‘Thrice welcome to my heart, thou best of friends!
The rock on which our holy faith depends!
May this our meeting as a tempest make
The vast foundations of Britannia shake,
Tear up their orange plant, and overwhelm
The strongest bulwarks of the British realm!
Then shall the Dutch and Hanoverian fall,
And James shall ride in triumph to Whitehall;
Then to protect our faith he will maintain
An inquisition here like that in Spain.
Sars. Most bravely urged, my Lord! your skill, I own,
Would be unparalleled—had you saved Athlone.’
—‘Had you saved Athlone!’ Sarsfield has him there. And the contest of words might have provoked quarrels still more fatal, but alarms are heard: the battle begins, and St. Ruth (still confident) goes to meet the enemy, exclaiming, ‘Athlone was sweet, but Aughrim shall be sour.’ The fury of the Irish is redoubled on hearing of Talbot’s heroic death. The Colonel’s corpse is presently brought in, and to it enters Jemima, who bewails her loss in the following pathetic terms:—
‘Jemima. Oh!—he is dead!—my soul is all on fire,
Witness ye gods!—he did with fame expire;
For Liberty a sacrifice was made,
And fell, like Pompey, by some villain’s blade.
There lies a breathless corse, whose soul ne’er knew
A thought but what was always just and true;
Look down from heaven, God of peace and love,
Waft him with triumph to the throne above;
And oh! ye winged guardians of the skies!
Tune your sweet harps, and sing his obsequies!
Good friends, stand off——whilst I embrace the ground
Whereon he lies————and bathe each mortal wound
With brinish tears, that like to torrents run
From these sad eyes. Oh heavens! I’m undone
[Falls down on the body.
Enter Sir Charles Godfrey. He raises her.
Sir Char. Why do these precious eyes like fountains flow,
To drown the radiant heaven that lies below?
Dry up your tears, I trust his soul ere this
Has reached the mansions of eternal bliss.
Soldiers! bear hence the body out of sight. [They bear him off.
Jem. Oh, stay—ye murderers, cease to kill me quite:
See how he glares!—--and see again he flies!
The clouds fly open, and he mounts the skies.
Oh! see his blood, it shines refulgent bright,}
I see him yet—I cannot lose him quite,}
But still pursue him on—and—lose my sight.’}
The gradual disappearance of the Colonel’s soul is now finely indicated, and so is her grief, when showing the body to Sir Charles, she says, ‘Behold the mangled cause of all my woes.’ The sorrow of youth, however, is but transitory; and when her lover bids her dry her gushish tears, she takes out her pocket-handkerchief with the elasticity of youth, and consoles herself for the father in the husband.
Act III. represents the English camp: Ginckle and his Generals discourse; the armies are engaged. In Act IV. the English are worsted in spite of their valour, which Sarsfield greatly describes. ‘View,’ says he—
‘View how the foe like an impetuous flood
Breaks through the smoke, the water, and—the mud!’