and from such a cause, enlarge upon his father's misery in language like this?

Oh! 'tis a noble, noble gift of heaven,

The gift of light. Each being lives on light,
And all creation feels its gladdening power!
The plants themselves turn joyful to the light:
And he amidst the night must groping sit
Of an eternal darkness. Him revives
No longer the warm meadow's vivid green;
No more can he the floweret's melting dyes,
The roseate-tinted glacier more behold.
To die, is nothing,- nothing! but to live,
And not to see, is misery indeed!
Why do you look at me so piteously?
I have two glistening eyes, and cannot give
One to my poor blind father, - not a ray,

The faintest glimmering of that flood of light,
Which bursts upon my eyes in dazzling splendour.'

It is the poet who here appears, and not the character →→ it is SCHILLER, and not Melchtal. The same observation applies to the remainder of the scene, not a short one, in which there is a great deal of misplaced declamation.

The progress of the action is unnecessarily embarrassed by the introduction of the Baron von Attinghausen, and Rudenz, his nephew. The object of the episode to which they belong is merely to exhibit the influence of Bertha, the beloved of Rudenz, who persuades him to exchange his prospects at court for a career of nobler ambition in assisting the cause of liberty. The conspirators, in the mean time, agree to meet armed at Rutli. Melchtal and his friends are first at the place of rendezvous. The scene is a charming one.

* Melchtal. The mountain-pass opens-follow me, quick! I know the little cross, which crowns that rock:

We've reach'd the goal,

Winhelried.

we are at Rutli.

Hark!

None arriv'd; We are we Unterwaldners.

The first upon the ground,
Melchtal. How goes the night?

• Baumgarten.

Upon the Selisberg.

Meier.

The watch has just cried two [A sound of bells in the distance. Be still, and listen!

• Am Buhel. The matin-bell of the low forest-chapel

Sounds sweetly over from the shore of Schwitz.

Von Der Flue. The air is clear, and bears the sound so

far.

• Melchtal.

Melchtal. Go some, and gather wood, that we may have A cheerful fire, when our companions come.

[Two peasants go out.

Sewa. It is a lovely night! The tranquil lake

Lies like a polish'd mirror.

Am Buhel.

An easy passage over.

They will have

Winhelried (pointing to the lake). Ah! see there!

See you nought yonder?

Meier.

Yes indeed! 'Tis strange!

A rainbow in the middle of the night!

• Melchtal. 'Tis form'd by the reflection of the moon. Von Der Flue. It is a wond'rous sign, and seldom "known;

Many have liv'd who ne'er have seen the like.

'Sewa. Look! now 'tis doubled! There's a paler one. Baumgarten. What boat is that which glides so smoothly under?

'Melchtal. It is the bark of Stauffacher: the brave man Makes not his comrades wait.'

The conspirators from Uri, Schwitz, and Unterwalden being assembled, the three mountain tribes renew their ancient bond of friendship, and the poet takes occasion to introduce an old tradition, handed down in song, which represents them as originally descended from the north, whence their forefathers emigrated in consequence of a famine. The tra dition is curious, but too long for our purpose. Referring to their history, SCHILLER also, in some very eloquent and vigorous verses, asserts the ancient title of the Swiss to their freedom, and maintains that the only connection they had with the Emperor consisted in his giving them his protection, in return for which they defended him from his foes.

For this is the sole duty of the free,

The country to defend which shelters them.'

The following lines are so forcible, and so applicable to the state of Switzerland in the present day, that we cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of transcribing them.

from foreign slave

"That which is our's no Emperor can bestow,
And if the empire should refuse us justice,
Little need we the empire in our mountains."
So spake our fathers: and shall we endure
The shame of this new yoke,
Bear what no Emperor has dar'd to impose?
This soil have we created to ourselves
By labour of our hands; this ancient forest,
Once only the wild haunt of prowling bears,
Have chang'd into a dwelling fit for man;

The

The dragon's poisonous brood, which from the marsh
Spread desolation through the land, have slain ;
The veil of mist, which in eternal grey

Hung o'er the wilderness, have torn aside;
Have sprung the solid rock; and o'er the abyss
Thrown for the traveller a steady bridge;
By the possession of a thousand years

The ground is ours, and shall the stranger now,
The slave of princes, come to forge us chains,
And on our own inheritance do us shame!

Is there no help for tyranny like this?

[A great agitation amongst the people. Yes! tyrant-power has limits! When the oppress'd No longer can find justice, when the load

-

No longer can be borne, with trusting spirit

He springs from earth to heaven, and downward brings
Those rights which hang above, inalienable,
And indestructible as are the stars.
Nature's primeval law returns again,

Where man stands in his native strength alone
Oppos'd to man, and as a last resort,

When other means have fail'd, within his hand,
Is plac'd the sword. Against the arm of power,
We stand our dearest treasures to defend,

Our wives, our children, and our native land.'

Rigid criticism might object to some figures and expressions in this passage, as being strained beyond the limits of good taste; but such faults may be excused for the sake of the manly sentiments which the lines convey.

