To-morrow; but with honest pride I say,
That if the truest and the purest love
Deserved requital, such was ever mine.
How often reeking from the adulterous bed
Have I received him! and with no complaint.
Neglect and insult, cruelty and scorn,
Long, long did I endure, and long curb down
The indignant nature.

Tell your countrymen,
Scotchmen, what I have spoken! Say to them
Ye saw the Queen of Scotland lift the dagger
Red from her husband's heart; that in her own
She plunged it.
Stabs herself.
Tell them also, that she felt

No guilty fear in death.

Westbury, 1798.

LA CABA.

LUCRETIA.

I sat at eve Spinning amid my maidens as I wont, When from the camp at Ardea Sextus came. Curb down thy swelling feelings, Collatine! I little liked the man! yet, for he came From Ardea, for he brought me news of thee, I gladly gave him welcome; gladly listen'd,Thou canst not tell how gladly to his tales Of battles, and the long and perilous siege; And when I laid me down at night to sleep, "Twas with a lighten'd heart, I knew thee safe; My visions were of thee.

Nay, hear me out! And be thou wise in vengeance, so thy wife Not vainly shall have suffer'd. I have wrought My soul up to the business of this hour, That it may stir your noble spirits, and prompt Such glorious deeds that ages yet unborn Shall bless my fate. At midnight I awoke; The Tarquin was beside me! O my husband, Where wert thou then! gone was my rebel strength

All power of utterance gone! astonish'd, stunn'd,
I saw the coward ruffian, heard him urge
His wicked suit, and bid me tamely yield,
Yield to dishonor. When he proffer'd death, -
Oh, I had leap'd to meet themerciful sword!
But that with most accursed vows he vow'd,
That he would lay a dead slave by my side,
Murdering my spotless honor. - Collatine,
From what an anguish have I rescued thee!
And thou, my father, wretched as thou art,
Thou miserable, childless, poor old man,
Think, father, what that agony had been!
Now thou mayst sorrow for me, thou mayst bless
The memory of thy poor, polluted child.

This monodrama was written several years before the author had any intention of treating at greater length the portion of Spanish history to which it relates. It is founded upon the following passage in the Historia Verdadera del Rey Don Rodrigo, which Miguel de Luna translated from the Arabic.

Aviendose despedido en la Ciudad de Cordoba el Conde Don Julian de aquellos Generales, recogiò toda su gente, deudos y criados; y porque sus tierras estavan tan perdidas y maltratadas, se feu á un lugar pequeño, que está fabricado en la ribera del mar Mediterraneo, en la provincia que llaman Vandalucia, á la qual nombraron los Christianos en su lengua Villaviciosa. Yaviendo llegado á ella, dió orden de embiar por su muger, y hija, que estavan detenidas en aquellas partes de Africa, en una Ciudad que está en la ribera del mar, la qual se llama Tanjer, para desde alli aguardar el sucesso de la conquista de España en que avia de parar: las quales llegadas en aquella Villa, el Conde D. Julian las recibió con mucho contento, porque tenia bien sentida su larga ausencia. Y aviendo descansado, desde alli el Conde dava orden con mucha diligencia para poblar y restaurar sus tierras, para ir à vivir á ellas. Su hija estara muy triste y afiigida; y por mucho que su padre y madre la regalavan, nunca la podian contentar, ni alegrar. Imaginava la grande perdida de España, y la grande destruicion de los Christianos, con tantas muertes, y cautiverios, robadas sus haziendas, y que ella huviesse sido causa principal, cabeza, y ocasion de aquella perdicion ; y sobre todo ello le crecian mas sus pesadumbres en verse deshonrada, y sin esperanza de tener estado, segun ella deseara. Con esta imaginacion, engañada del demonio, determinó entresi de morir desesperada; y un dia se subió á una torre, cerrando la puerta della por dedentro, porque no fuesse estorvada de aquel hecho que queria hazer; y dixo á una ama suya, que le llamasse á su padre y madre, que les queria dezir un poco. Y siendo venidos, desde lo alto de aquella torre les hizo un razonamiento muy lastimoso, diziendoles al fin del, que muger tan desdichada como ella era, y tan desventurada, no merecia vivir en et mundo con tanta deshonra, mayormente aviendo sido causa de tanto mal y destruicion. Y luego les dixo, Pudres, en memoria de mi desdicha, de aqui adelante no se llame esta Ciudad, Villa viciosa, sino Malaca; Oy se acaba en ella la mas mala muger que huvo en el mundo. Y acabadas estas palabras, sin mas oir á sus padres, ni á nadie de los que estavan presentes, por muchos ruegos que la hizieron, y amonestaciones que no se echasse abaxo, se dexó caer en el suelo ; y llevada medio muerta, vivió como tres dias, y luego murió. Fue causa este desastre y desesperacion de mucho escandalo, y notable memoria, entre los Moros y Christianos: y desde alle adelante se llamo aquella Ciudad Malaga corruptamente por los Christianos; y de los Arabes fue llamada Malaca, en memoria de aquellas palabras que dixo quando se echó de la torre, no se llame Villariciosa, sino Malaca, porque ca, en lenguaje Español quiere dezir porque; y porque dixo, ca, oy se acaba en ella la mas mala muger que huvo en el mundo, se compuso este nombre de Mala y ca. -Cap. xviii. pp. 81, 83.

