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Seiks who chose to abandon their previous belief. | The eating of flesh, except that of kine, was no longer forbidden, and hence pork, which is an abomination to the Mohamedans, is freely consumed by the Seiks. Govind wrote another Granth, which does not exclusively relate to religious subjects, for there are in it many narrations of its author's warlike achievements, and he traces the descent of his own tribe and the progress of his own life.

The religion founded by Nanac professed to combine the leading axioms and excellent points both of the institutes of Hindooism, and the laws of Mohamed. Yet we may perceive even in the beginning, that its leaning was towards the ancient faith of Hindostan, and the corruptions that in progress of time crept in were strongly tinged by the superstitions which surrounded the antique gods. Thus the cow, which is an object of reverence wherever the religion of Brahma and his fellow deities prevails, is worshipped by the Seiks. The great body of Hindoo mythological fiction is adopted, the efficacy of penance is insisted on, the holy books of Brahminism are consulted, the great festivals of the Hindoos observed, and their sacred shrines attended. This sympathy with the Hindoos was partly the cause, and partly the effect, of the persecutions the Seiks had to endure from the Mohamedans, persecutions which, in the end, rendered necessary some kind of defensive organization. The result of Govind's rule was to convert the whole body of his followers into a tribe of armed warriors. The struggles they made for mere existence tested their strength, and showed the weakness of their adversaries, so that, after a time, they found themselves in a position to take possession of the Punjaub country. But to give a clear explanation of the history of the Seiks, it will be necessary to go back a little, and state the circumstances of the surrounding countries.

The Mogul empire, founded by Baber, attained to the zenith of its prosperity under Aurungzebe. At that monarch's death, which took place in 1707, a series of princes sat in the musnud who were incapable of withstanding attacks from without, or of resisting treason within the limits of their vast dominions. In the short space of thirteen years after Aurungzebe had been gathered to his fathers, four different kings ruled northern Hindostan, and then Mohamed Shah was proclaimed supreme head. He was a pusillanimous monarch, given up to sensual pleasures, and destitute of any skill in the art of governing. Ever ready to purchase peace, he found that the money expended in this base purpose drained his coffers, without ensuring the quiet he sought. One-fourth of his revenues had been alienated in this way when Nadir Shah made his appearance, and inflicted a blow from which the empire never recovered. Nadir was a soldier of fortune, who had raised himself from a subordinate situation to the throne of Persia. His father was the chief of the tribe of the Giljees, seated in that part of Afghanistan which is close adjoining upon the Punjaub. Afghanistan at that period belonged to Persia. After having given incontestable proofs of his valour, his services were engaged by the Persian monarch, and, when the Afghan tribes arose in rebellion and audaciously entered the Shah's kingdom, he was employed against them and expelled them with great slaughter. Troubles in other quarters threatened

