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Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief
For Oscar search'd each mountain cave!
Then hope is lost; in boundless grief,
His locks in grey torn ringlets wave.

'Oscar, my son !-thou God of heaven
Restore the prop of sinking age!
Or if that hope no more is given,
Yield his assassin to my rage:

'Yes, on some desert rocky shore

My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie; Then grant, thou God! I ask no more, With him his frantic sire may die!

'Yet he may live-away, despair!

Be calm, my soul! he yet may live; T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear! O God! my impious prayer forgive.

'What, if he live for me no more, I sink forgotten in the dust, The hope of Alva's age is o'er;

Alas! can pangs like these be just ?'

Thus did the hapless parent mourn,

Till Time, which soothes severest woe, Had bade serenity return,

And made the tear-drop cease to flow.

For still some latent hope survived

That Oscar might once more appear: His hope now droop'd and now revived, Till Time had told a tedious year. Days roll'd along; the orb of light Again had run his destined race; No Oscar bless'd his father's sight, And sorrow left a fainter trace.

For youthful Allan still remain'd,
And now his father's only joy:
And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd,
For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy.

She thought that Oscar low was laid,
And Ailan's face was wondrous fair:
If Oscar lived, some other maid
Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care.

And Angus said, if one year more

In fruitless hope was pass'd away, His fondest scruples should be o'er, And he would name their nuptial day.

Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last Arrived the dearly destined morn; The year of anxious trembling past, What smiles the lover's cheeks adorn!

Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note! Hark to the swelling nuptial song! In joyous strains the voices float, And still the choral peal prolong.

Again the clan, in festive crowd,

Throng through the gate of Alva's hall;

The sounds of mirth re-echo loud,
And all their former joy recall.

But who is he, whose darken'd brow
Glooms in the midst of general mirth?
Before his eyes' far fiercer glow

The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth.

Dark is the robe which wraps his form,
And tall his plume of gory red;
His voice is like the rising storm,

But light and trackless is his tread.

'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round,
The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd ;
With shouts the vaulted roofs resound,
And all combine to hail the draught.

Sudden the stranger chief arose,

And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush'd.

'Old man !' he cried, 'this pledge is done; Thou saw'st 'twas duly drunk by me:

It hail'd the nuptials of thy son:
Now will I claim a pledge from thee.

While all around is mirth and joy,

To bless thy Allan's happy lot, Say, hadst thou ne'er another boy? Say, why should Oscar be forgot?' 'Alas!' the hapless sire replied,

The big tear starting as he spoke, When Oscar left my hall, or died, This aged heart was almost broke.

'Thrice has the earth revolved her course Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight; And Allan is my last resource, Since martial Oscar's death or flight.' 'Tis well,' replied the stranger stern,

And fiercely flashed his rolling eye; 'Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn: Perhaps the hero did not die.

'Perchance, if those whom most he loved
Would call, thy Oscar might return;
Perchance the chief has only roved;
For him thy beltane yet may burn.*

'Fill high the bowl the table round,

We will not claim the pledge by stealth; With wine let every cup be crown'd; Pledge me departed Oscar's health.'

With all my soul,' old Angus said,
And fill'd is goblet to the brim;
Here's to my boy! alive or dead,
I ne'er shall find a son like him.'

'Bravely, old man, this health has sped; But why does Allan trembling stand?

Beltane Tree, a Highland festival on the first of May, held near fires lighted for the occasion

Come, drink remembrance of the dead, And raise thy cup with firmer hand.'

The crimson glow of Allan's face Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue: The drops of death each other chase Adown in agonizing dew.

Thrice did he raise the goblet high, And thrice his lips refused to taste; For thrice he caught the stranger's eye On his with deadly fury placed.

And is it thus a brother hails

A brother's fond remembrance here; If thus affection's strength prevails, What might we not expect from fear?

Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl, 'Would Oscar now could share our mirth !' Internal fear appall'd his soul;

He said, and dash'd the cup to earth.

''Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!'

Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form; 'A murderer's voice l' the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm.

The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink,

The stranger's gone-amidst the crew A form was seen in tartan green,

And tall the shade terrific grew,

His waist was bound with a broad belt round,
His plume of sable stream'd on high;

But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there,
And fixed was the glare of his glassy eye.

And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild,
On Angus bending low the knee;

And thrice he frown'd on a chief on the ground,
Whom shivering crowds with horror see.

The bolts loud roll from pole to pole,
The thunders through the welkin ring;

And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm,
Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing.

Cold was the feast, the revel ceased.

Who lies upon the stony floor? Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast,

At length his life-pulse throbs once more.

Away! away! let the leech essay
To pour the light on Allan's eyes :'
His sand is done-his race is run;
O never more shall Allan rise !

But Oscar's breast is cold as clay,
His locks are lifted by the gale:
And Allan's barbed arrow lay

With him in dark Glentanar's vale.

