-agem, une gear And so much gone at the even flow of life
Hark! to the tolling bells In echoes deeps and slow. Meile on the breeze Draped
our banner floats in the wards of war.
L. Huntley Sigauney.
THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.
"He is coming! he is coming!" Like a bridegroom from his room Came the hero from his prison
To the scaffold and the doom. There was glory on his forehead, There was lustre in his eye, And he never walked to battle More proudly than to die. There was color in his visage,
Though the cheeks of all were wan;
And they marvelled as they saw him pass, That great and goodly man!
He mounted up the scaffold,
And he turned him to the crowd; But they dared not trust the people,
So he might not speak aloud. But he looked upon the heavens, And they were clear and blue, And in the liquid ether
The eye of God shone through: Yet a black and murky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,
As though the thunder slept within, All else was calm and still.
The grim Geneva ministers
With anxious scowl drew near, As you have seen the ravens flock Around the dying deer.
He would not deign them word nor sign, But alone he bent the knee;
And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace Beneath the gallows-tree.
Then, radiant and serene, he rose,
And cast his cloak away;
For he had ta'en his latest look Of earth and sun and day.
A beam of light fell o'er him,
Like a glory round the shriven, And he climbed the lofty ladder
As it were the path to heaven. Then came a flash from out the cloud, And a stunning thunder-roll; And no man dared to look aloft,
For fear was on every soul. There was another heavy sound, A hush, and then a groan; And darkness swept across the sky, - The work of death was done! WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN.
'TIS over; and her lovely cheek is now On her hard pillow, - there, alas! to be Nightly, through many and many a dreary hour Wan, often wet with tears, and (ere at length
Her place is empty, and another comes) In anguish, in the ghastliness of death; Hers nevermore to leave those mournful walls, Even on her bier.
"Tis over; and the rite, With all its pomp and harmony, is now Floating before her. She arose at home, To be the show, the idol of the day; Her vesture gorgeous, and her starry head, No rocket, bursting in the midnight sky, So dazzling. When to-morrow she awakes, She will awake as though she still was there, Still in her father's house; and lo, a cell Narrow and dark, naught through the gloom discerned,
Naught save the crucifix and rosary, And the gray habit lying by to shroud Her beauty and grace.
When on her knees she fell, Entering the solemn place of consecration, And from the latticed gallery came a chant Of psalms, most saint-like, most angelical, Verse after verse sung out, how holily! The strain returning, and still, still returning, Methought it acted like a spell upon her, And she was casting off her earthly dross; Yet was it sad and sweet, and, ere it closed, Came like a dirge. When her fair head was shorn, And the long tresses in her hands were laid, That she might fling them from her, saying, - "Thus,
Thus I renounce the world and worldly things!" When, as she stood, her bridal ornaments Were one by one removed, even to the last, That she might say, flinging them from her, "Thus,
IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON.
IPHIGENEIA, when she heard her doom At Aulis, and when all beside the king Had gone away, took his right hand, and said: "O father! I am young and very happy. I do not think the pious Calchas heard Distinctly what the goddess spake; old age Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood, While I was resting on her knee both arms, And hitting it to make her mind my words, And looking in her face, and she in mine, Might not he, also, hear one word amiss, Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?" The father placed his cheek upon her head, And tears dropt down it; but the king of men Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more: "O father! sayest thou nothing? Hearest thou not
Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour, Listened to fondly, and awakened me
To hear my voice amid the voice of birds, When it was inarticulate as theirs,
Thus I renounce the world!" When all was And the down deadened it within the nest?"
