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What seeks he underneath his mantle The fifth is very short. It beginsthus ?

with the anxieties and alarms of Argia There's not a fibre in my frame but and Gonippus, neither of whom has trembles.

been able to find Aristodemus. Argia Arist. (aside.) No matter. I shall find

desires Gonippus to prosecute the another. Any may serve.

search, promising to wait the result Ces. Oh, stay! I pray thee, go not where she is, the hall, containing hence!

Dirce's monument, being the king's Prostrate before thee, I adjure thee, stay! favourite haunt. She is no sooner Hear me, renounce thy horrible intent!

alone, however, than she recollects her Arist. What strange intent shapes out

unhappy father's recent visit to the inthy startled fancy?

terior of the tomb, and is seized with Ces. Spare me the agony of utterance !

terror, lest he should have returned Dimly I see it, and with horror freeze.

to a spot so well calculated to exaspeArist. Nothing disastrous apprehend for

rate his previously frenzied feelings. me, Be thy vain terrors by this smile dispell’d.

After a moments hesitation, proceedCesi. That smile? Thou can'st not

ing from dread of the spectre, which know how ghastly 'tis.

she has learnt to believe inhabits the It terrifies me. Thoughts whence spring sepulchre, she resolves to enter it in such smiles,

quest of the royal penitent. She has Cannot be innocent. Oh, change them, scarcely disappeared in execution of change them!

her enterprize, when Aristodemus Oh, fly me not, but look upon me! See, comes upon the stage, armed with a 'Tis i implore thee-Gods! he listens dagger, and after a very brief mononot.

logue, stabs himself. Argia, GonipFrenzied he stands I am undone-Oh, pus, and Eumaeus, rush in, and the stay!

wretched man is presently inforined, Listen, I follow thee.

that in his beloved Cesira, he beholds (ARISTODEMUS, by threatening signs, his long-lost, and vainly-regretted forbids her following him, and rushes daughter, Argia. He exclaims, in deout.

spair at thus discovering, too late, what Alas! alas !

happiness had been within his reach, Am I forbidden thus ?- That sign, that glance,

And thus must I recover thee! Oh, now Have stunn'd my senses.

Of Heav'n's revenge the direful consumEnter GONIPPUS,

mation Oh, the gods be praised ! I see, the agonies of death now feel! A deity, Gonippus, sends thee hither. Oh, cruel recognition ! Oh, my child ! The king is frantic-Fly, pursue his steps, Ungovernable fury fills my breast, Preserve him from the frenzy of his soul. Compelling me to curse the hour that

Gonippus silently obeys, and after gives this powerfully-conceived and striking A daughter to mine arms. scene, Cesira remains alone, over- Argia. Ye pitying gods, whelmed with grief and terror. In Oh, give me back my father, or with him this condition, she is found by Eumae

Here let me die! us, the guardian of her infancy, who,

Arist. Art raving, that thou hopest upon being liberated from his Spartan Compassion from the gods? That gods imprisonment, has forthwith hurried home. It can hardly be necessary to

I well believe, abundantly to me say what his arrival immediately re

Is their existence proved by my misfor

tunes, veals to Cesira, or, as she is thenceforwarą called, Argia, the mystery of

But they are cruel. Their barbarity, her birth, and extorts from the still

Daughter, to this has driven me.

Argia. Ye powers ! unwilling Lysander, a confirmation of

Hear ine, behold my scalding tears, and the important discovery. Argia, de

pardon lighted at learning her near affinity to

His frantic accents! Oh, my dearest him she already so filially loves, flies

father, to seek her father; and the Spartans To suffering add not crime, the worst of take their final departure from Messe

crimes, nia, which the good-natured Palame- The blasphemy of desperation. des has no longer any object in retard- Arist. 'Tis ing. Thus ends the fourth Act. The only solace left me. Shall I hope

there are,

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In this condition pardon? Can I ask it? must trouble our readers ; because, Know I if I desire it?

being perhaps rather of a negative than Argia. Mighty gods !

of a positive character, no power of geMy father, strive against this horrid terror; nius could, without an attentive peruOh, tranquillize thy spirit, and thine eyes sal of the whole play, enable them to Raise trustingly towards Heaven !

