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ing a shred of gold! All else had perished-save a nuptial ring, and a small seal, her mother's legacy, engraven with a name, the name of both-"Ginevra."- -There then had she found a grave! Within that chest had she concealed herself, fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy; when a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, fastened her down for ever!

LXXXV. -THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.-Sir Walter Scott.

"OH! tell me, harper, wherefore flow thy wayward notes of wail and woe, far down the desert of Glencoe, where none may list their melody? Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, or to the dun deer glancing by, or to the eagle that from high screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ?"

"No, not to these, for these have rest; the mist-wreath hath the mountain crest, the stag his lair, the erne her nest, abode of lone security; but those for whom I pour the lay, not wild-wood deep, nor mountain gray, not this deep dell that shrouds from day, could screen from treacherous cruelty. Their flag was furled, and mute their drum; the very household dogs were dumb, unwont to bay at guests that come in guise of hospitality. His blithest notes the piper plied, her gayest snood the maiden tied, the dame her distaff flung aside to tend her kindly housewifery. The hand that mingled in the meal, at midnight drew the felon steel, and gave the host's kind breast to feel meed for his hospitality! The friendly heart which warmed that hand, at midnight armed it with the brand; which bade destruction's flames expand their red and fearful blazonry. Then woman's shriek was heard in vain; nor infancy's unpitied plain, more than the warrior's groan, could gain respite from ruthless butchery. The winter-wind that whistled shrill, the snows that night that choked the rill, though wild and pitiless, had still far more than Saxon clemency!-Long have my harp's best notes been gone, few are its strings and faint their tone; they can but sound in desert lone their gray-haired master's misery. Were each gray hair at minstrel string, each chord should imprecations fling, till startled Scotland loud should ring-'Revenge for blood and treachery!'"

LXXXVI.-O'CONNOR'S CHILD.—Campbell.

Ar bleating of the wild watch-fold, thus sang my love-"Oh, come with me: our bark is on the lake; behold, our steeds are fastened to the tree. Come far from Castle-Connor's clans: come with thy belted forester, and I, beside the lake of swans, shall hunt for thee the fallow-deer; and build thy hut, and bring thee home the wild-fowl and the honey-comb; and berries from the wood provide, and play my clarshech by thy side. Then come, my love!"-How could I stay? our nimble stag-hounds tracked the way, and I pursued, by moonless skies, the light of Connocht Moran's eyes.

And fast and far, before the star of day-spring, rushed we through the glade, and saw, at dawn, the lofty bawn of Castle-Connor fade. Sweet was to us the hermitage of this unploughed, untrodden shore, like birds all joyous from the cage, for man's neglect we loved it more. And well he knew, my huntsman dear, to search the game with hawk and spear; while I, his evening food to dress, would sing to him in

happiness. But, oh! that midnight of despair, when I was doomed to rend my hair: the night to me, of shrieking sorrow! the night to him that had no morrow!

When all was hushed at even-tide, I heard the baying of their beagle: "Be hushed!" my Connocht Moran cried, "tis but the screaming of the eagle." Alas! 'twas not the eyry's sound; their bloody bands had tracked us out; up-listening starts our couchant hound-and, hark! again, that nearer shout bring faster on the murderers! Spare-spare him!-Brazil!-Desmond fierce!-In vain -no voice the adder charms; their weapons crossed my sheltering arms: another's sword has laid him low-another's and another's, and every hand that dealt the blow-ah me! it was a brother's; yes, when his moanings died away, their iron hands had dug the clay, and o'er his burial turf they trod, and I beheld-O God!-O God! his life-blood oozing through the sod.

Dragged to their hated mansion back, how long in thraldom's grasp I lay I knew not, for my soul was black, and knew no change of night or day. But heaven, at last, my soul's eclipse did with a vision bright inspire: I woke, and felt upon my lips a prophetess's fire. The standard of O'Connor's sway was in the turret where I lay; that standard, with so dire a look, as ghastly shone the moon and pale, I gave, that every bosom shook beneath its iron mail. "And go!" I cried, "the combat seek, ye hearts, that, unappalled, bore the anguish of a Sister's shriek, go!-and return no more! for sooner Guilt the ordeal-brand shall grasp unhurt, than ye shall hold the banner with victorious hand, beneath a Sister's Curse unrolled !-O stranger! by my country's loss! and by my love! and by the Cross! I swear I never could have spoke the curse that severed nature's yoke; but that a spirit o'er me stood, and fired me with the wrathful mood; and frenzy to my heart was given, to speak the malison of heaven!" They would have crossed themselves, all mute; they would have prayed to burst the spell; but, at the stamping of my foot, each hand down powerless fell! "And go to Athunree," I cried, "high lift the banner of your pride! but know, that, where its sheet unrolls, the weight of blood is on your souls! Go where the havoc of your kern shall float as high as mountain-fern! Men shall no more your mansion know; the nettles on your hearth shall grow! Dead as the green oblivious flood that mantles by your walls, shall be the glory of O'Connor's blood! Away! away to Athunree! where, downward when the sun shall fall, the raven's wing shall be your pall! and not a vassal shall unlace the vizor from your dying face!"

