Tell.

SCALING yonder peak!

I saw an eagle, wheeling near its brow
O'er the abyss. His broad expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there, without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will

That buoy'd him proudly up!-Instinctively
I bent my bow!-yet kept he rounding still
His aëry circle, as in the delight

Of measuring the ample range beneath,
And round about, absorb'd, he heeded not

The death that threaten'd him!-I couldn't shoot!
'Twas liberty!—I turned my bow aside

And let him soar away!

When I wedded thee

The land was free!-O with what pride, I us'd
To walk these hills, and look up to my God
And bless him that it was so! It was free!-
From end to end, from cliff to lake, 'twas free!-
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plough our vallies, without asking leave;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow,
In very presence of the regal sun!

How happy was I in it then!-I lov'd

Its very storms!-Yes, Emma!—I have sat

In my boat, at night, when down the mountain gorge

The wind came, roaring-sat in it, and ey'd
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smil'd
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master, save his own!
You know the jutting cliff, round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one?-O'ertaken there
By the mountain blast I've laid me flat along,
And while gust followed gust more furiously,
As if 'twould sweep me o'er the horrid brink,
And I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer-flaws to those of mine, and just
Have wish'd me there; the thought that mine was free
Has check'd that wish, and I have rais'd my head,
And cried, in thraldom, to that furious wind,
Blow on! This is the land of liberty!

Knowles.

Brutus and Cassius.

Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this: You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its comment. Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.

Cas. Chastisement!

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers; shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes? And sell the mighty space of our large honours, For so much trash as may be grasped thus?I'd rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.

Cas. Brutus, bay not me,

I'll not endure it: you forget yourself,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to; you're not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.

Bru. I say, you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. Bru. Away, slight man!

Cas. Is't possible?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

Cas. O gods! ye gods! Must I endure all this? Bru. All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud heart break;

Go, show your slaves how cholerick you are,

And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humour? By the gods,
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you: for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say, you are a better soldier:

Let me appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well: For mine own part,

I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus.

I said, an elder soldier, not a better;

Did I

say better?

Bru. If you did, I care not.

Cas. When Cæsar liv'd, he durst not thus have mov'd

me.

Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not?

Bru. No.

Cas. What! durst not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love,

I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done that you
should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you deny'd me ;-
For I can raise no money by vile means:
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, then to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did send

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,

To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces!

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not:-he was but a fool,

That brought my answer back.—Brutus hath riv'n my heart:

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me.
Cas. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Cas. A friendly eye can never see such faults.
Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear

As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,

For Cassius is aweary of the world:

Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother;
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd,
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, my heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know,

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.

Bru. Sheath your dagger:

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire:
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.

Cas. O Brutus!

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth,

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

Shakspeare.