He too shall seek beneath the unfathom'd deep How the sea 45 Far distant glitters as the sun-beams smile, I supplicate no more. How many a day, 50 Screen'd by the o'er-arching grove's delightful shade, And pillow'd on the waters! Now the waves Shall chill me to repose. 60 Tremendous height! 55 Scarce to the brink will these rebellious limbs Support me. Hark! how the rude deep below Roars round the rugged base, as if it call'd Its long reluctant victim! I will come !.. One leap, and all is over! The deep rest Of death, or tranquil apathy's dead calm, Welcome alike to me. Away, vain fears ! Phaon is cold, and why should Sappho live? Phaon is cold, or with some fairer one... Thought worse than death! Oxford, 1793. She throws herself from the precipice. 65 XIMALPOCA. The story of this Mexican King is related by Torquemada in his Monarquia Indiana, 1. ii. c. 28. and by the Abate Clavigero, Storia Antica del Messico, t. i. l. iii. p. 199. The sacrifice was not completed; a force sent by his enemy arrived in time to prevent the catastrophe; he was carried off captive, and destroyed himself in prison. Scene, The Temple of Mexitli. SUBJECTS! friends! children! I may call you children, Towards you; it is thirteen years since first Since here the multitudes of Mexico 5 Hail'd me their King. I thank you, friends, that now, In equal numbers and with equal love, You come to grace my death. For thirteen years What I have been, ye know: that with all care, Let him come forth, that so no evil tongue 15 20 The wrath is heavy on me! Heavy! a burthen more than I can bear! 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 tyger's full-aged fury. Mexicans, He sent to bid me wear a woman's robe ;.. When was the day that ever I look'd back In battle? Mexicans, the wife I loved, To faith and friendship trusted, in despite 25 Of me, of heaven, he seized, and spurn'd her back Polluted!... Coward villain! and he lurks 31 Behind his armies and his multitudes, And mocks my idle wrath !.. It is not fit.. It is not possible that I should live ! .. 35 Live! and deserve to be the finger-mark Of slave-contempt!... His blood I cannot reach, And when the warriors of the days to come He died the brave man's death! Not of the God Unworthy, do I seek his altar thus, 40 The sacrifice of life may profit ye, My people, though all living efforts fail'd Cease your lament ! Who bravely bore misfortune; who, when life And join'd the spirits of the heroes dead. 45 50 55 Suffer through endless ages. He shall join 60 Forgetful, O my people, even then; you 65 Diffused, will I o'erspread your summer fields, And on the freshen'd maize and brightening meads Shower plenty. Spirits of my valiant Sires, I come! Mexitli, never at thy shrine Flow'd braver blood; never a nobler heart Steam'd up to thee its life! Priests of the God, Westbury, 1798. 70 THE WIFE OF FERGUS. Fergusius 3. 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 quisquam 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 barr'd beyond your sudden strength to force; 5 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 |