Of sacrifice. They may in limbs of freedom Replace your free-born souls, and their high
Haply shall to some better world advance you; Or else in this restore that golden gift,
Which lost, leaves life a burden. Does there breathe
A wretch so 'pall'd with the vain fear of death
Can call this cruelty? 'tis love, 'tis mercy;
And grant, ye gods, if e'er I'm made a captive,
I meet the like fair treatment from the foe,
Whose stronger star quells mine. Now lead
them on,
And, while they live, treat them, as men should men,
And not as Rome treats Britain.
Druid, these,
Ev'n should their chief escape, may to the gods
In sacrifice-Whence was that shriek?
EVELINA, CARACTACUS, CHORUS.
Evel. My father,
Support me, take me trembling to your arms;
All is not well. Ah me, my fears o'ercome me!
Car. What means my child?
Evel. Alas, we are betray'd!
Ev'n now, as wand'ring in yon eastern grove,
I call'd the gods to aid us, the dread sound
Of many hasty steps did meet mine ear:
This way they prest.
Car. Daughter, thy fears are vain.
Evel. Methought I saw the flame of lighted brands,
And what did glitter to my dazzled sight,
Like swords and helms.
Car. All, all the feeble coinage
Evel. Nay, if mine ear mistook not, I heard the traitor's voice, who that way 'scap'd Calling to arms.
Car. Away with idle terrors!
Cho. My brethren, bear the prisoners to the Know, thy brave brother's helm is crown'd with
Our foes are fled, their leaders are our captives.
Smile, my lov'd child, and imitate the sun,
That rises ruddy from behind yon oaks
To hail him victor.
Cho. That the rising sun!
O horror! horror! sacrilegious fires
Devour our groves: They blaze, they blaze! O
sound
The trump again! recall the prince, or all
Is lost.
Car. Druid, where is thy fortitude?
Do not I live? Is not this holy sword
Firm in my grasp? I will preserve your groves.
Britons, I go: Let those that dare die nobly,
Follow my step.
[Exit CAR.
Evel. O whither does he go?
Return, return: Ye holy men, recall him.
What is his arm against a host of Romans?
OI have lost a father!
Ye take away our souls: A general panic
Reigns through the grove. O fly, my brethren, fly,
To aid the king, fly to preserve your altars!
Alas! 'tis all in vain; our fate is fixed.
Look there, look there, thou miserable maid!
Behold thy bleeding brother.
ARVIRAGUS, ELIDURUS, EVELINA, CHORUS.
Arvi. Thanks, good youth!
Safe hast thou brought me to that holy spot,
Where I did wish to die. Support me still.
O, I am sick to death! Yet one step more:
Now lay me gently down. I would drag out
This life, though at some cost of throbs and pangs,
Just long enough to claim my father's blessing,
And sigh my last breath in my sister's arms.-
And here she kneels, poor maid! all dumb with
grief.
Restrain thy sorrow, gentlest Evelina !
True, thou dost see me bleed: I bleed to death.
Evel. Say'st thou to death? O gods! the barb-
ed shaft
Is buried in his breast. Yes, he must die;
And I, alas! am doom'd to see him die.
Where are your healing arts, medicinal herbs,
Ye holy men, your wonder-working spells?
Pluck me but out this shaft, stanch but this blood,
And I will call down blessings on your heads
With such a fervency-And can ye not!
Then let me beg you on my bended knee,
Give to my misery some opiate drug,
May shut up all my senses.- -Yes, good fathers,
Mingle the potion so, that it may kill me,
Just at the instant this poor languisher
Heaves his last sigh.
Arvi. Talk not thus wildly, sister, Think on our father's
Evel. Alas! my brother!
We have no father now; or, if we have,
He is a captive.
Arvi. Captive! O my wound!
-But is it so?
It stings me now
[Turning to the CHORUS.
Cho. Alas ! We know no more, save that he sallied single To meet the foe, whose unexpected host Round by the east had wound their fraudful march,
And fired our groves.
Eli. O fatal, fatal valour! Then is he seiz'd, or slain.
Arvi. Too sure he is!
Druid, not half the Romans met our swords;
We found the fraud too late: the rest are yonder.
Cho. How could they gain the pass?
Arvi. The wretch, that fled
That way, return'd, conducting half their powers;
And-But thy pardon, youth, I will not woundthee,
He is thy brother.
Eli. Thus my honest sword
Shall force the blood from the detested heart, That holds alliance with him.
