Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond For ploughing in the salt sea field,— From neighbouring woods he interlaced The French guard caught him on the beach, Till tidings of him came to reach With folded arms Napoleon stood, Addressed the stranger: "Rash youth, that wouldst that channel pass, "I have no sweetheart," said the lad; 66 Great was the longing that I had To see my mother." And so thou shalt !" Napoleon said; 66 You have my favour justly won: A noble mother must have bred So brave a son!" He gave the tar a piece of gold, And, with a flag of truce, commanded He should be shipped to England Old, And safely landed. Our sailor oft could scarcely shift LESSON CL. From the Tragedy of " Velasco."-EPES SARGENT. Gonzalez. SIR, a word with you. De Lerma. I am a listener-an impatient one'Twere best that this encounter should be brief. Gon. This haughtiness! My lord, the king, 'tis said, Refuses to admit the Emperor's claim. De Ler. Thank heaven the king's no recreant, no coward, But a Castilian, heart and hand, my lord: Would I might say the same of all his subjects! Gon. Throw'st thou the taunt on me? De Ler. Wherefore this rage, If thou art innocent? Gon. De Lerma ! Dotard! (Haif unsheaths his sword, but instantly dashes it into the scabbard.) No, no! thou'rt old and feeble;-and our children— Oh! do not tamper with my desperation! (In a sudden burst of passion.) Retract what thou hast said! De Ler. Not, while the proofs Appear even now in all thy looks and actions. Gon. 'Tis false! Thou urgest me to frenzy-thus! (Strikes him.) It will find vent ! De Ler. A blow! dishonour'd! struck! (Draws.) Defend thyself, ere I commit a murder. Gon. With thee I'll not contend: thy arm is nerveless. The odds are too unequal. De Ler. Then I rush Upon thee as thou art. (As De Lerma rushes upon him, Gonzalez wrests away his sword, and throws it upon the ground.) Gon. I spare thy life. De Ler. Oh! spare it not, if mercy thou wouldst show, Thou givest me back only what thou hast made A burthen, a disgrace, a misery! It is a gift, for which I cannot thank thee. Gon. Keep it, my lord; and let this lesson teach, What thy gray hairs have fail'd to bring thec-prudence. [Exit. De Ler. (Taking up his sword.) Thou treacherous steel! art thou the same, alas! Of yore so crimson'd in the Moorish wars? ye [Throws down his sword. Struck like a menial! buffeted! degraded! And baffled in my impotent attack! O Fate! O Time! Why, when took away From this right arm its cunning and its strength, Its power to shield from wrong, or to redress, Did ye not pluck from out this swelling heart Its torturing sense of insult and of shame? I am sunk lower than the lowest wretch! Oh! that the earth might hide me! that I might Sink fathoms deep beneath its peaceful breast! [Retires up the stage. (Enter Velasco.) Vel. The peerless Izidora! how my thoughts, They make the air melodious with her voice! De Ler. (advancing.) Oh! be thy vauntings husn'd! There is distraction in thy haggard looks. Thou art not well Let me support thee hence. De Ler. It is no corporal ill! Art thou my son? Vel. My father! De Ler. In thy feeble childhood, who Sustain'd thee, rear'd thee, and protected thee? De Ler. And, in thy forward youth, Who plumed thy soul for glory's arduous flight? Vel. Thou alone! And in thy waning age, this arm shall be De Ler. Thou art my son! Velasco! from a haughty ancestry We claim descent: whose glory it has been, Was tainted with dishonour. Yesterday That boast was true-it is no longer true! Vel. No longer true! Who of our race, my lord, Tel. Thou! father! De Ler. Ay. I thought my dictates Thou wouldst shrink from me as a thing accursed! Vel. My father! speak! Explain this mystery. De Ler. I have been struck; Degraded by a vile and brutal blow! Oh! thou art silent. Thou wilt not despise me? De Ler. Alas! no serf, No man of low degree has done this deed- Vel. Say'st thou so? Then, by my sacred honour, he shall die! Were it the king himself, who dared profane I would assail him on his guarded throne, Vel. Who did it? Speak! In fiendish mockery syllabled that name. My Lord De Ler. Pedro Gonzalez. Vel. Izidora's father! De Ler. Oh! thou hast other ties! I did forget. Go-thou'rt released. Vel. There must be expiation! Oh! I am very wretched! But fear not. De Ler. Thou say'st it. To thy trust I yield mine hon our. [Exit Vel. While the proud bird soar'd to the noonday sun, The shaft was sped that dash'd him to the earth! 'Twas wing'd by Fate! 'Tis here! I cannot shrink From the appalling sense that it is real! This throbbing brain, this sick and riven heart, Great Heavens! |