The little nautilus, with purple pride
Expands his sails, and dances o'er the waves;
Small winged fishes on the shrouds alight;
And beauteous dolphins gently play'd around.
Tho' faster than the Tropic-bird they flew,
Oft JUNIO cried: Ah! when shall we see land!
Soon land they made and now in thought he clasp'd
His Indian bride, and deem'd his toils o'erpaid.
She, no less anxious, every evening walk'd
On the cool margin of the purple main,
Intent her JUNIO's vessel to descry.

One eve (faint calms for many a day had rag'd)
The winged dæmons of the tempest rose-
Thunder, and rain, and light'ning's awful power.
She fled; could innocence, could beauty claim
Exemption from the grave; th' ethereal bolt,
That stretch'd her speechless, o'er her lovely head
Had innocently roll❜d.

Meanwhile impatient JUNIO leap'd ashore,
Regardless of the dæmons of the storm.

Ah youth! what woes too great for man to bear,
Are ready to burst on thee! Urge not so
Thy flying courser. Soon THEANA's porch
Receiv'd him; at his sight the ancient slaves
Affrighted shriek, and to the chamber point;-
Confounded, yet unknowing what they meant,
He enter'd hasty-

Ah! what a sight 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 faltering

voice,

She thus address'd the youth, whom yet she knew: << Welcome, my JUNIO, to thy native shore! » Thy sight repays this summons of my fate; » Live, and live happy; sometimes think of me; By night, by day, you still engag'd my care; » And next to God, you now my thoughts employ » Accept of this-My little all I give;

» Would it were larger: -Nature could no more; She look'd, embrac'd him, with a groan expired.

But say, what strains, what language can ex

press

The thousand pangs, which tore the lover's breast!
Upon her breathless corse himself he threw,
And to her clay-cold lips, with trembling haste,
Ten thousand kisses gave. He strove to speak;
Nor words he found he claspt her in his arms;
He sigh'd, he swoon'd,
look'd up, and died away.
One grave contains this hapless faithful pair!
And still the Cane-isles tell their matchless love!
GRAINGER.

M、

CHA P. XVIII.

Douglas to lord Randolph.

y name is NORVAL: on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flock; a frugal swain,

Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike Lord:
And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon which rose last night, round as my
shield,

Had not yet filled her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled
For safety and for succour. I alone

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

The road he took, then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,

Till we overtook the spoil-encumber'd foe.
We fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd the chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd

The shepherds' slothful life ; and having heard

That our good king had summon'd his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps:-

Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers,
And, Heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.

CHA P. X I X.

Othello's Apology.

Most potent, grave, and reverend Seigniors,

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 speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years pith
Till now some nine moons wasted, 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 shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,

1

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic
(For such proceedings I am charg'd withal)
I won his daughter with.-

Her father lov'd me, oft invited me ;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From

year to year; the battles, sieges, 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 most disastrous chances
Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly

breach;

Of being taken by the insolent foe

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel's history:

Wherein of antres vast,

and deserts wild,

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

It was my bent to speak.-All these to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline.

But still the house affairs would draw her hence,
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
She swore in faith, 'twas strange, was passing

strange;

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: — she 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 spake;
She lov'd me for the dangers 1 had past;
And I lov'd her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd.

SHAKESPEARE.

BOOK I I I.

DIDACTIC PIECES.

CHA P. I.

On Modesty.

I KNOW no two words that have been more abused by the different and wrong interpretations which are put upon them, than these: two--Modesty and Assurance. To say such a one is a modest man, sometimes indeed passes for a good character; but at present is very often used to signify a sheepish, awkward fellow, who has neither good breeding, politeness, nor any knowledge of the world.

Again, a man of assurance, though at first: only denoting a person of free and open carriage, is now very usually applied to a profligate wretch, who can break through all the rules of decency and morality without a blush.

I shall endeavour, therefore, in this essay, to restore these words to their true meaning, to prevent the idea of Modesty from being confounded with that of Sheepishuess, and to hinder Impudence from passing for Assurance.

If I was put to define Modesty, I would call it, The reflection of an ingenuous mind, either when a man has committed an action for whichhe censures himself, or fancies that he is exposed to the censure of others.

For this reason a man truly modest is as much so when he is alone as in company, and as