The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me :
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us,
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud

Through all her works.) he must delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in must be happy;

But when, or where ?-This world was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures;-this must end them.
[Laying his hand on his sword.]
Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me ?
This lethargy that creeps through all my senses?
Nature, oppressed and harassed out with care,
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favor her,
awakened soul may take her flight,
Renewed with all her strength, and fresh with life,
An offering fit for heaven. Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them,
Indifferent in his choice, to sleep or die.

That my

[Enter Portius.]

But, ha! who's this? my son! Why this intrusion?
Were not my orders that I would be private?

Why am I disobeyed?

Portius. Alas, my father!

What means this sword, this instrument of death?
Let me convey it hence.

Cato.

Rash youth, forbear.

Por. Oh, let the prayers, the entreaties of your friends, Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you. Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou give

Por. Look not thus sternly on me;

You know, I'd rather die than disobey you.

Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself.
Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates,
And bar each avenue; thy gathering fleets
O'erspread the sea, and stop up every port,
Cato shall open to himself a passage,
And mock thy hopes.

Por. [Kneeling.] Oh, sir, forgive your son,
Whose grief hangs heavy on him. O, my father!
How am I sure it is not the last time

I e'er shall call you so? Be not displeased,
Oh, be not angry with me whilst I weep,
And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you
To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul!
Cato. Thou hast been ever good and dutiful.

[Embracing him.]

Weep not, my son, all will be well again;
The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please,
Will succor Cato, and preserve his children.

Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart.
Cato. Portius, thou mayst rely upon my conduct.

Thy father will not act what misbecomes him.
But go, my son. and see if aught be wanting
Among thy father's friends; see them embarked,
And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them.
My soul is quite weighed down with care, and asks
The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep.

Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my heart revives.

[Enter Marcia.]

[Exit Cato.]

Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister! still there's hope Our father will not cast away a life

So needful to us all, and to his country.

He is retired to rest, and seems to cherish

Thoughts full of peace. He has despatched me hence
With orders that bespeak a mind composed,

And studious for the safety of his friends.

Marcia, take care that none disturb his slumbers.

[Exit.]

Marcia. Oh, ye immortal powers that guard the just, Watch round his couch, and soften his repose;

Banish his sorrows, and becalm his soul
With easy dreams; remember all his virtues,
And show mankind that goodness is your care!
[Enter Lucius.]

Luc. Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man!
Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father;
Some power invisible supports his soul,
And bears it up in all its wonted greatness.
A kind, refreshing sleep is fallen upon him:
I saw him stretched at ease, his fancy lost.

In pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch,

He smiled, and cried, Cæsar, thou canst not hurt me. Marcia. His mind still labors with some dreadful thought. [Enter Portius.]

Por. Oh, sight of woe!

Oh, Marcia, what we feared is come to pass!

Cato has fallen upon his sword

Luc. Oh, Portius,

Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale,

And let us guess the rest.

Por. I've raised him up,

And placed him in his chair; where, pale and faint,
He gasps for breath, and, as his life flows from him,
Demands to see his friends. His servants, weeping,
Obsequious to his order bear him hither!

To

Marcia. Oh, heaven! assist me in this dreadful hour, pay the last sad duties to my father!

[Cato brought on, in a chair.]

Juba. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, O Cæsar! Now is Rome fallen indeed!

Luc.

Cato.

Here set me down

Portius, come near me.-Are my friends embarked?
Can anything be thought of for their service?
Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain-

Oh, bend me forward !-Oh, when shall I get loose
From this vain world, the abode of guilt and sorrow?
And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in
On my departing soul.

Alas! I fear

I've been too hasty. Oh, ye powers, that search
The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts,
If I have done amiss, impute it not-

The best may err, but you are good, and—Oh!

[Dit.3.]

Luc. There fled the greatest soul that ever warmed

A Roman breast. Oh, Cato! Oh, my friend!

Thy will shall be religiously observed.

But let us bear this awful corpse to Cæsar,
And lay it in his sight, that it may stand

A fence betwixt us and the victor's wrath :

Cato, though dead, shall still protect his friends. [Exeunt.]

XXVII. -FROM ALFRED THE GREAT.-Thompson.

ALFRED DEVON.

Alfred. How long, O ever-gracious Heaven, how long Shall war thus desolate this prostrate land? All, all is lost—and Alfred lives to tell it! His cities laid in dust! his subjects slaughtered, Or into slaves debased; the murderous foe Proud and exulting in the general shame! Are these things so? and he without the means Of great revenge! cast down below the hope Of succoring those he weeps for! O despair! O grief of griefs!

Devon. Old as I am, my liege,

In rough war hardened, and with death familiar,
These eyes have long forgot to melt with softness:
But O, my gracious master, they have seen--
All pitying Heaven!-such sights of ruthless rage,
Of total desolation !-

Alfred. O, my people!

O, ruined England! Devon, those were blest

Who died before this time.

Ha! and those robbers,

That violate the sanctity of leagues,

The reverend seal of oaths; that basely broke,
Like mighty ruffians on the hour of peace,

And stole a victory from men unarmed,

Those Danes enjoy their crimes! Dread vengeance! son
Of power and justice! come, arrayed in terrors,

Thy garments red with blood, thy keen sword drawn,
O come, and on the heads of faithless men

Pour ample retribution! men whose triumph
Upbraids eternal justice! But no more:

Submission is Heaven's due. I will not launch
Into the dark abyss where thought must drown.
Proceed, my lord; on with the mournful tale
My griefs broke off.

Devon. From yonder heath-crowned hill,
This island's eastern point, where in one stream
The Thone and Parrot roll their blending waves,
I looked, and saw the progress of the foe,
As of some tempest. some devouring fire,
That ruins without mercy where it spreads
The riches of the year; the golden grain
That liberal crowned our plains, lies trampled wide
By hostile feet, or rooted up; and waste
Deforms the broad highway. From space to space,
Far as my straining eye could shoot its beam,
Trees, cottages, and castles. smoke to heaven
In one ascending cloud. But oh, for pity!
That way, my lord, where yonder verdant height
Declining slides into a fruitful vale,

Unsightly now, and bare, a few poor hinds,
Gray-haired and thinly clad. stood and beheld
The common ravage; motionless and mute,

With hands to Heaven upraised, they stood and wept-
My tears attended theirs.

Alfred. If this sad sight

Could pain thee to such anguish, what must I,

Their king and parent, feel?

It is a torment

Beyond their strength of patience to endure.

Why end I not at once this wretched being?
The means are in my hand. But shall a prince
Thus poorly shroud him in the grave, from pain
And sense of shame? The madman, nay, the coward,
Has often dared the same. A monarch holds