torian, "she would have been precipitated into the gulf of human grandeur."-In ipsam gloriam præceps agebatur. (Tacitus, "Vita Agricolæ.")

Let us draw some salutary reflection from the scene that is now before us. Shall we wait till the dead arise, before we open our bosom to one serious thought? What this day descends into the grave should be sufficient to awaken and alarm our lethargy. Could the Divine Providence bring nearer to our view, or more forcibly display, the vanity and emptiness of human greatness? How incurable must be our blindness, if, as every day we approach nearer and nearer to the grave (and rather dying than living), we wait till the last moment before we admit that serious and important reflection which ought to have accompanied us through the whole course of our lives! If persuasion hung upon my lips, how earnestly would I entreat you to begin from this hour to despise the smiles of fortune, and the favors of this transitory world! And whenever you shall enter those august habitations, those sumptuous palaces which received an additional luster from the personage we now lament; when you shall cast your eyes around those splendid apartments, and find their better wanting! then remember that the exalted station she held, that the accomplishments and attractions she was known to possess, augmented the dangers to which she was exposed in this world, and now form the subject of a rigorous investigation in the other.

LOVE.

BY SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.

[1639-1701. Dramatist, poet, and wit of the Restoration, of unsavory life and works. His daughter Catherine was mistress of James II.]

LOVE still has something of the sea,
From whence his Mother rose;
No time his slaves from love can free,
Nor give their thoughts repose.

They are becalmed in clearest days,
And in rough weather tost;

They wither under cold delays,
Or are in tempests lost.

One while they seem to touch the port,
Then straight into the main
Some angry wind in cruel sport
Their vessel drives again.

At first disdain and pride they fear;
Which if they chance to 'scape,
Rivals and falsehood soon appear
In a more dreadful shape.
By such degrees to joy they come,
And are so long withstood,
So slowly they receive the sum,
It hardly does them good.
"Tis cruel to prolong a pain;
And to defer a bliss,
Believe me, gentle Hermione,
No less inhuman is.

An hundred thousand oaths your fears
Perhaps would not remove,

And if I gazed a thousand years,

I could no deeper love.

"Tis fitter much for you to guess

Than for me to explain;

But grant, oh! grant that happiness
Which only does remain.

SONG-DORINDA.

BY CHARLES SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET.

[1637-1706.]

DORINDA'S sparkling wit and eyes
United cast too fierce a light,
Which blazes high, but quickly dies,

Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight.

Love is a calmer, gentler joy,

Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace:

Her Cupid is a blackguard boy,

That runs his link full in your face.

ZEGRI AND ABENCERRAGE.

BY DRYDEN.

(From "The Conquest of Granada by the Spaniards.")

[JOHN DRYDEN, the great poet, was born at Aldwinkle, Northamptonshire, in 1631; educated under Dr. Busby at Westminster School, and at Trinity College, Cambridge. The son of a Puritan clergyman, and himself a Parliamentarian, he wrote eulogistic stanzas on Cromwell at the latter's death; but his versatile intellect could assume any phase of feeling, and he wrote equally glowing ones on the Restoration of 1660. In 1667 he wrote "Annus Mirabilis," and in 1668 was made poet laureate. The Popish Plot brought out his famous satire "Absalom and Achitophel" (1681–1682), the “Og" of which (his rival Shadwell) was further castigated in "MacFlecknoe" (1682). After James' accession he became a Catholic (1686), and in 1687 wrote "The Hind and the Panther" to glorify his new religion. "Alexander's Feast," the finest of English odes, appeared in 1697. His powerful translations of Lucretius and Juvenal are also classics; those of Virgil are strong but less in keeping with the matter. He was a very voluminous playwright also, but has left nothing which lives; perhaps the burlesque of the "Rehearsal," indeed, chiefly preserves the memory that he was one at all. His "Essay on Dramatic Poesy," however, is excellent. He died in 1700.]

Present:

SCENE: Granada, and the Christian Camp besieging it.
BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, ABDELMELECH, and Guards.

Boabdelin

The alarm-bell rings from our Alhambra walls,
And from the streets sound drums and atabals.

[Within, a bell, drums, and trumpets.

Enter a Messenger.

How now? from whence proceed these new alarms?

Messenger

Boabdelin

The two fierce factions are again in arms;
And changing into blood the day's delight,
The Zegrys with the Abencerrages fight;
On each side their allies and friends appear;
The Macas here, the Alabezes there;
The Gazuls with the Bencerrages join,
And, with the Zegrys, all great Gomel's line.

Draw up behind the Vivarambla place;
Double my guards, these factions I will face;
And try if all the fury they can bring

Be proof against the presence of their king.

[Exit BOABDELIN.

The Factions appear: At the head of the Abencerrages, OzмYN; at the head of the Zegrys, ZULEMA, HAMET, GOMEL, and SELIN; ABENAMAR and ABDELMELECH join with the Abencerrages.

Zulema

The faint Abencerrages quit their ground:

Press them; put home your thrusts to every wound.

Abdelmelech —

Hamet

Zulema

Czmyn

Zegry, on manly force our line relies;

Thine poorly takes the advantage of surprise:
Unarmed and much outnumbered we retreat;
You gain no fame, when basely you defeat.

If thou art brave, seek nobler victory;

Save Moorish blood; and, while our bands stand by,
Let two and two an equal combat try.

"Tis not for fear the combat we refuse,
But we our gained advantage will not lose.

In combating, but two of you will fall;
And we resolve we will despatch you all.

We'll double yet the exchange before we die,
And each of ours two lives of yours shall buy.

ALMANZOR enters betwixt them, as they stand ready to engage.

Almanzor

I cannot stay to ask which cause is best:
But this is so to me, because opprest.

[Goes to the Abencerrages

To them BOABDELIN and his Guards, going betwixt them.

On your allegiance, I command you stay;

Who passes here, through me must make his way;
My life's the Isthmus; through this narrow line
You first must cut, before those seas can join.
What fury, Zegrys, has possessed your minds?
What rage the brave Abencerrages blinds?
If of your courage you new proofs would show,
Without much travel you may find a foe.
Those foes are neither so remote nor few

That you should need each other to pursue.
Lean times and foreign wars should minds unite;

When poor men mutter, but they seldom fight.
O holy Allah! that I live to see

Thy Granadines assist their enemy!

You fight the Christians' battles; every life
You lavish thus, in this intestine strife,

Does from our weak foundations take one prop,
Which helped to hold our sinking country up.