Thoa art a hero—Nay, far more than this. Thou art a Man !—and 'tia my pride and 'ti* Tho aolaco of my age, thou'rt such through me. My valiant Robert ! only a weakling'* string* Lie shattered by tho iron hand of Fate. Fearless, tho lofty.»ouI'd lay* bare to fate Tho harp which tho Creator'* liand luu aet Within hi* bosom. Fate may strain tho string*, Vet not destroy tho innermost accord ( f glorious tones, and soon tho dissonance Will melt again in purest harmony, Because Clod's peace is breathing through tho chord*. Strong-hearted Robert ! Shall tho stalwart man Succumb, or rise triumphant from the dust t ROBERT. My Father !— MoutT. Shall the unalloyed truo man Be slavo to his environmeuts, or free ? Shall he not pluck from each storm-blast,—nay, more, "From all the fond allurements of this life, His purer Self 'i—Tho cosmos in his breast, Fart is't o' tho elemental aggregate ; And shall not Nature's ferment, working there, Upheavo him also ? Man ! can'st thou succumb ?— RoREKT. Yet there aro moments— MOLAT. Yes, in truth thero are. But—God bo thanked,—they're moments only, when Subdued by mightier Nature's forces, man Kstecms his higher self a sport for waves. In moments such as these, tho Godhead shows The distance yawning 'twixt itself and us. And castigate* the impious prido of man Aspiring to equality, and casts sc. II.] TIIK TtMlLAI.- IX .111.1-