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Than thraldom's murkiest den. But to be loosen'd From captive's chains to find my hands thus bound!

It is, indeed, a vile and irksome peace.

Peace, say they! who will bonds of friendship sign Between the teeming ocean's finny broods, And say, "Sport these upon the hither waves, And leave to those that farther billowy reach?" A Campbell here to queen it o'er our heads, The potent dame o'er quell'd and beaten men, Rousing or soothing us, as proud Argyll Shall send her secret counsel!—hold, my heart! This, base degen'rate men!—this, call ye peace! Forgive my weakness: with dry eyes I laid My mother in her grave, but now my cheeks Are, like a child's, with scalding drops disgrac'd.

What I shall look upon, ere in the dust My weary head be laid to rest, heav'n knows, Since I have lived to see Benlora weep.

One thing, at least, thou ne'er shalt live to see— Benlora crouching, where he has commanded.