Whether the air will calm my spirits: 'tis
A goodly night: the cloudy wind which blew
From the Levant, hath crept into its cave,

And the broad moon has brightened.-What a stillness
And what a contrast with the scene I left,
Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps'
More pallid gleam along the tapestried walls,
Spread over the reluctant gloom, which haunts
Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries,

A dazzling mass of artificial light,

Which showed all things, but nothing as they were.
Around me are the stars and waters,-
Worlds mirrored in the ocean, goodlier sight
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass;
And the great element, which is to space
What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths,
Softened with the first breathings of the spring;
The high moon sails upon her beauteous way,
Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls
Of those tall pines, and sea-girt palaces;
Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,
Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles,
Like altars ranged along the broad Canal,
Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed,

Reared up from out the waters,-scarce less strangely
Than those more massy and mysterious giants

Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,

Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have
No other record. All is gentle: nought
Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night,
Whatever walks, is gliding like a spirit.
The tinkling of some vigilant guitars
Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,
And cautious opening of the casement, showing
That he is not unheard; while her young hand,-
Fair as the moonlight, of which it seems a part,
So delicately white, it trembles in

The act of opening the forbidden lattice

To let in love through music,-makes his heart
Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight;—the dash
Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle

Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,
And the responsive voices of the choir

Of boatmen, answering back, with verse for verse-
Some dusky shadow, checkering the Rialto-
Some glimmering palace-roof, or tapering spire-
Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade
The ocean-born and earth-commanding city.
How sweet and soothing is the hour of calm!
I thank thee, Night! for thou hast chased away
Those horrid bodements, which, amidst the throng,
I could not dissipate, and,-with the blessing
Of thy benign and quiet influence,-
Now will I to my couch; although to rest
Is almost wronging such a night as this.

407

DIALOGUES.

I.-BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.-Shakspeare.
Cas. That you have wronged me doth appear in this-
You have condemned 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 of.

Bru. You wronged 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. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned 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 its head.

Cas. Chastisement!

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March, remember, Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touched 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 graspèd thus ? I had 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 are 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 farther.

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 choleric 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 will 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 it 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-
I said, an elder soldier, not a better;
Did I say better?

I

Bru. If you did, I care not.

-you wrong me, Brutus:

Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved 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

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 armed 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 denied me;
For I can raise no money by vile means.

I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring,
From the hard hands of peasants, their viie 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 answered 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 rived my

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 could never see such faults.

heart.

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 a-weary of the world:

Hated by one he loves-braved by his brother-
Checked like a bondman-all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote,
To cast into my teeth-Oh, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a 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 lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Bru. Sheathe 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;
Which, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,

When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered 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, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

II.-MACDUFF, PRINCE MALCOLM, AND ROSSE.-Shakspeare
Macd. See, who comes here?

Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not.
Macd. My ever-gentle cousin!-welcome hither.
Mal. I know him now.

Kind Powers! betimes remove

The means which make us strangers!

Rosse. Sir, amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?

Rosse. Alas, poor country,

Almost afraid to know itself!- it cannot

Be called our mother, but our grave; where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;

Where sighs and groans, and shrieks that rend the air,
Are made, not marked; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy: the dead man's knell

Is there scarce asked, for whom; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps-
Dying, or ere they sicken.

Macd. Oh, relation

Too nice, and yet too true!

Mal. What is the newest grief?

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one.

Macd. How does my wife?
Rosse. Why, well.
Macd. And all my

Rosse. Well too.

children?

Macd. The tyrant has not battered at their peace?

Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it? Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour Of many worthy fellows that were out, Which was to my belief witnessed the rather, For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot :Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, and make women fight To doff their dire distresses.

Mal. Be't their comfort

We're coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better soldier, none

That Christendom gives out.

Rosse. 'Would, I could answer

This comfort with the like! But I have words,
That would be howled out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not catch them.

Macd. What concern they?

The general cause? Or is it a fee-grief,
Due to some single breast?

Rosse. No mind that's honest

But in it shares some woe; though the main part

Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it!

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound

That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Ah! I guess at it!

Rosse. Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes
Savagely slaughtered!-to relate the manner,

Were, on the quarry of these murdered deer,
To add the death of you.

Mal. Merciful Powers!

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brow;
Give sorrow words; the grief, that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?-

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be found.
Macd. And I must be from thence! My wife killed too!