X.

“True was the preface to thy gloomy tale;

Pity can soothe not — counsel not avail,”

Said Morvale, moodily. “What bliss foregone!

What years of rich life wasted! What a throne

In the arch-heaven abandon'd! And for what?

Darkness and gold!— the slave's most slavish lot!

Thy choice forsook the light — the day divine —

God's loving air — for bondage and the mine!

Oh! what delight to struggle side by side

With one loved soother!— up the steep to guide

Her steps — as clinging to thy hardier form,

She treads the thorn and smiles upon the storm!

And when firm will and gallant heart had won

The hill-top opening to the steadfast sun,

Look o'er the perils of the vanquish'd way,

And bless the toil through which the victory lay,

And murmur —‘ Which the sweeter fate, to dare

With thee the evil, or with thee to share

The good?’ Nay, haunting must thine error be;

Thee Camdeo gave the blest Amrita tree,

The ambrosia of the gods,— to scorn the prize,

And choose the Champac for its golden dyes:

Thou hast forsaken — ( thou must bear the grief ) —

The immortal fruitage for the withering leaf!”

“Nay,” answer'd Arden, writhing, “cease to chide;

Who taunts the ordeal should the fire have tried.

If Fortune's priests had train'd thy soul, like mine, }

To worship Fortune's as the holiest shrine, }

Perchance my error, cynic, had been thine!” }

“Pardon,” said Morvale; “and my taunt to shame,

Know me thus weak,— I envy while I blame;

Thou hast been loved! And had I err'd like thee;

Mine had been crime, from which thy soul is free,

Thy gentler breast the traitor could forgive ——”

“Never!” cried Arden —

“Does the Traitor live?”

And as the ear that hissing whisper thrill'd,

That calm stern eye the very life-blood chill'd;

For there, the instinct Cain bequeath'd us spoke,

And from the chain the wild's fierce savage broke.

“O yes!” the fiery Alien thus renew'd;

“I know how holy life by law is view'd;

I know how all life's glory may be marr'd,

If safe the clay, which, as life's all, ye guard.

Law — Law! what is it but the word for gold?

Revenge is crime, if taken — Law if sold!

Vile tongues, vile scribes, may rot your name away,

But Law protects you,— with a fine to pay!

The child dishonour'd, the adulterous wife,

Gold requites all, save this base garment — life!

So, life alone is sacred!— so, your law

Hems the worm's carcass with a godhead's awe:

So, if some mighty wrong with black despair

Blots out your sun, and taints to plague the air;

If with a human impulse shrinks the soul

Back from the dross which compensates the whole;

If from the babbling court, the legal toil,

And the lash'd lackey's guerdon, ye recoil,

And seize your vengeance with your own right arm,

How every dastard quivers with alarm!

Mine be the heart, that can itself defend —

Hate to the foe, devotion to the friend!—

The fearless trust, and the relentless strife:

Honour unsold, and wrong avenged with life!”

He ceased, with trembling lip and haughty crest,

The native heathen labouring in the breast!

As waves some pine, with all its storm of boughs,

O'er the black gulf Norwegian winds arouse,

Shook that strong spirit, gloomy and sublime,

Bending with troubled thought above the abyss of crime!