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The angry lords, with all expedient haste:
I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.

SHAKESPERE.

LIONI AND BERTRAM.-MARINO FALIERO.

The Selections from Lord Byron's later works are inserted by the kind permission of John Murray, Esq.

Lioni. Now, stranger, what would you at such an hour? Bert. A boon, my noble patron; you have granted Many to your poor client Bertram; add

This one, and make him happy.

Lioni. Thou hast known me

From boyhood, ever ready to assist thee
In all fair objects of advancement which
Beseem one of thy station; I would promise
Ere thy request was heard, but that the hour,
Thy bearing, and this strange and hurried mode
Of suing, gives me to suspect this visit
Hath some mysterious import-but say on.
Bert. My lord, I thank you: but-
Lioni. But what? You have not

Raised a rash hand against one of our order?
If so, withdraw, and fly, and own it not;

I would not slay—but then, I must not save thee!
He who has shed patrician blood—

Bert. I come

To save patrician blood, and not to shed it!

And thereunto I must be speedy, for

Each minute lost may lose a life; since Time

Has changed his slow scythe for the two-edged sword,

And is about to take, instead of sand,

The dust from sepulchres to fill his hour-glass!

Go not thou forth to-morrow!

Lioni. Wherefore not

What means this menace?

Bert. Do not seek its meaning,

But do as I implore thee;—stir not forth,
Whate'er be stirring; though the roar of crowds-
The cry of women, and the shrieks of babes-

The groans of men—the clash of arms—the sound
Of rolling drum, shrill trump, and hollow bell,
Peal in one wide alarum ! Go not forth
Until the tocsin's silent, nor even then
Till I return!

Lioni. Again, what does this mean ?

Bert. Again I tell thee, ask not; but by all
Thou holdest dear on earth or heaven—by all
The souls of thy great fathers, and thy hope
To emulate them, and to leave behind

Descendants worthy both of them and thee—
By all thou hast of blest in hope or memory-
By all thou hast to fear here or hereafter—
By all the good deeds thou hast done to me,
Good I would now repay with greater good,
Remain within-trust to thy household gods,
And to my word, for safety, if thou dost
As now I counsel-but if not, thou art lost!

Lioni. I am, indeed, already lost in wonder;
Surely thou ravest! What have I to dread?
Who are my foes? Or if there be such, why
Art thou leagued with them! thou! or if so leagued,
Why comest thou to tell me at this hour,
And not before?

Bert. I cannot answer this.

Wilt thou go forth despite of this true warning?

Lioni. I was not born to shrink from idle threats, The cause of which I know not: at the hour

Of council, be it soon or late, I shall not

Be found among the absent.

Bert. Say not so;

Once more, art thou determin'd to go forth?

Lioni. I am. Nor is there aught which shall impede me! Bert. Then heaven have mercy on thy soul! Farewell! [Going.

Lioni. Stay-there is more in this than my own safety, Which makes me call thee back; we must not part thus: Bertram, I have known thee long.

Bert. From childhood, signor,

You have been my protector: in the days
Of reckless infancy, when rank forgets,

Or, rather, is not yet taught to remember
Its cold prerogative, we played together;

Our sports, our smiles, our tears, were mingled oft;
My father was your father's client, I

His son's scarce less than foster-brother; years
Saw us together-happy, heart-full hours!

Oh God! the difference 'twixt those hours and this!
Lioni. Bertram, 'tis thou who hast forgotten them.
Bert. Nor now, nor ever; whatsoe'er betide,

I would have saved you: when to manhood's growth
We sprung, and you devoted to the state,
As suits your station, the more humble Bertram
Was left unto the labours of the humble,
Still you forsook me not; and if my fortunes
Have not been towering, 'twas no fault of him
Who oft-times rescued and supported me,
When struggling with the tides of circumstance,
Which bear away the weaker: noble blood
Ne'er mantled in a nobler heart than thine

Has proved to me, the poor plebeian Bertram.
Would that thy fellow senators were like thee?

Lioni. Why, what hast thou to say against the senate?
Bert. Nothing.

Lioni, I know that there are angry spirits
And turbulent mutterers of stifled treason,
Who lurk in narrow places, and walk out
Muffled to whisper curses to the night;
Disbanded soldiers, discontented ruffians,
And desperate libertines, who brawl in taverns ;
Thou herdest not with such : 'tis true, of late
I have lost sight of thee, but thou wert wont
To lead a temperate life, and break thy bread
With honest mates, and bear a cheerful aspect.
What hath come to thee? In thy hollow eye
And hueless cheek, and thine unquiet motions,
Sorrow and shame and conscience seem at war
To waste thee.

Bert. Rather shame and sorrow light
On the accursed tyranny which rides
The very air in Venice, and makes men
Madden as in the last hours of the plague,

K

Which sweeps the soul deliriously from life!

Lioni. Some villains have been tampering with thee, Bertram;

This is not thy old language, nor own thoughts;

Some wretch has made thee drunk with disaffection :
But thou must not be lost so; thou wert good
And kind, and art not fit for such base acts

As vice and villany would put thee to:

Confess confide in me-thou know'st my nature-
What is it thou and thine are bound to do,
That I should deem thee dangerous,

And keep the house like a sick girl?

Bert. Nay, question me no further;-minutes fly,
And thou art lost ?-Thou! my sole benefactor,
The only being who was constant to me

Through every change. Yet, make me not a traitor!
Let me save thee-but spare my honour!
Lioni. Where

Can lie the honour in a league of murder?
And who are traitors save unto the state?

Bert. A league is still a compact, and more binding
In honest hearts when words must stand for law;
And in my mind, there is no traitor like

He whose domestic treason plants the poniard
Within the breast which trusted to his truth.
Lioni. And who will strike the steel to mine?
Bert. Not I;

I could have wound my soul up to all things

Save this. Thou must not die! and think how dear

Thy life is, when I risk so many lives!

Nay, more, the life of lives, the liberty
Of future generations, not to be

The assassin thou miscall'st me;-once, once more,

I do adjure thee, pass not o'er thy threshold !

Lioni. It is in vain-this moment I go forth.

Bert. Then perish Venice rather than my friend! ensnare-betray-destroy

I will disclose

O what a villain I become for thee!

Lioni. Say, rather thy friend's saviour and the state's! Speak-pause not-all rewards, all pledges for

Thy safety and thy welfare; wealth such as

The state accords her worthiest servants; nay
Nobility itself I guarantee thee,

So that thou art sincere and penitent.

Bert. I have thought again: it must not be-I love theeThou knowest it- that I stand here is the proof,

Not least, though last; but having done my duty

By thee, I now must do it by my country!
Farewell-we meet no more in life!-farewell.

BYRON.

LOCHIEL AND WIZARD.-LOCHIEL'S WARNING.

Wiz. Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in flight.
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown;
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!

O weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead :
For a merciless sword o'er Culloden shall wave,
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.

Loch. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,

Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

Wiz. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth,

From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north? Lo! the death-shot of foeman outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;

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