the very being of the Persian kingdom, which the Shah, an effeminate person, was unable to ward off, and had not Nadir given his whole strength to its support, the throne would have tottered into the dust. Nadir had the policy to conceal his ambitious views for a time, but a convenient opportunity occurring, he procured himself to be elected king. This event did not stop him from indulging his bent for war, and, immediately after his coronation, he marched against the rebellious Afghans, whom he reduced to obedience. Whilst still in Afghanistan, reports of the weakness and the wealth of the Delhi monarch reached him, nor was he long before he found a pretence for indulging his love of conquest by an attack upon the country south of the Indus. Some Afghans had fled for protection into the Mogul empire, and Nadir demanded that they should be given up to him. No attention was paid by the proud Mogul to the demand, and Nadir at once determined to march his troops into his country. A battle was fought, in which the Indian troops were irretrievably routed, and Mahomed Shah voluntarily threw himself upon the mercy of the conqueror. They proceeded together to Delhi, Nadir ostensibly as the guest of Mahomed; and the sums claimed by the Persians were only under the name of indemnification for the expenses of the war. The inhabitants of Delhi were in the depths of despair at the enormous amount of the levies, and a false report of Nadir's death having been circulated, they rose in arms and attacked the Persian soldiers. No explanation would satisfy Nadir; he saw at a glance his precarious situation, and in order to strike such a terror as would paralyze them for the future, he ordered a general massacre, in which, though it continued only from sunrise till noon, an immense number of persons was slaughtered. The plunder that Nadir extorted was enormous, and when he returned to Persia it is calculated that he carried with him somewhere between thirty and seventy millions sterling. Nadir afterwards exhibited such cruelty in his own kingdom, that madness alone can account for his conduct, and his death became a matter of absolute necessity. Ahmed Khan, one of Nadir's officers, and chief of an Afghan tribe, took advantage of the crisis to found the kingdom of Afghanistan, by making himself master of Kandahar, and assuming the title of king. Like Nadir, Ahmed perceived that the best method of keeping his title unquestioned, was to employ his people in predatory wars, and his first impulse was to march upon Delhi; for the recollection of the impotence of the Mogul had not faded from his memory, since he had visited that capital in the train of the late Shah. He was, however, so vigorously opposed by the viceroy of the Punjaub, that he determined upon a retreat, reserving the full force of his attack for a more convenient season. Ahmed's next invasion (1751) was attended with greater success. The viceroy sustained a defeat near his capital, and tendered his submission. Ahmed continued his government, however, but it was as his own viceroy. During the troubles that besieged the unfortunate Punjaub, the Seiks had rendered themselves a formidable body; and although measures were taken to suppress them, they increased in numbers and strength. Ahmed had no longer much to fear from the Mogul emperor, but the Mahrattas now made their appearance, and the viceroy fled at their approach.

Ahmed took the field in person, and the great battle of Paniput was fought in 1761, in which the new invaders were utterly routed. After this "wild Mahratta battle," the Seiks securing themselves in several strongholds began to make head against the Afghans, and although they were repeatedly punished, they succeeded at last in establishing themselves masters of the Punjaub.

A

The relation of the Seiks to each other seems, at this time, to be as nearly that of the feudal warriors of Europe as we can well conceive. The chiefs were numerous, and they acknowledged no supreme head, but were linked together for mutual benefit. chain of mutual dependence bound together the subordinate officers with those above them, and the ties of kinship and clanship had as much to do in keeping the bodies united, as the hopes of reward. In fact, the members of the Seik association considered themselves partners in their enterprises, but it was necessary, to ensure success, that some should lead and some should follow. The chiefs, of whom there were twelve, took the name of Misuls, and of these Chooroot Singh was amongst the most powerful. Of course, in such a state of society, there were many temptations and opportunities for an enterprising warrior to distinguish himself. It is true that a sort of council was constituted called Gooroo Matta, by which a federative form was nominally given to the Seik commonwealth, but intrigues prevailed to such an extent amongst the Misuls, that it was virtually inoperative. Maha Singh, Chooroot's son, was of a bold, energetic disposition, and the bravery he exhibited on divers occasions attached several independent Sirdars to him, and ingratiated him so much with the people that none of his fellow chiefs could rival his influence. Having thus obtained the ascendency, he was wise enough to use his power for the good of his country; and it is said that a period of repose and tranquillity was the consequence, to which the Punjaub had long been a stranger. Maha Singh died at the age of twentyseven, and his only son, Runjeet, was but twelve years old when his father's early death took place. At that age it was not to be expected that he would have either capacity in himself, or the permission of his elders, to undertake the management of affairs; but when he arrived at the termination of his sixteenth year, he dissolved the body that had governed during his minority, and assumed his father's seat. In the meantime Shah Zemaun, who was then chief of the Affghanistan country, had crossed the Indus, and invaded the Punjaub. He repeated his attack soon after Runjeet had taken upon himself the conduct of affairs, but, as he found he could not permanently occupy the country, he retreated once more. Runjeet rendered the Shah some services, and he solicited, in return, a grant of Lahore, which he readily obtained. From the time of his taking possession of that city, Runjeet may be considered as having founded the kingdom, to which he was continually adding for some years. We reserve, however, an account of his proceedings for another paper.

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF SCHILLER.
(Continued from page 21.)

