than in ordinary life, as we our selves contemplate it,-any more than that the palpable features of actual life should be exhibited in such poetry with new freshness and energy of colour and of tone. It is only as if the poet were permitted to have some glimpses of that prescience which we know does exist, and amidst our admiration of his genius in its other workings, we scarcely permit ourselves to question the possibility of such things being granted to one so gifted as he is. It is possible, without making any use of this awful idea, to represent, with abundant power and energy, some single tragical event, some one unhappy accident in one man's life; but without its use it appears to us to be quite impossible to unfold a complete panorama of all that inextricably mingled, and indissolubly connected progress of thoughts and actions in which alone the true and entire tragedy of any man's history can be revealed.

The mother of this Hugo, a Spanish lady, being alarmed by some dark words of a gypsy, which promise nothing but evil for his fortunes, is prevailed upon, in the absence of her husband, to give the boy to her friend, a northern countess, who is anxious to have an heir, and who presents him in that character to her own lord. He is carried to the Scandinavian castle of this lord, and educated there in all the wild freedom and wilder superstition of the north. Ere he has passed the limit of manhood, however, he travels over the world, and is led by his delight in reviewing the recollections of his infancy, to spend some years on the soil of Spain. Knowing nothing of the secrets of his own strange history; and, in consequence of a change of name, being unknown i like manner to any person in Spain, he forms an intimate friendship with a young nobleman of his own age, and conceives an unfortunate passion for this friend's beautiful wife. After long contending and struggling with his passion, his resolution is at last overcome by the knowledge that his passion is fervently returned. The honour of Elvira is no more, and the suspicions of her lord are soon cited-in his jealousy he insults Hugo, and kindles thereby the first stirrings of that guilty thought which is destined to lead him to all his misery. He is slain by Hu

ex

go in the forest-but it is supposed that he had fallen by an accidental discharge of his own fowling-pieceand (amidst many sorrowful fears on her part, and some dark suspicions, but without any actual knowledge or belief of his guilt) he becomes the husband of the beautiful Elvira, who loves and is loved again with all the matchless fervour of southern imagination and southern blood. They leave Spain, carrying with them the son of Elvira by her murdered husband, and take up their abode in the paternal castle of Hugo, where they spend a year in company with Hugo's unmarried sister Bertha, a lady whose pure northern simplicity of virtue and of happiness affords a strange contrast to those tumultuous miseries and pleasures, between which the life of the guilty husband, and the not innocent wife, is divided.

It is on the evening of the day with which this year terminates, that the action of the play commences. Elvira appears alone upon the stage, beguiling the time with the music of her harp in her secret chamber, while Count Oerindur is engaged in the chase among the mountains. A gloomy dread-a presentiment of something about to befall her husband, seems to hang upon her mind; and the sudden breaking of one of the strings of her instrument is sufficient, in the excited and feverish state of her fancy, to make her give words in solitude to the apprehensions, whose weight she cannot throw from her. The sister of her husband comes into the chamber and observes her alarm-and being informed of its fantastic origin, ridicules her for indulging in it.

Bertha. (With cheerfulness.) You know not yet

The ways of northern spirits. It is true, Beyond your Pyrenees, guitars may breathe From shadowy hollows, and terrific steeps, Prophetic music. But, in these cold realms, Down through the chimney's narrow throat Spiritual guests another language hold.—

the winds

Even a whole armament of imps from hell: But if you hear not, close upon your ear, The owl cry," HUGO :" you need never fear

That he will not return.

Elv. (Reproachfully.) Bertha !-and yet Thou mean'st it well;-by jesting wouldst beguile

And tranquillize my spirit. Oh, were this But apprehension!

Ber. Say, what is it more?

Elv. Past sufferings now their wonted

power assert,

Even in my inmost heart; for at the chace Perish'd my husband Carlos-Otto's father. Ber. How!

Elv. He fell, his horse and he together, And, in the fall, itself by accident Discharging, his own carabine then gave The mortal wound.

