FRAGMENT V. I THOUGHT myself the most accursed of beings; throughout the wide world's expanse I did not imagine there existed one so hapless as Chatelar. Ah! D'Anville, my friend, my patron, and my benefactor, what are now thy thoughts? Who can picture all thy sum of wretchedness? They banish thee, they force thee from the ob * * The Earl of Hamilton, and the Earl of Huntley, anxious for the success of their respective sons, and witnessing the noble qualifications of the Marechal D'Anville, and the pointed marks of attention manifested towards him by Mary, determined on banishing so formidable a rival; and to effect this, through their interest a very old and obsolete law was put in force, banishing all such as were residents in Scotland, being foreigners by birth; this order of course comprehended the Marechal D'Anville, who was compelled to quit Scotland, leaving his secretary, Chatelar, who was by birth a Scotchman, to forward all his communications to the queen, and by his poetry, and every other means he could devise, preserve his memory fresh in her mind. 2 ject of thine adoration; awe-struck at thy perfections, the Earls of Hamilton and Huntley drive thee hence unto thy native shore; for thou art a foe too puissant to escape their rancour and their jealousy.-Yes, Arran fears thee-nay, even Gordon, anxious for more bliss than 'longs to mortal man, envies a smile conferred on any but himself. Wretched D'Anville, fortunate Chatelar; and yet not so: for I must either wrong the best of friends, or plead his cause against mine own. Cruel fate!-- What! can I stain my soul with base dishonour? Can Chatelar, school'd in virtue and in truth, descend to vile deception? Can he forget his lord and benefactor?-Never! no, never be it said I stoop'd to such detested meanness. I will be just-I will be generous; nor wrong the heart that fostered me.- But, ah! how little thinks my friend the task be has imposed; how little knows he the workings of that breast, to which he has confided all the raging madness of his own. He hath but now retired, I will not say to rest, for he, like Chatelar, forgets the name of sleep; within his trembling hand he grasped the fatal mandate for his banishment-madness was in his eye; death o'erspread his cheek; despair and love marked every gesture- -Oh! my heart still bleeds for his distress; and for his quiet I would barter my peace, my liberty, my lifenay, every thing but love! D'Anville must quit her-he must tear himself from happiness!-Great God! and what could tear away poor Chatelar?-Nothing!-nothing but his will; and yet all are superior in their claims to Chatelar, who in his turn lords it o'er them in love. D'Anville is noble-yes; he possesses every attribute to claim a queen? but then, he has a wife already.-Oh! had that all-potent spell not bound my lord-even thou, O Gordon, wouldst have wept unheeded, and forlorn. Proud Arran, riches are thine, and rank and title thou commandest to merit such alliance; and yet the bliss evades thy fervent grasp. Thou too, O Gordon! hast title, riches, manly beauty, and perfections rare-nay, and preference from the angel thou adorest.-To counterpoise all these, behold poor Chatelar: nor wealth, nor title, nor exquisite endowments, unto him belong-love is his fortune, love his title, and love his only claim to merit Mary's favour. -To the frigid world 'tis poverty; with Chatelar 'tis every thing, if it can but purchase one ray of commiseration from the goddess of his soul. To-morrow's sun lights D'Anville to his fate; he quits his idol-quits her, perhaps, for ever! while the unregarded Chatelar remains to bask in the full radiance of Mary's charms-nay, and perhaps the predilection for my lord may prompt her more than ever to indulge my fervent wishes in her presence-yes, I will plead the cause of D'Anville, but the effusions must be those of Chatelar; I will read my love sick tales as in behalf of him I serve; but if my eyes and faltering tongue betray me, love is to blame, not Chatelar. Methinks I see expectant Arran glorying in the defeat of D'Anville, and lording it o'er my benefactor's misfortunes.-I could annihilate the monster who felt pleasure at his miseries; for even I-yes, Chatelar, who has most cause for joy at his dismissal, because he has the least expectancy-even he can pity D'Anville.-But ah! fond youth, thy bitter foe remains behind? Arran must still encounter Gordon, and Gordon too must meet a Chatelar. If I must perish, let me nobly meet my fate; let me expire beneath the arm of Gordon, or Gordon yield to mine, for he alone remains to harrow up my frenzied thoughts, and plant within my soul the sting of lasting jealousy.-Corrosive madness! infernal fiend!-What art thou, Jealousy?—Thou mak'st me almost deny the heavenly attributes of love; for thou art its sure attendant, and what can taste more than thee of dire damnation?— Hold, hold, the bitter hath its sweet; the rose its thorn; the gilded snake its poison and its sting-What is more sweet, more fragrant, or more 'witching to the sense, than love?-Our cup is mingled, and to our every drop of bliss ensues a sea of woe.-Love is on earth the extacy of pleasure, and jealousy the dire excess of pain nature ordains that one should counterpoise the other, and he who has the most of love, must feel the more accutely jealousy. But is it just, that Chatelar should bear the galling anguish without expectancy; that he should pine unheeded and forlorn, even where most he would be unconcealed? Must he be doom'd to witness foe succeeding foe, and live upon his groans, his fears, and jealousy, without the bold confession of his flame?-Perish the thought-She shall-yes, Mary, my queen, shall know the pangs of Chatelar; for that, and that alone, may yield me victory-yes, for Mary has a soul for tenderness and soft commiseration. I need it now; the busy fancy reconciles impossibilities, and, as the mariner who feebly grasps the plank surrounded by a sea of deadly horrors, so Chatelar, amid the gloom of blank despair, illumines the fallacious torch of Hope, and wanders in the mazes of gilded fallacy. Ah! Hope, thou flitting phantom, thou gaudy illusion, thou fond misleader of the wrecked sen D |