Shall make them through their dark valves rock and ring.

Pri. Thou'rt mad to take the quest. Within my memory

One solitary man did venture there

Dark thoughts dwelt with him, which he sought to

vent.

Unto that dark compeer we saw his steps,

In winter's stormy twilight, seek that pass-
But days and years are gone, and he returns not.
Bert. What fate befell him there?

Pri. The manner of his end was never known.
Bert. That man shall be my mate. Contend not
with me-

Horrors to me are kindred and society.

Or man, or fiend, he hath won the soul of Bertram.

[Bertram is afterwards discovered alone, wandering near the fatal tower, and describes the effect of the awful interview which he had courted.]

Bert. Was it a man or fiend? Whate'er it was,
It hath dealt wonderfully with me-
All is around his dwelling suitable;

The invisible blast to which the dark pines groan,
The unconscious tread to which the dark earth echoes,
The hidden waters rushing to their fall;
These sounds, of which the causes are not seen,
I love, for they are, like my fate, mysterious!

How towered his proud form through the shrouding gloom,

How spoke the eloquent silence of its motion,
How through the barred vizor did his accents
Roll their rich thunder on their pausing soul!
And though his mailed hand did shun my grasp,
And though his closed morion hid his feature,
Yea, all resemblance to the face of man,
I felt the hollow whisper of his welcome,
I felt those unseen eyes were fixed on mine,
If eyes indeed were there-

Forgotten thoughts of evil, still-born mischiefs,
Foul fertile seeds of passion and of crime,
That withered in my heart's abortive core,
Roused their dark battle at his trumpet-peal:
So sweeps the tempest o'er the slumbering desert,
Waking its myriad hosts of burning death:

So calls the last dread peal the wandering atoms
Of blood, and bone, and flesh, and dust-worn frag-
ments,

In dire array of ghastly unity,

To bide the eternal summons

I am not what I was since I beheld him-
I was the slave of passion's ebbing sway-
All is condensed, collected, callous, now-
The groan, the burst, the fiery flash is o'er,
Down pours the dense and darkening lava-tide,
Arresting life, and stilling all beneath it.

Enter two of his band observing him.

RICHARD L. SHEIL-J. H. PAYNE-B. W. PROCTER -JAMES HAYNES.

Another Irish poet, and man of warm imagination, RICHARD LALOR SHEIL, Sought distinction as a dramatist. His plays, Evadne and The Apostate, were performed with much success, partly owing to the admirable acting of Miss O'Neil. The interest of Mr Sheil's dramas is concentrated too exclusively on the heroine of each, and there is a want of action and animated dialogue; but they abound in impressive and well-managed scenes. The plot of Evadne is taken from Shirley's Traitor, as are also some of the sentiments. The following description of female beauty is very finely expressed:

But you do not look altered-would you did!
Let me peruse the face where loveliness
Stays, like the light after the sun is set.
Sphered in the stillness of those heaven-blue eyes,
The soul sits beautiful; the high white front,
Smooth as the brow of Pallas, seems a temple
Sacred to holy thinking—and those lips
Wear the small smile of sleeping infancy,
They are so innocent. Ah, thou art still
The same soft creature, in whose lovely form
Virtue and beauty seemed as if they tried
Which should exceed the other. Thou hast got
That brightness all around thee, that appeared
An emanation of the soul, that loved
To adorn its habitation with itself,
And in thy body was like light, that looks
More beautiful in the reflecting cloud
It lives in, in the evening. Oh, Evadne,
Thou art not altered-would thou wert!

he stalks?

Thou hast the dark knight of the forest seen;

For never man, from living converse come,
Trod with such step or flashed with eye like thine.
Second Robber. And hast thou of a truth seen the
dark knight?

Bert. [Turning on him suddenly.] Thy hand is
chilled with fear. Well, shivering craven,
Say I have seen him-wherefore dost thou gaze?
Long'st thou for tale of goblin-guarded portal?
Of giant champion, whose spell-forged mail
Crumbled to dust at sound of magic horn-
Banner of sheeted flame, whose foldings shrunk
To withering weeds, that o'er the battlements
Wave to the broken spell-or demon-blast
Of winded clarion, whose fell summons sinks

originality or genius displayed in this drama; but, when well acted, it is highly effective on the stage.