The seer that rules amid the groves of Mona
Has not to fear his fury. What though age
Slackens our sinews; what though shield and
sword
Give not their iron aid to guard our body;
Yet virtue arms our soul, and 'gainst that panoply
What 'vails the rage of robbers? Let him come,
Arvi. I faint apace.-Ye venerable men,
If ye can save this body from pollution,
If ye can tomb me in this sacred place,
I trust ye will. I fought to save these groves,
And, fruitless though I fought, some grateful oak,
I trust, will spread its reverential gloom
O'er my pale ashes-Ah! that pang was death!
My sister, Oh !-
Eli. She faints! Ah raise her!-
Evel. Yes,
Now he is dead. I felt his spirit go
In a cold sigh, and, as it past, methought
It paus'd a while, and trembled on my lips!
Take me not from him: Breathless as he is,
He is my brother still, and if the gods
Do please to grace him with some happier being,
They ne'er can give to him a fonder sister.
Cho. Brethren, surround the corse, and, ere
the foe
Approaches, chaunt with meet solemnity
That grateful dirge your dying champion claims.
Semicho. Lo, where incumbent o'er the shade Rome's rav'ning eagle bows her beaked head! Yet while a moment fate affords, While yet a moment freedom stays, That moment, which outweighs Eternity's unmeasur'd hoards, Shall Mona's grateful Bards employ To hymn their godlike hero to the sky.
Semicho. Ring out, ye mortal strings; Answer, thou heavenly harp, instinct with spirit all, That o'er the jasper arch self-warbling swings Of blest Andraste's throne: Thy sacred sounds alone
Can celebrate the fall
Of bold Arviragus-
Enter AULUS DIDIUS and Romans.
Aulus. Ye bloody priests,
Hold, on our friendship, hold! Thou noble youth, Behold we burst on your infernal rites,
And bid you pause. Instant restore our soldiers,
Nor hope that Superstition's ruthless step
Shall wade in Roman gore. Ye savage men,
Did not our laws give licence to all faiths,
We would o'erturn your altars, headlong heave
These shapeless symbols of your barbarous gods,
And let the golden sun into your caves.
Cho. Servant of Cæsar, has thine impious tongue
Spent the black venom of its blasphemy?
It has. Then take our curses on thine head,
Ev'n his fell curses, who doth reign in Mona,
Vicegerent of those gods thy pride insults.
Aulus. Bold priest, I scorn thy curses, and thy-
self.-
Soldiers, go search the caves, and free the pri
Take heed, ye seize Caractacus alive.
Arrest yon youth; load him with heaviest irons,
He shall to Cæsar answer for his crime.
Eli. I stand prepar❜d to triumph in my crime. Aulus. "Tis well, proud boy-Look to the beauteous maid, [To the Soldiers. That tranc'd in grief, bends o'er yon bleeding
Respect her sorrows.
Evel. Hence, ye barbarous men,
Ye shall not take him welt'ring thus in blood, To shew at Rome, what British virtue was. Avaunt! The breathless body that ye touch Was once Arviragus!
Aulus. Fear us not, princess,
We reverence the dead.
Cho. Would too to heav'n,
Ye reverenc'd the gods but ev'n enough
Not to debase with slavery's cruel chain,
What they created free.
Aulus. The Romans fight
Not to enslave, but humanize the world.
Cho. Go to, we will not parley with thee, Ro
Mourn, Mona, mourn. Caractacus is captive!
And dost thou smile, false Roman? do not think
He fell an easy prey. Know, ere he yielded,
Thy bravest veterans bled. He too, thy spy,
The base Brigantian prince, hati seal'd his fraud
With death. Bursting through armed ranks, that
hemm'd
The caitiff round, the brave Caractacus
Seiz'd his false throat; and as he gave him death
Indignant thunder'd, Thus is my last stroke,
The stroke of justice.' Numbers then oppress-
ed him:
I saw the slave, that cowardly behind
Pinion'd his arms; I saw the sacred sword
Writh'd from his grasp : I saw, what now ye see,
Inglorious sight! those barbarous bonds upon
him.
CARACTACUS, AULUS DIDIUS, CHORUS, &c.
Car. Romans, methinks the malice of your ty
Might furnish heavier chains. Old as I am,
And wither'd as you see these war-worn limbs,
Trust me, they shall support the weightiest load
Injustice dares impose.-
Proud-crested soldier!
[To DIDIUS.
