CLXXX. THE LADY OF DUART'S VENGEANCE

“°Weird woman, that dwellest on lofty Ben More,
Give car to my sorrow, and aid, I implore:

A lady has come from the green sunny bowers
Of a far southern clime, to these mountains of ours;
A light in her eyes, but deceit in her heart,
And she lingers and lingers, and will not depart.

"Through darkness and danger, 'mid tempest and rain,
She has sailed to our shores from the cities of Spain,
Forsaking her country, her kindred, her home,
Abroad, through our cold western highlands to roam;
To find a young lover as fair to her sight,

As a gallant she saw in the dreams of the night.

"And hither, by stars unpropitious conveyed,
She has come, in her gems and her beauty arrayed,
With a tongue full of sweetness-a heart insincere,
And wielding at will both the smile and the tear;
And fixed her bright eyes on the Chief of Maclean,
To toy with his heart and bewilder his brain.

"And I, who was once the delight of his soul,
Ere she like a blight on my happiness stole,
Now wander through Duart, neglected and lorn,
Of a stranger the scoff, of my maidens the scorn;
With a grief in my bosom that gnaws to the core,
And a fire in my brain that will burn evermore,

"Unless thou wilt aid me, with charm and with spell,
To gain back the heart I have cherished so well,
And rid me of her who, with art the most vile,
Has poisoned my peace with her glozing and guile.
I hate her with hatred intense as despair,
Yet murder's a guilt that my soul cannot bear."

"Be calm, craven spirit! On me be the guilt-
No poison shall rack her, no blood shall be spilt.
Till my hair has turned gray, and my blood has grown thin,
I have dwelt on Ben More with the spirits of sin;

And have learned by their aid without weapons to kill,
And can blast by a look, and destroy by my will.

"Were the good ship, the Florida, far on the seas,
I'd whirl her and toss her, like chaff on the breeze:

But peril may come 'mid security deep,

And vengeance may wake when the world is asleep;
And strong though her timbers-her haven secure,
The hand of revenge, though unseen, shall be sure."

Serene was the night, and unruffled the bay,
Not a breath stirred the deep where the Florida lay:
Her broad azure pennant hung breezeless on high,
And her thin taper masts pointed clear to the sky;
And the moonlight that fell on the breast of the deep,
Appeared like the charm that had lulled it to sleep.

The cabin-boy dreamed of the vineyards of Spain,
Or roamed with a maiden at sunset again:
The sailor, in fancy, was dancing afar

In his own native land, to the graceful guitar;
Or blessed with a household, in sleep was restored
To the children he loved, and the wife he adored.

The fair Spanish lady in visions was blest:
She dreamed that, escaped from the isles of the West,
Her young Highland Chief had consented to roam
To her fair Andalusia, in search of a home;
That together they dwelt in her own sunny clime,
Where life was not effort, and love was not crime.

None dreamed of the danger that round them might lurk;
But in darkness and silence a spell was at work;
Concealed in the waters, at poop and at prow,
The agents of evil were busy below;

And noiseless their labor, but certain their stroke,
Through her strong coppered hull and her timbers of oak.

And, long êre the morning, a loud sudden shriek

Was heard o'er the bay, "Sprung a leak !-sprung a leak!" Oh! then there was gathering in tumult and fear,

And a blanching of cheeks, as the peril grew near,—

A screaming of women,-a cursing of men,
And a rushing and trampling again and again.

No time for leave-taking-no leisure to weep-
In rolled the fierce waters, and down to the deep-
Down, down, fifty fathoms, with captain and crew,
The Florida sank, with the haven in view-
Down, down to the bottom, escaping but one,
To tell the sad tale of the deed that was done.

And he, as he battled for life with the tide,

Beheld the fair lady of Spain by his side;

And a lank skinny hand that came up through the spray,
And twined in her tresses, as floating she lay;
And heard the loud laughter of fiends in the air,
As she sank 'mid the waves with a shriek of despair.

REV. C. MACKAY.

CLXXXI.-AT THE HOUR OF DEATH.

"A BATTLE or a triumph," says an excellent writer, "is a conjunc ture, in which not one man in a million is likely to be engaged; but when we see a person at the point of death, we cannot forbear being attentive to everything he says or does; because we are sure that some time or other we shall ourselves be in the same melancholy circumstances. The general, the statesman, and the philosopher, are perhaps characters in which we may never act; but the dying man is one whom, sooner or later, we shall certainly resemble."

Cardinal Wolsey, one of the greatest ministers of state that any country has ever known, breathed his last in these sad words: "Had I been as diligent to serve my God, as I have been to please my king, He would not have forsaken me now, in my gray hairs."

It is related of one who had thoughtlessly sacrificed the duties of a rational and moral creature to the guilty pleasures of the world, that being awake, in his dying moments, to all the horrors of his situation, he exclaimed :—“ The battle is fought the battle is fought—but the victory is lost for ever!"