HISTORY, next to poetry, was Schiller's favourite employment; and he now occupied himself in an eminently congenial work, and that on which his reputation, as a prose writer, is chiefly founded;-The History of the Thirty Years' War. This work appeared in Göschen's Historical Almanack. This passage of history, from its poetical character, had always a peculiar charm for Schiller; and various were his poetical projects in connexion with it. They resulted at length in the noblest productions of his pen, the two tragedies on the subject of Wallenstein. It is remarkable that, during this latter task, he had much less confidence in his poetic powers, criticized his former writings with severity, and acknowThe ledged that he had become a new man in poetry. truth was, his taste had grown severer, and his judgment riper, and his mind had been disciplined by the study of the ancients; in particular of Aristotle, whom he had found to differ far from the French theories ascribed to him. Schiller's genius was never more vigorous or brilliant, but it was now under guidance and command. The "Wallenstein" occupied seven years. During this period, the French Revolution was approaching its bloody crisis. Schiller gave the most unquestionable proof of his hostility to its barbarous principles by projecting an address to the French people in favour of their monarch, monarchy, order, and religion; a project which was not executed only because he could meet with no person who would undertake to translate his intended work into French. In 1793, the poet revisited the scenes and companions of his youth, having previously ascertained that the Duke of Württemburg would not interfere with his residence at Stuttgart. His meeting with his parents was productive of great joy and thankfulness to all parties.

On his return to Jena, Schiller conceived a new literary project. He had formed an intimacy with William von Humboldt, (brother of the celebrated traveller,) who was then at Jena, and in concert with him, and his more distinguished friend Goethe, he started a periodical called "Die Horen," to which the most eminent literary men of Germany contributed. This was a fertile period with our poet, who contributed largely to this work, and to "The Almanack of the Muses," while he continued to labour energetically at "Wallenstein." This period also produced the "Xenien," a collection of varied epigrams, which have widely influenced the literature of Germany; and the ballads, which are some of the most attractive of Schiller's writings, were the result of a friendly rivalry with Goethe about this time. "Wallenstein" saw the light in 1797. Two portions of this magnificent work are well known to English readers, in the no less magnificent translation of Coleridge. It consists of three parts; the Coleridge has not rendered, as it adds nothing to the drafirst called" Wallenstein's Camp," introductory, which matic interest. It is not, however, without its uses; as depicting the licence and turbulence of Wallenstein's soldiery, and inspiring the reader with a high idea of restrained so many thousands of lawless and discordant the commanding intellect and military tact which spirits, not only in subordination, but attachment. It has, moreover, somewhat the same relation to the following parts that the Satyric Drama had to Tragedy among tituled "The Piccolomini," and the Greeks. The other divisions of the poem are in"The Death of Wallenstein." The towering ambition, and all-mastering genius of the hero-the cold steady loyalty of Octavio Piccolomini, which all that genius is powerless to touchthe high, confiding, devoted spirit of his son, who will

not abandon Wallenstein till his treason is palpable, | familiarize the modern stage with the chorus. and then hesitates not to sacrifice all for his sovereignthe gentle beauty and devotedness of Thekla-these are pictures which have never been surpassed.

About this time, Schiller changed his winter abode to Weimar, in order that, in conjunction with his friend Goethe, he might direct the theatre there, according to | the taste and opinions of both. At Jena he bought a garden, in the midst of which he built a small house, to which he betook himself in the summer, to have leisure and opportunity for composition. But he afterwards settled entirely at Weimar. The reigning duke continued and increased the pension bestowed by the Danish prince, though Schiller's literary successes placed him beyond the need of it.

Wallenstein was followed in rapid succession by his other plays. "Mary Stuart " appeared in 1800; "The Maid of Orleans" in 1801; "The Bride of Messina" in 1803; "William Tell" in 1804. During this period he translated Shakspeare's " Macbeth," Gozzi's "Turandot," and Racine's "Phædra," beside some other pieces. While occupied in the tragedy of "Demetrius," a severe return of his complaint ended his life on the 9th of May, 1805. His death exemplified tranquillity and hope. He was, as has been above observed, a different man after the first accession of his illness; and the teaching he had received from his first affliction was yet further improved by others. In the last ten years of his life he lost his sister, father, and mother; the two former in the same year (1796.) "He felt both losses acutely," says Sir Bulwer Lytton; "the last perhaps the most; but in his letters it pleases us to see the philosopher return to the old childlike faith in God, the reliance on divine goodness for support in grief, the trust in divine mercy for the life to come. For it has been remarked with justice, that, while Schiller's reason is often troubled in regard to the fundamental truths of religion, his heart is always clear. The moment death strikes upon his affections, the phraseology of the schools vanishes from his lips-its cavils and scruples from his mind; and he comforts himself and his fellow mourners with the simple lessons of gospel resignation and gospel hope." It is singular that the writer of this passage failed to perceive that the philosophy which Schiller found powerless to console affliction, could scarcely have been that which aided him so effectually in the trying season of incipient disease.

A few words on some of his latest dramas must conclude this memoir. While we cannot concur in the censure which Sir Bulwer Lytton passes on the "Mary Stuart," there can, we think, be no question of its inferiority to "The Maid of Orleans." "Mary Stuart " is a beautiful creature of imagination; for such we must call her, notwithstanding her historical name; as, without entering on the much litigated question of Mary's real conduct under several suspicious circumstances, the poetical Mary is certainly much more that childlike ideal perfection which Schiller loved to contemplate, than the nursling of courts and the directress and intimate of statesmen. Nor, indeed, is the character strictly self-consistent; for it embraces, in some degree, the latter view. "Joanna" is still further removed from the Joan of history, than Mary from her historical prototype; but she is altogether a character of a higher order, and appears to have been drawn with higher views, to exemplify and teach exalted truth. It is difficult to conceive that Schiller's mind, while occupied with this poem, was not deeply influenced by spiritual religion; that he did not feel what he evidently so well understood. Besides, it was his avowed intention, not without a lingering of his early predilections, to make the stage a kind of pulpit, and inculcate from it a Christian morality. And the "Maid of Orleans" has done even more. The blessing of obedience, the evil of the smallest sin, the necessity and blessedness of contrition, are there depicted in the liveliest colours. "The Bride of Messina" is an attempt to

Its

plot is simple, but unpleasing. The lyrical portions are of consummate beauty. "William Tell" is the impersonation of civil liberty, as "Joanna" is of spiritual religion. He is of a very different order from Charles Moorin "The Robbers;" and, indeed, but for the assassination of the tyrant, he might stand as a noble representative of the abstraction. The catastrophe was historical, yet we know that Schiller did not consider his fictions necessarily to be limited by history. But, as Sir Bulwer Lytton truly remarks, "throughout the whole breathes the condemnation of the French anarchy."

In a sketch of this kind we have necessarily left unnoticed great numbers of pieces, both in prose and verse, the productions of Schiller's fertile pen. Of the general character of his works we would say with Sir Bulwer Lytton, "The whole scope and tendency of his writings, taken one with the other, are eminently christian. No German writer, no writer not simply theological, has done more to increase, to widen, and to sanctify, the reverential disposition that inclines to Faith." This is saying much for one educated in the imperfect system of German Protestantism, and exposed to metaphysical temptation in no ordinary degree. We conclude this article with a few extracts from Schiller's dramatic productions.

BOYISH FRIENDSHIP.

DON CARLOS, Act 1. Scene 2.
(Translation of Charles Herbert Cottrell, Esq.)
CARLOS.

AH! let me weep, and on thy bosom shed

A flood of burning tears, my only friend.

I

possess none-none-none on this wide earth.
In the broad realms my father's sceptre sways,
The expanse of waters where our flag's unfurled,
There is no place--none else--where I could dare
By tears to lighten my o'erburdened soul.
I charge thee, Roderick, by all that thou
And I hereafter hope in heaven above,
Dispel me not from this beloved spot!

[The Marquis bends over him in speechless emotion.]
Persuade thyself I am an orphan child,
Whom thy compassion raised up by the throne.
Truly I know not what a father means-

I am a king's son.-O should it occur,

What my heart whispers, should'st thou be alone
'Mong millions found to understand my state;
Should it be true, that Nature's parent hand
In Carlos re-created Roderick,

And in the morning of our life awoke
The sympathetic chord which joins our souls-
O! if the tear which mitigates my grief
Be dearer to thee than my father's smiles-

MARQUIS.

'Tis dearer far than all the world besides.
CARLOS.

So low I'm fallen, and so poor I'm grown,
That I must conjure up our childhood's years--
That I must sue thee to discharge the debts,
Forgotten long, in infancy contracted--
When thou and I, two wild boys as we were,
Grew up as brothers, my one sorrow was
To feel my talents thus eclipsed by thine;
Then I resolved to love thee without bounds,
Because I had not courage to be like thee.
Hereon began I to torment thee with
A thousand tender pledges of my love,
Which thy proud heart returned with chilling cold.
Oft stood I there-yet thou observed'st it not!
Hot, heavy tear-drops hanging on mine eye,
If thou ran'st by me, and with open arms
Press'd'st to thy bosom some inferior friends.
"Why only these?" I mournfully exclaimed:

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Do I not also dearly love thee too?"

Thou ceremoniously and coldly knelt'st;

"That," thou observed'st, "is due to the King's son."

MARQUIS.

O! cease, Prince, from these boyish recollections, Which make me still red with the blush of shame.

CARLOS.

This did I merit not from thee. Despise

Thou might'st, and deeply wound my heart, but ne'er
Estrange it from thee. Thrice the Prince repulsed,-
Thrice he came back to thee a suppliant,
Timplore thy love, and force his own on thee.
Chance brought about, what Carlos ne'er could do-
It happened in our games thy shuttlecock
Struck in the eye, my aunt, Bohemia's Queen-
She thought 'twas done intentionally, and,
Suffused in tears, complained unto the King.

All the young courtiers were straightway summoned
The culprit to denounce-The treacherous act
The Monarch swore most fearfully to punish,
Though 'twere his son who did it--I perceived
Thee trembling in the distance, and forthwith
Stepped out, and threw me at the Monarch's feet-
"I, I it was who did it," I exclaimed;
On thine own son thy vengeance wreak!

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In presence of the servants of the court,

Who all stood round compassionate, 'twas wreaked
Upon thy Carl, fully as on a slave.

I looked at thee and wept not; though the pang
Made my teeth chatter loudly, yet I wept not-
My royal blood gushed mercilessly out

At every stroke disgracefully; I looked

At thee, and wept not-thou cam'st up, and threw'st
Thyself loud sobbing at my feet-" Yes, yes,"
Thou cried'st; "my pride is overcome--I will
Repay the debt, when thou art king."

MARQUIS holds out his hand to him.]
And I

Will do so, Carl.-The vow I made as boy
I now renew as man. I will repay.
E'en now, perhaps, the hour is come.

MARY STUART'S IMPRISONMENT RELAXED.
MARY STUART. Act III. Scene I.

(Our own version, as we are not aware of another.) [A Park The foreground occupied with trees-An extensive prospect in the background-Mary runs forward in haste from behind the trees-Hannah Kennedy, (her nurse), follows at a distance.]

KENNEDY.

You hasten, e'en as though you were on wing!

I cannot follow!-O do wait for me!

MARY.

Let me enjoy my new freedom's pleasure!

I must be a child! O be thou one too!

I spurn the green turf without mode or measure!
Dip my wing'd step in the morning dew!
Am I in truth an enfranchised creature?

Are the black walls of my dungeon riven?
Leave me to drink in each thirsting feature,
Full and free, the sweet breeze of heaven!
KENNEDY.

O my dear lady! you are still imprison'd;
Only the prison bounds are not so narrow.
You only see not the surrounding walls

For the thick foliage of the trees that shroud them.

MARY.

Thanks, thanks again, to those dear friendly trees,
That veil my prison walls with verdant gleam;
Here will I dream of liberty and ease;
O why awake me from that happy dream?

Is not the broad expanse of heaven around?
My glance, delighted and unbound,
Roams forth into the far immensities:
There, where arise the misty mountains gray,

The frontiers stern of my dominion stand,

And those free clouds that southward sweep their way,
Are hasting to dear Gallia's distant strand.
Voyagers light of the joyous gale,

O on your pinions away to sail!
Greet with my blessing my childhood's land!
Stern captivity doom'd to rue,
Envoys none have I left but you;

Free through the air is your path serene;
Ye serve not the will of this moody queen.

KENNEDY.

