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PROMETHEUS BOUND.

[ÆSCHYLUS, a famous tragic poet of Greece, was born in Attica, B. c. 525, and died in Sicily, at the age of 68. At the age of 25, he was a competitor for the prize of tragedy, which he did not gain, however, until fifteen years later. Eschylus fought at the battles of Marathon, Salamis, and Platea. In 468 B. c., Sophocles defeated him in a contest for the honors of tragedy, when he quitted Athens, and took up his residence at Syraeuse. The dramas of Eschylus which have survived, are only seven, out of seventy said to have been written by him. He was a great and original genius, and did much to perfect dramatic art, limiting the choral parts, introducing the'dialogue, and improving the costumes and scenery of the stage.]

Chor. I grieve, Prometheus, for thy dreary fate,
Shedding from tender eyes
The dew of plenteous tears;

With streams, as when the watery south wind blows,
My cheek is wet;

For lo! these things are all unenviable,
And Zeus, by his own laws his sway maintaining,
Shows to the elder gods
A mood of haughtiness.

ANTISTROPH.

And all the country echoeth with the moan,
And poureth many a tear
For that magnific power

Of ancient days far-seen that thou didst share
With those of one blood sprung:

And all the mortal men who hold the plain
Of holy Asia as their land of sojourn,

They grieve in sympathy

For thy woes lamentable.

STROPH II.

And they, the maiden band who find their home
On distant Colchian coasts,
Fearless of fight,

Or Scythian horde in earth's remotest clime,
By far Mæotic lake.

ANTISTROPII II.

And warlike glory of Arabia's tribes,

Who nigh to Caucasos

In rock fort dwell,

An army fearful with sharp pointed spear Raging in war's array.

STROPH III.

One other Titan only have I seen,

One other of the gods,

Thus bound in woes of adamantine strength—

Atlas, who ever groans

Beneath the burden of a crushing might, The out-spread vault of heaven.

ANTISTROPH III.

And lo! the ocean billows murmur loud
In one accord with him;

The sea-depths groan, and Hades' swarthy pit
Re-echoeth the sound,

And fountains of clear rivers as they flow,
Bewail his bitter griefs.

Prom. Think not it is through pride or stiff self-will
That I am silent. But my heart is worn,
Self-contemplating, as I see myself
Thus outraged. Yet what other hand than mine
Gave these young gods in fulness all their gifts?
But these I speak not of; for I should tell
To you that know them. But those woes of men,
List ye to them,-how they before as babes,
By me were roused to reason, taught to think;
And this I say, not finding fault with men,
But showing my good will in all I gave.
For first, though seeing, all in vain they saw,
And hearing, heard not rightly. But, like forms of
Phantom-dreams, throughout their life's whole length
They muddled all at random; did not know
Houses of brick that catch the sunlight's warmth,
Nor yet the work of carpentry. They dwelt
In hollowed holes, like swarms of tiny ants,
In sunless depths of caverns; and they had
No certain signs of winter, nor of spring
Flower laden, nor of summer with her fruits;
But without counsel fared their whole life long,
Until I showed the risings of the stars,
And settings hard to recognize. And I
Found number for them, chief device of all,
Groupings of letters, Memory's handmaid that,
And mother of the Muses. And I first
Bound in the yoke wild steeds, submissive made
Or to the collar or men's limbs, that so
They might in man's place bear his greatest toils;
And horses trained to love the rein I yoked
To chariots, glory of wealth's pride of state.
Nor was it any one but I that found
Sea-crossing, canvas-winged cars of ships:
Such rare designs inventing (wretched nie!)
For mortal men, I yet have no device

By which to free myself from this my woe.

Chor. Foul shame thou sufferest: of thy sense be

reaved,

Thou errest greatly: and like leech unskilled,
Thou losest heart when smitten with disease,
And know'st not how to find the remedies
Wherewith to heal thine own soul's sicknesses.

Prom. Hearing what yet remains thou'lt wonder more, What arts and what resources I devised:

And this the chief: if any one fell ill,

There was no help for him, nor healing food,

Nor unguent, nor yet potion; but for want

Of drugs they wasted, till I showed to them

The blendings of all mild medicaments,
Wherewith they ward the attacks of sickness sore.