Ber. Ah! then, forgive, I pray,

Ber. That conscience thus disturbs thine inward peace,

Bear humbly as a purifying penance; It is my brother Hugo whom thou lovest, And Hugo's sister cannot judge Elvira. (They embrace with emotion, and go severally to the windows. The rushing of the wind, already heard, becomes stronger and more perceptible in the few moments of silence.)

Elv. Hear how the wind awakens on the

shore,

And the North sea is roaring. All the stars Are veil'd in clouds, and from the obscure horizon

Comes the thick snow, by raging tempests driven;

And, like the sands of the Arabian desert, In dusty whirlwinds rises up again, Covering the numb'd and frozen earth with wreaths,

this

So long from me concealed ?

Elv. Thy brother, Bertha,

Shuns all remembrance of that sad event; For Carlos was his friend, and was to him Indebted for his life. The creditor

And debtor, more than brothers, loved each other.

Ber. Thou knew'st my brother, then, while Carlos lived?

Elo. (Confused.) No-yes

(She comes from the window.) To me it rustles, even as if the air Were filled with vultures' wings.-Oh Bertha, Bertha !

Could'st thou but teach me to restrain my fears For Hugo's safety!

Ber. Be composed, I pray you,

On Danish horses mounted, cannot lose

friend ;

You must have known each other.

Elv. We-it was-(After she has by de-
grees forced herself to look up at
BERTHA.)

Sister! thy pure and penetrating mind
I know will seal Elvira's condemnation ;
Yet must I tell thee what has been to me

The o'erflowing source of anguish. Hugo!—

yes

I knew him-nay, I LOVED him yet before

The sudden death of Carlos.

(She turns herself away; BERTHA goes from her with the expression of disapprobation. After a pause, ELVIRA resumes.)

Therefore, now,

A leaf that rustles in the evening breeze Will make me tremble. God has given me Hugo.

But still, methinks, just vengeance lies in

wait,

With sharp extended sabre, o'er the head
Of that devoted sinner, that, led on
By passion wild, could dare, though but in
thought,

To anticipate a husband's early doom.-
Therefore, dread apprehension haunts Elvira,
That she, too soon and suddenly, may lose
The gift bestow'd, but not deserved, of Hea

ven.

(BERTHA returns, looking on her as if with compassion.)

sides, when clouds

Obscure the stars, still through the flaky drift, A soft resplendence falls to guide their course, Even mid the darkest paths of rocky vales. We call it SNOWLIGHT;-but in your warm climes

Even is the name unknown.

At this moment the sounds of hunt

ing are heard faintly, and at a far distance-and Elvira, believing that her husband has returned, calls on her son Otto, to go forth and receive him at the castle gate. The boy obeys, but in a short time returns with the intelligence, that a stranger has arrived, an old knight he says, and a Spaniard, with a retinue. The boy is delighted with the sight of their Spanish dresses, and the music of their Spanish speechand he wonders why his mother should not partake in his innocent joy. The stranger, however, is hospitably received, and after he has been conducted to his apartment, the conversation between Elvira and Bertha is resumed. The sister laments over the changed of her brother. There is much beauty manners and ill-concealed unhappiness in the whole of this dialogue. Elvira says, towards its conclusion,

(She pauses.)

Ah, these are not the signs of happiness!That cannot live, unless where it is fed By calm repose and peace.

At last word is brought that the Count is safe, although he has been in great danger from the assault of a wild boar and shortly after he enters the castle. He will not see Elvira till he has washed the blood from him-and while he is doing so-once more Bertha and Elvira are left alone, and the first act closes with this strik ing passage.

Ber. How is it with you, sister ?-Why are thus

Your looks disturbed?

Elv. That fearful narrative!

How vividly all came before my sight!
Oh horrible!

Ber. Exaggeration all!

He who assists to cut away a branch
Makes it a towering tree.

Elv. (Possessed by her own fancies.)Oh Heaven protect me!