In 1821, MR PROCTER'S tragedy of Mirandola was brought out at Covent Garden, and had a short but enthusiastic run of success. The plot is painfulincluding the death, through unjust suspicions, of a prince sentenced by his father-and there is a want of dramatic movement in the play; but some of the passages are imbued with poetical feeling and vigorous expression. The doting affection of Mirandola, the duke, has something of the warmth and the rich diction of the old dramatists.

Duke. My own sweet love! Oh! my dear peerless wife!

By the blue sky and all its crowding stars,

[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.
Is silence my opponent? Fit opponent
To plead a cause too foul for speech! What brow
Shameless gives front to this most valiant cause,
That tries its prowess 'gainst the honour of
A girl, yet lacks the wit to know, that he

Who casts off shame, should likewise cast off fear-
And on the verge o' the combat wants the nerve
To stammer forth the signal?

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
In such a thing, the very self of himself,
Disputed and I'll speak so, Appius Claudius;
I'll speak so-Pray you tutor me!
App. Stand forth

Claudius! If you lay claim to any interest
In the question now before us, speak; if not,
Bring on some other cause.

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.

Claud. She is mine, then :

Do I not look at you?

Vir. Your eye does, truly,

But not your soul. I see it through your eye
Shifting and shrinking-turning every way
To shun me. You surprise me, that your eye,
So long the bully of its master, knows not
To put a proper face upon a lie,

But gives the port of impudence to falsehood
When it would pass it off for truth. Your soul
Dares as soon shew its face to me.

Go on,

I had forgot; the fashion of my speech May not please Appius Claudius.

Claud. I demand

Protection of the Decemvir!

App. You shall have it.

Vir. Doubtless!

App. Keep back the people, Lictors! What's

Edinburgh Review for 1833.

Your plea? You say the girl's your slave. Produce Your proofs.

Claud. My proof is here, which, if they can, Let them confront. The mother of the girl[Virginius, stepping forward, is withheld by Numitorius. Numitorius. Hold, brother! Hear them out, or suffer me To speak.

Vir. Man, I must speak, or else go mad! And if I do go mad, what then will hold me From speaking? She was thy sister, too! Well, well, speak thou. I'll try, and if I can, Be silent.

[Retires.

Num. Will she swear she is her child?
Vir. [Starting forward.] To be sure she will-a
most wise question that!

Is she not his slave? Will his tongue lie for him-
Or his hand steal-or the finger of his hand
Beckon, or point, or shut, or open for him?

To ask him if she 'll swear! Will she walk or run,
Sing, dance, or wag her head; do anything
That is most easy done? She'll as soon swear!
What mockery it is to have one's life

In jeopardy by such a barefaced trick!
Is it to be endured? I do protest
Against her oath!

App. No law in Rome, Virginius,
Seconds you. If she swear the girl's her child,
The evidence is good, unless confronted
By better evidence. Look you to that,
Virginius. I shall take the woman's oath.
Virginia. Icilius!

Icilius. Fear not, love; a thousand oaths
Will answer her.

App. You swear the girl's your child,

And that you sold her to Virginius' wife,

Who passed her for her own. Is that your oath?
Slave. It is my oath.

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
For such a shoot. My witnesses are these-
The relatives and friends of Numitoria,
Who saw her, ere Virginia's birth, sustain
The burden which a mother bears, nor feels
The weight, with longing for the sight of it.
Here are the ears that listened to her sighs
In nature's hour of labour, which subsides
In the embrace of joy-the hands, that when
The day first looked upon the infant's face,
And never looked so pleased, helped them up to it,
And blessed her for a blessing. Here, the eyes
That saw her lying at the generous

And sympathetic fount, that at her cry
Sent forth a stream of liquid living pearl
To cherish her enamelled veins. The lie

Is most unfruitful then, that takes the flower-
The very flower our bed connubial grew-
To prove its barrenness! Speak for me, friends;
Have I not spoke the truth?

