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Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?
Heav'ns! with what strength, what steadiness of mind,
He triumphs in the midst of all his suff'rings !
How does he rise against a load of woes,
And thank the gods that threw the weight upon him!

Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul :
I think the Romans call it stoicism.
Had not your royal father thought so highly
Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause,
He had not falln by a slave's hand, inglorious :
Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain
On Afric sands, disfigur'd with their wounds,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.

Fub. Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh?
My father's name brings tears into mine eyes.

Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills !
Yub. What wouldst thou have ine do?
Syph. Abandon Cato.

Fub. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan By such a loss.

Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you !
You long to call him father. Marcia's charms
Work in your heart unseen, and plead for Cato.
No wonder you are deaf to all I

Fub. Syphax your zeal becomes importunate ;
I've hitherto permitted it to rave,
And talk at large ; but learn to keep it in,
Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it.

Syph. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus.
Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender sorrows and the pangs

of nature, The fond embraces and repeated blessings,

drew from him in your last farewell ? Still must I cherish the dear, sad remembrance, At once to torture, and to please my soul. The good old King at parting wrung my hand, (His eyes brim full of tears) then sighing cry'd, Pr’ythe be careful of my son !-His grief Swelld up so high, he could not utter more.

Jub. Alas, the story melts away my soul. That best of fathers ! how shall I discharge The gratitude and duty which I owe him?

Which you

Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart.

Jub. His counsels bade me yield to thy direction :
Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms,
Vent all thy passion, and I'll stand its shock,
Calm and unruffled as a summer sea,
When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface.

Syph. Alas, my prince, I'll guide you to your safety.
Fub. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell me how?
Syph. Fly from the fate of Cæsar's foes.
ub. My father scorn'd to do it.
Syph. And therefore dy'd.
Fub. Better to die ten thousand deaths,
Than wound my honour.

Syph. Rather say your love.

Fub. Syphax, I've promised to preserve my temper; Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame I long have stifled, and would fain conceal ?

Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer love, :'Tis easy to divert and break its force: Absence might cure it, or a second mistress Light up another flame, and put out this. The glowing dames of Zama's royal court Have faces fush'd with more exalted charms ; The sun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads, Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks : Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget The pale, unripen'd beauties of the North.

Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, The tincture of the skin that I admire. Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense. The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex: True, she is fair (Oh, how divinely fair!) But still the lovely maid improves her charms, With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, And sanctity of manners. Cato's soul Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks, While winning mildness and attractive smiles Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace Soften the rigour of her father's virtues. Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise !


Clarence's Dream.

tell me.

Brak. WHY looks your Grace so heavily to-day?

Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a' night,
Though it were to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Brak. What was your dream, my Lord ? I pray you

Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tow'r, And was embark”d to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Glo'ster; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befali'n us. As we pass'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Glo'ster stumbled, and in falling Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main.

Lord, Lord, methought what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in my ears !
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes !
I thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ;
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels ;
Some lay in dead men's sculls ; and in those holes

eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood

Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
1 To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air ;

But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony?

Clar. No, no; my dream was lengthen'd after life; O then began the tempest to my soul : I pass’d, methought, the melancholy food, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Into the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger-soul, Was my great father-in-law, renown's Warwick, Who cry'd aloud" What scourge for perjury. Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?" And so he vanish’d. Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud “ Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewsbury; Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !". With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Inviron'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hedious cries, that with the very noise I trembling wak’d; and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell : Such terrible impression made my dream.

Brak. No marvel, Lord, that it affrighted you ; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. Ah, Brakenbury, I have done those things That now gives evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me ! O God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease Thee, But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone ; O spare iny guiltless wife, and my poor children ! I prythe, Brakenbury, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.



Lord Marmion's flight from Tantallon ; a fiction, beau.

tifully told by WALTER Scott, ESQ.
NOT far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array,
To Surrey's camp to ride ;
He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide:
The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered, in an under tone,
“ Let the hawk stoop,


is flown.”
The train from out the castle drew;
But Marmion stop'd to bid adieu :

Though something I might plain,” he said,
“Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I staid,
Part we in friendship from your land,

And noble Earl, receive my hand.”
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :

“My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's Peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation stone.
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall, in friendly grasp,
The hand of such as Marmion clasp.”

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And“ this to me!” he said

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