He is a raging tiger!

Ber. (Surprised.) Who?
Elv. Count HUGO.
Ber. Surely you dream.

Elv. Ay, it was a frightful dream,
That on our marriage night o'erpowered my

soul.

From such internal furies, that, conflicting, Alternate urge me on to hate and love. Exit.)

Ber. (Having looked after her.) Are these dire sufferings then in fervid climes Called love? (Deeply moved.)-Oh had my brother staid at home!

At the opening of the second act, Hugo is discovered reposing on a sofa in his chamber quite exhausted with his fatigues. His sister Bertha enters, and a fine and highly dramatic con

versation ensues between them. Bertha narrates the alarms of Elvira, and Hugo turns to go to his wife's apartment. Bertha says

the wild boar attack'd you, and you seized

Him in your turn, and conquer'd him like
Sampson,

Or Hercules, that with his hands alone,
A lion could destroy.

Hugo. He a fool

The story ended. Scarcely could her limbs Support her trembling frame. Yourself she

called

A ravenous beast, and then began to tell A frightful dream, that on her bridalnight,

(HUGO turns to go out.) But you are going?

Hugo. I will go to her.If against me her heart has now been turn'd, I must take care to win it back again."Tis but when absent that Elvira hates me.

(The candles are gradually burnt out, and the stage becomes obscure.) Hugo. Remember'st thou how, in the chapel then,

Surrounded by the coffins of thy fathers, We met in secret, 'mid the mouldering graves.

Sadness without, but mutual joy within ?
How then and there-

Elv. Hold-hold! or thou wilt kill me.
Hugo. (After a considerable pause, and at

last with superstitious terror.)
If now he were to come, at this dark hour,
When love at last, by its own fire consumed,
Burnt out even like those candles, laughs

no more

In either heart-if out of these grim vaults He came as a remembrancer!

Elv. (Shuddering.) O horrible!

(A short stillness; afterwards knocking at the door. HUGO and ELVIRA support each other. Hugo. Elv. (Together.) Ha!

This last exclamation is called out by the entrance of the Spanish guest in his lofty lineaments and air, Hugo recognises at once the father of the murdered Don Carlos. The old man had been absent for many years in America, and hearing, on his return to Spain, the calamitous issue of his son's life he has come hither to see in the North the only remaining heir of his family-the child of Carlos and Elvira. It soon appears, however, that far other thoughts have had at least as large a share in the motives of his jour

ney.

His fears had been excited by the appearance of his son's enbalmed body and an unconscious suspicion has haunted him till he resolved to

satisfy it by seeing the husband of Elvira. The confusion of Hugo, on hearing the narrative of Don Valeros-his wanderings-his purposesand his hopes-for he says more than enough to awaken all the alarms of that guilty conscience-is terrible to Elvira, and confirms too well the suspicions of the Spaniard.

Some of the finest scenes in the tragedy occur in the third act. The suspicions of Don Valeros are alternately lulled asleep and awakened again by the favourable representation he receives of Hugo's character from the lips of the boy Otto, and the native nobility of Hugo's dispositions as manifested in many of his own words, on the one hand;-and by hints of the truth darker and darker every moment which fall from Hugo himself on the other-till his anxiety is at last wrought up to a pitch of anguish.

Val. Are you quite sure?

Otto. Nay, there was ample proof. Count Hugo once in public risk'd his life To save my father.

Val. Was it so ?

Otto. Most certain.

Val. But how-and where?

Otto. Now, only hear my story.

'Twas at a bull-fight-one of those encoun

ters

Where the bull only is to be enraged.— Before the sport began, my father came, Guiding some foreign ladies from above, Down to the ring below ;-where they de sired

Something-(I know not what) to view more nearly.

There suddenly, a door by negligence
Left insecure sprang open; and we heard
On every side loud screams" The bull!-
the bull!"-

The ladies fled; and in their consternation Lock'd up my father with the raging beast."Where are the dogs?-Unkennel them !"