Take off

His chains, if he consents.

Tell. With his own hand!

Ges. Does he consent?

Alb. He does.

(Gesler signs to his Officers, who proceed to take off Tell's chains, Tell all the while unconscious of what they do.)

Tell. With his own hand!

Murder his child with his own hand!

The hand I've led him, when an infant, by!

(His chains fall off.)

What's that you

Have done to me?

(To the Guard.)

Villains! put on my chains again.

My hands

Are free from blood, and have no gust for it,
That they should drink my child's!-

I'll not

Murder my boy for Gesler.

Alb. Father-father!

You will not hit me, father!

Ges. Dost thou consent?

Tell. Give me my bow and quiver.
Ges. For what?

Tell. To shoot my boy!

Alb. No, father, no!

To save me !-You'll be sure to hit the apple.
Will you not save me, father?

Tell. Lead me forth,—

I'll make the trial!

Alb. Thank you!

Tell. Thank me!-Do

You know for what ?-I will not make the trial,

To take him to his mother in my arms,

And lay him down a corse before her!

Ges. Then

He dies this moment; and you certainly

Do murder him, whose life you have a chance
To save, and will not use it.

Tell. Well-I'll do it!

I'll make the trial.

Alb. Father!

Tell. Speak not to me:

Let me not hear thy voice-thou must be dumb;

And so should all things be:-earth should be dumb

And heaven,-unless its thunders muttered at

The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it! Give me

My bow and quiver!

Ges. That is your ground.-Now shall they measure thence A hundred paces. Take the distance.

Tell. Is

The line a true one?

Ges. True or not, what is't

To thee?

A

Tell. What is't to me? A little thing,
very little thing a yard or two

Is nothing here or there, were it a wolf
I shot at!

Ges. Be thankful, slave,

Our grace accords thee life on any terms.

Tell. I will be thankful, Gesler !-Villain, stop
You measure to the sun. (To the Attendant.)
Ges. And what of that?