Max. 'Tis wond'rous strange! But, good Placidius, say, Plac In a lone tent, all hung with black, I saw The sky grew black, and belly'd down more low, Char. Speak without fear ; what did the vision shew; A town besieg'd; and on the neighb'ring plain A rising mist obscur'd the gloomy head Of one, who in imperial robes lay dead. 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, 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: 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, Both heav'nly faith, and human fear obey; 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, Act II. Sc. I. Dryden is peculiarly happy in his descriptions of repose. "All things are hush'd, as Nature's self lay dead, Three days I promis'd to attend my doom, [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, Upon the sea, somewhat methought did rise Took dreadful shapes, and mov'd towards the shore. Mont. What forms did these new wonders represent ? The object I could first distinctly view Was tall straight trees which on the waters flew, 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, 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, Again: "Where far from noise, The peaceful power that governs love repairs, "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 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, There love and freedom we'll in peace enjoy ; No Spaniards will that colony destroy. 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, Such is the rage of busy blust'ring crowds, "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, That dances through the clouds, and shuts again; 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. |