Jul. None. Lor. Then 'twas my fancy. Every passing hour Is crowded with a thousand whisperers; The night has lost its silence, and the stars Shoot fire upon my soul. Darkness itself Has objects for mine eyes to gaze upon, And sends me terror when I pray for sleep In vain upon my knees. Nor ends it here; My greatest dread of all-detection-casts Her shadow on my walk, and startles me At every turn: sometime will reason drag Her frightful chain of probable alarms Across my mind; or, if fatigued, she droops, Her pangs survive the while; as you have seen The ocean tossing when the wind is down, And the huge storm is dying on the waters. Once, too, I had a dream Jul. The shadows of our sleep should fly with sleep; Nor hang their sickness on the memory. Lor. Methought the dead man, rising from his tomb, Frowned over me. Elmira at my side, Stretched her fond arms to shield me from his wrath, At which he frowned the more. I turned away, Disgusted, from the spectre, and assayed To clasp my wife; but she was pale, and cold, And in her breast the heart was motionless, And on her limbs the clothing of the grave, With here and there a worm, hung heavily. Then did the spectre laugh, till from its mouth Blood dropped upon us while it cried- Behold! Such is the bridal bed that waits thy love!' I would have struck it (for my rage was up); I tried the blow; but, all my senses shaken By the convulsion, broke the tranced spell, And darkness told me sleep was my tormentor. JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. The most successful of modern tragic dramatists is MR JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES, whose plays W. Knowles have recently been collected and republished in three volumes. His first appeared in 1820, and is founded on that striking incident in Roman story, the death of a maiden by the hand of her father, Virginius, to save her from the lust and tyranny of Appius. Mr Knowles's Virginius had an extraordinary run of success. He has since published The Wife, a Tale of Mantua, The Hunchback, Caius Gracchus, The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green, William Tell, The Love Chace, &c. With considerable knowledge of stage effect, Mr Knowles unites a lively inventive imagination and a poetical colouring, which, if at times too florid and gaudy, sets off his familiar images and illustrations. His style is formed on that of Massinger and the other elder dramatists, carried often to a ridiculous excess. He also frequently violates Roman history and classical propriety, and runs into conceits and affected metaphors. These faults are counterbalanced by a happy art of constructing scenes and plots, romantic, yet not too improbable, by skilful delineation of character, especially in domestic life, and by a current of poetry which sparkles through his plays, 'not with a dazzling lustre-not with a gorgeousness that engrosses our attention, but mildly and agreeably; seldom impeding with useless glitter the progress and development of incident and character, but mingling itself with them, and raising them pleasantly above the prosaic level of common life."* [Scene from Virginius."] APPIUS, CLAUDIUS, and LICTORS. Appius. Well, Claudius, are the forces At hand? Claudius. They are, and timely, too; the people Are in unwonted ferment. App. There's something awes me at Upon her, my Appius! Fix your gaze upon Haste! [Appius ascends the tribunal. [Enter NUMITORIUS, ICILIUS, LUCIUS, CITIZENS, VIRGINIUS leading his daughter, SERVIA, and CITIZENS. A dead silence prevails.] Virginius. Does no one speak? I am defendant here. A girl, yet lacks the wit to know, that he App. You had better, Virginius, wear another kind of carriage; This is not of the fashion that will serve you. Vir. The fashion, Appius! Appius Claudius tell me The fashion it becomes a man to speak in, Whose property in his own child-the offspring Of his own body, near to him as is His hand, his arm-yea, nearer-closer far, Knit to his heart-I say, who has his property App. Stand forth Claudius! If you lay claim to any interest Claud. Most noble Appius Vir. And are you the man That claims my daughter for his slave-Look at me And I will give her to thee. *Edinburgh Review for 1833. Num. Will she swear she is her child? Is she not his slave? Will his tongue lie for him- To ask him if she'll swear! Will she walk or run, In jeopardy by such a bare-faced trick! App. No law in Rome, Virginius, Icilius. Fear not, love; a thousand oaths App. You swear the girl's your child, App. Your answer now, Virginius. Vir. Here it is! [Brings Virginia forward. Is this the daughter of a slave? I know "Tis not with men as shrubs and trees, that by The shoot you know the rank and order of The stem. Yet who from such a stem would look And never looked so pleased, helped them up to it, And sympathetic fount, that at her cry You're very ready for a tumult, citizens. No more of [Troops appear behind. Lictors, make way to let these troops advance! We have had a taste of your forbearance, masters, And wish not for another. Vir. Troops in the Forum! App. Virginius, have you spoken? Vir. If you have heard me, I have; if not, I'll speak again. Virginius; I had evidence to give, Which, should you speak a hundred times again, Vir. Your hand, Virginia! Stand close to me. App. My conscience will not let me Be silent. 