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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 pur sue, 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.

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 sun-beam, 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 steep 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 - torn 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 can hide the stains of open infamy. Me wantonly you have disgraced, -ay, me!- although full well you knew your confidence was 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 now-I 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 chariot-wheels, 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 think-until I die: my eyes shall pore upon my miseries, until my miseries shall be no 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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couch of torments with placid vengeance; and each anguished cry gave me stern satisfaction! Now, he's dead, and his lips move not; yet his voice's image flashed such a dreadful darkness o'er my soul, I would not mount Numidia's throne again, did every night bring such a scream as that. O, yes! 'twas I who caused that living one, and therefore did its echo seem so frightful!—If 'twere to do again, I would not kill thee: wilt thou not be contented?-But thou sayest, 'My father was a father to thee also; he watched thy infant years, he gave thee all that youth could ask, and scarcely manhood came than came a kingdom also; yet didst thou"-Oh!---I am faint-they have not brought me food--how did I not perceive it until now? Gods!-I'm in tears!--I did not think of weeping. Oh, Marius, wilt thou ever feel like this?-Ha! I behold the ruins of a city; and, on a craggy fragment, sits a form that seems in ruins also: how unmoved how stern he looks!-Amazement! it is Marius ! Ha! Marius! think'st thou now upon Jugurtha? He turns-he's caught my eye!-I see no more!

XC.-MARRIAGE OF KENNEDY AND MATILDA.—Hogg.

THOUGH grateful the hope to the death-bed that flies, that lovers and friends o'er our ashes will weep; the soul, when released from her lingering ties, in secret may see if their sorrows are deep. Who wept for the worthy Macdougal?-Not one!--His darling Matilda, who, two months agone, would have mourned for her father in sorrow extreme, indulged in a painful, delectable dream. But why do the matrons, while dressing the dead, sit silent, and look as if something they knew? Why gaze on the features? Why move they the head, and point at the bosom so dappled and blue? Say, was there foul play? Then, why sleeps the red thunder? Ah! hold, for suspicion stands silent with wonder.-The body's entombed, and the green turf laid over; Matilda is wed to her dark Highland lover.

Yes, the new moon that stooped over green Aberfoyle, and shed her light dews on a father's new grave, beheld, in her wane, the gay wedding turmoil, and lighted the bride to her chamber at eve. Blue, blue was the heaven; and o'er the wide scene, a vapoury silver veil floated serene; -a fairy perspective, that bore from the eye, wood, mountain, and meadow, in distance to lie. The scene was so still, it was all like a vision; the lamp of the moon seemed as fading for ever: 'twas awfully soft, without shade or elision; and nothing was heard save the rush of the river. But why won't the bride-maidens walk on the lea, nor lovers steal out to the sycamore tree? Why turn to the hall with those looks of confusion ?--there's nothing abroad!'tis a dream!--a delusion !- -But why do the horses snort over their food, and cling to the manger in seeming dismay ? what scares the old owlet afar to the wood? why screams the blue heron as hastening away? Say, why is the dog hid so deep in his cover? each window barred up, and the curtain drawn over? each white maiden-bosom still heaving so high, and fixed on another each fearspeaking eye?

'Tis all an illusion; the lamp let us trim; come, rouse thee, old minstrel, to strains of renown; the old cup is empty, fill round to the brim, and drink the young pair ere their wedding day's flown. Ha! why is the cup from the lip ta'en away? Why fixed

every form like a statue of clay? Say, whence is that noise and that terrible clamour! Oh, horror! it comes from young Kennedy's chamber!

'Mid

Oh, haste thee, Strath-Allan, Glen-Ogle, away! these outcries betoken wild horror and woe: the dull ear of midnight is stunnéd with dismay; Glen-Ogle! Strath-Allan! fly swift as the roe. darkness and death, on eternity's brim, you stood with Macdonald, and Archibald the grim; then why do ye hesitate? Why do you stand with claymore unsheathed, and red taper in hand?

The tumult is o'er: not a murmur nor groan.-What footsteps so madly pace through the saloon? 'Tis Kennedy, naked and ghastly, alone, who hies him away by the light of the moon. All prostrate and bleeding, Matilda they found, the threshold her pillow, her couch the cold ground; her features distorted, her colour the clay, her feelings, her voice, and her reason away. Ere morn they returned; but how well had they never! they brought with them horror too deep to sustain; returned but to chasten, and vanish for ever, to harrow the bosom and fever the brain. List, list to her tale, youth, levity, beauty ;--Oh, sweet is the path of devotion and duty!-When pleasure smiles sweetest, dread danger and death; and think of Matilda, the flower of the Teith.

XCI. THE PALM-TREE.-Mrs. Hemans.

Ir waved not through an Eastern sky, beside a fount of Araby; it was not fanned by southern breeze in some green isle of Indian seas; nor did its graceful shadow sleep o'er stream of Afric, long and deep. But fair the exiled Palm-tree grew 'midst foliage of no kindred hue; through the laburnum's dropping gold rose the light shaft of orient mould; and Europe's violets, faintly sweet, purpled the moss-beds at its feet. Strange looked it there!-the willow streamed where silvery waters near it gleamed; the lime-bough lured the honey-bee to murmur by the Desert's tree; and showers of snowy roses made a lustre in its fan-like shade.- -There came an eve of festal hoursrich music filled that garden's bowers: lamps, that from flowery branches hung, on sparks of dew soft colours flung; and bright forms glanced--a fairy show-under the blossoms to and fro.

But One, a lone one, 'midst the throng, seemed reckless all of dance or song: he was a youth of dusky mien, whereon the Indian sun had been; of crested brow, and long black hair-a stranger, like the Palmtree, there. And slowly, sadly, moved his plumes, glittering athwart the leafy glooms: he passed the pale-green olives by, nor won the chestnut flowers his eye; but when to that sole Palm he came, there shot a rapture through his frame. To him, to him, its rustling spoke; the silence of his soul it broke! it whispered of his own bright isle, that lit the ocean with a smile; ay, to his ear that native tone had something of the sea-wave's moan! His mother's cabin-home that lay where feathery cocoas fringe the bay, the dashing of his brethren's oar, the conch-note heard along the shore,--all through his wakening bosom swept: he clasped his country's tree, and wept!

Oh! scorn him not!—the strength, whereby the patriot girds himself to die, the unconquerable power, which fills the freeman battling on his hills,--these have one fountain deep and clear-the same whence gushed that child-like tear.

XCII. THE DEATH OF SAMSON.-Milton.

THE building was a spacious theatre, half-round, on two main pillars vaulted high, with seats, where all the lords, and each degree of sort, might sit in order to behold. The other side was open, where the throng on banks and scaffolds under sky might stand. The feast and noise grew high; and sacrifice had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine, when to their sports they turned. Immediately was Samson as a public servant brought, in their state livery clad: before him pipes and timbrels; on each side went armed guards, both horse and foot; before him and behind, archers and slingers, cataphracts and spears. At sight of him, the people with a shout rifted the air, clamouring their God with praise, who made their dreadful enemy their thrall.

He, patient, but undaunted, where they led him, came to the place; and what was set before him, which without help of eye might be assayed, to heave, pull, draw, or break, he still performed, all with incredible stupendous force; none daring to appear antagonist. At length, for intermission's sake, they led him between the pillars; he his guide requested, as over-tired, to let him lean awhile with both his arms on those two massy pillars, that to the arched roof gave main support. He, unsuspicious, led him; which, when Samson felt in his arms, with head awhile inclined, and eyes fast-fixed, he stood, as one who prayed, or some great matter in his mind revolved; at last, with head erect. thus cried aloud: "Hitherto, lords, what your commands imposed I have performed, as reason was obeying, not without wonder or delight beheld: now, of my own accord, such other trial I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, as with amaze shall strike all who behold!"

This uttered, straining all his nerves. he bowed: as with the force of winds and waters pent, when mountains tremble, those two massy pillars with horrible convulsion to and fro he tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew the whole roof after them with burst of thunder, upon the heads of all who sat beneath; lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests-their choice nobility and flower, met from all parts, to solemnize this feast. Samson, with these immixed, inevitably pulled down the same destruction on himself!

XCIII.-LOVE (A TALE).-Coleridge.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, whatever stirs this mortal frame, are all but ministers of Love, and feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I live o'er again that happy hour, when midway on the mount I lay, beside the ruined tower. The moon.

shine stealing o'er the scene, had blended with the light of eve; and she was there, my hope, my joy, my own dear Genevieve! She leaned against the armed man, the statue of the armèd knight: she stood and listened to my lay, amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, my hope! my joy! my Genevieve! she loves me best whene'er I sing the songs that make her grieve.—I played a soft and doleful air; I sang an old and moving story-an old rude song, that suited well that ruin, wild and hoary. She listened with a flitting blush, with downcast eyes and modest grace; for well she knew, I could not choose but gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore upon his shield a burning brand:

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