Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

One word, sir, to the gentleman who says this bill is necessary, because South Carolina has not VET repealed her ordinance. HAS NOT YET, I presume means, notwithstanding the President's Proclamation. Sir, South Carolina has received the insolent mandate of the President, commanding her to retrace her steps, tear from her archives one of the brightest pages of her glory, and alter the fundamental principles of her constitution; and she sends him back, (through her humble representatives,) the message sent from Utica to Cæsar“ Bid him disband his legions;

Restore the Commonwealth to liberty;
Submit his actions to the public censure,
Abide the judgment of a Roman Senate,
And strive to gain the pardon of the people."

That, sir, is her answer!

EXERCISE L.-SCENE FROM THE LORD OF THE ISLES.- Scott. Speakers,-Lord Ronald, Lorn, Edward and Robert Bruce, Abbot, and Attendants, De Argentine, Torquil, and Minstrel.

[See remarks introductory to EXERCISE XXX.-This and several other dialogues,-it will be perceived from their comparative length, -are designed for exhibition' occasions.]

Ronald. [Entering to the rest who are seated, and conducting the Bruces.]

Brother of Lorn,, and you, fair lords, rejoice!

Here, to augment our glee,

Come, wandering knights from travel far,

Well proved, they say, in strife of war,

And tempest on the sea.—

Ho! give them at your board such place
As best their presence seems to grace,
And bid them welcome free!-

Lorn. Say in your voyage if aught ye knew
Of the rebellious Scottish crew,
Who to Rath Erin's shelter drew
With Carrick's outlawed chief?
And if, their winter's exile o'er,-
They harbour still by Ulster's shore
Or launch their galleys on the main,
To vex their native land again?

Edw. Of rebels have we nought to show,
But if of Royal Bruce, thou 'dst know,

I warn thee he has sworn,

Ere thrice three days shall come and go,
His banner Scottish winds shall blow,—
Despite each mean or mighty foe,—
From England's every bill and bow
To Allaster of Lorn.—

Ron. Brother, it better suits the time

To chase the night with Ferrand's rhyme,
Than wake, 'midst mirth and wine, the jars
That flow from these unhappy wars.—

Lorn. Content.

The lay I named will carry smart [To Argentine.]
To these bold strangers' haughty heart,

If right this guess of mine.—

Min. Whence the broach of burning gold,
That clasps the chieftain's mantle fold,
Wrought and chased with rare device,
Studded fair with gems of price,
On the varied tartans beaming,

As, through night's pale rainbow gleaming
Fainter now, now seen afar,

Fitful shines the northern star?
Moulded thou for monarch's use,
By the overweening Bruce,
When the royal robe he tied
O'er a heart of wrath and pride;
Thence in triumph wert thou torn,
By the victor hand of Lorn!
While the gem was won and lost
Widely was the war-cry tossed!
Rung aloud Bendourish Fell;
Answered Douchart's sounding dell;
Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum;
When the homicide, o'ercome,
Hardly 'scaped with scath and scorn,
Left the pledge with conquering Lorn!
Then this broach, triumphant borne,
Beam'd upon the breast of Lorn.-
Farthest fled its former lord,

Left his men to brand and cord,—
Bloody brand of Highland steel,
English gibbet, axe, and wheel.
Let him fly from coast to coast,
Dogged by Comyn's vengeful ghost,

While his spoils in triumph worn
Long shall grace victorious Lorn !—
Rob. Be still! [To Edward, who is enraged.]
What! art thou yet so wild of will,
After high deeds and suffering long,

To chafe thee for a menial's song? [To the minstrel.]
Well hast thou framed, old man, thy strains,
To praise the hand that pays thy pains;
Yet something might thy song have told
Of Lorn's three vassals, true and bold,
Who rent their lord from Bruce's hold,
As underneath his knee he lay,
And died to save him in the fray.
I've heard the Bruce's cloak and clasp
Were clenched within their dying grasp,
What time a hundred foemen more
Rushed in, and back the victor bore,
Long after Lorn had left the strife,
Full glad to 'scape with limb and life.---
Enough of this, and minstrel, hold,
As minstrel hire, this chain of gold,
For future lays a fair excuse,

To speak more nobly of the Bruce.