make it for themselves. It is this-to Gonip. He casts them down

not a soul of the dramatis personæ, And murmurs 'twixt his lips; see from from the commencement of the first his face

Act to the close of the fifth, does it All colour fades.

ever occur to suggest as a topic of conArist. Oh, whither do ye drag me? solation to the grieving monarch, the Where am I? What a darksome solitude! good use he has made of his royal auRemove those pallid phantoms. Say for thority, however nefariously acquired ; whom

to dilate upon the battles he has fought Those dreadful scourges are design'd ?

for the protection of his people ; upon Argia. Woe's me!

the happiness he has diffused around Eum. Unhappy king!

him by wise government; or upon the Gon. The agony of death

grateful affection borne him by his Causes insanity. Aristodemus, My sovereign, dost thou know me ? Me, bating his belief of being an object

subjects. Once indeed, Cesira, in comGonippus? See'st thou thy daughter ?

of divine wrath, observes, that on the Arist. Well, what would my daughter? contrary, the gods must be favourably If I destroy'd, have I not wept for her ?

disposed towards so good a father, citiIs't not enough of vengeance? Let her

zen, and king. This, of course, is pre

vious to her knowledge of her royal come, I'll speak to her myself. Look on her, see; friend's guilt. And once Gonippus inHer tresses bristle on her brow like thorns, vites him, by way of a diversion to his And in those empty sockets, eyes are sorrows, to walk forth, and see how none !

the people rejoice in the peace concluWho tore them out ? Why do her nostrils ded with Sparta. This last is the only pour

passage in which we find the slightest Rivers of blood ! Alas!-O’er all the rest intimation of what ought to constitute In pity cast a veil. Spread over her the enjoyments of sovereignty, or the My royal mantle's ample folds. To frag- slightest tendency towards what might ments

have been conceived to be the topics Rend, crush the diadem her blood distains, best adapted for soothing the pangs of And with the remnants of its dust bestrew the miserable criminal with hopes that The thrones of earth. Proclaim to haugh his unnatural deed had been in any tiest kings,

degree expiated. Through the whole That royal state by guilt is dearly pur

play, the pomp and exaltation of royalchased

ty seem to be the principal, if not the That I expired- - [Dies.

only ideas connected with the kingly Gon. Oh, what a dreadful end !

office, or, to speak more in the spirit We have in general little relish for of the work we are reviewing, with the a long critique, appended, epilogue fa- kingly title; and the remorse, tears, shion, to the end of the analysis of a and secluded melancholy of the sordrama. If the analysis and extracts rowing penitent, including, we cannot be worth anything, the faults and me- but apprehend, the at least occasional rits of the piece in question must have dereliction of duties which neither nabeen already made manifest; and ture nor fortune had thrust upon him, moreover, in these enlightened days, are the sole grounds upon which he is when, whatever reading and writing encouraged to hope for pardon. We may do, criticism indisputably “comes suspect that this marvellous apparent by nature;" all the labours of the Re- deficiency of all philosophical concepviewer, whether laudatory or damna- tions of public virtue, love of fame, or tory, but more especially explanatory even of generous ambition, as at least of either sentence, might seem to be not incompatible with high station, works of absolute supererogation. But must be ascribed rather to the moral notwithstanding these motives for sup- and political mal aria of the fair, but depressing all further reflections upon graded land, where our poet's "young this extraordinary tragedy, and follow- idea" first learnel “ to shoot,” than to ing our author's example by abruptly any vulgar or jacobinical prejudices concluding our article as he does his appertaining more idiosyncratically to drama, with the death of its hero, il Cavaliere Vincenzo Monti. there is one remark with which we




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 ʼmid 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 !

The precious letter in his belt he sew'd,
And day and night the stripling gaily rode,
Till, on the contines of the wild Ukraine,
A band of warriors seized his flowing rein.
One bade him yield (or die) the precious scroll
Quick flash'd the hero's sword, and gave his sole,
His Scandinavian answer—to the shore
Of Lethe sent, that caitiff spoke no more !