And as a nun in homeliest guise she knelt, Veiled in her veil, crowned with her silver crown, Her crown of lilies as the spouse of Christ, Well might her strength forsake her, and her knees Fail in that hour! Well might the holy man, He at whose foot she knelt, give as by stealth ('T was in her utmost need ; nor, while she lives, Will it go from her, fleeting as it was)
He moved her gently from him, silent still; And this, and this alone, brought tears from her, Although she saw fate nearer. Then with sighs: "I thought to have laid down my hair before | Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed Her polished altar with my virgin blood;
I thought to have selected the white flowers To please the nymphs, and to have asked of each By name, and with no sorrowful regret,
That faint but fatherly smile, that smile of love Whether, since both my parents willed the change,
I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow; And (after these who mind us girls the most) Adore our own Athene, that she would Regard me mildly with her azure eyes, But, father, to see you no more, and see Your love, O father! go ere I am gone!" Gently he moved her off, and drew her back, Bending his lofty head far over hers; And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst. He turned away, - not far, but silent still. She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh,
So long a silence seemed the approach of death, And like it. Once again she raised her voice : "O father! if the ships are now detained, And all your vows move not the gods above, When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer The less to them; and purer can there be Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's prayer For her dear father's safety and success?" A groan that shook him shook not his resolve. An aged man now entered, and without One word stepped slowly on, and took the wrist Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw The fillet of the priest and calm, cold eyes. Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried: “O father! grieve no more; the ships can sail."
I CHARM thy life,
From the weapons of strife, From stone and from wood, From fire and from flood, From the serpent's tooth,
And the beast of blood. From sickness I charm thee, And time shall not harm thee; But earth, which is mine, Its fruits shall deny thee; And water shall hear me, And know thee and flee thee: And the winds shall not touch thee When they pass by thee, And the dews shall not wet thee When they fall nigh thee. And thou shalt seek death, To release thee, in vain ; Thou shalt live in thy pain, While Kehama shall reign,
With a fire in thy heart, And a fire in thy brain.
And sleep shall obey me,
And the curse shall be on thee Forever and ever.
QUEEN. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me? НАМ. That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose | From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed As from the body of contraction plucks The very soul; and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristful visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. QUEEN.
Ah me, what act, That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? HAM. Look here, upon this picture, and on
HAMLET REPROACHING THE QUEEN. Could not so mope.
FROM HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK."
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
HAMLET. Leave wringing of your hands: To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And let me wring your heart: for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff;
If damnéd custom have not brazed it so, That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; And there I see such black and grained spots, As will not leave their tinct.
O, speak to me no more; These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears; No more, sweet Hamlet!
HAM. A murderer, and a villain; A slave, that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent lord; a Vice of kings ; A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, And put it in his pocket!
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards! - What would your gracious figure?
QUEEN. Alas, he's mad!
HAM. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
GHOST. Do not forget: this visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But look, amazement on thy mother sits: O, step between her and her fighting soul, Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works, Speak to her, Hamlet.
QUEEN. This is the very coinage of your brain: This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
HAM. Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music: it is not madness That I have uttered: bring me to the test And I the matter will re-word; which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; And do not spread the compost on the weeds, To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; For in the fatness of these pursy times, Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, Yea, curb and woe, for leave to do him good. QUEEN. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain !
HAM. O, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half.
How is it with you, lady? Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. QUEEN. Alas, how is 't with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? HAM. On him! on him! Look you, how pale he glares!
His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. Do not look upon
Lest with this piteous action you convert My stern effects: then, what I have to do Will want true color; tears, perchance, for blood. QUEEN. To whom do you speak this? НАМ. Do you see nothing there? QUEEN. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see. HAM. Nor did you nothing hear? QUEEN.
No, nothing, but ourselves. HAM. Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! [Exit Ghost.
IT was a dreary day in Padua. The Countess Laura, for a single year Fernando's wife, upon her bridal bed, Like an uprooted lily on the snow, The withered outcast of a festival, Lay dead. She died of some uncertain ill, That struck her almost on her wedding day, And clung to her, and dragged her slowly down, Thinning her cheeks and pinching her full lips, Till, in her chance, it seemed that with a year Full half a century was overpast.
In vain had Paracelsus taxed his art, And feigned a knowledge of her malady; In vain had all the doctors, far and near, Gathered around the mystery of her bed, Draining her veins, her husband's treasury, And physic's jargon, in a fruitless quest For causes equal to the dread result. The Countess only smiled when they were gone, Hugged her fair body with her little hands, And turned upon her pillows wearily,
As though she fain would sleep no common sleep, But the long, breathless slumber of the grave.
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