Max. 'Tis wond'rous strange! But, good Placidius, say,
What prophesies Nigrinus of this day!

Plac In a lone tent, all hung with black, I saw
Where in a square he did a circle draw:
Four angles, made by that circumference,
Bore holy words inscrib'd of mystic sense.
When first a hollow wind began to blow,

The sky grew black, and belly'd down more low,
Around the fields did nimble lightning play,
Which offer'd us by fits, and snatch'd the day.
'Midst this, was heard the shrill and tender cry.
Of well pleas'd ghosts, which in the storm did fly;
Danc'd to and fro, and skim'd along the ground,
'Till to the magick circle they were bound.
They coursing it, while we were fenc'd within,
We saw this dreadful scene of fate begin.

Char. Speak without fear ; what did the vision shew;
Plac. A curtain drawn presented to our view

A town besieg'd; and on the neighb'ring plain
Lay heaps of visionary soldiers slain.

A rising mist obscur'd the gloomy head

Of one, who in imperial robes lay dead.
Near this, in fetters stood a virgin, crown'd;
Whom many cupids strove in vain to wound :
A voice, to-morrow, still to-morrow rung;
Another, Io, Io Pæan sung."

Act I. Sc. I.

Even Maximin himself occasionally talks in strains as truly poetical as he is at other times tumid and fantastical. "Max. This love, that never could my youth engage,

Peeps out his coward head to dare my age.

Where hast thou been thus long, thou sleeping form,
That wak'st like drowsy seaman in a storm?

A sullen hour thou chusest for thy birth :

My love shoots up in tempests, as the earth

Is stirr'd and loosen'd in a blust'ring wind,

(Whose blasts to waiting flowers her womb unbind.")

O si sic omnia!

Act III. Sc. I.

We will present the reader with a description of the same passion, by another character; it is less striking and original than the one just quoted, but its merits will perhaps be more generally felt and acknowledged.

"Love various minds does variously inspire: He stirs, in gentle natures, gentle fire,

Like that of incense on the altars laid:
But raging flames tempestuous souls invade.
A fire which every windy passion blows;

With pride it mounts, and with revenge it glows."

Act II. Sc. I.

The ensuing lines shew Dryden's minuteness, as well as accuracy of observation, of which these plays furnish so many instances; sometimes shewn in images of exquisite beauty, at others in allusions entirely unpoetical.

"As some faint pilgrim standing on the shore,
First views the torrent he would venture o'er ;
And then his inn upon the farther ground,
Loth to wade through, and lother to go round :
Then dipping in his staff, does trial make
How deep it is; and, sighing, pulls it back :
Sometimes resolv'd to fetch his leap: and then
Runs to the bank, but there stops short again ;
So I at once-

Both heav'nly faith, and human fear obey;
And feel before me in an unknown way.
For this blest voyage I with joy prepare;
Yet am asham'd to be a stranger there.

Act IV.

The "Indian Emperor" is like the rest of the rhyming plays as a whole, feverish, tedious, and undramatic; its versification has been much admired; there is the same lavish profusion of words and images as in all the others, with quite as much of the unnatural, but less of the outrageous fustian which rages so fiercely in the rants of Almanzor and Aurengzebe. We can select passages from it of the greatest beauty.

The following is as exquisite as any thing of the same kind in Pope, with more melody and a greater variety of numbers.

"Arise ye subtle spirits that can spy,
When love is enter'd in a female's eye;
You that can read it in the midst of doubt,
And in the midst of frowns can find it out;
You that can search those many-corner'd minds,
Where women's crooked fancy turns and winds;
You that can love explore, and truth impart,
Where both lie deepest hid in woman's heart,
Arise !"

Act II. Sc. I.

Dryden is peculiarly happy in his descriptions of repose.

"All things are hush'd, as Nature's self lay dead,
The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head,
The little birds in dreams their songs repeat,
And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat ;
Ev'n lust and envy sleep, yet love denies
Rest to my soul, aud slumber to my eyes.

Three days I promis'd to attend my doom,
And two long days and nights are yet to come;
'Tis sure the noise of a tumultuous fight,
They break the truce, and sally out by night.

[Noise within.

Act II. Sc. II.

We consider the following beautiful lines a practical proof of the total absurdity of composing a drama in rhyme; the excellent description of the appearance of the ships to one who had never seen a vessel of the kind before, becomes scarcely less than ludicrous, merely in consequence of the sing-song dialogue into which it is moulded.

