Than thraldom's murkiest den. But to be loosen'd
From captive's chains to find my hands thus bound!
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
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.
LOCHTARISH.
My weary head be laid to rest, heav'n knows,
Since I have lived to see Benlora weep.
BENLORA.
Benlora crouching, where he has commanded.