Lorn. Now, by Columba's shrine I swear, And every saint that's buried there, 'Tis he himself!

And for

my kinsman's death he dies.

Ron. Forbear!

Not in my sight, while brand I wear,
O'ermatched by odds shall warrior fall,
Or blood of stranger stain my hall,
This ancient fortress of my race
Shall be misfortune's resting place,
Shelter and shield of the distressed,
No slaughter-house for shipwrecked guest.-

Lorn. Talk not to me

Of odds or match!-When Comyn died,
Three daggers clash'd within his side!
Talk not to me of sheltering hall !—
The Church of God saw Comyn fall!
On God's own altar streamed his blood;
While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood
The ruthless murderer, even as now,-
With armed hand and scornful brow.-

Up, all who love me! blow on blow!
And lay the outlawed felons low!

Arg. I claim

The prisoners in my sovereign's name, To England's crown, who, vassals sworn, 'Gainst their liege lord have weapon borne. Tor. Somewhat we've heard of England's yoke And, in our islands, Fame

Hath whispered of a lawful claim,
That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's lord,
Though dispossessed by foreign sword.
Let England's crown her rebels seize,
Where she has power,—in towers like these,
'Midst Scottish chieftains summoned here
To bridal mirth and bridal cheer,
Be sure with no consent of mine,
Shall either Lorn or Argentine
With chains or violence, in our sight,
Oppress a brave and banished knight.

Ron. The Abbot comes!

The holy man, whose favoured glance
Hath sainted visions known;
Angels have met him on the way,
Beside the blessed martyr's bay,
And by Columba's stone.
He comes our feuds to reconcile,
A sainted man from sainted isle.
We will his holy doom abide,
The Abbot shall our strife decide:-

Abbot, [entering.]

Fair lords, our lady's love,

And peace be with you from above,

And Benedicite!—

-But what means this? No peace is here!

Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer?

Or are these naked brands

A seemly show for churchman's sight,
When he comes summoned to unite
Betrothed hearts and hands?

Lorn. Thou com'st, O holy man,

True sons of blessed church to greet;
But little deeming here to meet
A wretch beneath the ban

Of pope and church, for murder done
Even on the sacred altar stone !-

Well may'st thou wonder we should know
Such miscreant here, nor lay him low,

Or dream of greeting, peace or truce,
With excommunicated Bruce!

Yet well I grant, to end debate,
Thy sainted voice decide his fate.

Ron. Enough of noble blood,

By English Edward had been shed,
Since matchless Wallace first had been
In mockery crowned with wreaths of green,
And done to death by felon hand,
For guarding well his father's land.
What! can the English leopard's mood
Never be gorged with northern blood?
Was not the life of Athol shed,
To sooth the tyrant's sickened bed
And must his word, at dying day,
Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay!-
Thou frown'st, De Argentine.-My gage
Is prompt to prove the strife I wage.

Torq. Nor deem

That thou shalt brave alone the fight!-
By saints of isle and mainland both,
By Woden wild, (my grandsire's oath,)
Let Rome and England do their worst,
Howe'er attainted or accursed,

If Bruce shall e'er find friends again,
Once more to brave a battle plain,
If Douglas couch again his lance,
Or Randolph dare another chance,
Old Torquil will not be to lack
With twice a thousand at his back.-
Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold,
Good Abbot! for thou know'st of old
Torquil's rude thought, and stubborn will,
Smack of the wild Norwegian still;

Nor will I barter freedom's cause

For England's wealth or Rome's applause,

Abbot. And thou,-[To Bruce.]

Unhappy! what hast thou to plead,
Why I denounce not on thy deed

« AnteriorContinua »