Ah, my dear lady! you are rapt too far,
And long withholden freedom makes you rave!
MARY.

See where a fisher his shallop moors!
Scant is the pittance his labour gains!
Well would I guerdon his dearest pains,
Would he but waft me to friendly shores!
Gem and gold for his fee he should get,

A draught should he have he ne'er drew before;
Fortune and wealth he should find in his net,
Would he speed me but safe to some friendly shore.

KENNEDY,

O desperate hopes! what? see ye not that spies
Ev'n now at distance track our every step?

A dark and gloomy prohibition scares
Each pity-loving creature from our way.

MARY.

Nay, my good Hannah. Trust me, not for nought
My dungeon's door is open'd. This small grace

Is voucher of some greater bliss to come.
No-I mistake not! 'tis the active hand
Of ever-watchful love! I recognise

In all this scheme Lord Le'ster's mighty arm.
By soft degrees my bounds will be extended,
The less shall but familiarize the greater,
Until at length I gaze upon his presence
Who shall dissolve my bonds for evermore.

KENNEDY.

Alas! I cannot search this mystery.
But yesterday and you were doom'd to death,
And now to-day they grant this sudden freedom.
But I have heard it said, their chains are loos'd
For whom the everlasting freedom waits.

MARY.

Hear'st thou the hunter's horn resounding,
Mightily calling o'er wood and plain?
O on the spirited steed to be bounding,
Bounding along in the gladsome train !
Hark to that well-known note again!

Sadly sweet its memories are:
Oft have I joy'd when I heard of yore,
Over the highland and over the moor,"
Rushing in clamour, the chase afar.

JOANNA'S SOLILOQUY BEFORE PROCEEDING ON HER MISSION.

MAID OF ORLEANS, Induction. (Translation in Burns's Fireside Library.) FAREWELL, ye hills and ye beloved pastures; Ye still and sombre valleys, fare ye well! Joanna shall no more frequent your haunts; Joanna bids you now farewell for ever. Ye plants which I have watered oft, ye trees Which I have planted, burgeon blithesomely! Farewell, ye grottos, and ye cooling fountains; Thou Echo, clear soft voice of this calm glen, That oft gave answer to my maiden strain, Joanna goes, and ne'er returns again!

Scenes of my early quiet joys, farewell!
I leave you all behind me now for aye!
Rove forth, my lambs, upon the turfy fell,
Destined henceforth all shepherdless to stray!
Far other duties call me hence away;
Far other flock 'tis now my lot to lead
On the red field of peril and dismay:
No idle earthly yearnings prompt the deed ;

The Spirit bids me haste-He calls, and I must heed.

For He who erst on Horeb's hallowed side

To Moses blazed in fiery bush revealed,

And bade him face the Egyptian's ire and pride;
And called the pious David from the field,
For pastoral crook imperial glaive to wield;
He who was gracious aye to shepherds-He
To his high work my ministry hath sealed;
He called me from the branches of this tree,
And said, "Go forth on earth to testify for me:

In rugged arms thy graceful form enfold;
In griding steel thy tender breast attire:
No youth shall kindle in that bosom cold
Profane and idle flame of earth's desire.
Thy chainless locks shall feel no bridal tire;
No babe, reposing on thy bosom, trace
An infant image of a manly sire;

For thee have I of old decreed to grace

With martial power and fame above all female race.

And when in strife the boldest fall away,
When the last hour of France is hovering nigh,
Then shall thy hand my Oriflamme display,
And, swift as reaper shreds the harvest dry,
The haught oppressor shalt thou hurl from high,
Bid his proud star in mid ascendant cower,
Rescue thy land's heroic progeny,

And, 'neath fair Rheims' emancipated tower,

Set on the rightful brow the sovran crown of power."

A token Heaven hath shewn-I know it well!

He sends to me the casque! it comes from Him!
With might divine I feel my bosom swell!
The spirit of the flaming Cherubim

With force supernal nerves each feeble limb,

And, wild as tempest sweeps the midnight sky,

Forth urges to the iron conflict grim!

Hark! through me peals my country's battle-cry!
The trumpets' fierce acclaim! the mustering chivalry!

TELL'S SOLILOQUY BEFORE THE ASSASSINATION OF GESLER.

WILLIAM TELL, Act IV. Scene III.

(Translation in Burns's Fireside Library.)

[A hollow pass, near Küssnacht-The road leads down between the rocks; and, before they appear on the stage, travellers are seen on the heights. Rocks close in the scene on every side on one in the foreground is a projecting point, covered with low trees.]

TELL [with his crossbow.]
THROUGH this high gulley must he pass,
There is no other way to Küssnacht-Here
Will I commit the deed for which I came.
The place is suited to the act: the trees

Will shield me from the view, and there is space
Through which my messenger can seek its aim;
The narrow path will hinder followers.
Make up thy account with heaven, lord Governor!
Thou must go hence-thy last sands are run out.
Oh! I lived calm and harmless, and my prey
Was the wild deer that dwelt within our forests:
My thoughts were free from violence, until thou
Didst steal the gift of peace from out my heart,
And changed the milk of human thought and feeling
Into foul poison. To harsh thoughts, which ne'er
Till thou didst teach them me, my soul e'er knew,
Hast thou inured me. He who struck the aim
From the head of his own child, oh, shall he not
As surely strike to the life-blood of his foe?

My poor, my innocent children, my loved wife, Must I protect 'gainst thee, lord Governor. There, when I drew my bow, and my hand trembled, And thou with devilish joy compelledst me To aim at the head of my own child-when I, All powerless, sunk before thee, then I swore A fearful oath-breathed to the car of God, And not of man-that my next arrow's aim Should be thy heart. What in that hour I swore Of deadly agony, I will perform;

God will require it at my hands-to Him

I breathed

my

oath.

Thou art, my lord, placed here in my emperor's stead.
Yet never had the emperor allowed

Such deeds as thou hast done. He sent thee here
To deal out justice to the land.--Severe
Perchance he knew thou wert, for 'twas in wrath
He sent thee; but he did not bid thee slake
Thy murderous thirst of blood on harmless men.
But there is One who shall avenge our cause.

O come then forth, thou messenger of pain!
My dearest treasure now, my highest good!
The heart that did resist all pious prayers
Shall not have power to resist thy point!
And thou, my trusty bow-string, in good stead
Thou oft hast served till now in joyful sports,-
Forsake me not in this most fearful earnest;
Hold firm for one aim more, and wing aright,
As thou so oft hast done, my pointed barb;
For if it play me false, I have no other
To fill its destined part.

[Travellers pass over the stage.

Upon this stony bank will I sit down."
'Twas placed for the repose of travellers;
For here there is no dwelling; each one goes
With careless step, nor heeds the fellow-men
Who pass him by, nor thinks if they are well
Or ill, if joy or sorrow rest with them.
The careful merchant, pilgrims with few goods,
Few cares, the pious monk, the dark grim robber,
The merry player, and the carrier

Who comes from other lands with laden beasts,
From every region of the world do men
Pass by this road, to accomplish each his work:
Mine is a work of death!

[He sits down.

Oh! once, my children, there was joy for you,
When from the chase your father late returned!
For never came he to his home but brought
Something for you-either a flower he'd plucked
From off the Alps, or some rare bird, or Ammon's horn
Such as the travellers find upon the hills.

Far other deadlier object now he seeks :
On the wild way he sits with vengeful thoughts-
It is his enemy's life for which he waits--
And yet e'en now his thoughts are but of yon
His children. To guard you, and your gentle innocence
To shield against the tyrant's rage--he draws
His bow, such fearful murder to commit!

[He starts up.

It is a noble prey for which I wait.
The hunter oft beneath the coldest skies
Will leap from crag to crag thro' the whole day,
And climb the rugged precipice, oft stained
By the drops of his own blood, and weary not,
So he can strike his prey; but here

I have a far more noble prize-the heart

Of my dread foe, who seeks to ruin us.

[Joyful music is heard-gradually approaches in the distance.

From my first childhood have I been inured

To feats of archery; my bow has been
Constant companion of my life; to the goal

I oft have shot, and many a fair prize

Have I brought home from feasts where archers meet.
But the master-shot of all to-day I seek,
And carry the best prize that's to be won
Throughout the whole wide circle of the Alps.

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