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for me,

Ces. Spare me the agony of utterDimly I see it, and with horror freeze. Arist. Nothing disastrous apprehend Be thy vain terrors by this smile dispell'd. Ces. That smile? Thou can'st not know howghastly 'tis. It terrifies me. Thoughts whence spring

Oh, change them,

such smiles, Cannot be innocent. change them! Oh, fly me not, but look upon me! See, 'Tis I implore thee-Gods! he listens


Frenzied he stands—I am undone─Oh, Listen, I follow thee.


[ARISTODEMUS, by threatening signs, forbids her following him, and

rushes out.

Alas! alas!

Am I forbidden thus ?-That sign, that glance,

Have stunn'd my senses.

Oh, the gods be praised! A deity, Gonippus, sends thee hither. The king is frantic-Fly, pursue his steps, Preserve him from the frenzy of his soul.

unhappy father's recent visit to the interior of the tomb, and is seized with terror, lest he should have returned to a spot so well calculated to exasperate his previously frenzied feelings. After a moment's hesitation, proceeding from dread of the spectre, which

she has learnt to believe inhabits the

sepulchre, she resolves to enter it in quest of the royal penitent. She has scarcely disappeared in execution of her enterprise, when Aristodemus comes upon the stage, armed with a dagger, and after a very brief monologue, stabs himself. Argia, Gonippus, and Eumæus, rush in, and the wretched man is presently informed, that in his beloved Cesira, he beholds his long-lost, and vainly-regretted daughter, Argia. He exclaims, in despair at thus discovering, too late, what happiness had been within his reach, And thus must I recover thee! Oh, now Of heav'n's revenge the direful consummation

Gonippus silently obeys, and after this powerfully-conceived and striking scene, Cesira remains alone, overwhelmed with grief and terror. In this condition, she is found by Eumæus, the guardian of her infancy, who, upon being liberated from his Spartan imprisonment, has forthwith hurried home. It can hardly be necessary to say what his arrival immediately reveals to Cesira, or, as she is thenceforward called, Argia, the mystery of her birth, and extorts from the still unwilling Lysander, a confirmation of the important discovery. Argia, delighted at learning her near affinity to him she already so filially loves, flies to seek her father; and the Spartans take their final departure from Messenia, which the good-natured Palamedes has no longer any object in retarding. Thus ends the fourth Act.

with the anxieties and alarms of Argia The fifth is very short. It begins and Gonippus, neither of whom has been able to find Aristodemus. Argia desires Gonippus to prosecute the search, promising to wait the result where she is, the hall, containing Dirce's monument, being the king's favourite haunt. She is no sooner alone, however, than she recollects her

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All colour fades.

Arist. Oh, whither do ye drag me? Where am I? What a darksome solitude! Remove those pallid phantoms. Say for whom

nius could, without an attentive perusal of the whole play, enable them to make it for themselves. It is this-to not a soul of the dramatis persona, from the commencement of the first Act to the close of the fifth, does it ever occur to suggest as a topic of consolation to the grieving monarch, the good use he has made of his royal au


See'st thou thy daughter?

ter ?

Well, what would my daughIf I destroy'd, have I not wept for her? Is't not enough of vengeance? Let her


I'll speak to her myself. Look on her, see; Her tresses bristle on her brow like thorns,

My sovereign, dost thou know me? Me, thority, however nefariously acquired; to dilate upon the battles he has fought for the protection of his people; upon the happiness he has diffused around him by wise government; or upon the grateful affection borne him by his subjects. Once indeed, Cesira, in combating his belief of being an object of divine wrath, observes, that on the contrary, the gods must be favourably disposed towards so good a father, citizen, and king. This, of course, is previous to her knowledge of her royal friend's guilt. And once Gonippus invites him, by way of a diversion to his sorrows, to walk forth, and see how the people rejoice in the peace concluded with Sparta. This last is the only passage in which we find the slightest intimation of what ought to constitute the enjoyment of sovereignty, or the slightest tendency towards what might have been conceived to be the topics best adapted for soothing the pangs of the miserable criminal with hopes that his unnatural deed had been in any degree expiated. Through the whole play, the pomp and exaltation of royalty seem to be the principal, if not the only ideas connected with the kingly office, or, to speak more in the spirit of the work we are reviewing, with the kingly title; and the remorse, tears, and secluded melancholy of the sorrowing penitent, including, we cannot but apprehend, the at least occasional dereliction of duties which neither nature nor fortune had thrust upon him, are the sole grounds upon which he is encouraged to hope for pardon. We suspect that this marvellous apparent deficiency of all philosophical conceptions of public virtue, love of fame, or even of generous ambition, as at least not incompatible with high station, must be ascribed rather to the moral and political mal aria of the fair, but degraded land, where our poet's "young idea" first learned "to shoot," than to any vulgar or jacobinical prejudices appertaining more idiosyncratically to it Cavaliere Vincenzo Monti.

