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Up from the ground he sprung, and gazed,
They hush'd their very hearts, who saw
They might have chain'd him, as before
For the power was stricken from his arm,
"Father!" at length he murmur'd low,
He thought on all his glorious hopes--
On all his high renown,—
Then flung the falchion from his side,
And in the dust sat down.
And covering with his steel-gloved hands
His darkly mournful brow,
'No more, there is no more," he said,
"To lift the sword for now.
My King is false, my hope betray'd,
My father-oh! the worth,
The glory and the loveliness,
Are pass'd away from earth!"
Then, starting from the ground once more,
He seized the Monarch's rein,
Amid the pale and wilder'd looks
Of all the courtier train;
And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp,
The rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face
The King before the dead!
“Came I not here upon thy pledge,
Be still, and gaze thou on, false King!
The look, the voice, the heart I sought-
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul,
"Into these glassy eyes put light,—
Give me back him for whom I strove,
He loosed the rein; his slack hand fell!
He cast one long, deep, troubled look,—
His banner led the spears no more
BRUTUS OVER THE DEAD BODY OF LUCRETIA.
THUS, thus, my friends! fast as our breaking hearts
And now, to say one word of the imposture--
When the ferocious malice of your king-
Would you know why I summon'd you together?
The mould in which each female face was form❜d,
And holiest affection! Oh, my countrymen!
Forgot its crutch; labour its task; all ran;
And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried,
"There, there's Lucretia!”—Now, look ye where she lies, That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose, Torn up by ruthless violence-gone! gone!
Say-would you seek instructions? would you seek What ye should do?-Ask ye yon conscious walls Which saw his poison'd brother, saw the incest Committed there, and they will cry, Revenge!— Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove O'er her dead father's corse, 'twill cry, Revenge!—
Ask yonder Senate-house, whose stones are purple
INVECTIVE AGAINST HASTINGS.
HAD a stranger, at this time, gone into the province of Oude, ignorant of what had happened since the death of Sujah Dowla, that man, who, with a savage heart, had still great lines of character, and who, with all his ferocity in war, had still, with a cultivating hand, preserved to his country the riches which it derived from benignant skies and a prolific soil—if this stranger, ignorant of all that had happened in the short interval, and observing the wide and general devastation, and all the horrors of the scene-of plains unclothed and brown-of vegetables búrned up and extinguished-of villages depopulated, and in ruins-of temples unroofed and perishing-of reservoirs broken down and dry, he would naturally inquire, what war has thus laid waste the fertile fields of this once beautiful and opulent country-what civil dissensions have happened, thus to tear asunder and separate the happy societies that once possessed those villages-what disputed succession--what religious rage has, with unholy violence, demolished those temples, and disturbed fervent, but unobtruding piety, in the exercise of its duties?-What merciless enemy has thus spread the horrors of fire and sword-what severe visitation of providence has dried up the fountain, and
taken from the face of the earth every vestige of verdure?— Or, rather, what monsters have stalked over the country, tainting and poisoning, with pestiferous breath, what the voracious appetite could not devour? To such questions, what must be the answer? No wars have ravaged these lands, and depopulated these villages-no civil discords have been felt-no disputed succession-no religious rage— no merciless enemy-no affliction of providence, which, while it scourged for the moment, cut off the sources of resuscitation-no voracious and poisoning monsters-no, all this has been accomplished by the friendship, generosity, and kindness of the English nation! They have embraced us with their protecting arms, and, lo, these are the fruits of their alliance! What, then, shall we be told, that under such circumstances, the exasperated feelings of a whole people thus goaded and spurred on to clamour and resistance, were excited by the poor and feeble influence of the Begums? When we hear the description of the paroxysm, fever, and delirium, into which despair had thrown the natives, when, on the banks of the polluted Ganges, panting for death, they tore more widely open the lips of their gaping wounds to accelerate their dissolution, and while their blood was issuing, presented their ghastly eyes to heaven, breathing their last and fervent prayer, that the dry earth might not be suffered to drink their blood, but that it might rise up to the throne of God, and rouse the eternal providence to avenge the wrongs of their country; will it be said, that this was brought about by the incantations of these Begums in their secluded Zenana? or that they could inspire this enthusiasm and this despair into the breasts of a people who felt no grievance, and had suffered no torture? What motive, then, could have such influence in their bosoms? What motive? That which nature, the common parent, plants in the bosom of man, and which, though it may be less active in the Indian than in the