He rais'd Anselmo up, and bade him live,
And bless, for both preserved, that holy name;
And pray'd the astonish'd foeman to forgive

The bloody purpose led by which he came.
Then to the neighbouring church he sped away,
His over-burden'd soul before his God to lay.

He ran with breathless speed,.. he reached the door, With rapid throbs his feverish pulses swell,..

He came to crave for pardon, to adore

For grace vouchsafed; before the cross he fell,. And rais'd his swimming eyes, and thought that there He saw the imaged Christ smile favouring on his prayer.

A blest illusion! from that very night

The monk's austerest life devout he led; And still he felt the enthusiast's deep delight, And seraph-visions floated round his head; The joys of heaven foretasted fill'd his soul, And still the good man's name adorns the sainted roll.

Monodramas.

XIMALPOCA.

SCENE-The Temple of Mexitli.

Subjects! friends! children! I may call you children
For I have ever borne a father's love

Towards you; it is thirteen years since first
You saw me in the robes of royalty,..

Since here the multitudes of Mexico

Hail'd me their King. I thank you friends that now, In equal numbers and with equal love,

You come to grace my death.

For thirteen years

What I have been, ye know that with all care,

:

That with all justice and all gentleness,

Seeking your weal, I govern'd. Is there one
Whom I have injured? one whose just redress
I have denied, or baffled by delay?

Let him come forth, that so no evil tongue

Speak shame of me hereafter. O my people,
Not by my sins have I drawn down upon me
The wrath of Heaven.

The wrath is heavy on me!
Heavy! a burthen more than I can bear!
I have endured contempt, insult and wrongs
From that Acolhuan tyrant! should I seek
Revenge? alas my people, we are few,..
Feeble our growing state! it hath not yet
Rooted itself to bear the hurricane ;
It is the lion-cub that tempts not yet
The tyger's full-aged fury. Mexicans,
He sent to bid me wear a woman's robe;..
When was the day that ever I look'd back
In battle? Mexicans, the wife I loved,
To faith and friendship trusted, in despite
Of me, of heaven, he seized, and spurned her back
Polluted!.. coward villain! and he lurks

Behind his armies and his multitudes
And mocks my idle wrath!... it is not fit
It is not possible that I should live!
Live! and deserve to be the finger-mark
Of slave-contempt! his blood I cannot reach,
But in my own all stains shall be effaced,