Whilst I, more desperate from my father's fate,'
Nourish within my breast immortal hate.
But yet, not all the rage that hatred breeds,
Not all the jealousies ambition feeds,
Not all the glories Pontus' realms can boast,
Not these divide our wretched bosoms most.
Arb. What nearer care Xiphares' fear alarms?
Xip. Then hear astonish'd, friend; Monimia's
charms,

Whom late our father honour'd with his vows,
And now Pharnaces with bold zeal pursues.
Arb. Monimia!
Xip.

I love, nor longer will conceal
A flame which truth and honour bid reveal:
Nor duty further binds my tongue, since here
I now no rival, but a brother fear:
Nor is this flame the passion of a day,
A sudden blaze that hastens to decay;
Long in my breast I pent the rising groan,
Told it in secret to my heart alone:
O could 1, faithful to its rage, express
Its first uneasiness, my last distress!
But lose not now the moments to disclose
The long, long story of my amorous woes.-
Suffice it thee to know, that ere my sire
Beheld this beauteous object of desire,
I saw and felt the charmer in my heart,
And holy passion dignified the dart.
My father saw her too; nor sought to move
With vows that she and virtue could approve;
Haughty of sovereign rule, he hop'd to find
An easy conquest o'er a woman's mind:
But when he found, in honour resolute,
She scorn'd indignant his imperious suit,
'Twas then be sent in Hymen's sacred name
His diadem, the pledge of purer flame.
Judge then, my friend, what agonizing smart
Tore up my senses, and transfix'd my heart,
When first from fame the dreadful tale I heard,
The fair Monimia to his throne preferr'd;
And that Arbates with his beauteous prey
Shap'd for Nymphea's walls the destin'd way.
'Twas then, the more to aggravate my doom,
My mother listen'd to the arts of Rome:
Whether by her great zeal for me misled,
Or stung with rage for her deserted bed,
Betray'd to Pompey (impotent of mind)
The fort and treasures to her charge consign'd.
How dreadful did my mother's guilt appear!
Soon as the fatal tidings reach'd my ear,
No more I saw my rival in my sire,
My duty triumph'd o'er my fond desire;
Alone in the unhappy man survey'd
The father injur'd, and the king betray'd:
My mother saw me, prodigal of breath,
In every field encounter every death;
Keen to redeem the honours of my name,
Repair her wrongs, and disavow her shame.
Then the broad Euxine own'd my father's sway,
I made the raging Hellespont obey;
His happy vessels flew without control,
Wherever winds could waft, or oceans roll.
My filial duty had attempted more,
Ev'n hop'd his rescue on Euphrates' shore;
Sudden I heard, amid the martial strife,
A hostile arm had cut his thread of life.
'Twas then, I own, amid my various woes,
Monimia dear to my remembrance rose:
I fear'd the furious king, the dire excess
Of amorous rage, and jealous tenderness:

Hither I flew, some mischief to prevent,
With all the speed presaging passion lent:
Nor less my fears sinister omens drew,
When in these walls Pharnaces struck my view,
Pharnaces! still impetuous, haughty, bold,
Rash in design, in action uncontrol'd,
Solicits the fair queen, again renews
His interrupted hopes, and former vows,
Confirms his father's death, and longs to move
Her gentle bosom to more equal love.
I own indeed, whilst Mithridates reign'd,
My love was by parental law restrain'd,
Rever'd submissive his superior pow'r,
Who claim'd my duty from my natal hour;
Enfranchis'd by his death, it scorns to yield
To any other's hopes so dear a field.
Either Monimia adverse to my claim,
Rejects, ah, Heav'n forbid! my tender claim;
Or-but whatever danger's to be run,
'Tis by my death alone the prize is won.
"Tis thine to choose, which of the two to save,
Thy royal master's son, or Pompey's slave.
Proud of the Romans who espouse his cause,
Pharnaces proudly thinks to dictate laws;
But let him know, that here, that very hour,
My father died, I knew no rival pow'r.
The realms of Pontus own his sovereign sway,
Him Colchus and its provinces obey,
And Colchus' princes ever did maintain
The Bosphorus a part of their domain.
Arb. My lord, what pow'r I boast you justly
My duty and affection are the same;
Arbates has but one plain point in view,
To honour and his royal master true:
Had Mithridates reign'd, nor force nor art
Had e'er seduc'd this faithful loyal heart;
Now by his death releas'd, my duteous care,
His royal will declar'd, awaits his heir:
The self-same zeal I to your succour bring,
With which I serv'd your father, and my king.
Had Heav'n Pharnaces' impious purpose sped,
I the first victim of his rage had bled;
Those walls, so long his entrance which withstood,
Ere this had redden'd with my odious blood.
Go, to the blooming queen your suit approve,
And mould her gentle bosom to your love:
Affianc'd in my faith, dismiss your fear;
Either Arbates has no credit here,
Or else Pharnaces, by my arts o'ercome,
Elsewhere shall boast him of the aids of Rome.

SPEECH OF RANDOLPH.

[claim,

A FRAGMENT OF BRUCE, BOOK II. "DEMAND'ST thou, mighty Bruce, to know from My lineage I derive; then hear a tale [whence Well known through fair Stirlina's fruitful bounds, My native land; of ancient Scotish kings, Thy royal ancestry, O Bruce! am I Undoubted offspring; and, forgive the boast, From the same fount my blood united flows, Allied to thine. As yet Cameldoun's walls By Forth, delightful stream! encircled stood The seat of Edenuther, Pictish king; To whose destruction, eager to revenge The breach of faith and hospitable laws Insulted, his embattled host

Fierce Corbred led; for from Dunstaffnage towers,

Pretending love, and hymeneal rite,
The treacherous Pict with meditated force,
Bore Ethelind, her country's justest pride,
Peerless and fair; a thousand heroes fought
For her to death, fierce raging round the walls
Of lofty Cameldoun: the guilty prince
Had dearly paid the price of faith forsworn,
But, studious of new frauds, within his walls
He invites the Scotish train, friendly to meet
In amicable talk; fair Ethelind

To be the pledge of future peace, and join
The warring nations, in eternal league
Of love connubial: the unweeting king
Enter'd the hostile gates; with feast and song
The towers resound, tiil the dark midnight hour
Awake the murderers: in sleep he fell
With all bis peers, in early life, and left
His vow'd revenge, and sister unredeem'd.

"Now was the royal virgin left expo-d
To the fell victor's lust, no friend to aid,
Her brother slain, and fierce and mighty chiefs
That warr'd in her defence: how could, alas!
Unshelter'd helpless Innocence resist
Th' infernal ravisher? With stedfast mind
She scorn'd his proffer'd love; by virtue's aid
Triumphant o'er his lust. In vain with tears
And rough complaint that spoke a savage heart,
Strove he to gain and woo her to his will:
In vain, enrag'd and ruthless in his love,
He threaten'd. Death disdain'd, force was the last,
Put that her arm oppos'd, resolv'd to strike
The poniard in her breast, her virtue's guard.
All arts thus tried in vain, at last, incens'd,
Deep in a dungeon, from the cheerful light
Far, far remov'd, the wretched maid he threw
Deplorable; doom'd in that dwelling drear
To waste her anxious days and sleepless nights,
Anguish extreme! ah, how unlike those hours
That in her father's palace wont to pass
In festival and dance! Her piteous shrieks
Mov'd her stern keeper's heart, secret he frees
Th' imprison'd maid; and to the king relates
Her death, dissembling. Then with fell despite
And rage, inflam'd for unenjoyed love,
The monarch storm'd, he loath'd his food, and fled
All human converse, frustrate of his will. [walls
"Meanwhile the nymph forsakes the hostile
Flying by night; through pathless wilds unknown
Guideless she wanders, in her frighted ears
Still hears the tyrant's voice, in fancy views
His form terrific, and his dreaded front
Severe in frowns; her tender heart is vex'd
With every fear, and oft desires to die.
Now day return'd, and cheerful light began
T' adorn the Heav'ns; lost in the hills, she knew
No certain path; around the dreary waste
Sending her weeping eye, in vain requir'd
Her native fields, Danstaffnage' well-known tow'rs,
And high Edesta's walls, her father's reign.
"Three days the royal wanderer bore the heat
Intensely fervent, and three lonesome nights
Wet with the chilling dews; the forest oak
Supplied her food, and at the running stream,
Patient, she slak'd her thirst. But when the fourth
Arose; descending from the Ochell height,
The flowery fields beneath, she wander'd long
Erroneous, disconsolate, forlorn.
lerne's stream she pass'd, a rising hill
Stood on the bank oppos'd, adorn'd with trees,
A silvan scene! Thither she bent her flight,

O'ercome with toil, and gently laid her down
In the embowering shade: the dew of sleep
Fell on her weary eyes; then pleasing dreams
Began to lay the tempest in her mind,
Calming from troubled thoughts: to regal pomp
She seems restor'd, her brother's fate reveng'd,
The tyrant slain: she dream'd till morn arose,
The fifth that rose, since from Cameldoun's walls
She bent her flight; the cheerful day invites,
From fair Dundalgan's ever-sunny towers,
Mildred t' arise, who oft in fields of death
Victorious, led the Picts embattled race,
Illustrious chief! He to the hilly height,
His morning walk, pleas'd with the season fair,
Betakes him musing: there it was he saw
Fair Ethelind, surpris'd as Hengist's son
Elfred asleep beheld, when as she fled
From Saxony, to shun a step-dame's rage
That sought her life, he with prevailing words
Woo'd the consenting maid: nor less amaz'd
The Pictish leader saw the beauteous form.
Fist in surprise, and ardent gaze, he stood
Wondering! his beating heart with joy o'erflow'd.
He led her blushing from the sacred grove
In bashful modesty, and doubting joy
Chastis'd with fear, alternate in her breast,
Poor lovely mourner! to his parents show'd
The beauteous stranger; they, in age rever'd,
Lift up their trembling hands, and blest the maid,
Best workmanship of Heav'n! The youthful chief
Transported every day his guest beheld,
And every day beheld, with new delight,
Her winning graces mild, and form divine,
That drew with soft attraction. Kindling love
Inflam'd his soul: still new delays he frames
To gain a longer stay, ere he restore
The beauteous exile to her native land,
His promis'd faith. The story of her woes,
He o'er and o'er demands; she pleas'd relates
Her past adventures sad, but, prudent, kept
Unknown her royal race; the ardent youth
Hangs on the speaker's lips, still more and more
Enamour'd of her charms, by courtly deed
He sought the virgin's love; by prayers and vows
Won to consent. The nuptial day arose,
Awak'd by music's sound; the pow'rs invok'd
To bless the hallow'd rite, and happy night
That to his arms bestow'd the much-lov'd maid,
The gift of Heav'n: then gladness fill'd his heart
Unspeakable, as when the sapient king,
The son of David, on the happy day
Of his espousals, when his mother bound
His brow in regal gold, delighted saw
His fair Egyptian bride adorn'd with all
Perfection, blooming in celestial sweets.

"While thus the royal exile liv'd remote,
In Hymen's softest joys, the Scotish chiefs
Prepare for battle, studious to redeem
Their captive queen, unknowing of her fate;
With just success unbless'd, discomfited
They fell in ruthless fight, their mighty men,
Unworthy bondage! helpless exiles sold
To foreign lands. The Pictish king enrag'd
Collects an host, embattled as the sands
Along the Solway coast, from all the bounds
Of his wide empire: Brica's rising towers,
And Jeda's ancient walls, once seat of kings,
With Eden rais'd on rocks, and Cameldoun,
Send forth their chiefs and citizens to war, [then,
Pour'd through their lofty gates. What anguish

O royal virgin! vex'd thy tender heart,
When thou, thy husband midst your country's foes
Enroll'dst their leader? Much didst thou adjure
By nuptial ties, much by endearing love,
To spare thy country in the waste of war;
He too, the youthful chief, long doubting stood
'Twixt love and duty, unresolv'd of choice,
Hard conflict! To Dunstaffnage' walls he flies,
And left the weeping fair, intent to drown
The voice of love, soft pleading in his heart,
In sounds of battle: but in vain! his wife,
A beauteous form, still rises to his thoughts
In supplicating tears; he grieves to see
The mingling hosts engage, and dreads to find
Amidst the slain, his kindred new allied.

"But now the Pictish king, with mighty chiefs
Selected from his peers, pursues his way
To raze the Scotish walls. Dundalgan's towers
Receive their monarch, proud to entertain
The mighty guest: exults the haughty king
With savage joy, when first his eyes beheld
The maid so lately lost, again restor'd
Sad victim to his lust: what could she do,
Hopeless of aid? or how, alas! avert
The dire event that from the monarch's lust

The wondrous work of Fate; now she relates
Her direful tale; the audience melt in tears.
"Meanwhile the monarch raging in the camp,
Forsook of all his peers, for fierce assault
Prepar'd, attended with a desperate crew
Of men, that shar'd in partnership of crimes,
March'd forward to his fate; the ambush'd train
Rise sudden, round them spread the slaughter'd foe.
Himself, as furious in the front he warr'd,
Bled by a well-aim'd spear; to punish'd ghosts
Of kings perfidious, fled his guilty soul.