'Tis notorious to you all, [Aside. That Claudius' father, at his death, declared me The guardian of his son. This cheat has long Been known to me. I know the girl is not Virginius' daughter. Vir. Join your friends, Icilius, I should have done my client unrequired, Vir. Don't tremble, girl! don't tremble. [A side. [Aside. I feel for you; but though you were my father, The tongues that told him she was not my child To the honour of a Roman maid! my child! Citizens. They are yours, Virginius. App. Keep the people back Support my Lictors, soldiers! Seize the girl, Icilius. Down with the slaves! [The people make a show of resistance; but, upon the advance of the soldiers, retreat, and leave ICILIUS, VIRGINIUS, and his daughter, &c. in the hands of APPIUS and his party.] Deserted!-Cowards! traitors! Let me free But for a moment! I relied on you; Had I relied upon myself alone, I had kept them still at bay! I kneel to you- To rush upon your swords. Vir. Icilius, peace! You see how 'tis, we are deserted, left Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies, App. Separate them, Lictors! Vir. Let them forbear awhile, I pray you, Appius: It is not very easy. Though her arms Are tender, yet the hold is strong by which She grasps me, Appius-forcing them will hurt them; They'll soon unclasp themselves. Wait but a little You know you're sure of her! App. I have not time To idle with thee; give her to my Lictors. Vir. Appius, I pray you wait! If she is not A little time for parting. Let me take A moment with her nurse; perhaps she'll give me And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it, App. Have your wish. Be brief! Lictors, look to them. Virginia. Do you go from me? Do you leave? Father! Father! Vir. No, my child— No, my Virginia-come along with me. Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me with you? Will you take me home again? O, bless you! bless you! My father! my dear father! Art thou not [From The Wife, a Tale of Mantua.'] As e'er they were before. How grew it? Come, Which thou dost fear to show-I wait your answer. Mariana. As my stature grew, Which rose without my noting it, until From beneath Beside what seemed his deathbed. Lorenzo. I perceive: you mingled souls until you mingled hearts? You loved at last. Was't not the sequel, maid? Lorenzo. You loved, and he did love? Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouched, Lorenzo. This spoke impediment; or he was bound Mariana. I saw a struggle, But knew not what it was. I wondered still, [Kissing her. That what to me was all content, to him Was all disturbance; but my turn did come. At length he talked of leaving us; at length He fixed the parting day-but kept it notO how my heart did bound! Then first I knew It had been sinking. Deeper still it sank When next he fixed to go; and sank it then To bound no more! He went. [Stabs her, and draws out the knife. Icilius breaks from the soldiers that held him, and catches her. Lorenzo. To follow him You came to Mantua? Mariana. What could I do? To look, perchance, on him! perchance to hear him, THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES. · The Bride's Tragedy, by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES, published in 1822, is intended for the closet rather than the theatre. It possesses many passages of pure and sparkling verse. The following,' says a writer in the Edinburgh Review, will show the way in which Mr Beddoes manages a subject that poets have almost reduced to commonplace. We thought all similes for the violet had been used up; but he gives us a new one, and one that is very delightful.' Hesperus and Floribel (the young wedded lovers) are in a garden; and the husband speaks: Hesperus. See, here's a bower It is a bunch of flowers I pulled for you: is waiting for him in the Divinity path, alone, and is terrified. At last he comes; and she sighs outSpeak! let me hear thy voice, Tell me the joyful news! and thus he answers Ay, I am come In all my solemn pomp, Darkness and Fear, Hesperus. "Twill serve to fill the goblets Their gory bosoms; they'll look wondrous comely; After some further speech, she asks him what he means, and he replies What mean I? Death and murder, Darkness and misery. To thy prayers and shrift, Earth gives thee back. Thy God hath sent me for thee; Repent and