Those dreadful scourges are design'd?
Argia. Woe's me!

Eum. Unhappy king!

Gon. The agony of death Causes insanity. Aristodemus,

And in those empty sockets, eyes are none !

Who tore them out? Why do her nos-
trils pour

Rivers of blood! Alas!-O'er all the rest
In pity cast a veil. Spread over her
My royal mantle's ample folds. To frag-


Rend, crush the diadem her blood distains,

And with the remnants of its dust bestrew

The thrones of earth. Proclaim to haughtiest kings,

That royal state by guilt is dearly purchased

That I-expired— — —[Dies.

Gon. Oh, what a dreadful end! We have in general little relish for a long critique, appended, epilogue fashion, to the end of the analysis of a drama. If the analysis and extracts be worth anything, the faults and merits of the piece in question must have been already made manifest; and moreover, in these enlightened days, when, whatever reading and writing may do, criticism indisputuably "comes by nature ;" all the labours of the Reviewer, whether laudatory or damnatory, but more especially explanatory of either sentence, might seem to be works of absolute supererogation. But notwithstanding these motives for suppressing all further reflections upon this extraordinary tragedy, and following our author's example by abruptly concluding our article as he does his drama, with the death of its hero, there is one remark with which we must trouble our readers; because, being perhaps rather of a negative than of a positive character, no power of ge




PULTOWA'S fight was o'er-the royal Swede
Immur'd in Bender, like his own war steed
Impatient chaf'd-his country bled to death
Like a spent warrior; while the fickle breath
Of men that swell'd so late the hero's fame
In murmurs deep subsiding, cursed his name,
Unmoved he stood, as ocean's rock defies
The dashing waves that round its bosom rise,
The storm might burst, Earth's trembling base be rock'd,
Th' unconquer'd Spirit still the tempest mock'd.

Eve closed at Bender, as its curtain falls
Upon the exiled-and the monarch calls
Young Axel to his presence; bids him choose
His fleetest steed, and bear momentous news
To Sweden, to the Council-day nor night
Must the youth stay his swift adventurous flight.
He was an orphan-since by Charles's side
His father fell, the King his place supplied.
The camp's wild nursling own'd a form and face
Too rarely seen 'mid our degenerate race;
Youth on his cheek bade freshest roses shine,
His form was stately as his country's pine ;
His brow was cloudless as heaven's summer air,
And his pure soul was all reflected there.
His bright eye, like the eagle's, fearless raised
On the great source of light, confiding, gazed,
While unappall'd alike, that stedfast eye
Could all the powers of darkness calm defy.

Proud had been Axel, when the gracious hand That nurtured, join'd him to a chosen band

Of seven bright youths, their Sovereign's trusty guard,
From rest, from love, from luxury debarr'd.
Strange were the vows which they had sworn to keep,
Ne'er on th' inglorious couch of ease to sleep,
Ne'er in the battle's stormy hour to yield,

Till seven proud foes lay vanquish'd on the field;
And, ah! how harder far than all beside,
Never to wed, till Charles should choose a bride;
Vainly must eyes their azure heaven unfold,
Vainly may cluster o'er them locks of gold,
Vainly must roses on the lip repose,
Vainly the swan-like bosom heave its snows;
Thou sword-betroth'd One! close thine eyes or flee,
There is no bride, save Victory-for Thee!

How did the heart of Axel swell with joy,
As from his master's presence turn'd the boy!

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