"The monarch slain, the Pictish chiefs, that late
Forsook the noisy camp, convene within
The Scotish walls, the princes joyful plight
In leagues of mutual peace; in every fane

| Each grateful altar blaz'd; to Heaven they paid Their vows, their queen restor'd, and with her

peace,

spir'd

In hour of sad extreme: she flies the dome
With two, alone of all her menial train,
Companions of her flight. The king meanwhile,
Fierce with desire and violent to enjoy,
Him nor the bowl delights, nor sprightly mirth,
Nor tale of martial knight in ancient time
Recited: the unfinish'd feast he leaves
With wine inflam'd and ill-persuading lust,
Worst counsellors! A secret way he found
That to the queen's apartment led unseen;
Thither he flies through many a lofty hall,
Where heroes oft have met in wise consult,
Elate in thought; but Heav'ns! what fell despite,
What raging pain tore his distracted mind,
When first he knew the royal fair was fled?
Desperate in rage, he hopes his absent prey,
Intent to ravish. Hurrying to the camp
He sought the general's tent, begirt around
With noble Picts: there weeping Ethelind,
In soften'd anguish, on the hero's breast
He found reclining, sad: he would have seiz'd
The trembling fair-one from her lover's arms,
Her surest refuge, miserably torn,

Victim to lust obscene, had not the youth
Withstood the dire attempt of sovereign sway.
Haughty the monarch rag'd, and call'd his chiefs
To aid; his chiefs refuse th' unjust command:
Then, impotent of mind, he storm'd, he rav'd,
Outrageous in his ire: then wild uproar,
Tumult, and martial din, sounds o'er the camp,
While these assist the king, and these the youth,
By fearless friendship led: the clash of swords,
Through the still night, heard on the Scotish walls,
Alarms the chiefs in midnight council met:
The boldest of their warrior-train they choose
For secret ambush, sheath'd in jointed mail;
Th' intrepid baud beneath a bending hill,
Await the rising dawn; Mildred they seiz'd,
The royal exile, and their social train,
Flying the monarch's rage: the beauteous queen
Rejoices to behold her native walls,

Exil'd so long: her peers with lifted hands
Extoll'd the bounteous pow'rs, their queen return'd,

In celebrated rites; when morn arose
Th' assembled senate partner of her throne
Elect the noble youth, in times of peace
To aid by counsel, and in war to lead
Her marshall'd chiefs:-thus ended all her woes.
"Bless'd in her husband's, and her subjects' love,
Peace flourish'd in her reign: three sons she bore,
All men of valour known; well could they bend
The bow in time of need. Her eldest, grac'd
With all the train of beauties that adorn
A prince, succeeded to the Scotish rule
His mother's kingdom; in his happy days
The Scotish prowess twice o'erthrew the Dane
In bloody conflict, from our fatal shore
Repuls'd with ignominious rout, disgrac❜d.
Her second hope, born to unluckier fate,
Matchless in fight and every gallant deed,
The terrour of his foes, his country's hope,
In ruthless battle by ignoble hands
Fell in his prime of youth, for ever wept,
For ever honour'd. Athingart, the last,
For prudence far renown'd, Elgidra's charms
The hero fir'd, as in her father's court
A peaceful legate by his brother sent
To Pictland's monarch; there the royal youth
Graceful, in warlike tournament above
His equals shone, and won the princely maid
Courted by rival kings: from that embrace
Descend a thousand chiefs, that lineal heir'd
The virtues of their sire: witness the fields
Of Loncart, and the streams that purple ran
With stains of Danish blood: the brazen spears
And crested helins, and antique shields, the spoils

Of chiefs in battle slain, hung on the roof;
Eternal trophies of their martial deeds,
From son to son preserv'd with jealous care.
My father in his country's quarrel met
A glorious fate, when godlike Wallace fought;
He, firm adherer to the nobler cause,
Shar'd all his toils, and bled in all his fights,
Till Falkirk saw him fall; with Graham he fell,
Wallace his bold compeer, whom, great in arms,
Wallace alone surpast. With martial thoughts
He fir'd my youthful mind, and taught betimes
To build my glory on my country's love,
His great example! To thy native reign
If thee, thy fate propitious to the good,
Restor'd, he enjoin'd me to unite my force,
From foreign victors to retrieve again

Thy ravish'd kingdoms: then this sword he gave
In dangers ever faithful to his arm,
Pledge of paternal love; nor shall the foe
Exult, I ween, to find the dastard son
Degenerate from his sire, to wield in vain
A father's gift. In me, O Bruce! behold
A willing warrior, from Bodotria's stream
1 lead my native bands, hardy and bold,
In fight distinguish'd by superior deed."