Bleda, who has incorporated Miguel de Luna's story in his Cronica de los Moros de España, pp. 193, 194, has the following curious passage concerning La Caba.

Fue la hermosura desta dama no menos dañosa á España, que la de Elena à Troya. Llamaronla los Moros por mal nombre La Cava; y nota el Padre Fray Estavan de Salazar, Cartuxo, en los discursos doctissimos sobre el Credo, que esto no fue sin mysterio : porque el nombre de nuestra primera madre en el Hebreo no se pronuncia Eva, sino Cavah: de suerte que tuvieron un mesmo nombre dos mugeres que fueron ruyna de los hombres, la una en todo el mundo, y la otra en España. - BLEDA, p. 146.

Morales supposes that the Gate at Malaga derived its name not from the death of La Caba, but from her having passed through it on her way to Africa.

En Malaga he visto la puerta en el muro, que llaman de La Cava, y dicen le quedó aquel nombre, habiendo salido esta vez que luego sucedió, por ella embarcarse. deró tristemente notable aquel lugar. — MORALES, 1. xii. cap.

Y la

gran

desventura

Ixvii. 4. The very different view which I have taken of this subject

when treating it upon a great scale, renders it proper to substitute for Julian, in this earlier production, the name of Illan, for which the Coronica de España affords authority, and to call his daughter as she is named in that spirited Ode by P. Luis de Leon, of which a good translation may be found in

Russell's poems.

I tell thee I have barr'd the battlements!

I tell thee that no human power can curb

A desperate will. The poison and the knife

O my dear country! O my mother Spain! My cradle and my grave! — for thou art dear; And nursed to thy undoing as I was, Still, still I am thy child-and love thee still; I shall be written in thy chronicles The veriest wretch that ever yet betray'd Her native land! From sire to son my name Will be transmitted down for infamy! Never again will mother call her child La Caba,―an Iscariot curse will lie Upon the name, and children in their songs Will teach the rocks and hills to echo with it Strumpet and traitoress!

This is thy work, father! Nay, tell me not my shame is wash'd away — That all this ruin and this misery Is vengeance for my wrongs. I ask'd not this, I call'd for open, manly, Gothic vengeance. Thou wert a vassal, and thy villain lord Most falsely and most foully broke his faith; Thou wert a father, and the lustful king By force abused thy child! - Thou hadst a sword; Shame on thee to call in the cimeter To do thy work!

tian

Thou wert a Goth-a Chris

Son of an old and honorable house,

It was my boast, my proudest happiness,
To think I was the daughter of Count Illan.
Fool that I am to call this African

To me!-and put not on that father's look!
Moor! turbaned misbeliever! renegade!
Circumcised traitor! Thou Count Illan, Thou ! -
O Earth?
Thou my dear father? —cover me,
Hell, hide me from the knowledge!
Bristol, 1802.