And whence the dreadful stranger came,
Or who, no mortal wight can tell;
But no one doubts the form of fame,
For Alva's sons knew Oscar well.

Ambition nerved young Allan's hand,

Exulting demons wing'd his dart; While Envy waved her burning brand, And pour'd her venom round his heart. Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow; Whose streaming life-blood stains his side? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low,

The dart has drunk his vital tide.

And Mora's eye could Allan move,
She bade his wounded pride rebel;
Alas! that eyes which beam'd with love
Should urge the soul to deeds of hell.

Lo! seest thou not a lonely tomb

Which rises o'er a warrior dead? It glimmers through the twilight gloom: Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.

Far, distant far, the noble grave

Which held his clan's great ashes stood; And o'er his corse no banners wave,

For they were stain'd with kindred blood.

What minstrel grey, what hoary bard,
Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise?
The song is glory's chief reward,

But who can strike a murderer's praise?

Unstrung, untouch'd the harp must stand,
No minstrel dare the theme awake;
Guilt would benumb his palsied hand,

His harp in shuddering chords would break.

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse,
Shall sound his glories high in air:

A dying father's bitter curse,

A brother's death-groan echoes there.

17

THE EPISODE OF NISUS AND EURYALUS.

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE NEID, LIB. IX.
NISUS, the guardian of the portal, stood,
Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood;
Well skill'd in fight the quivering lance to wield,
Or pour his arrows through th' embattled field:
From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave,
And sought a foreign home, a distant grave.
To watch the movements of the Daunian host,
With him Euryalus sustains the post;

No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy,
And beardless bloom yet graced the gallant boy;
Though few the seasons of his youthful life,
As yet a novice in the martial strife,
'Twas his, with beauty, valour's gifts to share-
A soul heroic, as his form was fair:
These burn with one pure flame of generous love;
In peace, in war, united still they move;
Friendship and glory form their joint reward;
And now combined they hold their nightly guard.

'What god, exclaim'd the first, 'instils this fire! Or, in itself a god, what great desire?

My labouring soul, with anxious thought oppress'd,

Abhors this station of inglorious rest;
The love of fame with this can ill accord,
Be't mine to seek for glory with my sword.
Seest thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim,
Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb?
Where confidence and ease the watch disdain,
And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign?
Then hear my thought: In deep and sullen grief
Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief:
Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine
(The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine),
Were this decreed, beneath yon rising mound,
Methinks, an easy path perchance were found:
Which pass'd, I speed my way to Pallas' walls,
And lead Æneas from Evander's halls.'

With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy,
His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy;
'These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone?
Must all the fame, the peril, be thine own?
Am I by thee despised, and left afar,
As one unfit to share the toils of war?
Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught;
Not thus my sire in Argive combats fought;
Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate,
I track'd Æneas through the walks of fate:
Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of fear,
And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear.
Here is a soul with hope immortal burns,
And life, ignoble life, for glory spurns.
Fame, fame is cheaply earn'd by fleeting breath:
The price of honour is the sleep of death.'

Then Nisus: Calm thy bosom's fond alarms,
Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms.
More dear thy worth and valour than my own,
I swear by him who fills Olympus' throne!
So may I triumph, as I speak the truth,
And clasp again the comrade of my youth!
But should I fall-and he who dares advance
Through hostile legions must abide by chance-
If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow,
Should lay the friend who ever loved thee low,
Live thou, such beauties I would fain preserve,
Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve.
When humbled in the dust, let some one be
Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me;
Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force,
Or wealth redeem from foes my captive corse;
Or, if my destiny these last deny,

If in the spoiler's power my ashes lie,
Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb,
To mark thy love, and signalise my doom.
Why should thy doting wretched mother weep
Her only boy, reclined in endless sleep?
Who for thy sake the tempest's fury dared,
Who for thy sake war's deadly peril shared;
Who braved what woman never braved before,
And left her native for the Latian shore.'

'In vain you damp the ardour of my soul,'
Replied Euryalus: 'it scorns control!
Hence, let us haste !'-their brother guards arose,
Roused by their call, nor court again repose;
The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing,
Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king.

Now o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran, And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man: Save where the Dardan leaders nightly hold Alternate converse, and their plans unfold. On one great point the council are agreed, An instant message to their prince decreed; Each lean'd upon the lance he well could wield, And poised with easy arm his ancient shield; When Nisus and his friend their leave request To offer something to their high behest. With anxious tremors, yet unawed by fear, The faithful pair before the throne appear: Iulus greets them; at his kind command, The elder first addressed the hoary band.