Lord Rochester, a short time before his death, gave it in charge to Bishop Burnet to tell an acquaintance, for whose welfare he was much concerned, that even though no state of existence were to succeed the present, yet all the pleasures that he had ever known in sin, would have been dearly bought with half the torture that he had felt in the recollection of them.

The late Earl of Chesterfield, a nobleman distinguished amongst his contemporaries for talents, accomplishments, and a perfect knowledge of the world, bore this testimony to the insignificance of what are termed the gayeties and pleasures of life :—“I have run the silly rounds of business and pleasure, and have done with them all. I have enjoyed all the pleasures of the world, and consequently know their futility, and I do not regret the loss of them. I appraise them at their real value, which is, in truth, very low: whereas, those who have not experienced, always overrate them. They only see their gay outside, and are dazzled with the glare; but I have seen behind

the scenes. When I reflect on what I have seen, what I have heard, and what I have done, I can hardly persuade myself that all that frivolous hurry of bustle and worldly pleasure had any reality: but I look upon all that is passed as one of those romantic dreams which opium commonly occasions; and I do by no means desire to repeat the nauseous dose, for the sake of the fugitive dream."

An illustrious nobleman, who had filled offices of high responsibility in the state, thus expressed himself towards the close of life:"I have daily to lament, and I do regret with the most heart-felt sorrow, that I turned not my thoughts more seriously to religion, until I had lost so many of my best days in pursuit of every senseless dissipation of the times. Although a thorough change of disposition and of conduct has brought inexpressible comfort to my mind, yet let no one imagine that I possess the same confidence which I know I should have felt could I have viewed the days of my youth, even with as little reproach as that in which I trust I have passed my latter years. I may, however, declare that in advanced age, I am enjoying far more solid comfort by trusting to the mercy of God through the gospel of His Son, than I ever did in the days of my thoughtlessness and folly: nor would I exchange it for any condition of youth, wealth, or worldly joys, accompanied by a vicious course." Sir John Mason, Privy Counselor to King Henry the Eighth, made this declaration in his last moments:-"I have seen five princes, and have been privy counselor to four. I have seen the most remarkable things in foreign parts, and been present at most state transactions for thirty years together, and have learned this, after such long experience,--that seriousness is the greatest wisdom, and a good conscience the best estate."

Sir Philip Sidney, the pride and ornament of his age, was nobly supported in the hour of death. After much serious conversation on the benefit of afflictions, he lifted up his eyes and hands, and said, with a cheerful, smiling countenance, "I would not change my joy for the empire of the world." Perceiving that he had but a few moments to live, he turned to his afflicted brother, and left with him this last farewell:-"Love my memory; cherish my friends: but, above all, govern your will and affections by the will and word of your Creator; in me beholding the end of this world and all its vanities." Father Paul of Venice, one of the most learned, the most pious, the meekest, and most virtuous of men, said with his dying breath to those around him :-" Farewell, my friends all, and leave me to myself. Go you to finish your work and business in life. I shall go to Him from whom we all came."

Mr. Locke, whose virtues did honor to the Christian name, about two months before his death wrote a letter to an intimate friend, and left this direction upon it:-"To be opened after my decease." It

closes with these words:-"May you live long and happily, in the enjoyment of health, freedom, content, and all those blessings which Providence has bestowed upon you! I know you loved me living, and will preserve my memory now I am dead. All the use to be made of it is, that this life is a scene of vanity which soon passes away, and affords no solid satisfaction, but in the consciousness of doing well, and in the hopes of another life. This is what I can say upon experience; and what you will find to be true, when you come to make up the account."

When the justly celebrated Addison was at the point of death, he sent for Lord Warwick, a young man nearly related to him, and finely accomplished, but very irregular in his conduct. He arrived. Life, however, barely glimmered in the socket; and the dying friend was silent. After a proper pause the youth addressed him: "Dear sir, you sent for me: I hope you have some commands: I shall hold them most sacred."-May the reply make a lasting impression on all who read it!—Addison took him by the hand, and softly said, "See in what peace a Christian can die."-He spoke with difficulty, and soon expired. In Tickell's excellent elegy on the death of Addison, are these lines:

"He taught us how to live; and oh! too high
The price of knowledge, taught us how to die!"

in which the poet alludes to this moving interview.

The late Dr. Leechman was visited, in his last illness, by a young man of noble family, whom, with a venerable aspect, an animated eye, a distinct though feeble articulation, he addressed in these words:-" :-"You see the situation I am in: I have not many days to live; and I am glad you have an opportunity of witnessing the tranquillity of my last moments: but it is not tranquillity and composure alone; it is joy and triumph; it is complete exultation;" his features kindled, his voice rose as he spoke :-"and whence," continued he, "does this exultation spring? From that book"-pointing to a Bible that lay on a little table by his bedside-" from that book;" too much neglected, indeed, but which contains invaluable treasures of joy and rejoicing; for it makes us certain that this mortal shall put on immortality. J. H. BRANSBY.

CLXXXII.-SATAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN.

O THOU that with surpassing glory crowned,
Look'st from thy sole dominion, like the god
Of this new world!—at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminished heads!-to thee I call,