THE AMATORY POEMS

OF

ABEL SHUFFLEBOTTOM.

SONNET I.

DELIA AT PLAY.

SONNET II.

LOVE ELEGIES.

TO A PAINTER ATTEMPTING DELIA'S PORTRAIT.

RASH Painter! canst thou give the ORB OF DAY
In all its noontide glory? or portray
The DIAMOND, that athwart the taper'd hall
Flings the rich flashes of its dazzling light?
Even if thine art could boast such magic might,
Yet if it strove to paint my Angel's EYE,
Here it perforce must fail. Cease! lest I call
Heaven's vengeance on thy sin. Must thou be told
The CRIME it is to paint DIVINITY?

Rash Painter! should the world her charms behold,
Dim and defiled, as there they needs must be,
They to their old idolatry would fall,
And bend before her form the pagan knee,
Fairer than VENUS, DAUGHTER OF THE SEA.

SONNET III.

HE PROVES THE EXISTENCE OF A SOUL FROM HIS LOVE FOR DELIA.

SOME have denied a soul! THEY NEVER LOVED.
Far from my Delia now by fate removed,
At home, abroad, I viewed her every where;
Her ONLY in the FLOOD OF NOON I see,
My Goddess-Maid, my OMNIPRESENT FAIR,
For LOVE annihilates the world to me!
And when the weary SoL around his bed
Closes the SABLE CURTAINS of the night,
SUN OF MY SLUMBERS, on my dazzled sight
SHE shines confest. When every sound is dead,
The SPIRIT Of her voice comes then to roll
The surge of music o'er my wavy brain.
Far, far from her my Body drags its chain,
But sure with Delia I exist a SOUL'

ELEGY I.

THE POET RELATES HOW HE OBTAINED DELIA'S POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF.

'Tis mine! what accents can my joy declare? Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout! Blest be the hand so hasty of my fair,

That left the tempting corner hanging out!

I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels,
After long travel to some distant shrine,
When at the relic of his saint he kneels,
For Delia's POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF IS MINE.

When first with filching fingers I drew near, Keen hope shot tremulous through every vein And when the finish'd deed removed my fear, Scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain

What though the Eighth Commandment rose to mind,

It only served a moment's qualm to move; For thefts like this it could not be design'd; [LOVE! The Eighth Commandment wAS NOT MADE FOR

Here when she took the macaroons from me,

She wiped her mouth to clean the crumbs so sweet! Dear napkin! yes, she wiped her lips in thee! Lips sweeter than the macaroons she eat.

And when she took that pinch of Mocabaw,
That made my Love so delicately sneeze,
Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw,
And thou art doubly dear for things like these.

No washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er,
SWEET POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF! thy worth pro

fane;

For thou hast touch'd the rubies of my fair, And I will kiss thee o'er and o'er again.

SONNET IV.

THE POET EXPRESSES HIS FEELINGS RESPECTING A PORTRAIT IN DELIA'S PARLOR.

I WOULD I were that portly Gentleman
With gold-laced hat and golden-headed cane,
Who hangs in Delia's parlor! For whene'er
From book or needlework her looks arise,
On him converge the SUN-BEAMS of her eyes,
And he unblamed may gaze upon MY FAIR,
And oft MY FAIR his favor'd form surveys.
O HAPPY PICTURE! still on HER to gaze;
I envy him! and jealous fear alarms,
Lest the STRONG glance of those divinest charms
WARM HIM TO LIFE, as in the ancient days,
When MARBLE MELTED in Pygmalion's arms.
I would I were that portly Gentleman
With gold-laced hat and golden-headed cane.

ELEGY II.

THE POET INVOKES THE SPIRITS OF THE ELEMENTS ΤΟ APPROACH DELIA. HE DESCRIBES HER

SINGING.

YE SYLPHS, who banquet on my Delia's blush,
Who on her locks of FLOATING GOLD repose,
Dip in her cheek your GOSSAMERY BRUSH,
And with its bloom of beauty tinge THE ROSE.

Hover around her lips on rainbow wing,

Load from her honey'd breath your viewless feet, Bear thence a richer fragrance for the Spring, And make the lily and the violet sweet.