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in an annual festival of Bacchus. Dur ing the vintage it was customary to sacrifice a he-goat on the altar of that deity, and, at the same time, to chant hymns in his honour. Suitably to the genius of the Greek mythology, that delighted in the innocent pleasures of its votaries, this was a season of joy and festivity; and, for the amusement of the vintagers, to the original ode a short dialogue, historical or mythological, was added. To this origin even the name bears testimony, which means nothing more than the song of the goat.

As in my last paper I brought into one view the Choephoræ of Æschylus and the Electra of Sophocles, because their subject is the same, for a similar reason I shall now contrast "The Seven Chiefs at Thebes" and "The Phenician Women." Nothing seems to be so rare, as the invention of a story at once so probable as to impress us with an idea of its reality, and so full of extraordinary events and sudden reverses, as to swell the soul with that delightful interest, without which the works of fiction are a dead letter. The tragic writers, from Æschylus to Shakespeare and Racine, aware of the difficulty, have contented themselves with selecting from history, or the legendary tales of a period anterior to it, such subjects as they thought most suitable to tragedy. But though they have no other merit in the ground-work of their dramas than judicious selection, enough is left to the genius of the poet in the magic touches, at which materials, in themselves coarse and uninteresting, rise in harmony and beauty, like the temple from the shapeless masses of the quarry.

The misfortunes of the heroes of ancient tragedy often arose out of an idea of fatalism, which, as it extenuates their guilt, so it heightens our sympathy. In the Choephoræ and Electra, