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“ Which is __"

“And why not, sir? Of what " To call in the Austrians,"

value could such a man as I am be to " Per Bacco! it is exactly what they your service, if I were not to tell you have advised. How did you come to what you'll never hear from others-know it? Who is the traitor at the the plain, simple truth? Is it not council board ?"

clear enough that if I only thought “I wish I could tell you the name of my own benefit, I'd say whatever of one who was not such. Why, your you'd like best to hear-I'd tell you, Highness, these fellows are not your like Landetti, that the taxes were ministers, except in so far as they are well paid, or say, as Cerreccio did, paid by you. They are Metternich's t'other day, that your army would do people; they receive their appoint- credit to any state in Europe; when ments from Vienna, and are only he well knew at the time, that the accountable to the cabinet held at artillery was in mutiny from arrears Schoenbrunn. If wise and moderate of pay, and the cavalry horses dying counsels prevailed here, if our finan- from short rations !" cial measures prospered, if the people “I am well weary of all this," said were happy and contented, how long, the duke, with a sigh. “ If the half think you, would Lombardy submit of what I hear of my kingdom, every to be ruled by the rod and the bay- day, be but true, my lot in life is worse onet? Do you imagine that you will than a galley-slave's. One assures be suffered to give an example to the me that I am bankrupt; another peninsula of a good administration ?” calls me a vassal of Austria; a third

" But so it is,” broke in the Prince; makes me out a Papal spy; and you " I defy any man to assert the oppo- aver that if I venture into the streets site. The country is prosperous,

the of my own town---in the midst of my people are contented, the laws justly own people, I am almost sure to be administered, and, I hezitate not to assassinated !" say, myself as popular as any sove- Takeno man's word, sir, for what, reign of Europe.

while you can see for yourself, it is * And I tell your Highness, just your own duty to ascertain," said as distinctly, that the country is Stubber resolutely. “If you really ground down with taxation, even to only desire a life of ease and indolence, export duties on the few things we forgetting what you owe to yourself have to export_that the people are and those you


send for the poor to the very verge of starvation- Austrians. Ask for a brigade and a that if they do not take to the high- general. You'll have them for the ways as brigands, it is because their asking. They'd come at a word, and traditions as honest men yet survive try your people at the drum head, and amongst them—that the laws only flog and shoot them with as little exist as an agent of tyranny, arrest disturbance to you as need be! You and imprisonment being at the mere may pension of the judges ; for a caprice of the authorities. Nor is court martial is a far speedier tributhere a means by which an innocent nal, and a corporal's guard is quite an man can demand his trial, and insist economy in criminal justice.Trade on being confronted with his accuser. will not perhaps prosper with martial Your jails are full, crowded to a state law, nor is a state of siege thought of pestilence with supposed political favourable to commerce. No matter. offenders, men that, in a free country, You'll sleep safe so long as you keep would be at large, toiling indus- within doors, and the band under triously for their families, and whose your window will rouse the spirit of opinions could never be dangerous, if nationality in your heart, as it plays, not festering in the foul air of a dun- . (rod preserve the Emperor !'geon. And as to your own popularity, "You forget yourself, sir, and you all I say is, don't walk in the Piazza forget me !" said the Duke sternly, as at Carrara after dusk. No, nor even he drew himself up, and threw a look at noon-day."

of insolent pride at the speaker. " And you dare to speak thus to "Mayhap I do, your Highness," was me, Stubber !" said the Prince, his the ready answer,

" and out of that face covered with a deadly pallor very forgetfulness let your Highness as he spoke, and his white lips trem- take a warning. I say, once more, I bling, but less in passion than in fear. distrust the people about you, and as to this conspiracy at Carrara, I'll nothing to confirm my views, I'll say wager a round sum on it, that it was not one word against all the measures hatched on t'other side of the Alps, of precaution that your council are and paid for in good forins of the bent on importing from Austria." Holy Roman Empire. At all events, * Take your own way ; I promise give me time to investigate the mat- nothing," said the Duke haughtily, ter. Let me have 'till the end of the and with a motion of his hand disweek to examine into it, and if I find missed his adviser,




God bless the towers and temples,

And those cloud-lividing piles,
The heathery-mantled mountains

Of our green old queen of isles !
Yea, may God the Blesser bless them

When His choicest love outpours,
Though they be not these, the peerless,

That the minstrel more adores.
For no work of mighty Naiure

For our wonder or our weal,
Nor a stone there ever tinkled

'Neath the craftsman's peaceful steel,
Could the marvel-the emotion-

Looking love so like devotion-
From the secret springs of feeling

In my spirit-depths command,
That can these, the mountain-pillars

Of our Dalriadan land,
These iron-crested sentinels

That guard our northern strand,-
That like a host of battle-fiends,

Or wall of wintry clouds,--
Save where some wizard vale or bay

Divides the craggy crowds,
Run writhed in savage glory

From the Causeway's pillared shore
To that kingly cape of columns,

The sublimely dark Benmore
That mock the wintry surges

In their hurricane career-
That mar the howling spirit

Of the lightning shaft and spear-
That flaunt their cloudy helmets

In the flashing of the moon,
Nor always deign to doff them

To the golden pomp of June.
'Tis the teaching of the Maker

Through your cold eternal stone,
Giant forms of that idea,

'Tis the teaching of the Highest,

That his sacred will is marred,
When the creature, for its glory,

Winneth worship or reward,

Save the holy right of shining

O'er the stricken and the lone ;
Or where all is dark, reclining
In a brightness not its own-
That the moon is for the many,

Not the many for the moon --
That thus Earth for all was hallowed,
And the great design but followed,

When he darkest soul of any

Hath its own peculiar June.


Bless the teachers of those tenets,

Be they spirit, stone, or steel,-
And these rocky chieftains, bless then,

Thou, Jehovah, where I kneel!


Oh! ye high and heaven-crowned ones,-

Not a world of kingly gems Could my soul so God-enkindle

As your craggy diadems. Mighty fruits of Mind gigantic,

Grizzled, gloomy, and sublime,
Like to priestly watchers waiting
For the dying shrieks of time,

Watchers of the world's supernal,
Peerless, priceless priests are ye,

Tempest-shorn and dew-anointed,

Foamy-robed and God-appointed,
Sandaled with the blue, eternal,

Dazzling, desert of the sea !
Ah! they're more than priestly lessons,

Preached in more than pulpit tones, Where your mountain-limbs are rooted -

Where the baffled billow groans-Where the coast-born peasant ponders,

Backward as the waters roll, Till your iron self-dependence

Sheathes his roughly-noble soul ;
For as e'en the bard inspired

Through the sunlight of his song
Poureth but the tints of visions
That his soul hath walked among-
But the grossness or the glory,

Amid which his spirit swimmeth,
Ever growing black or beauteous

As the dark or light he hymneth,So the mass of mind is modelled

By the forms on which it rests, And a tone and colour taketh

From its oftener-coming guests. Yea, as river-roads are fashioned

By the water's rush and whirl, While their tinge and taste are taken

By its sweeping crest and curl, As it onward, ever, ever,

Maketh, taketh foul or fair, Until neither bed nor river

May its first or fount declare,


So is formed the mental channel

By the might of sight and sound, So is tinged the moral current

By what eye and ear have found,Until, from its race of ages,

Rolling basely or sublime, It revealeth less our Adam

Than the accidents of time.


Then, how few might be Earth's shadows

On the moral current here,
Where young Beauty chaseth Beauty

Through and through the ringing year!
Happy, happy, peer or peasant,

Whose it were to ever be
By the creamy, creeping border

Of this fair, mysterious sea--
Where these shoreward-stealing waters

Many-tinted fringes weave :
As their foamy flowers are scattered

By the wanton breeze of eve-
All his spirit gleaming sweetness

Through a wild and dewy eye, From the broad and burning roses

On the golden isles of sky.

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I've adored the God of nature -

Yea, the universal Lord,
In the closet, at the altar,

On the sea, and on the sward ; And I stood beneath these pillars-

'Twas a Sabbath morn in May, And I felt-ah! who can tell it ?

Never, never lips of clay! 'Twas that heaving heart-devotion

That hath neither sigh nor pray'r,
But a swelling and a rushing

In the inmost spirit, where
Ten thousand springs were gushing

It had ne'er been dreamt were there ;-
And the on and upward springing
Of a faint and dreamy ringing,
As if of the passions singing
Through each fibre of the brain ----

The battle-ground of many thoughts That reeled and wheeled again;

Then seethed in rushing roll,

Like fire-drops through the soul,
With a wildly-winning pain;
Then a gazing up to heaven

Seeming less in life than death,
'Mid a quickening of the pulses,
And a shortening of the breath ;

Then a bending towards the sod-Sighing, “light enough is given--

Let us bow before our God !"
Oh! beneath the proudest altar

Consecrated to his name, -
Though I might have felt his presence,

I could ne'er have felt the same
As between those warring waters

Where our northern land is lost, And that pillared pile, the glory

Of old Dalriada's coast.


There is grandeur in your city,

Where the sculptured columns soar, And the sea of human beauty

Heaveth, heaveth evermore. There is grandeur in yon mountain, When beneath the burning West

Ten thousand tiny torches

At as many pearly porches
O'er that mountain's heathery breast

Flash and twinkle--flash and twinkle,

As the dying day-beans sprinkle
Their red life-drops o'er its crest--
O'er that showery, flowery crest;

While the rosy vapour, rising
Round the tomb of Light supernal,

Floats and tinges --floats and tinges
Feathery clouds with snowy fringes,

Till they meet the musing eye,
Like the locks of the Eternal

On that silvery waste of sky.

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