Women and Citizens. You have, Virginius.
App. Silence! Keep silence there! No more of
that!

You're very ready for a tumult, citizens.

[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.

Vir. And if he must, I should advise him, Appius,
To take her home in time, before his guardian
Complete the violation which his eyes
Already have begun.-Friends! fellow-citizens !
Look not on Claudius-look on your Decemvir!
He is the master claims Virginia!

The tongues that told him she was not my child
Are these the costly charms he cannot purchase,
Except by making her the slave of Claudius,
His client, his purveyor, that caters for

His pleasure-markets for him-picks, and scents,
And tastes, that he may banquet-serves him up
His sensual feast, and is not now ashamed,
In the open, common street, before your eyes-
Frighting your daughters' and your matrons' cheeks
With blushes they ne'er thought to meet-to help him
To the honour of a Roman maid! my child!
Who now clings to me, as you see, as if
This second Tarquin had already coiled
His arms around her. Look upon her, Romans!
Befriend her! succour her! see her not polluted
Before her father's eyes !-He is but one.
Tear her from Appius and his Lictors while

She is unstained.-Your hands! your hands! your bands!

Citizens. They are yours, Virginius.
App. Keep the people back-

Support my Lictors, soldiers!

And drive the people back.

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-
Let me but loose a moment, if 'tis only

To rush upon your swords.

Vir. Icilius, peace!

You see how 'tis, we are deserted, left

Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies,
Nerveless and helpless.

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 littleYou 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

My child, she hath been like a child to me
For fifteen years. If I am not her father,
I have been like a father to her, Appius,
For even such a time. They that have lived
So long a time together, in so near

And dear society, may be allowed

A little time for parting. Let me take
The maid aside, I pray you, and confer

A moment with her nurse; perhaps she'll give me
Some token will unloose a tie so twined

And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it, My heart breaks with 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
My father?

[VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it.]

Vir. This way, my child-No, no; I am not going To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee. App. Keep back the people, soldiers! Let them not Approach Virginius! Keep the people back!

Vir. I am

I am that she is my daughter!

App. Take her, Lictors!

[Virginia shrieks, and falls half-dead upon her father's shoulder.

Tir. Another moment, pray you. Bear with me A little 'Tis my last embrace. 'Twon't try Your patience beyond bearing, if you're a man! Lengthen it as I may, I cannot make it Long. My dear child! My dear Virginia!

[Kissing her. There is one only way to save thine honour'Tis this.

[Stabs her, and draws out the knife. Icilius breaks from the soldiers that held him, and catches her.

Lo, Appius, with this innocent blood

I do devote thee to the infernal gods!

Make way there!

App. Stop him! Seize him!

Vir. If they dare

To tempt the desperate weapon that is maddened With drinking my daughter's blood, why, let them : thus

It rushes in amongst them. Way there! Way!

[Exit through the soldiers.

[From The Wife, a Tale of Mantua."]
LORENZO, an Advocate of Rome, and MARIANA.
Lorenzo. That's right-you are collected and direct
In your replies. I dare be sworn your passion
Was such a thing, as, by its neighbourhood,
Made piety and virtue twice as rich

As e'er they were before. How grew it? Come,
Thou know'st thy heart-look calmly into it,
And see how innocent a thing it is

Which thou dost fear to shew-I wait your answer.
How grew your passion?

Mariana. As my stature grew,

Which rose without my noting it, until

They said I was a woman. I kept watch
Beside what seemed his death-bed. From beneath
An avalanche my father rescued him,
The sole survivor of a company

Who wandered through our mountains. A long time
His life was doubtful, signor, and he called
For help, whence help alone could come, which I,
Morning and night, invoked along with him;
So first our souls did mingle!

Lor. I perceive: you mingled souls until you mingled hearts?

You loved at last. Was 't not the sequel, maid?

