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Slothful and sleepy footed have become; Alwy. Your highness seems disturb'd. What tho' your arms, amidst those British hills, Have not, as they were wont, victorious prov'd, And home retreating, even on your own soil, You've fought a doubtful battle: luckless turns Will often cross the lot of greatest kings; Let it not so o'ercome your noble spirit.

Ethw. Thinkest thou it o'ercomes me? (rising up proudly.) Thou judgest poorly. I am form'd to yield To no opposed pressure, nor my purpose With crossing chance or circumstance to change. I, in my march to this attained height, Have moved still with an advancing step Direct and onward. But, now the mountain's side more rugged grows, And he, who would the cloudy summit gain, Must oft into its cragged rents descend The higher but to mount.

Alwy. Or rather say, my Lord, that having gain'd Its cloudy summit, there you must contend With the rude tempests that do beat upon it.

''Ethw. (smiling contemptuously.)'' Is this thy fancy? are thy thoughts of Ethwald So poorly limited, that thou dost think He has attained to his grandeur's height? Know that the lofty point which oft appears, To him who stands beneath, the mountain's top,