die. She returns gentle answers to him; but in the end he kills her, and afterwards mourns thus over her body: : Dead art thou, Floribel; fair, painted earth, And no warm breath shall ever more disport Hesperus. Sweet as thy lips. Fie on those taper Between those ruby lips: no; they have quaffed Have they been brushing the long grass aside, fingers, To drag the daisy from its hiding-place, Where it shuns light, the Danae of flowers, With gold up-hoarded on its virgin lap? Life to the dregs, and found death at the bottom, Look, what a face! had our first mother worn Floribel. And here's a treasure that I found by His heart, all malice, would have turned to love; chance, A lily of the valley; low it lay Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping, As on a fairy's grave. Hesperus. Of all the posy Give me the rose, though there's a tale of blood 'Tis writ, how Zephyr, envious of his love which is perfectly beautiful. The reader may now take a passage from the scene where Hesperus murders the girl Floribel. She No hand but this, which I do think was once MISS MITFORD-SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER- MISS MITFORD, so well known for her fine prose tales and sketches, has written three tragediesJulian, Rienzi, and The Vespers of Palermo. They were all brought on the stage, but Rienzi' only met with decided success. An equal number of dramas has been produced by another novelist, SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER: these are entitled, The Lady of Lyons, La Valliere, and Richelieu. The first of these pieces is the best, and it seldom fails of drawand romantic play, with passages of fine poetry ing tears when well represented. It is a picturesque and genuine feeling. 'La Valliere' is founded on the court and times of Louis XIV., but it wants prominence of character and dramatic art. Richelieu' is a drama of greater energy and power, but is also loosely constructed. THOMAS NOON TALFOURD, sergeant-at-law, an eloquent English barrister, has written two classic plays, Ion, and The Athenian Captive, remarkable for a gentle beauty, refinement, and pathos. He has also produced a domestic drama, The Massacre of Glencoe, but it is much inferior to his other productions. Ion' was acted with great success, and published in 1835. It seems an embodiment of the simplicity and grandeur of the Greek drama, and its plot is founded on the old Grecian notion of destiny, apart from all moral agencies. The oracle of Delphi had announced that the vengeance which the misrule of the race of Argos had brought on the people, in the form of a pestilence, could only be disarmed by the extirpation of the guilty race, and Ion, the hero of the play, at length offers himself a sacrifice. The character of Ion-the discovery of his birth, as son of the kinghis love and patriotism, are drawn with great power and effect. The style of Mr Talfourd is chaste and clear, yet full of imagery. Take, for example, the delineation of the character of Ion : Ion, our sometime darling, whom we prized Hath his clear spirit vanquished-Love, the germ [Extracts from Ion.'] [Ion being declared the rightful heir of the throne, is waited upon by Clemanthe, daughter of the high priest of the temple, wherein Ion had been reared in obscurity.] Ion. What wouldst thou with me, lady? Nothing, my lord, save to implore thy pardon, Clem. To forget it! Indeed, my lord, I will not wish to lose What, being past, is all my future hath, All I shall live for; do not grudge me this, The brief space I shall need it. Ion. Speak not, fair one, In tone so mournful, for it makes me feel Too sensibly the hapless wretch I am, That troubled the deep quiet of thy soul Clem. Dost thou yet Esteem it rapture, then? My foolish heart, Ion. It must separate us! Clem. Thou dost accuse Thy state too harshly; it may give some room, Ion. Not for me; My pomp must be most lonesome, far removed Clem. O unkind! And shall we never see each other? Ion. [After a pause.] Yes! I have asked that dreadful question of the hills I feel the love that kindles through its beauty Clem. Bless thee for that name; Pray, call me so again; thy words sound strangely, Kill me at once! Ion. No; thou must live, my fair one : There are a thousand joyous things in life, Which pass unheeded in a life of joy As thine hath been, till breezy sorrow comes To ruffle it; and daily duties paid Hardly at first, at length will bring repose To the sad mind that studies to perform them. Thou dost not mark me. Clem. O, I do! I do! Ion. If for thy brother's and thy father's sake Thou art content to live, the healer Time Will reconcile thee to the lovely things Of this delightful world-and if another, A happier-no, I cannot bid thee love Another!-I did think I could have said it, But 'tis in vain. Clem. Thou art my own, then, still? |