Mar. I loved, indeed! If I but nursed a flower
Which to the ground the rain and wind had beaten,
That flower of all our garden was my pride:
What then was he to me, for whom I thought
To make a shroud, when, tending on him still
With hope, that, baffled still, did still keep up;
I saw, at last, the ruddy dawn of health
Begin to mantle o'er his pallid form,

And glow-and glow-till forth at last it burst
Into confirmed, broad, and glorious day!
Lor. You loved, and he did love?
Mar. To say he did,

Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouched,
What many an action testified- and yet―
What wanted confirmation of his tongue.
But if he loved, it brought him not content!
'Twas now abstraction-now a start-anon
A pacing to and fro-anon a stillness,
As nought remained of life, save life itself,
And feeling, thought, and motion, were extinct.
Then all again was action! Disinclined
To converse, save he held it with himself;
Which oft he did, in moody vein discoursing,
And ever and anon invoking honour,

As some high contest there were pending 'twixt
Himself and him, wherein her aid he needed.

Lor. This spoke impediment; or he was bound
By promise to another; or had friends
Whom it behoved him to consult, and doubted;
Or 'twixt you lay disparity too wide
For love itself to leap.

Mar. I saw a struggle,

But knew not what it was. I wondered still,
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 not-
O 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.

Lor. To follow him

You came to Mantua?

Mar. What could I do?

Cot, garden, vineyard, rivulet, and wood,
Lake, sky, and mountain, went along with him!
Could I remain behind? My father found
My heart was not at home; he loved his child,
And asked me, one day, whither we should go?

I said To Mantua.' I followed him
To Mantua! to breathe the air he breathed,
To walk upon the ground he walked upon,
To look upon the things he looked upon,

To look, perchance, on him! perchance to hear him,
To touch him! never to be known to him,
Till he was told I lived and died his love.

THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES-DR THOMAS

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 shew 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 loversare in a garden; and the husband speaks:

Hesperus. See, here's a bower

Of eglantine with honeysuckles woven,
Where not a spark of prying light creeps in,
So closely do the sweets enfold each other.
'Tis twilight's home; come in, my gentle love,
And talk to me. So! I've a rival here;
What's this that sleeps so sweetly on your neck!
Floribel. Jealous so soon, my Hesperus? Look then,
It is a bunch of flowers I pulled for you:
Here's the blue violet, like Pandora's eye,
When first it darkened with immortal life.

Hesp. Sweet as thy lips. Fie on those taper fingers,
Have they been brushing the long grass aside,
To drag the daisy from its hiding-place,
Where it shuns light, the Danaë of flowers,
With gold up-hoarded on its virgin lap?

Flor. And here's a treasure that I found by chance, A lily of the valley; low it lay

Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping,
As on a fairy's grave.

Hesp. Of all the posy

Give me the rose, though there's a tale of blood
Soiling its name. In elfin annals old

'Tis writ, how Zephyr, envious of his love-
The love he bare to Summer, who since then
Has, weeping, visited the world—once found
The baby Perfume cradled in a violet;
(Twas said the beauteous bantling was the child
Of a gay bee, that in his wantonness
Toyed with a pea-bud in a lady's garland);
The felon winds, confederate with him,
Bound the sweet slumberer with golden chains,
Pulled from the wreathed laburnum, and together
Deep cast him in the bosom of a rose,

And fed the fettered wretch with dew and air. And there is an expression in the same scene (where the author is speaking of sleepers' fancies, &c.),

While that winged song, the restless nightingale
Turns her sad heart to music-

which is perfectly beautiful.

The reader may now take a passage from the scene where Hesperus murders the girl Floribel. She is waiting for him in the Divinity path, alone, and is terrified. At last-he comes; and she sighs out:

Speak! 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,
And the great Tempest in his midnight car,
The sword of lightning girt across his thigh,
And the whole demon brood of night, blind Fog
And withering Blight, all these are my retainers;
How? not one smile for all this bravery?
What think you of my minstrels, the hoarse winds,
Thunder, and tuneful Discord? Hark, they play.
Well piped, methinks; somewhat too rough, perhaps.
Flor. I know you practise on my silliness,
Else I might well be scared. But leave this mirth,
Or I must weep.

Hesp. 'Twill serve to fill the goblets
For our carousal; but we loiter here,

The bride-maids are without; well picked, thou'lt say,