All this time Tell, who is properly represented as a man of deeds, not of words, is well aware of the feeling that is abroad; and when he finds it approaching to a crisis, he hastens with his son to Altorf. There he refuses to pay homage to the Austrian hat, and for this crime he is ordered by Gesler to shoot the apple from the head of his child. This scene is feebly executed, indeed it would be extremely difficult for any writer to add to, or vary, the interest which the mere relative positions of the father and son excite. SCHILLER has endeavoured to help the weakness of this scene by comments upon the deed itself, among which we meet the following passage of rank bombast, supposed to be uttered by a fisherman:

• To aim at his child's head! Never before
Was such an act enjoin'd upon a father!
And shall not nature, with wild horror pale,
Revolt against it?-Oh! I should not wonder,
To see the rocks bow themselves to the lake!
Each pinnacle to see, each tower of ice,

Which ne'er were thaw'd since first they were created,
Down from their lofty summits melt like snow!
The mountains splinter, and the ancient cliffs
Fall in; a second deluge drown the earth,
And sweep away the abodes of living men!'

The iniquity of Gesler is consummated by ordering Tell to be imprisoned after his frank confession, that if the first arrow touched his child, he had a second prepared for the tyrant himself. Tell is ordered to be taken in chains to Kussnacht, Gesler's castle, and, in order to secure his victim, the Bailiff directs him to be put on board his own boat at Fluellen. As they sail over the lake they encounter another storm, which gives rise to some fine verses.

• Fisherman. Woe to the vessel, which now on its way
Is rock'd in this terrific cradle! Here

The helmsman and the helm alike are useless!
The storm is master. Wind and water play
At ball with man. Distant or near, no bay
Offers its friendly shelter, and the rocks,
Precipitous and rugged, frown upon him,
Inhospitably rude, nor to his view

Ought shew, except their bare and flinty breasts.

Boy. Father, a bark comes from Fluellen hither!
Fisherman. God help the unhappy people. When the

storm

Is once entangled in this glen of waters,

It rages like some savage

beast of prey,

Which 'gainst its prison's iron grating beats,
And howling strives in vain to find an outlet;
For all around the rocks a barrier form,

Which, high as heaven, walls in the narrow pass.'

It is in this tempest, however, that Tell finds his safety. The vessel becomes unmanageable; and upon its being represented to Gesler that Tell was an excellent pilot, he orders his chains to be unbound upon condition that the prisoner would take charge of the helm. Tell guided the boat near a ledge of rock, sprang out, and left the petty tyrant and his crew to their chance of the elements. The narrative of Tell's miraculous escape is well told. Urged now by a double vengeance, he proceeds towards Kussnacht by a short route, and, armed with his faithful bow, he lies in ambush for Gesler over a narrow pass which he must traverse on his way to his castle. Here Gesler is met by a poor woman, who petitions him for the release of her husband from prison; but her prayer only induces the Bailiff to threaten fresh outrages against the freedom of the country, and while he is

thus

thus employed, his heart is transfixed by an arrow from an unseen hand. Gesler felt and exclaimed that it was Tell's.

The fifth act, which follows this scene, might have been altogether spared. It has nothing to do with the main incidents of the drama. It is taken up with the intelligence of the assassination of the Emperor, the return of Tell to his family, and the proclamation of the freedom of Switzerland. The two last results might have been left to the imagination after the death of Gesler, and the death of the Emperor lessens the merit of Tell and his brother conspirators in accomplishing the object which they had in view. In every respect the fifth act is a redundancy, and there is nothing in the poetry or the situations to compensate for the trouble which the perusal of it imposes on the reader.

ART. III. Storia della Letteratura Italiana, dall' Origine della Lingua fino al Secolo XIX., del Cavaliere GIUSEPPE MAFFEI, Regio Bavaro Consigliere, &c. Ad uso della Publica e Privata Istruzione. 3 Vols. 8vo. Milano. 1825.

THE

HE history and critical analysis of Italian literature are subjects no longer gifted with the charm of novelty. To say nothing of the ardour with which, during the last thirty years that literature has been cultivated in our own country, and of the successful zeal with which it has been illustrated in our language; its treasures have also been laboriously dug out to exhaustion, and lavishly displayed in all their splendour, by the ability and enthusiasm both of French and native historians. The erudite and accurate Tiraboschi, the philosophical Ginguené, and the elegant Sismondi, have all raised imperishable monuments and landmarks to guide the future student in this delightful branch of graceful knowledge.

Nor, in giving the supremacy to this triumvirate of distinguished names, should it be forgotten to acknowledge the secondary merits of preceding labourers, who had each, though partially, assisted in preparing the materials for those later and more celebrated writers. The Scrittori Italiani (though but an incomplete fragment) of Mazzucchelli, the Storia letteratura Veneziana of Foscarini, and the similar work of Soria on Neapolitan Letters, are all at least still familiar to the Italian scholar.

With such accumulated stories of history and criticism on the literature of Italy, it may naturally be demanded of the Cavaliere MAFFEI, why he has thought it incumbent on him to challenge an achieved adventure, and to traverse a beaten field of enterprize, over which mightier spirits have

swept