I gave them many modes of prophecy;

And I first taught them what dreams needs must prove

336

ETIQUETTE AT THE COURT OF UGANDA.

True visions, and made known the ominous sounds

Full hard to know; and tokens by the way,

And flights of taloned birds I clearly marked-
Those on the right propitious to mankind,
And those sinister,-and what form of life
They each maintain, and what their enmities

Each with the other, and their loves and friendships,
And of the inward parts the plumpness smooth,
And with what color they the gods would please,
And the streaked comeliness of gall and liver:
And with burnt limbs enwrapt in fat, and chine,
I led men on to art full difficult:

And I gave eyes to omens drawn from fire,
Till then dim-visioned. So far then for this.
And 'neath the earth the hidden boons for men,
Bronze, iron, silver, gold, who else could say
That he, ere I, did found them? None, I know,
Unless he fain would babble idle words.

In one short word, then, learn the truth condensed-
All arts of mortals from Prometheus spring.

Chorus: Nay, be not thou to men so over kind,
While thou thyself art in sore evil case;
For I am sanguine that thou too, released
From bonds, shalt be as strong as Zeus himself.

Prom. It is not thus that Fate's decree is fixed;
But I, long crushed with twice ten thousand woes
And bitter pains, shall then escape my bonds;
Art is far weaker than Necessity.

Chor. Who guides the helm, then, of Necessity?
Prom. Fates triple-formed, Erinnyes unforgetting.
Chor. Is Zeus, then, weaker in his might than these?
Prom. Not even He can 'scape the thing decreed,
Chor. What is decreed for Zeus but still to reign?
Prom. Thou may'st no further learn, ask thou no more.
Chor. 'Tis doubtless some dread secret which thou
hidest.

Prom. Of other theme make mention, for the time
Is not yet come to utter this, but still

It must be hidden to the uttermost ;

For by thus keeping it it is that I

Escape my bondage foul, and these my pains.

STROPH I.

Chor. Ah! ne'er may Zeus the lord
Whose sovran sway rules all,
His strength in conflict set
Against my feeble will!
Nor may I fail to serve
The gods with holy feast
Of whole burnt offerings,
Where the stream ever flows
That bears my father's name,
The great Okeanos!
Nor may I sin in speech!
May this graco more and more
Sink deep into my soul
And never fade away!

ANTISTROPH I.
Sweet is it in strong hope

To spend long years of life
With bright and cheering joy
Our heart's thoughts nourishing;

I shudder, seeing thee

Thus vexed and harassed sore
By twice ten thousand woes;
For thou in pride of heart,
Having no fear of Zeus,
In thine own obstinacy,
Dust show for mortal men,
Prometheus, love o'er much.

STROPH II.

See how that boon, dear friends,
For thee is bootless found.

Say, where is any help?

What aid from mortals comes?

Hast thou not seen this brief and powerless life, Fleeting as dreams, with which man's purblind race Is fast in fetters bound?

Never shall counsels vain

Of mortal men break through

The harmony of Zeus.

Prom. Yea, now in very deed,

No more in word alone,
The earth shakes to and fro,
And the loud thunder's voice
Bellows hard by, and blaze
The flashing levin-fires;
And tempests whirl the dust,
And gusts of all wild winds
On one another leap,

In wild conflicting blasts,
And sky with sea is blent:
Such is the storm from Zeus
That comes as working fear,
In terrors manifest.

O Mother venerable!

O Æther! rolling round

The common light of all,
See'st thou what wrongs I bear?
ESCHYLUS-Translated by Plumptra

ETIQUETTE AT THE COURT OF
UGANDA.

[CAPTAIN JOHN H. SPEKE, born in 1827, died in 1864 an English traveller, led with Captain Grant the expedi tion for African discovery which established the con nection of the Nile with the lakes of Central Africa, He published a “Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile" (1863), and “ What Led to the Discovery of the Source of the Nile" (1864).]

The mighty king was now reported to be sitting on his throne in the state-hut of the third tier. I advanced hat in hand, with my guard of honor following, formed in

T

FUNERAL ORATION OF HENRIETTA MARIA.

