Would Desdemona seriously incline:

But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
She swore,-In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: [strange;
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, [me;
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake :
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd:
Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

LOCHIEL'S WARNING.-(Thomas Campbell.) Wizard. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array;

For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,

And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight: They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and

crown;

Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the
plain.

But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of

war,

What steed to the desert flies frantic and far!

'Tis thine, oh, Glenullin; whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate;
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there,
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!
Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead;
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave-
Culloden; that reeks with the blood of the brave.

Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou deathtelling seer!

Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,

Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright!

Wizard. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn?

Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!

Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth

From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north?

Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! Ah! home let him speed-for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast

Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?

'Tis the fire-shower of ruin all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven.

Oh, crested Lochiel; the peerless in might,

Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; Return to thy dwelling! all lonely, return!

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,

And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.

Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshall'd my clan,

Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,

And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock!

But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws! When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud; All plaided and plumed in their tartan array

Wizard. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal; 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.

Lo! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath,

F

Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight

Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 'Tis finish'd. Their thunders are hush'd on the

moors;

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores;

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish'd, forlorn, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?

Ah no! for a darker departure is near;

The war drum is muffled, and black is the bier;
His death-bell is tolling: oh! mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims;
Accurs'd be the faggots, that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale-

Lochiel. Down, ruthless insulter! I trust not the tale.

For never shall Albin a destiny meet

So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. Tho' my perishing ranks should be strew'd in their gore

Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,

With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe!
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of
fame.

AN OLD MAN'S COMFORTS.

(Southey.)

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man : Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth would fly fast; And abused not my health nor my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with you pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone : Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth could not last;

I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hastening away;

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death : Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied, "Let the cause thy attention engage:

In the days of my youth I remembered my God, And He has not forgotten my age."

DRUNKENNESS.

OTHELLO. ACT II. SCENE II.

"O that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! That we should with joy, revel, pleasure,

and applause, transform ourselves into beasts."