Who seem'st the master-mover in this business,
Say, dost thou read less terror on my brow,
Than when thou met'st me in the fields of war
Heading my nations? No, my free-born soul
Has scorn still left to sparkle through these eyes,
And frown defiance on thee.-Is it thus !
[Seeing his son's body.
Then I'm indeed a captive. Mighty gods!
My soul, my soul submits: Patient it bears
The pond'rous load of grief ye heap upon it.
Yes, it will grovel in this shatter'd breast,
And be the sad tame thing it ought to be,
Coopt in a servile body.
Aulus. Droop not, king.
When Claudius, the great master of the world,
Shall hear the noble story of thy valour,
His pity
Car. Can a Roman pity, soldier?
And if he can, gods! must a Briton bear it?
Arviragus, my bold, my breathless boy,
Thou hast escap'd such pity; thou art free.
Here in high Mona shall thy noble limbs
Rest in a noble grave; posterity
Shall to thy tomb with annual reverence bring
Sepulchral stones, and pile them to the clouds:
Whilst mine-
Aulus. The morn doth hasten our departure. Prepare thee, king, to go: A fav'ring gale Now swells our sails.
Car. Inhuman, that thou art!
Dost thou deny a moment for a father
To shed a few warm tears o'er his dead son?
I tell thee, chief, this act might claim a life,
To do it duly; even a longer life,
Than sorrow ever suffer'd. Cruel man!
And thou deniest me moments. Be it so.
I know you Romans weep not for your children;
Ye triumph o'er your tears, and think it valour:
I triumph in my tears. Yes, best-lov'd boy,
Yes, I can weep, can fall upon thy corse,
And I can tear my hairs, these few grey hairs,
The only honours war and age have left me.
Ah son! thou might'st have rul'd o'er many na
tions,
As did thy royal ancestry: But I,
Rash that I was, ne'er knew the golden curb
Discretion hangs on brav'ry: Else perchance
These men, that fasten fetters on thy father,
Had sued to him for peace, and claim'd his frie
ship.
When trick'd and varnish'd by your glossing
Will shine in honour's annals, and adorn Himself; it boots not me. Look there, look there,
The slave that shot that dart, kill'd ev'ry hope
Of lost Caractacus! Arise, my daughter.
Alas! poor prince; art thou too in vile fetters!
[TO ELIDURUS.
Come hither, youth: Be thou to me a son,
To her a brother. Thus with trembling arms
I lead you forth; children, we go to Rome.
Weep'st thou, my girl? I prithee hoard thy tears
For the sad meeting of thy captive mother:
For we have much to tell her, much to say
Of these good men, who nurtur'd us in Mona;
Much of the fraud and malice, that pursu'd us;
Much of her son, who pour'd his precious blood
To save his sire and sister: Think'st thou, maid
Her gentleness can hear the tale, and live?
And yet she must. O gods, I grow a talker!
Grief and old age are ever full of words:
But I'll be mute. Adieu! ye holy men ;
Yet one look more-Now lead us hence for ever.
[Exeunt.
LIKE fam'd La Mancha's knight, who, lance in hand,
Mounted his steed to free th' enchanted land,
Our Quixote bard sets out a monster-taming,
Arm'd at all points, to fight that monster, Gaming.
Aloft on Pegasus he waves his pen,
And hurls defiance at the caitiff's den:
The first on fancied giants spent his rage,
But this has more than windmills to engage.
He combats passion rooted in the soul,
Whose powers at once delight ye, and controul;
Whose magic bondage each lost slave enjoys,
Nor wishes freedom, though the spell destroys.
To save our land from this magician's charms,
And rescue maids and matrons from his arms,
Our knight poetic comes-And, oh! ye fair
This black enchanter's wicked arts beware!
His subtle poison dims the brightest eyes,
| And at his touch, each grace and beauty dies.
Love, gentleness, and joy, to rage give away,
And the soft dove becomes a bird of prey.
May this our bold advent'rer break the spell,
And drive the dæmon to his native hell.
Ye slaves of passion, and ye dupes of chance,
Wake all your powers from his destructive
trance!
Shake off the shackles of this tyrant vice:
Hear other calls than those of cards and dice:
Be learn'd in nobler arts than arts of play,
And other debts than those of honour pay.
No longer live insensible to shame,
Lost to your country, families, and fame.
Could our romantic muse this work atchieve,
Would there one honest heart in Britain grieve?
Th' attempt,though wild, would not in vain be made,
If every honest hand would lend its aid.
|