Even in this noon of pride, thy waning power
Fade, flicker, and wax dim? Thou art as one
Perched on some lofty steeple's dizzy height,
Dazzled by the sun, inebriate by long draughts
Of thinner air; too giddy to look down
Where all his safety lies; too proud to dare
The long descent, to the low depths from whence
The desperate climber rose.

Rie. Ay, there's the sting,

That I, an insect of to-day, outsoar

The reverend worm, nobility! Wouldst shame me
With my poor parentage?-Sir, I'm the son
Of him who kept a sordid hostelry

In the Jews' quarter; my good mother cleansed
Linen for honest hire.-Canst thou say worse?
Ang. Can worse be said?

Rie. Add, that my boasted school-craft

Was gained from such base toil;-gained with such pain,
That the nice nurture of the mind was oft

Stolen at the body's cost. I have gone dinnerless
And supperless, (the scoff of our poor street,

For tattered vestments and lean hungry looks,)
To pay the pedagogue.-Add what thou wilt
Of injury. Say that, grown into man,
I've known the pittance of the hospital,
And, more degrading still, the patronage
Of the Colonna. Of the tallest trees

The roots delve deepest. Yes, I've trod thy halls,
Scorned and derided 'midst their ribald crew-
A licensed jester, save the cap and bells:

I have borne this-and I have borne the death,
The unavenged death, of a poor brother.

I seemed I was a base ignoble slave.

What am I?-peace, I say!-what am I now?
Head of this great republic, chief of Rome-
In all but name, her sovereign; last of all,
Thy father.

Ang. In an evil hour

Rie. Darest thou

Say that? An evil hour for thee, my Claudia !

Thou shouldst have been an emperor's bride, my fairest. In evil hour thy woman's heart was caught,

By the form moulded as an antique god:

The gallant bearing, the feigned tale of love—

All false, all outward, simulated all.

Ang. But that I loved her, but that I do love her,
With a deep tenderness, softer and fonder

Than thy ambition-hardened heart e'er dreamed of,
My sword should answer thee.

Rie. Go to, Lord Angelo;

Thou lov'st her not.-Men taunt not, nor defy
The dear one's kindred. A bright atmosphere
Of sunlight and of beauty breathes around

The bosom's idol!--I have loved!--she loves thee;
And therefore thy proud father, even the shrew,

Thy railing mother-in her eyes, are sacred.
Lay not thy hand upon thy sword, fair son-
Keep that brave for thy comrades. I'll not fight thee.
Go and give thanks to yonder simple bride,
That her plebeian father mews not up,
Safe in the citadel, her noble husband.
Thou art dangerous, Colonna. But, for her,
Beware!

Ang. Come back, Rienzi! Thus I throw

A brave defiance in thy teeth.

Rie. Once more,

Beware!

Ang. Take up the glove!

Rie. This time, for her

[Going.]

[Throws down his glove.]

[Takes up the glove.]

For her dear sake--Come to thy bride! home! home!
Ang. Dost fear me, tribune of the people?

Rie. Fear!

Do I fear thee?-Tempt me no more.-This once

Home to thy bride!

Ang. Now, Ursini, I come

Fit partner of thy vengeance!

IX.-LOCHIEL'S WARNING.-Campbell.

[Exit.]

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 flight: 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 waveCulloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave. Lochiel. Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling 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, rushed 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 eyry, 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 marshalled 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,
Clanranald 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 blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king!
-Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath.
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 finished. Their thunders are hushed 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, banished, 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! O 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!
Accursed be the fagots 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, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale:

For never shall Albin a destiny meet,

So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat.

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed 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 face to the foe!
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,

Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame.

X.-GLENALVON, NORVAL, AND LORD RANDOLPH.-Home.

Glen. His port I love: he's in a proper mood To chide the thunder, if at him it roared.Has Norval seen the troops?

Norv. The setting sun

With yellow radiance lighted all the vale;

And, as the warriors moved, each polished helm, .
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams.
The hill they climbed, and, halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, towering, they seemed
A host angelic, clad in burning arms.

Glen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host
In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war.

Norv. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty

Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine

Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.

[Aside.]

Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deeds
Have ranked you with the great. But mark me, Norval;
Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth
Above his veterans of famous service.

Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you:—
Give them all honour; seem not to command;
Else they will hardly brook your late-sprung power,
Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns.

Norv. Sir, I have been accustomed, all my days,
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth;
And though I have been told that there are men
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn,
Yet in such language I am little skilled :

Therefore, I thank Glenalvon for his counsel,
Although it sounded harshly! Why remind
Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
With such contemptuous terms?

Glen. I did not mean

To gall your pride, which now I see is great.
Norv. My pride!

Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper.

Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake,

I will not leave you to its rash direction.

If thus you swell and frown at high-born men,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn?
Norv. A shepherd's scorn!

Glen. Yes; if you presume

To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
As if you took the measure of their minds,

And said in secret, "You're no match for me!"

What will become of you?

Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me!

Norv. Didst thou not hear?

Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe

Had not been questioned thus; But such as thou-
Norv. Whom dost thou think me?

Glen. Norval.

Norv. So I am

And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?

Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy;
At best no more, even if he speaks the truth.

Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?
Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie; and basely false
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.
Norv. If I were chained, unarmed, or bed-rid old,
Perhaps I should revile; but, as I am,

I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race-who strive not but with deeds!
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour,

And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,

I'd tell thee-what thou art! I know thee well!

Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born to command Ten thousand slaves like thee?

Norv. Villain, no more!

Draw and defend thy life. I did design

To have defied thee in another cause;

But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.

Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs!

[Both draw their swords.]

[Lord Randolph, as he advances] Hold! I command you both! The

man that stirs

Makes me his foe.

Norv. Another voice than thine

That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph.

Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous condescending!

Mark the humility of Shepherd Norval!

Norv. Now you may scoff in safety. [Sheathes his sword.]
Lord Ran. Speak not thus

Taunting each other, but unfold to me

The cause of quarrel; then I judge betwixt you.

Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.

I blush to speak-I will not, cannot speak

The opprobrious words that I from him have borne.
To the liege lord of my dear native land

I owe a subject's homage; but even him
And his high arbitration I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord-
Honour! sole judge and umpire of itself.
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,

Revoke your favours, and let Norval go

Hence as he came; alone but not dishonoured!

Lord Ran. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice;