Mariana. What could I do? Cot, garden, vineyard, rivulet, and wood, 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 Of eglantine with honeysuckles woven, It is a bunch of flowers I pulled for you : Have they been brushing the long grass aside, Where it shuns light, the Danae of flowers, With gold up-hoarded on its virgin lap? 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, For our carousal; but we loiter here, 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, 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 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, Ion. No; thou must live, my fair one: 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? Ion. I am thine own! thus let me clasp thee; nearer; In our own honest hearts and chainless hands O joy too thrilling and too short! Then he has cast me off! no-'tis not so ; Agenor. Pardon me Ion. Nay, I will promise 'tis my last request; Grant me thy help till this distracted state Rise tranquil from her griefs-'twill not be long, If the great gods smile on us now. Remember, Meanwhile, thou hast all power my word can give, Whether I live or die. Agenor. Die! Ere that hour, May even the old man's epitaph be moss-grown! Crythes. I kneel to crave Humbly the favour which thy sire bestowed Ion. I cannot mark thee, That wakest the memory of my father's weakness, Crythes. Dost intend Will be our safeguard; while we do not use Of justice and their country shall be born I would not grieve thee; but thy valiant troop- Crythes. My Lord Ion. No more-my word hath passed. Medon, there is no office I can add To those thou hast grown old in; thou wilt guard The shrine of Phoebus, and within thy homeThy too delightful home-befriend the stranger As thou didst me; there sometimes waste a thought On thy spoiled inmate. Medon. Think of thee, my lord? Long shall we triumph in thy glorious reign. Ion. Prithee no more. Argives! I have a boon To crave of you. Whene'er I shall rejoin In death the father from whose heart in life Stern fate divided me, think gently of him! Think that beneath his panoply of pride Were fair affections crushed by bitter wrongs Which fretted him to madness; what he did, Alas! ye know; could you know what he suffered, Ye would not curse his name. Yet never more Let the great interests of the state depend Upon the thousand chances that may sway A piece of human frailty; swear to me That ye will seek hereafter in yourselves The means of sovereignty: our country's space, So happy in its smallness, so compact, Needs not the magic of a single name Which wider regions may require to draw Their interest into one; but, circled thus, Like a blest family, by simple laws May tenderly be governed-all degrees, Not placed in dexterous balance, not combined By bonds of parchment, or by iron clasps, But blended into one-a single form Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest chords Of sympathy pervading, shall endow With vital beauty; tint with roseate bloom In times of happy peace, and bid to flash With one brave impulse, if ambitious bands Of foreign power should threaten. Swear to me That ye will do this! Medon. Wherefore ask this now? Thou shalt live long; the paleness of thy face, Which late seemed death-like, is grown radiant now, And thine eyes kindle with the prophecy Of glorious years. Ion. The gods approve me then! Yet I will use the function of a king, And claim obedience. Swear, that if I die, And leave no issue, ye will seek the power To govern in the free-born people's choice, Medon and others. We swear it! Ion. Hear and record the oath, immortal powers! Now give me leave a moment to approach That altar unattended. [He goes to the altar. Gracious gods! In whose mild service my glad youth was spent, As at this solemn time I feel there is, Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes The spirit of the beautiful that lives In earth and heaven; to ye I offer up Ion. This is a joy I did not hope for-this is sweet indeed. Clem. And for this it was Thou wouldst have weaned me from thee! I would be so divorced? Ion. Thou art right, Clemanthe It was a shallow and an idle thought; 'Tis past; no show of coldness frets us now; No vain disguise, my girl. Yet thou wilt think On that which, when I feigned, I truly spokeWilt thou not, sweet one? Clem. I will treasure all. : Baillie's plays. The following Christian sentiment The strong, the boastful, and it came to nought; We shall now turn to the comic muse of the drama, which, in the earlier years of this period, produced some works of genuine humour and interest. HENRY TAYLOR-J. BROWNING-LEIGH HUNT WILLIAM SMITH. Two dramatic poems have been produced by HENRY TAYLOR, Esq., which, though not popular, evince high genius and careful preparation. The first, Philip van Artevelde, was published in 1834, and the scene is laid in Flanders, at the close of the fourteenth century. The second, Edwin the Fair (1843), relates to early English history. Though somewhat too measured and reflective for the stage, the plays of Mr Taylor contain excellent scenes and dialogues. The blended dignity of thought, and a sedate moral habit, invests Mr Taylor's poetry with a stateliness in which the drama is generally deficient, and makes his writings illustrate, in some degree, a new form of the art-such a form, indeed, as we might expect the written drama naturally to assume if it were to revive in the nineteenth century, and maintain itself as a branch of literature apart from the stage.'* Strafford, a tragedy by J. BROWNING, was brought out in 1837, and acted with success. It is the work of a young poet, but is well conceived and arranged for effect, while its relation to a deeply interesting and stirring period of British history gives it a peculiar attraction to an English audience. MR LEIGH HUNT, in 1840, came before the public as a dramatic writer. His work was a mixture of romance and comedy, entitled, A Legend of Florence: it was acted at Covent Garden theatre with some success, but is too sketchy in its materials, and too extravagant in plot, to be a popular acting play. Athelwold, a tragedy by WILLIAM SMITH (1842), is a drama also for the closet; it wants variety and scenic effect for the stage, and in style and sentiment is not unlike one of Miss * Quarterly Review. take of the falsetto of German pathos. But the Lovely as day he was-but envious clouds Would charm the towering eagle in her flight, [Scene from the 'Heir at Law.'] 1 At Aberdeen he published a poem on Charles James Fox, entitled The Man of the People, and wrote a musical farce, The Female Dramatist, which his father brought out at the Haymarket theatre, but it was condemned. A second dramatic attempt, entitled Two to One, brought out in 1784, enjoyed consider-man' is one of Colman's most original and laughable able success. This seems to have fixed his literary taste and inclinations; for though his father intended him for the bar, and entered him of Lincoln's Inn, the drama engrossed his attention. In 1784 he contracted a thoughtless marriage with a Miss Catherine Morris, with whom he eloped to Gretna Green, and next year brought out a second musical comedy, Turk and no Turk. His father becoming incapacitated from attacks of paralysis, the younger Colman undertook the management of the theatre in Haymarket, and was thus fairly united to the stage and the drama. Various pieces proceeded from his pen: Inkle and Yarico, a musical opera, brought out with success in 1787; Ways and Means, a comedy, 1788; The Battle of Hexham, 1789; The Surrender of Calais, 1791; The Mountaineers, 1793; The Iron Chest (founded on Godwin's novel of Caleb Williams), 1796; The Heir at Law, 1797; Blue Beard (a mere piece of scenic display and music), 1798; The Review, or the Wags of Windsor, an excellent farce, 1798; The Poor Gentleman, a comedy, 1802; Love Laughs at Locksmiths, a farce, 1803; Gay Deceivers, a farce, 1804; John Bull, a comedy, 1805; Who Wants a Guinea? 1805; We Fly by Night, a farce, 1806; The Africans, a play, 1808; X. Y: Z., a farce, 1810; The Law of Java, a musical drama, 1822, &c. No modern dramatist has added so many stock-pieces to the theatre as Colman, or imparted so much genuine mirth and humour to all playgoers. His society was also much courted; he was a favourite with George IV., and, in conjunction with Sheridan, was wont to set the royal table in a roar. His gaiety, however, was not always allied to prudence, and theatrical property is a very precarious possession. As a manager, Colman got entangled in lawsuits, and was forced to reside in the King's Bench. The king stept forward to relieve him, by appointing him to the situation of licenser and examiner of plays, an office worth from £300 to £400 a-year. In this situation Colman incurred the enmity of several dramatic authors by the rigour with which he scrutinised their productions. His own plays are far from being strictly correct or moral, but not an oath or double entendre was suffered to escape his expurgatorial pen as licenser, and he was peculiarly keen-scented in detecting all political allusions. Besides his numerous plays, Colman wrote some poetical travesties and pieces of levity, published under the title of My Nightgown and Slippers (1797), which were afterwards republished (1802) with additions, and named Broad Grins; also Poetical Vagaries, Vagaries Vindicated, and Eccentricities for Edinburgh. In these, delicacy and decorum are often sacrificed to broad mirth and humour. The last work of the lively author was memoirs of his own early life and times, entitled Random Records, and published in 1830. He died in London on the 26th October 1836. The comedies of Colman abound in witty and ludicrous delineations of character, interspersed with bursts of tenderness and feeling, somewhat in the style of Sterne, whom, indeed, he has closely copied in his 'Poor Gentleman. Sir Walter Scott has praised his John Bull' as by far the best effort of our late comic drama. 'The scenes of broad humour are executed in the best possible taste; and the whimsical, yet native characters, reflect the manners of real life. The sentimental parts, although one of them includes a finely wrought-up scene of paternal distress, par [Daniel Dowlas, an old Gosport shopkeeper, from the supposed loss of the son of Lord Duberly, succeeds to the peerage and an estate worth £15,000 per annum. He engages Dr Panglossa poor pedant just created by the Society of Arts, Artium Societatis Socius-as tutor to his son, with a salary of £300 a-year.] A Room in the Blue Boar Inn. Pang. Let the chariot turn about. Dr Pangloss in a lord's chariot! 'Curru portatur eodem.'-Juvenal -Hem ! Waiter! Waiter. Sir. Pang. Have you any gentleman here who arrived this morning? Waiter. There's one in the house now, sir. Waiter. No, sir; he's Derbyshire. Pang. He he he! Of what appearance is the gentleman ? Waiter. Why, plaguy poor, sir. Pang. 'I hold him rich, al had he not a sherte.' -Chaucer-Hem! Denominated the Honourable Mr Dowlas ? Waiter. Honourable! He left his name plain Dowlas at the bar, sir. Pang. Plain Dowlas, did he? that will do. "For all the rest is leather Waiter. Leather, sir! Pang. And prunello.'-Pope--Hem! Tell Mr Dowlas a gentleman requests the honour of an interview. Waiter. This is his room, sir. He is but just stept into our parcel warehouse-he'll be with you directly. [Exit. Pang. Never before did honour and affluence let fall such a shower on the head of Doctor Pangloss! Fortune, I thank thee! Propitious goddess, I am grateful! I, thy favoured child, who commenced his |