THE HOSTAGE;

A BALLAD.

HIs dagger conceal'd for the stroke,
Morus stole Dionysius to slay ;

The guards bound and bore him away; The king eyed him sternly, and spoke : "Why the dagger conceal'd in thy cloak?" "The state from a tyrant to free!" "On the cross rue thy treason to me!"

"I shrink not from death," he replied-
"Not meanly imploring to live,

If I ask thee a respite to give :
I would fain see my sister a bride-
Three days let the sentence abide ;
I will leave thee as hostage and bail
My friend ;-Take his life if I fail.”

Brief-pausing, malignantly said

The king, and he smiled, "Let it be;
Three days I accord unto thee.

But mark-if the third should be sped,
And thou hast not return'd,-in thy stead

The life of thy friend will be mine;
And I grant thee a pardon for thine.”

And he came to his friend-" By decree
Of the king, whom I compass'd to slay,
I must die on the cross! A delay
He vouchsafes to my sentence, days three,
That my sister a bride I may see;
If thou be my hostage till I
Return to release thee,-and die!”

With a silent embrace he has gone

To the tyrant, that friend the true-hearted ;—
The other has straightway departed.

The dawn of the third day creeps on,
And the rites of the nuptials are done;
And the pledge brooks no longer delay,
And his soul goads his step to the way.

Down the big rains unceasingly pour,

And the springs from the mountains are gushing, And the streams into rivers are rushing. And the wanderer has come to the shore: Lost the bridge that had spann'd it beforeAs the breakers dash over and under The arches that crack to their thunder.

By the waters his passage is bann'd—
He shouts as he wanders around;
Not a human voice answers the sound.
No boat will put off from the strand,
To win through the wave to the land;

No pilot so hardy will be

And the wild stream now swells to a sea!

On the margin he sinks, and he weeps,
And he raises his arms to the skies-
"O Jove, cloud-compeller," he cries,

Stay the torrent-it swells and it sweeps.
Noon, noon!-if the sun gain the deeps,
And I reach not the city to free
My friend he will perish for me!"

And wider and wider it flows,

And billow the billow devours;

And the moments have sped into hours;

And despair its wild valour bestows,

And the whirling waves over him close,
And he cleaves with strong arm thro' the waves,
And a God has compassion,—and saves.

He reaches, and flies o'er, the land,

And the God that delivered he blesses;
When out from the forest recesses
Springs a lawless and menacing band;
And the club arms each terrible hand-
Breathing murder, they bound on their prey,
And Death stands to block up the way.

"What would ye?" he cried, pale with fear;
"No gold to enrich you I bring;

And my life I must take to the king!
I strike for a friend"1-and he here

Snatch'd a club from the caitiff most near:

1" Um des Freundes willen embarmet euch!" There is a strange sort of humour in this line, which seems to me somewhat out of place, and which it is impossible to translate literally without exciting a sentiment of the ludicrous, hostile to the interest which, however familiar and simple, is still sufficiently serious.*

And three of the foes did he slay-
Fled the rest,-free again is the way.

Now the sun glows as fierce as a brand;
And weary and parch'd by the heat,
Flag at last,-flag and falter the feet:
"Hast thou sav'd me, O Heaven, from the slaughter,
Led me safe from the storms of the water,
For mine own limbs their strength to deny ?
And my friend, O my friend, must he die!"

And hark, there it purls silver-clear!

Close at hand with its low-warbled gushes;
To listen, his breathing he hushes.

And, see from the rocks that rise near
Leaps the fountain that sang on the ear;
And his limbs in the fountain he laves,
And his strength is restored by the waves.

Through the boughs glints the sun's setting ray;
All giant-like falls from the tree

The shadow it limns on the lea:

Two men in discourse pass his way,
And one to the other doth say,

As they rush like himself o'er the ground,
"Ere this to the Cross he is bound!"

And his torture his vigour renews,

And despair wings the flying foot on

And red in the fast-setting sun

Blaze thy domes from afar, Syracuse !

And now, as the path he

K

pursues,

His steward, Philostratus, meets him ;
With a shudder, the servant thus greets him :

"Back-back-thou canst rescue no more

The life of thy friend-save thine own! For the moment appointed is flown. While we speak, must his sentence be o'erStill sure of thy coming, he bore

The taunts of the tyrant unaltered;

And his trust in thy faith never faltered."

"Too late! has it come to this end?

Too late, then, in life, if it be,

Haste, Death, and restore him to me.

No tyrant that union can rend

Boast that friend breaks his faith to a friend!

Let him learn by two deaths, how above

His sceptre, are Honour and Love!"

He has pass'd through the gates; sinks the day; And the cross rises dark from the ground, And the crowd gathers, gazing, around ;

And the cords to the cross lift its prey. Thorough crowd, thorough guard bursts his way; "Me! Doomsman," he cries-" me, alone!

That life is redeemed-take my own!"

Amaze hush'd the multitude there;

Both friends are embracing again;

Both weeping in joy and in pain—

And the crowd wept with them! To the king
The news and the marvel they bring ;