On the cool margin of the purple main,
Intent her Junio's veffel to defcry.

One eve (faint calms for many a day had rag'd)
The winged Dæmons of the tempest rofe;
Thunder, and rain, and lightning's awful power.
She fled: could innocence, could beauty claim
Exemption from the grave; the ethereal bolt,
That stretch'd her speechlefs, o'er her lovely head
Had innocently roll'd.

Mean while, impatient Junio leap'd ashore,
Regardless of the Dæmons of the ftorm.

Ah, youth! what woes, too great for man to bear,
Are ready to burst on thee? Urge not fo
Thy flying courfer. Soon Theana's porch
Receiv'd him at his fight, the antient slaves
Affrighted fhriek, and to the chamber point:-
Confounded, yet unknowing what they meant.
He entered hafty-

Ah! what a fight for one who lov'd so well!
All pale and cold, in every feature death,
Theana lay; and yet a glimpse of joy

Play'd on her face, while with faint faultering voice,
She thus addrefs'd the youth, whom yet fhe knew.

Welcome, my Junio, to thy native shore!

"Thy fight repays this fummons of my fate:

“Live, and live happy; fometimes think of me:

By night, by day, you ftill engag'd my care;

"And next to God, you now iny thoughts employ: Accept of thisMy little all I give;

"Would it were larger" -Nature could no more; She look'd, embrac'd him, with a groan expir'd. But fay, what trains, what language can express

The

The thousand pangs, which tore the lover's breaft?
Upon her breathlefs corfe himself he threw,
And to her clay-cold lips, with trembling hafte,
Ten thousand kiffes gave. He ftrove to speak;
Nor words he found: he clafpt her in his arms;
He figh'd, he fwoon'd, look'd up, and died away.
One grave contains this haplefs, faithful pair;
And ftill the Cane-ifles tell their matchlefs love!

GRAINGER

CHA P. XVIII.

DOUGLAS TO LORD RANDOLPH.

M

Y name is NORVAL: on the Grampian hills

My father feeds his flock; a frugal swain,
Whose conftant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only fon, myself at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field fome warlike lord;
And Heaven foon granted what my fire denied.
This moon which rose last night, round as my fhield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rufh'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The fhepherds fed
For fafety, and for fuccour. I alone,

With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd

friends:

The road he took, then hafted to my
Whom, with a troop of fifty chofen men,
I met advancing. The purfuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.

We

We fought and conquer'd. Ere a fword was drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd

The fhepherd's flothful life; and having heard
That our good king had fummon'd his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron fide,
I left my father's houfe, and took with me
A chofen fervant to conduct my steps:---
Yon trembling coward who forfook his mafter.
Journeying with this intent, I pafs'd these towers,
And, Heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.

HOME.

CHA P. XIX.

OTHELLO's

APOLOGY.

OST potent, grave, and reverend Signiors,
My very noble and approv'd good masters;
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in fpeech,
And little blefs'd with the fet phrase of peace;
For fince these arms of mine had feven years pith,
Till now fome nine moons wafted, they have us'd
Their dearest action in the tented field;

And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle;
And therefore little fhall I grace my cause,
In fpeaking for myfelf. Yet, by your patience,

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,

Of my whole courfe of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

(For fuch proceeding I am charg❜d withal)

I won his daughter with.

Her father lov'd me, oft invited me;

Still queftion'd me the ftory of my life,

From year to year; the battles, fieges, fortunes,
That I have past.

I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days,
To th' very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of moft difaftrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field:

Of hair-breadth 'fcapes in th' imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the infolent foe,

And fold to flavery; of my redemption thence,

And with it all my travel's hiftory:

Wherein of antres vaft, and defarts idle,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whofe heads touch heav'n,

It was my hent to fpeak.-All these to hear

Would Defdemona feriously incline.

But ftill the houfe-affairs would draw her hence,
Which ever as fhe could with hafte dispatch,

She'd come again, and with a greedy car
Devour up my difcourfe: which I obferving,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of carneit heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels she had fomething heard,
But not distinctively. I did confent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of fome diftressful stroke

That my youth fuffer'd. My ftory being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of fighs.

She fwore, in faith, 'twas ftrange, 'twas paffing ftrange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wond'rous pitiful ———

She wish'd she had not heard it——yet she wish'd
That Heav'n had made her such a man:-fhe thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I fpake;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had paft;
And I lov'd her, that he did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us’d.

SHAKESPEAR.

BOOK