The youth his back against a trusty oak
Supporting, still with quick successive stroke
His foes diminish'd-on his oath he thought,
And not with seven alone, but twenty fought;
Numbers prevail'd, and desperate grew the strife,
No more for victory, nor even for life;
Now every blow the fainting warrior gave
Was but to gain companions to the grave.

From many a purple wound, life ebbing fast,
Whisper'd this fatal hour must be his last;
The blood, retreating, slumber'd round the heart,
From the chill hand the faithful sword must part ;
Night spread her pall before his closing eyes,
He sunk, as one who never more might rise !
Madden'd by sight of comrades stretch'd below,
Cruel had been the mercies of the foe,
But, by loud sounds of sylvan warfare scared,
They fled—and in their haste, the stripling spared.

Hurrah ! like whirlwind o'er the boundless plain,
Come rushing to the spot a hunter train.
Outstripping falcon's fight, and staghound's speed,
Rode foremost, on a tiger-spotted steed,
With bow and quiver arm’d, in greenwood guise,
Rose on her cheek, and daylight in her eyes,
A lovely female form, too soft, too young
For Dian’s-as her half-wild courser sprung
In terror from the fancied corse,-one bound
Brought the light fearless rider to the ground.

Not Dian's self, as o'er the slumb’rer charm’d,
On Latmos' peak the goddess hung alarm'd
By her pale crescent, saw with streaming eye,
A form more lovely, or more deathlike lie !
He lay, as stately oak in northern wood,
Prostrate 'mid saplings-matchless even in blood !

Her trembling hand was to his heart applied,
She bound the gushing wounds his vest that dyed,
Then bade her vassals

to her home convey
The form half lifeless in their arms that lay.
Long did she watch through nature's dubious strife,
Hang o'er the couch where hover'd death and life,
As if in that bright Grecian land of song,

(That land, whose sun, alas ! has set so long) VOL. XIX.

2 A

A wild rose rear’d its fond and fragile tress
O'er the fall’n statue of a Hercules !

He wakes ! but ah! that


that beam'd so mild, Roams round the chamber in delirium wild. “ Where am I?-damsel ! hie thee hence, and flee! No eye of woman must even look on me. I am King Charles's—and no tear of thine Must pour

its balsam into wound of mine. From the cold grave, where sleeps my father now, He frowns upon me, and records my vow ! Hence, bright temptation ! Sorceress, away! My sword, my belt, my letter, where are they? Give me my father's sword, whose deadly bite Was ever fatal to the Muscovite ;How gladly did its shining sickle mow, To-day, the bloody harvesť of the foe!Oh ! had my King been witness to the deed! But how is this? methinks myself I bleed. Let me to Stockholm-give the precious scroll, On which lies pledged the honour of my soul; Moments are precious; up! and let me ride !". Thus, in wild fever's paroxysm, cried War's dauntless nursling,—then in speechless pain Upon his friendly pillow sunk again. At length, glad umpire in the lingering strife, Youth gave the palm of victory-to Life! 'Mid the fond leisure slow recovery lent, How many a speechless glance the rescued bent On that bright creature of an Eastern sky, But for whose cares he had been doom'd to die !

This was no fair but melancholy maid, (Such as might haunt a northern greenwood shade; Such as might grace a northern poet's lay; Her locks bright beaming with the gold of day; Her cheek just tinged with evening primrose hue, And eyes where sat Forget-me-not's deep blue ;) Eastern she was in feature, form, and air, Dark lay the masses of her raven hair, At times reposing on her cheek's rich red, Like midnight slumbering on a rosy bed! Bright glow'd her forehead with that freshest ray Aurora wears when leading on the day ; Her step was that of fabled Oread, So unconfined, so dancing, and so glad ; High beat the youthful bosom's silver wave With joys that youth and health spontaneous gave; Her soul, a summer heav'n, like it was bright With flowers, with perfume, melody, and light ! In her dark eye celestial fire oft strove With earth-born sweetness, stol’n from Venus' dove.

O Axel! since on wounds received in war Time laid his hand, and left thee scarce a scar,

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