185. FITZJAMES AND RODERICK DHU. [From THE LADY OF THE LAKE.] "TWICE have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen This rebel chieftain and his band!"* "Have, then, thy wish!"—he whistled shrill,† And he was answered from the hill; Wild as the scream of the curlew, *The speaker is Fitzjames. Watching their leader's beck and will, Then fix'd his eye and sable brow Fitz-James was brave:-though to his heart The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start, He mann'd himself with dauntless air, Return'd the Chief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before :'Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I." Sir Roderick mark'd—and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel. space Short he stood then waved his hand; Sunk brand and spear, and bended bow, It seem'd as if their mother Earth On bracken green and cold grey stone. SIR W. SCOTT. 186. PRINCE ARTHUR PLEADING WITH HUBERT FOR HIS EYES. HAVE you a heart? when your head did but ache I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again : And with my hand at midnight held your head, And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, So much as frown on you? Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it! Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, Even in the matter of my innocence : Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, Oh! that there were a single mote in your's, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. SHAKESPEARE. 187. THE VALE OF CASHMERE. [From LALLA ROOKH.] HO has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, WH With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave, Its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave? Oh! to see it at sunset,-when warm o'er the lake Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws, Like a bride, full of blushes, when lingering to take A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes! Or to see it by moonlight, when mellowly shines The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines; When the waterfalls gleam, like a quick fall of stars, And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet From the cool, shining walks where the young people meet! Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes T. MOORE. 188. THE DEATH OF SAMSON. 'HE building was a spacious theatre, Half-round, on two main pillars vaulted high, With seats, where all the lords, and each degree Of sort, might sit in order to behold. The other side was open, where the throng Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine, |