'With patience' (thus Hyrtacides began) 'Attend, nor judge from youth our humble plan. Where yonder beacons half expiring beam, Our slumbering foes of future conquests dream, Nor heed that we a secret path have traced, Between the ocean and the portal placed. Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke, Whose shade securely our design will cloak, If you, ye chiefs, and fortune will allow, We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's brow, Where Pallas' walls at distance meet the sight, Seen o'er the glade, when not obscured by night: Then shall Æneas in his pride return, When hostile matrons raise their offspring's urn; And Latian spoils and purpled heaps of dead Shall mark the havoc of our hero's tread. Such is our purpose, not unknown the way; Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray, Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream, The distant spires above the valleys gleam.'

Mature in years, for sober wisdom famed,
Moved by the speech, Alethes here exclaim'd:
'Ye parent gods! who rule the fate of Troy,
Still dwells the Dardan spirit in the boy;
When minds like these in striplings thus ye raise,
Yours is the godlike act, be yours the praise;
In gallant youth, my fainting hopes revive,
And Ilion's wonted glories still survive.'
Then in his warm embrace the boys he press'd,
And quivering, strain'd them to his aged breast;
With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd,
And, sobbing, thus his first discourse renew'd:
What gift, my countrymen, what martial prize.
Can we bestow, which you may not despise ?
Our deities the first best boon have given-
Internal virtues are the gift of heaven.
What poor rewards can bless your deeds on earth,
Doubtless await such young, exalted worth,
Eneas and Ascanius shall combine
To yield applause far, far surpassing mine.'

Iulus then: By all the powers above!
By those Penates who my country love!
By hoary Vesta's sacred fane, I swear,
My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair!
Restore my father to my grateful sight,
And all my sorrows yield to one delight.

Nisus! two silver goblets are thine own,
Saved from Arisba's stately domes o'erthown!

My sire secured them on that fatal day,
Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey:
Two massy tripods, also, shall be thine,
Two talents polish'd from the glittering mine;
An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave,
While yet our vessels press'd the Punic wave:
But when the hostile chiefs at length bow down,
When great Æneas wears Hesperia's crown,
The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed
Which Turnus guides with more than mortal speed,
Are thine; no envious lot shall then be cast,
I pledge my word, irrevocably past:

Nay more, twelve slaves, and twice six captive dames,
To soothe thy softer hours with amorous flames,
And all the realms which now the Latins sway
The labours of to-night shall well repay.

But thou, my generous youth, whose tender years
Are near my own, whose worth my heart reveres,
Henceforth affection, sweetly thus begun,
Shall join our bosoms and our souls in one;
Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine;
Without thy dear advice, no great design;
Alike through life esteem'd, thou godlike boy,
In war my bulwark, and in peace my joy.'

To him Euryalus: 'No day shall shame
The rising glories which from this I claim.
Fortune may favour, or the skies may frown,
But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown.
Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart,
One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart:
My mother, sprung from Priam's royal line,
Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine,
Nor Troy, nor king Acestes' realms restrain
Her feeble age from dangers of the main;
Alone she came, all selfish fears above,
A bright example of maternal love.
Unknown the secret enterprise I brave,
Lest grief should bend my parent to the grave;
From this alone no fond adieus I seek,
No fainting mother's lips have press'd my cheek;
By gloomy night and thy right hand I vow
Her parting tears would shake my purpose now:
Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain,
In thee her much-loved child may live again;
Her dying hours with pious conduct bless,
Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress:
So dear a hope must all my soul inflame,

To rise in glory, or to fall in fame.'
Struck with a filial care so deeply felt,
In tears at once the Trojan warriors melt:

Faster than all, Iulus' eyes o'erflow;

Such love was his, and such had been his woe.
'All thou hast asked, receive,' the prince replied;
'Nor this alone, but many a gift beside.
To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim,
Creusa's style but wanting to the dame.*
Fortune an adverse, wayward course may run,
But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son.
Now, by my life !--my sire's most sacred oath
To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth,

All the rewards which once to thee were vow'd,
If thou shouldst fall, on her shall be bestow'd.'
Thus spoke the weeping prince, then forth to view
A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew ;
Lycaon's utmost skill had graced the steel,
For friends to envy and for foes to feel:
A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil,
Slain midst the forest, in the hunter's toil,
Mnestheus to guard the elder youth bestows,
And old Alethes' casque defends his brows.
Arm'd, thence they go, while all th' assembled train,
To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain.
More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace,
Iulus holds amidst the chiefs his place:
His prayer he sends; but what can prayers avail,
Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale!"

