I have endured contempt, insult, and wrongs
From that Acolhuan tyrant. Should I seek
Revenge? Alas, my people! we are few, -
Feeble our growing state.
It hath not yet

Rooted itself to bear the hurricane;

It is the lion-cub that tempts not yet
The tiger's full-aged fury.

Mexicans!

He sent to bid me wear a woman's robe:

When was the day that ever I looked back
In battle? Mexicans! the wife I loved,
To faith and friendship trusted, in despite

Of me, of Heaven, he seized, and spurned her back

Polluted!

Coward villain! and he lurks Behind his armies and his multitudes, And mocks my idle wrath! It is not fit, It is not possible, that I should live. Live! and deserve to be the finger-mark Of slave contempt! His blood I cannot reach ; But in my own all stains may be effaced : It shall blot out the marks of infamy; And, when the warriors of the days to come Tell of Ximalpoca, it shall be said

He died the brave man's death.

Not of the God

Unworthy do I seek his altar thus,
A voluntary victim; and perchance
The sacrifice of life may profit ye,
My people, though all living efforts failed
By fortune, not by fault.

Cease your lament!

And, if your ill-doomed king deserved your love,
Say of him to your children, He was one
Who bravely bore misfortune, who, when life
Became dishonor, shook his body off,

And joined the spirits of the heroes dead.
Yes! not in Miclanteuctli's dark abode

With cowards shall your king receive his doom;
Not in the icy caverns of the North

Suffer through endless ages. He shall join
The spirits of the brave; with them, at morn,
Shall issue from the eastern gate of heaven,
And follow through his fields of light the Sun;
With them shall raise the song and weave the
dance,

Sport in the stream of splendor, company

Down to the western palace of his rest
The Prince of Glory, and with equal eye
Endure his centred radiance. Not of you
Forgetful, O my people! even then ;

But often, in the amber cloud of noon

Diffused, will I o'erspread your summer fields, And on the freshened maize and brightening meads Shower plenty.

Spirits of my valiant sires,

I come! Mexitli, never at thy shrine

Flowed braver blood; never a nobler heart

Steamed up to thee its life. Priests of the God,

Perform your office!

WESTBURY, 1798.

THE WIFE OF FERGUS.

"FERGUSIUS III. periit veneno ab uxore dato. Alii scribunt cum uxor sæpe exprobrasset ei matrimonii contemptum et pellicum greges, neque quicquam profecisset, tandem noctu dormientem ab ea strangulatum. Quæstione de morte ejus habitâ, cum amicorum plurimi insimularentur, nec quisquam ne in gravissimis quidem tormentis quicquam fateretur, mulier, alioqui ferox, tot innoxiorum capitum miserta, in medium processit, ac e superiore loco cædem a se factum confessa, ne ad ludibrium superesset, pectus cultro transfodit: quod ejus factum varie pro. cujusque ingenio est acceptum, ac perinde sermonibus celebratum." - Buchanan.

SCENE. The Palace Court. The Queen speaking from the Battlements.

CEASE, cease your torments! spare the sufferers! Scotchmen, not theirs the deed; the crime was mine: Mine is the glory.

Secure

Idle threats! I stand

all access to these battlements

Is barred beyond your sudden strength to force; And lo! the dagger by which Fergus died!

Shame on ye, Scotchmen, that a woman's hand Was left to do this deed! Shame on ye, thanes, Who with slave-patience have so long endured The wrongs and insolence of tyranny! Cowardly race! that not a husband's sword Smote that adulterous king! that not a wife Revenged her own pollution, in his blood Washed herself pure, and for the sin compelled

Atoned by righteous murder! O my God!

Of what beast-matter hast thou moulded them,
To bear with wrongs like these? There was a time,
When, if the bard had feigned you such a tale,
Your eyes had throbbed with anger, and your hand,
In honest instinct, would have grasped the sword.
O miserable men, who have disgraced
Your fathers, whom your sons must blush to name !

Ay, ye can threaten me! ye can be brave In anger to a woman! one whose virtue Upbraids your coward vice; whose name will live, Honored and praised in song, when not a hand Shall root from your forgotten monuments The cankering moss. Fools! fools! to think that Is not a thing familiar to my mind!

[death

As if I knew not what must consummate
My glory! as if aught that earth can give
Could tempt me to endure the load of life!
Scotchmen! ye saw when Fergus to the altar
Led me, his maiden queen.
Ye blest me then,

I heard you bless me; and I thought that Heaven
Had heard you also, and that I was blest;

For I loved Fergus. Bear me witness, God!
With what a heart-and-soul sincerity

My lips pronounced the unrecallable vow

That made me his, him mine! bear witness, Thou Before whose throne I this day must appear Stained with his blood and mine! My heart was his; His in the strength of all its first affections.

In all obedience, in all love, I kept

Holy my marriage-vow. Behold me, thanes! Time hath not changed the face on which his eye So often dwelt, when with assiduous care

He sought my love, with seeming truth, for one,
Sincere herself, impossible to doubt.

Time hath not changed that face. I speak not now
With pride of beauties that will feed the worm
To-morrow; but with honest pride I say,

That, if the truest and the purest love
Deserved requital, such was ever mine.
How often reeking from the adulterous bed
Have I received him, and with no complaint!
Neglect and insult, cruelty and scorn,

Long, long did I endure, and long curb down
The indignant nature.

Tell your countrymen, Scotchmen! what I have spok 'n. Say to them, Ye saw the Queen of Scotland lift the dagger Red from her husband's heart; that in her own

WELCOME, my father! good Valerius,

Welcome! and thou too, Brutus! ye were both