A bolt that overhung our dome, suspended till my curse was given, soon as it passed these lips of foam, pealed in the blood-red heaven. Dire was the look that o'er their backs the angry parting brothers threw but now, behold! like cataracts, come down the hills in view O'Connor's plumèd partisans-thrice ten Kilnagorvian clans were marching to their doom: a sudden storm their plumage tossed, a flash of lightning o'er them crossed,—and all again was gloom!

LXXXVII.CELADON AND AMELIA.-Thomson

"TIs listening fear and dumb amazement all, when, to the startlea eye, the sudden glance appears far south, eruptive through the cloud; and following slower in explosion vast, the thunder raises his tre

mendous voice. At first, heard solemn, o'er the verge of heaven the tempest growls; but as it nearer comes, and rolls its awful burden on the wind, the lightnings flash a larger curve, and more the noise astounds; till, overhead, a sheet of livid flame discloses wide; then shuts, and opens wider; shuts and opens still, expansive, wrapping either in a blaze: follows the loosened aggravated roar, enlarging, deepening, mingling; peal on peal crushed horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. Guilt hears appalled, with deeply-troubled thought. And yet not always on the guilty head descends the fatal flash.

Young Celadon and his Amelia were a matchless pair; with equal virtue formed, and equal grace; the same, distinguished by their sex alone: hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn, and his the radiance of the risen day. They loved; but such their guileless passion was, as in the dawn of time informed the heart of innocence and undissembling truth. 'Twas friendship, heightened by the mutual wish; the enchanting hope and sympathetic glow beamed from the mutual eye. Devoting all to love, each was to each a dearer self; supremely happy in the awakened power of giving joy. Alone amid the shades, still in harmonious intercourse, they lived the rural day and talked the flowing heart, or sighed, and looked unutterable things.

So passed their life, a clear united stream, by care unruffled, till, in evil hour, the tempest caught them on the tender walk, heedless how far or where its mazes strayed, while, with each other blest, creative love still bade eternal Eden smile around. Presaging instant fate, her bosom heaved unwonted sighs; and, stealing oft a look towards the big gloom, on Celadon her eye fell tearful, wetting her disordered cheek. In vain, assuring love and confidence in Heaven repressed her fear; it grew, and shook her frame near dissolution. He perceived the unequal conflict, and, as angels look on dying saints, his eyes compassion shed, with love illumined high. "Fear not," he said, "sweet innocence! thou stranger to offence and inward storm! He, who yon skies involves in frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee with kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft, that wastes at midnight or the undreaded hour of noon, flies harmless; and that very voice which thunders terror through the guilty heart, with tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine. 'Tis safety to be near thee, sure, and thus to clasp perfection!"

From his void embrace (mysterious Heaven!) that moment to the ground, a blackened corse, was struck the beauteous maid! But who can paint the lover, as he stood, pierced by severe amazement, hating life, speechless, and fixed in all the death of woe ?-So, faint resem. blance on the marble tomb the well-dissembled mourner stooping stands, for ever silent, and for ever sad.

LXXXVIII.-THE LEGEND OF LOCHBUY.-Thomas Nimmo. THE matins in Lochbuy's halls are said: Maclean, the doughty chief, with haughty mien his henchman calls, and gives command in language brief. "Go, let the pibroch of the clan, the 'Gathering,' both loud and clear, be sounded from the bartizan: Maclean to-day will hunt the deer. My child, Lochbuy's dear son and heir, my wife, the Lady Isobel, will, with myself, be present there; hence! quickly gothy message tell.'

The henchman sped:-the stag-hounds bay, the fiery steeds impatient rear; the vassals, in their tartans gay, with gladsome faces soon appear. The chief, with bow and bugle-horn, rides foremost with his island queen; the nurse and child aloft are borne within their wicker palanquin. Each gorge and pass is fenced with care, and strictest vigilance enjoined, in order that the quarry there no outlet for escape might find. The bugles sound: the startled deer fly fleetly as the viewless wind; the shaggy hounds in full career pursue, and leave the woods behind. But quicker still the red deer fly, bounding before the clamorous train; while from the pass, the Warder's cry rings wild to turn them!--but in vain! On, on they dash!—the gorge they've won! -the hunting of the day is done.

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The baffled Chief the Warder eyed with savage wild ferocity. "Seize, bind the slave!" he madly cried, "a cur-dog's death his doom shall be. But no! a refuge in the grave from sneering scorn all cowards find; then let him live his meed to brave: but for the lash the craven bind."-With lips compressed, and dauntless breast, brave Callum Dhu the whip-lash bore; no change of countenance confessed the pain that thrilled through every pore. 'Enough!" the Chieftain cried aloud: the galling cords were quick untied; and slowly, followed by the crowd, Maclean to meet his lady hied. Like sunbeam, peering o'er the fells through murky clouds which sullen roll, she sweetly smiles, and soon dispels the moody umbrage of his soul. With kindly glow his bosom warms; and, stooping low upon the plain, he raised his infant in his arms, and kissed him o'er and o'er again. As if by force of magic's power, the clansmen, in their transports wild, join in the greetings of the hour, and bless the Lady and her child.

