The keen is loud, it comes again, And rises sad from the funeral train, And oh, but the plumes of white were fair, There is a voice that but one can hear, The keen is loud, but that voice is low, Now the grave is closed, and the mass is said, The wreaths of virgin-white are laid, By virgin hands, o'er the spotless maid; And the flowers are strewn, but they soon will fade. "Oh! go not yet-not yet away, Let us feel that life is near our clay," The long departed seem to say. But the tramp and the voices of life are gone, And beneath each cold forgotten stone The mouldering dead sleep all alone. But who is he that lingereth yet? Oh, who but Sir Turlough, the young and brave, And to his death-bound Eva rave? "Weep not-weep not," said a lady fair: There's charmèd music upon her tongue, A laughing light, a tender grace, "The maid for whom thy salt tears fall, "My heart it strangely cleaves to thee, The charm is strong upon Turlough's eye, "To thee," the charmèd chief replied, Again the funeral voice came o'er "If I to thy youthful heart am dear, One month from hence thou wilt meet me here, Where lay thy bridal Eva's bier." He pressed her lips as the words were spoken, And his banshee's wail-now far and brokenMurmured "Death," as he gave the token. "Adieu! adieu!" said this lady bright, And she slowly passed like a thing of light, Or a morning cloud, from Sir Turlough's sight. Now Sir Turlough has death in every vein, And there's fear and grief o'er his wide domain, And gold for those who will calm his brain. 66 Come, haste thee, leech, right swiftly ride, The leech groaned loud, "Come tell me this, Has Sir Turlough given the fatal kiss?" "The banshee's cry is loud and long, "Then the fatal kiss is given;-the last "Leech, say not that thy skill is vain; Oh, calm the power of his frenzied brain, And half his lands thou shalt retain." The leech has failed, and the hoary priest The minstrels now are assembled all; And the songs of praise, in Sir Turlough's hall, To the sorrowing harp's dark music fall. And there are trophy, banner, and plume; The month is closed, and Green Truagha's pride, Is married to Death-and, side by side, SCENE FROM VENICE PRESERVED. THOMAS OTWAY. [Otway's career was one of those that are constantly pointed out as a warning to others, and instanced among the many records of the improvidence of men of genius. He was born at Trotting, Sussex, in 1651, and was educated at Winchester and Oxford. He made some ineffectual attempts to become an actor, and then commenced as a writer for the stage. In 1675 his first tragedy, "Alcibiades," was produced, followed in the next year by his "Don Carlos," which was very successful. He then served for a short time in a cavalry regiment in Flanders, but returned to resume his favourite occupation. His tragedy of "Venice Preserved" is a model for force and feeling, combined with the deep pathos that is always associated with scenes of domestic distress when touched by a master hand. He died at a public house in Towerhill, where he had secreted himself from his creditors, and in a literally starving condition, in 1685, being then only in his 34th year.] CHARACTERS. PRIULI-a Senator. THE DUKE of Venice. CAPTAIN OF THE GUARDS. ACT IV. SCENE II.-The DUKE OF VENICE, PRIULI, and other Duke. Anthony, Priuli, senators of Venice, Fathers, these tears were useless, these sad tears Duke. How! Pri. Nay, we stand Upon the very brink of gaping ruin. Within this city's form'd a dark conspiracy, The swords, for aught I know, drawn e'en this moment, Let's not be tamely butcher'd, but do something Our virtue was not ruin'd, though we were. [A noise without. Capt. Room, room, make room for some prisoners. Duke. Give 'em entrance. [Without. Enter JAFFIER, and Captain of the Guards. Well, who are you? Jaf. A villain! Would every man, that hears ine, Would deal so honestly, and own his title. Duke. 'Tis rumour'd, that a plot has been contriv'd To all those wretches whose unhappy dooms |