"Guy. I went, in order, Sir, to your command,

To view the utmost limits of the land:

To that sea-shore where no more world is found,
But foaming billows breaking on the ground,
Where, for awhile, my eyes no object met
But distant skies that in the ocean set:
And low-hung clouds that dipt themselves in rain,
To shake their fleeces on the Earth again.
At last, as far as I could cast my eyes

Upon the sea, somewhat methought did rise
Like bluish mists, which still appearing more,

Took dreadful shapes, and mov'd towards the shore.

Mont. What forms did these new wonders represent ?
Guy. More strange than what your wonder can invent.

The object I could first distinctly view

Was tall straight trees which on the waters flew,
Wings on their sides instead of leaves did grow,
Which gather'd all the breath the winds could blow :
And at their roots grew floating palaces,

Whose out-blow'd bellies cut the yielding seas.

Mont. What divine monsters, O ye gods, were these,

That float in air, and fly upon the seas!

Came they alive or dead upon the shore?

Guy. Alas! they liv'd too sure, I heard them roar :

1

All turn'd their sides, and to each other spoke,
I saw their words break out in fire and smoke.
Sure 'tis their voice that thunders from on high,
Or these the younger brothers of the sky.
Deaf with the noise I took my hasty flight,
No mortal courage can support the fright."

Act I. Scene II.

In this play there are some very sweet couplets occurring, isolated amidst oceans of tedious rhyme, which it may be worth while to extract. The calm and equable feeling of delight which two or three lines of melodious numbers spread over the mind of the lover of poetry, must be our excuse for gleaning so narrowly. Such are lines like the following:

"Amidst our arms as quiet you shall be,
As halcyons brooding on a winter's sea."

Again:

"Where far from noise,

The peaceful power that governs love repairs,
To feast upon soft vows and silent pray'rs."
Also this:

"I watch'd the early glories of her eyes

As men for day-break watch the eastern skies."

"In tears your beauteous daughter drowns her sight,

Silent as dews that fall in dead of night."

The play concludes with these tender verses; they are addressed to Cortez.

“Guy. Think me not proudly rude, if I forsake

Those gifts I cannot with my honour take:
I for my country fought, and would again,
Had I yet left a country to maintain;
But since the gods decreed it otherwise,

I never will on its dear ruins rise.

Alib. Of all your goodness leaves to our dispose,

Our liberty's the only gift we chuse :

Absence alone can make our sorrows less :

And not to see what we can ne'er redress.

Guy. Northward, beyond the mountains we will go,

Where rocks lie cover'd with eternal snow,

Thin herbage in the plains and fruitless fields,
The sand no gold, the mine no silver yields;

There love and freedom we'll in peace enjoy ;

No Spaniards will that colony destroy.
We to ourselves will all our wishes grant,

And nothing coveting can nothing want."

We come now to the dramas in blank verse. It would be absurd in us to dwell upon the plots and scenes of plays which we have asserted possess neither interest as dramas, nor beauty as poems; and we mention" Cleomenes" more particularly to shew, rather what he has failed to do than what he has actually done; the subject on the first view appears one which a master's hand might have moulded to some purpose. A Spartan king, with all the characteristics of his nation-his bosom glowing with national pride and generous indignation rough and uninformed in the gentler courtesies of life, and loathing an existence unadorned with freedom-in short, a Spartan, such a one as we may imagine in the purer times of the commonwealth, is reduced to dance attendance on the court of an effeminate Egyptian-to be elbowed by eunuchs, minions, and parasites, in a soil and a clime whose very air, one would think, would scarce suffice a Spartan soul to breathe in. But of the advantages of this contrast Dryden has either not chosen, or been unable to avail himself.

There are, as in the other plays, some noble passages "Cleomenes." Take the two following as fine applications of the objects of nature to the purposes of poetry.

Dispatch him, as the source of all your fears.

Observe the mounting billows of the main,
Blown by the winds into a raging storm:
Brush off those winds, and the high waves return
Into their quiet first created calm;

Such is the rage of busy blust'ring crowds,
Fomented by th' ambition of the great;
Cut off the causes, and th' effect will cease;
And all the moving madness fall to peace."

"There's the riddle of her love.

For what I see, or only think I see,

Is like a glimpse of moonshine, streak'd with red,
A shuffled, sullen, and uncertain light,

That dances through the clouds, and shuts again;
Then 'ware a rising tempest on the Main."

Act IV. Sc. I.

There is considerable power in the scene between Cœnus and Cleomenes, when the former arrives to tell the news of the capture of Sparta.