And Callum Dhu, with felon aim, his direful purpose to conceal, shouts with the crowd in wild acclaim, as if disgrace he could not feel. But sudden as the lightning's flash, he from the nurse the child has torn, and up the cliff, with frenzied dash, the infant in his arms has borne. He never stopped, till, clambering high, the fearful peak at last he gained; and thence he scowled, with glaring eye, on those who far below remained. The chief stood powerless and appalled; the pale and frenzied Isobel wild shrieked, and for her infant called, as prostrate on the earth she fell. Infuriate, all the clansmen bound to scale the deep and narrow path, which up the cliff so slippery wound, to swerve the least were instant death. "Move but a step," fierce Callum cried, "and on this dagger's hilt I swear, my blade that instant shall be dyed in this child's blood!-take heed!beware!"

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The Chieftain with uplifted hands, looks heavenward on the voiceless sky, and tremblingly imploring stands-racked with fiercest agony! "One half my lands I'll freely give !—All! all!" he cried, in accents wild, "so that the innocent may live! Oh! save my wife, and spare my child!" "Maclean!" he solemnly replied, "gold never can indemnify for loss of honour, nor hide the stains of open infamy. Me wantonly you have disgraced, -ay, me! although full well you knew your confidence ne'er misplaced when given in trust to Callum Dhu. Yet listen! If you shall consent to bare your shoulders to the scourge, and suffer what I underwent, this, this, perhaps, the stains may purge!" 'Stripes, torture, death itself I dare!" Maclean exclaimed, in frantic

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grief; then turning, with his back laid bare-"Clansmen," he cried, chastise your chief!" They murmured loudly, till with tears the Chieftain prayed them to obey: " Spare, spare my child! assuage our fears! in mercy strike!-quick! strike, I say!"

"Tis over!-Now, with outstretched arm the desperate man holds out the child:-what! can he mean the babe to harm? His looks are haggard, dark, and wild! A moment more-he shades the hair, the infant's placid brow to kiss:-see!-horror!-vaulting into air, both sink into the black abyss. Ah! who can paint the scene so dread-the anguish of the mingled yell? Madness has fired the Chieftain's head, death seized the lady Isobel.- -How vain, alas! is human pride, and how impatient of control!-it swells like ocean's raging tide, and saps the barriers of the soul. At morn the sun on Lochbuy shonesire, husband, idol of his clan; at eve he stands-his treasures gone -a lone and broken-hearted man.

LXXXIX.-JUGURTHA'S PRISON THOUGHTS.-C. Wolfe.

WELL-is the rack prepared-the pincers heated? Where is the Scourge? How!-not employed in Rome? We have them in Numidia. Not in Rome? I'm sorry for it; I could enjoy them nowI might have felt them yesterday; but now, now I have seen my funeral procession: the chariot-wheels of Marius have rolled o'er me -his horses' hoofs have trampled me in triumph-I have attained that terrible. consummation my soul could stand aloof, and from on high look down upon the ruins of my body, smiling in apathy!-I feel no longer-I challenge Rome to give another pang!

Gods! how he smiled, when he beheld me pause before his car, and scowl upon the mob! The curse of Rome was burning on my lips; and I had gnawed my chain, and hurled it at him-but that I knew he would have smiled again !—A king, and led before the gaudy Marius ! before those shouting masters of the world-as if I had been conquered! while each street, each peopled wall, and each insulting window, pealed forth their brawling triumphs o'er my head. Oh! for a lion from thy woods, Numidia! Or had I, in that moment of disgrace, enjoyed the freedom but of yonder slave, I would have made my monument in Rome! Yet am I not that fool,-that Roman fool,-to think disgrace entombs the hero's soul-for ever damps his fires, and dims his glories; that no bright laurel can adorn the brow that once was bowed, no victory's trumpet-sound can drown in joy the rattling of his chains: no;-could one glimpse of victory and vengeance dart preciously across me, I could kiss thy footstep's dust again; then, all in flame, with Massinissa's energies unquenched, start from beneath thy chariotwheels, and grasp the gory laurel reeking in my view, and force a passage, through disgrace, to glory!-victory, vengeance-glory!- -Oh, these chains! My soul's in fetters, too; for, from this moment, through all eternity I see but death. Then come, and let me gloom upon the past.

Sleep! I'll sleep no more, until I sleep for ever! When I last slept, I heard Adherbal scream. I'll sleep no more! I'll thinkuntil I die; my eyes shall pore upon my miseries, until my miseries shall be no more. Yet wherefore was that scream? Why, I have heard his living scream-it was not half so frightful. Whence comes the difference? When the man was living, why I did gaze upon his

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