The trench is pass'd, and, favour'd by the night,
Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary flight.
When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er?
Alas! some slumber who shall wake no more!
Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms, are seen;
And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between;
Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine;
A mingled chaos this of war and wine.
Now,' cries the first, for deeds of blood prepare,
With me the conquest and the labour share:
Here lies our path; lest any hand arise,
Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain dies;
I'll carve our passage through the heedless foe,
And clear thy road with many a deadly blow.'
His whispering accents then the youth repress'd,
And pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting
breast:

Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed;
Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed:
To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince,
His omens more than augur's 'skill evince;
But he, who thus foretold the fate of all,
Could not avert his own untimely fall.
Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell,
And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell;
The charioteer along his courser's sides
Expires, the steel his sever'd neck divides:
And, last, his lord is number'd with the dead:
Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head;
From the swoll'n veins the blackening torrents pour :
Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting gore.
Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire,
And gay Serranus, filled with youthful fire;
Half the long night in childish games was pass'd;
Lull'd by the potent grape, he slept at last;
Ah! happier far had he the morn survey'd,
And till Aurora's dawn his skill display'd.

In slaughter'd fold, the keepers lost in sleep,
His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep;
Mid the sad flock, at dead of night he prowls,
With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls:
Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams;
In seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams.

Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came,
But falls on feeble crowds without a name;

The mother of Iulus, lost on the night when Troy His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel, was taken,

Yet wakeful Rhesus sees the threatening steel;

His coward breast behind a jar he hides,
And vainly in the weak defence confides;
Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins,
The reeking weapon bears alternate stains;
Through wine and blood, commingling as they flow,
One feeble spirit seeks the shades below.
Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their way,
Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray;
There, unconfined, behold each grazing steed,
Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed:
Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm,
Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm:
'Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is pass'd;
Full foes enough to-night have breathed their last :
Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn;
Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn.'

What silver arms, with various art emboss'd,
What bowls and mantles in confusion toss'd,
They leave regardless! yet one glittering prize
Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes;
The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt,
The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt
This from the pallid corse was quickly torn,
Once by a line of former chieftains worn.
Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears,
Messapus' helm his head in triumph bears;
Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend,
To seek the vale where safer paths extend.

Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse To Turnus' camp pursue their destined course: While the slow foot their tardy march delay, The knights, impatient, spur along the way: Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led, To Turnus with their master's promise sped; Now they approach the trench, and view the walls, When, on the left, a light reflection falls; The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night, Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright. Volscens with question loud the pair alarms: 'Stand, stragglers! stand! why early thus in arms? From whence? to whom?-He meets with no reply Trusting the covert of the night, they fly: The thicket's depth with hurried pace they tread, While round the wood the hostile squadron spread.

With brakes entangled, scarce a path between, Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene: Euryalus his heavy spoils impede,

The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead;
But Nisus scours along the forest's maze
To where Latinus' steeds in safety graze,
Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend,
On every side they seek his absent friend.

O God! my boy,' he cries, of me bereft,
In what impending perils art thou left!'
Listening he runs-above the waving trees,
Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze;
The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around
Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground.
Again he turns, of footsteps hears the noise
The sound elates, the sight his hope destroys:
The hapless boy a ruffian train surround,
While lengthening shades his weary way confound;

Him with loud shouts the furious knights pursue,
Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew.
What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare?
Ah! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share?
What force, what aid, what stratagem essay,
Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey?
His life a votive ransom nobly give,
Or die with him for whom he wish'd to live?
Poising with strength his lifted lance on high,
On Luna's orb he cast his frenzied eye :-
'Goddess serene, transcending every star!
Queen of the sky, whose beams are seen afar!
By night heaven owns thy sway, by day the grove,
When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove
If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace
Thine altars with the produce of the chase,
Speed, speed my dart to pierce yon vaunting crowd,
To free my friend, and scatter far the proud.'
Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung;
Through parted shades the hurtling weapon sung;
The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay,
Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay :
He sobs, he dies,-the troop in wild amaze,
Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze.
While pale they stare, through Tagus' temples riven,
A second shaft with equal force is driven :
Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes;
Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies.
Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall,
Thou youth accurst, thy life shall pay for all!'
Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive he drew,
And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew.
Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals,
Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals;
Aghast, confused, his fears to madness rise,
And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies:
'Me, me,-your vengeance hurl on me alone;
Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own.
Ye starry spheres! thou conscious Heaven! attest!
He could not-durst not-lo! the guile confest!
All, all was mine,-his early fate suspend;
He only loved too well his hapless friend :
Spare, spare, ye chiefs! from him your rage remove;
His fault was friendship, all his crime was love.'
He pray'd in vain; the dark assassin's sword
Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored;
Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad crest,
And sanguine torrents mantle o'er his breast:
As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air,
Languid in death, expires beneath the share;
Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower,
Declining gently, falls a fading flower;
Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head,
And lingering beauty hovers round the dead.

But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide,
Revenge his leader, and despair his guide:
Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering host,
Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost;
Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe;
Rage nerves his arm, fate gleams in every blow;
In vain beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds,
Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds;
In viewless circles wheel'd, his falchion flies,
Nor quits the hero's grasp till Volscens dies;

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