He said and ceas'd; the arm'd assembly stood
Silent in thought, till from his lofty seat
Great Bruce arose-"O noble youth!" he cry'd,
"Descended from a line of noble sires,
Accept thy monarch's thanks-Welcome thyself,
Welcome thy sequent chiefs, thy country sore
Oppress'd by dire usurpers, now demands
Warriors like thee, where death and bloodshed reign
In conflict stern; do thou approve thy might
Above thy fellows, by transcendant acts

To Fame endear'd; she, on thy praise well-pleas'd
Constant to dwell, shall rear thee up on high
The loftiest branch, t' adorn thy ancient stem."
He spake, and gave the youth his plighted hand,
Pledge of benevolence and kind intent;
The chiefs around embrace and glad receive
The youthful champion, worthy of his race,

SEE where the solitary creature stands,
Such as he issued out of Nature's hands;
No hopes he knows, no fears, no joys, no cares,
Nor pleasure's poison, nor ambition's snares;
But shares, from self-forg'd chains of life releast,
The forest-kingdom with his fellow beast.
Yes, all we see of thee is nature's part;
Thou art the creature's self;-the rest is art.
For thee, the skilful worm, of specious hue,
No shining threads of ductile radiance drew;

For thee no sun the ripening gem refin'd;
No bleating innocence the fleece resign'd:
The hand of luxury ne'er taught to pour
O'er thy faint limbs the oil's refreshing show'r
His bed the flinty rock; his drink, his food,
'The running brook, and berries of the wood.
What have we added to this plain account?
What passions? what desires? a huge amount!
Cloth'd, fed, warm'd, cool'd, each by his brother's
We live upon the wide creation's spoil. [toil,
Quit, monarch, quit thy vain superfluous pride;
Lay all toy foreign ornaments aside:

Bid art no more its spurious gifts supply;
Be man, mere man; thirst, hunger, grieve, and die.

A SOLILOQUY.

IN IMITATION OF HAMLET.

My anxious soul is tore with doubtful strife, And hangs suspended betwixt death and life; Life! death! dread objects of mankind's debate; Whether superior to the shocks of fate, To bear its fiercest ills with stedfast mind, To Nature's order piously resign'd, Or, with magnanimous and brave disdain, Return her back th' injurious gift again. O! if to die, this mortal bustle o'er, Were but to close one's eyes, and be no more; From pain, from sickness, sorrows, safe withdrawn, In night eternal that shall know no dawn; This dread, imperial, wondrous frame of man, Lost in still nothing, whence it first began: Yes, if the grave such quiet could supply, Devotion's self might even dare to die, Lest hapless victors in the mortal strife, Through death we struggle but to second life. But, fearful here, though curious to explore, Thought pauses, trembling on the hither shore: What scenes may rise, awake the human fear; Being again resum'd, and God more near; If awful thunders the new guest appal, Or the soft voice of gentle mercy call. This teaches life with all its ills to please, Afflicting poverty, severe disease; To lowest infamy gives power to charm, And strikes the dagger from the boldest arm. Then, Hamlet, cease; thy rash resolves forego; God, Nature, reason, all will have it so: Learn by this sacred horrour, well supprest, This damps revenge with salutary fear, Each fatal purpose in the traitor's breast. And stops ambition in its wild career, Till virtue for itself begin to move, And servile fear exalt to filial love. Then in thy breast let calmer passions rise, The ills of life see Friendship can divide; Pleas'd with thy lot on Earth, absolve the skies, See angels warring on the good man's side. Alone to Virtue happiness is given,

On Earth self-satisfied, and crown'd in Heaven.

A SOLILOQUY.

WRITTEN IN JUNE, 1746. MYSTERIOUS inmate of this breast, Enkindled by thy flame; By thee my being's best exprest, For what thou art 1 am: