They sow for us these goodly lands, we reap them in our might,

Scorning all title but the brands that triumph in the fight!"

It was thus the land-winners of old gained their glory,

And grey stones voiced their praise in the bays of far isles.

"The rivers of yon island low glance redly in the sun, But ruddier still they're doomed to glow, and deeper shall they run;

The torrent of proud life shall swell each river to the

brim,

And in that spate of blood how well the headless corpse will swim!

The smoke of many a shepherd's cot curls from each peopled glen;

And, hark! the song of maidens mild, the shout of joyous men!

But one may hew the oaken tree, the other shape the

shroud;

As the LANDEYDA o'er the sea sweeps like a tempest cloud."

So shouteth fierce Harald-so echo the Northmen. As shoreward their ships like mad steeds are careering.

"Sigurdir's battle-flag is spread abroad to the blue sky, And spectral visions of the dead are trooping grimly

by;

The spirit-heralds rush before Harald's destroying

brand,

They hover o'er yon fated shore and death-devoted

band.

Marshal, stout Jarls, your battle fast! and fire each beacon height;

Our galleys anchor in the sound, our banner heaves in sight!

And through the surge and arrowy shower that rains on this broad shield,

Harald uplifts the sign of power which rules the battlefield!"

So cries the Death-doomed on the red strand of slaughter

While the helmets of heroes like anvils are ringing. On rolled the Northmen's war-above the Raven Standard flew ;

Nor tide nor tempest ever strove with vengeance half

so true.

'Tis Harald-'tis the Sire-bereaved-who goads the dread career,

And high amid the flashing storm the flag of Doom doth rear.

"On, on!" the tall Death-seeker cries, "these earthworms soil our heel,

Their spear-points crash like crisping ice on ribs of stubborn steel!"

Hurrah! hurrah! their whirlwinds sweep, and Harald's fate is sped;

Bear on the flag-he goes to sleep with the life-scorning dead.

Thus fell the young Harald, as of old fell his sires, And the bright hall of heroes bade hail to his spirit.

SCENE FROM THE IRON CHEST.

GEORGE COLMAN THE Younger.

[The play of "The Iron Chest," though now frequently revived, was condemned on its first production in 1796. It is founded on Godwin's novel of "Caleb Williams." Colman added "the younger" to his name when he published the drama, "lest my father's memory," he says, "may be injured by mistakes, and in the confusion of after-time the translator of Terence,' and the author of 'The Jealous Wife,' should be supposed guilty of 'The Iron Chest; I shall, were I to reach the patriarchal longevity of Methuselah, continue (in all my dramatic publications) to subscribe myself George Colman the younger."]

WILFORD.

CHARACTERS.

SIR EDWARD MORTIMER.

Sir E. Wilford, approach me.-What am I to say For aiming at your life?-Do you not scorn me, Despise me for it?

Wilf. Sir E.

I! Oh, Sir!

For I am singled from the herd of men,
A vile, heart-broken wretch!

Wilf.

You must;

Indeed, indeed, Sir,

You deeply wrong yourself. Your equal's love,
The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gratitude,
All follow you :-and I-I owe you all!

I am most bound to bless you.

Sir E.

Mark me, Wilford :-
I know the value of the orphan's tear,

The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected;
I feel, to merit these and obtain them,

Is to taste here below that thrilling cordial
Which the remunerating Angel draws
From the eternal fountain of delight,

To pour on blessèd souls that enter Heaven.
I feel this-I!-How must my nature, then,
Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand

In human blood!—and yet, it seems, this day
I sought your life.-Oh! I have suffered madness!
None know my tortures,-pangs!-But I can end them;
End them as far as appertains to thee.-

I have resolved it.-Fearful struggles tear me:

But I have pondered on't,—and I must trust thee.
Wilf. Your confidence shall not be

Sir E.

You must swear.

Wilf. Swear, Sir! - will nothing but an oath,

May all the ills that wait on frail humanity
Be doubled on your head, if you disclose
My fatal secret! May your body turn

Most lazar-like and loathsome; and your mind
More loathsome than your body! May those fiends,
Who strangle babes for very wantonness,

Shrink back, and shudder at your monstrous crimes,
And, shrinking, curse you! Palsies strike your youth!
And the sharp terrors of a guilty mind

Poison your aged days! while all your nights,
As on the earth you lay your houseless head,
Out-horror horror! May you quit the world
Abhorred, self-hated, hopeless for the next,
Your life a burden, and your death a fear!
Wilf. For mercy's sake, forbear! you terrify me!
Sir E. Hope this may fall upon thee:

thou hopest it,

By every attribute which heaven or earth
Can lend, to bind and strengthen conjuration,
If thou betrayest me.

Wilf.

Sir E.

Well, I (Hesitating.)

-swear

No retreating.

Wilf. (After a pause.) I swear, by all the ties that

bind a man,

Divine or human,

-never to divulge!

Sir E. Remember, you have sought this secret :—

Yes,

Extorted it. I have not thrust it on you.

"Tis big with danger to you; and to me,

Dearest sir!

While I prepare to speak, torment unutterable.
Know, Wilford, that O, torture!
Wilf.
Collect yourself, This shakes you horribly:
You had this trembling, it is scarce a week,
At Madam Helen's.

Sir E.
Wilf.

There it is- -Her uncle

Her uncle

Sir E. Him. She knows it not;-none know it— You are the first ordained to hear me say,

-his murderer!

I am

Wilf. Sir E.

O horror!

His assassin.

Wilf. What!

you

I am choked!

that-mur-the murderer

Sir E. Honour, thou blood-stained god! at whose
red altar

Sit war and homicide: O! to what madness
Will insult drive thy votaries. In truth,

In the world's range, there does not breathe a man
Whose brutal nature I more strove to soothe
With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy,
Than his who fell by me. But he disgraced me,
Stained me-Oh, death and shame !-the world looked

on,

And saw this sinewy savage strike me down,
Rain blows upon me, drag me to and fro,
On the base earth, like carrion. Desperation,
In every fibre of my brain, cried Vengeance!
I left the room which he had quitted. Chance,
(Curse on the chance!) while boiling with my wrongs,
Thrust me against him, darkling, in the street-

I stabbed him to the heart--and my oppressor
Rolled lifeless at my foot.

Wilf.

Oh! mercy on me! How could this deed be covered?

Sir E.

think it?

Would you
E'en at the moment when I gave the blow,
Butchered a fellow-creature in the dark,
I had all good men's love. But my disgrace,
And my opponent's death thus linked with it,
Demanded notice of the magistracy.

They summoned me, as friend would summon friend,

To acts of import and communication.

We met and 'twas resolved, to stifle rumour,

To put me on my trial. No accuser,

No evidence appeared, to urge it on――

'Twas meant to clear my fame.

-How clear it then?

How cover it? you say.-Why, by a lie—

Guilt's offspring, and its guard. I taught this breast, Which Truth once made her throne, to forge a lie, This tongue to utter it ;-rounded a tale,