Her love made all things lovely,
For in the heart must live
The feeling that imparts the charm-
We gain by what we give.
SHAKSPEARE-CHARLES SPRAGUE
Then Shakspeare rose!-
Across the trembling strings
His daring hand he flings,
And lo! a new creation glows!
There clustering round, submissive to his will,
Fate's vassal train his high commands fulfil.
Madness, with his frightful scream,
Vengeance, leaning on his lance,
Avarice, with his blade and beam,
Hatred, blasting with a glance,
Remorse, that weeps, and Rage, that roars,
And Jealousy, that dotes, but dooms, and murders, yet adores.
Mirth, his face with sunbeams lit,
Waking Laughter's merry swell,
Arm-in-arm with fresh-eyed Wit,
That waves his tingling lash, while Folly shakes his bell.
From the feudal tower pale Terror rushing,
Where the prophet bird's wail
Dies along the dull gale,
And the sleeping monarch's blood is gushing.
Despair, that haunts the gurgling stream,
Kissed by the virgin moon's cold beam,
Where some lost maid wild chaplets wreathes,
And swan-like there her own dirge breathes.
Then broken-hearted sinks to rest,
Beneath the bubbling wave that shrouds her maniac breast.
Young Love, with eye of tender gloom,
Now drooping o'er the hallowed tomb
Where his plighted victims lie,
Where they met, but met to die.
And now, when crimson buds are sleeping,
Through the dewy arbor peeping,
Where beauty's child, the frowning world forgot,
To youth's devoted tale is listening,
Rapture on her dark lash glistening,
While fairies leave their cowslip cells, and guard the happy spot.
Thus rise the phantom throng,
Obedient to their master's song,
And lead in willing chain the wondering soul along
For other worlds war's great one sighed in vain-
O'er other worlds see Shakspeare rove and reign!
The rapt magician of his own wild lay,
Earth and her tribes his mystic wand obey;
Old ocean trembles, thunder cracks the skies,
Air teems with shapes and tell-tale spectres rise:
Night's paltering hags their fearful orgies keep,
And faithless guilt unseals the lip of sleep:
Time yields his trophies up, and death restores
The mouldered victims of his voiceless shores.
The fireside legend, and the faded page,
The crime that cursed, the deed that blessed an age,
All, all come forth-the good to charm and cheer,
To scourge bold vice, and start the generous tear;
With pictured folly gazing fools to shame,
And guide young Glory's foot along the path of fame.
CORIOLANUS AND VOLUMNIA.-SHAKSPEARE.
The Tent of Coriolanus.
Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others.
Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow
Set down our host.-My partner in this action,
You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly
I have borne this business.
You have respected; stopp'd your ears against
The general suit of Rome; never admitted
A private whisper, no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of you.
Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Lov'd me above the measure of a father;
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge
Was to send him; for whose old love, I have
(Though I shew'd sourly to him,) once more offered
The first conditions, which they did refuse,
And cannot now accept, to grace him only,
That thought he could do more; a very little
I have yielded too: Fresh embassies and suits,
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter
Will I lend ear to. -Ha! what shout is this?
[Shout within.
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time 'tis made? I will not.-
Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants.
My wife comes foremost; then the honor'd mould
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection!
All bond and privilege of nature break!
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate.
What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes,
Which can make gods forsworn ?—I melt, and am not
Of stronger earth than others.-My mother bows;
As if Olympus to a molehill should
In supplication nod: and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries, Deny not.-Let the Volces
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy: I'll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand,
As if a man were author of himself,
And knew no other kin.
Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome
Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd,
I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,
For that, Forgive our Romans.-O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge;
Now by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since.-You gods! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knee, i' the earth; [Kneels.
Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than that of common sons.
Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,
I kneel before thee; and unproperly
Show duty, as mistaken all the while
Between the child and parent.
Your knees to me? to your corrected son?
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun;
Murd'ring impossibility to make
What cannot be, slight work.
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?
Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle,
That's urded by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria !
Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours,
Which by the interpretation of full time
May show like all yourself.
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st prove To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,
And saving those that eye thee !
Cor. That's my brave boy.
Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,
Or, if you'd ask, remember this before;
The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never
Be held by your denials. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanics:-Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnaturál: Desire not
To allay my rage and my revenges, with
Your colder reasons.
You have said, you will not grant us any thing.
For we have nothing else to ask, but that
Which you deny already: yet we will ask;
That, if you fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.
Cor. Aufidius, and you Volces, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome in private -Your request?
Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment,
And state of bodies would bewray what life
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself,
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comfort,
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sorrow;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out. And to poor we,
Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy: For how can we,
Alas! how can we for our country pray,
Whereto we are bound; together with thy victory,
Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win: for either thou
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles through our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin;
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
I purpose not to wait on fortune, till
These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts,
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy country, than to tread
(Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother,
Who brought thee to this world.
Vir. That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time.
He shall not tread on me;
I'll run away till I am bigger; but then I'll fight.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be,
Requires nor child's nor woman's face to see.
I have sat too long.
Nay, go not from us thus. If it were so that our request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Volces whom you serve, you might condemn us,
As poisonous of your honor: No; our suit,
Is, that you reconcile them: While the Volces
May say, This mercy we have show'd; the Romans,
This we received; and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry Be bless'd
For making up this peace! Thou know'st great son,
The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
Whose chronicle thus writ,-The man was noble,
But with his last attempt he wip'd it out;
Destroy'd his country; and his name remains
To the ensuing age, abhorr'd. Speak to me, son:
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor,
To imitate the graces of the gods;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air,
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?
Think'st thou it honorable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs ?-Daughter, speak you.
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy:
Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons.-There is no man in the world
More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate,
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy;
When she, (poor hen !) fond of no second brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
|