337

one near me dared speak, or even lift his head from fear of being accused of eyeing the women; so the king and myself sat staring at one another for full an hour--I mute, but

him on the novelty of my guard and general appearance, and even requiring to see my hat lifted, the umbrella shut and opened, and the guards face about and show off their red cloaks-for such wonders had never been seen in Uganda.

Then finding the day waning, he sent Mau la on an embassy to ask me if I had seen him; and on receiving my reply, 'Yes, for full one hour,' I was glad to find him rise, spear in hand, lead his dog, and walk unceremoniously away through the inclosure into the fourth tier of huts; for this being a pure levée day, no business was transacted. The king's gait in retiring was intended to be very majestic, but did not succeed in conveying to me that impression. It was the traditional walk of his race, founded on the step of the lion; but the outward sweep of the legs, intended to represent the stride of the noble beast, appeared to me only to realise a very ludicrous kind of waddle.

open ranks, who in their turn were followed by the bearers carrying the present. I did not walk straight up to him as if to shake hands, but went outside the ranks of a threesided square of squatting Wakungu, all hab-he pointing and remarking with those around ited in skins, mostly cow-skins; some few of them had, in addition, leopard-cat skins girt round the waist, the sign of royal blood. Here I was desired to halt and sit in the glaring sun; so I donned my hat, mounted my umbrella-a phenomenon which set them all a-wondering and laughing-ordered the guard to close ranks, and sat gazing at the novel spectacle. A more theatrical sight I never saw. The king, a well-figured, tall young man of twenty-five, was sitting on a red blanket spread upon a square platform of royal grass, encased in tiger-grass reeds, scrupulously well-dressed. The hair of his head was cut short, excepting on the top, where it was combed up to a high ridge, running from stem to stern like a cock's comb. On his neck was a very neat ornament a large ring of beautifully worked small beads, forming elegant patterns by their various colors. On one arm was another bead ornament, prettily devised; on the other a wooden charm, tied by a string covered with a snake-skin. On every finger and every toe he had alternate brass and copper rings; and above the ankles, half- FUNERAL ORATION ON way up to the calf, a stocking of very pretty beads. Everything was light, neat and elegant in its way; not a fault could be found with the taste of his 'getting up.' For a handkerchief he held a well-folded piece of [JACQUES BENIGNE BOSSUET, one of the greatest pulpit bark, and a piece of gold-embroidered silk, orators of France, born at Dijon, 1627, died bishop of which he constantly employed to hide his Meaux, in 1704. He early became celebrated for his. large mouth when laughing, or to wipe it learning and eloquence, and in 1661 was made preacher after a drink of plantain wine, of which he to the French court, and ten years later a member of took constant and copious draughts from the Academy. Bossuet wrote a History of the Diversities. neat little gourd-cups, administered by his of the Protestant churches, with several other controver ladies-in-waiting, who were at once his sis-sial works, a Discours sur l'Histoire Universel, and a multers and wives. A white dog, spear, shield, and woman-the Uganda cognisance-were by his side, as also a knot of staff-officers, with whom he kept up a brisk conversation on one side, and on the other was a band of Wachézi, or lady-sorcerers.

I was now asked to draw nearer within the hollow square of squatters, where leopard skins were strewed upon the ground, and a large copper kettle-drum, surmounted with brass bells on arching wires, along with two smaller drums covered with cowrie-shells, and beads of color worked into patterns, were placed. I now longed to open conversation, but knew not the language, and no

VOL. VIII.

ETTA MARIA.

HENRI

TRANSLATED BY THE AMERICAN EDITOR.

titude of sermons. His funeral orations are regarded as. models of sacred eloquence. His discourse on the death of Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I. of England, and

daughter of Henry IV. of France, and the funeral dis

course upon her daughter, the youthful and well

beloved Madame, Duchess of Orleans, are among the

finest of these. "Bossuet, himself the eagle of elo.

quence," (says a great preacher) in his funeral sermon on Henrietta Maria, the queen of misfortunes, depicted the sorrows of her birth and her estate so as to gather up the audience in his arms, to moisten the faces of men with tears, to show them the nothingness of mortal glory, and the beauty of eternal life."]

Who can express the sorrows of this unhappy queen? Who can record her lamen

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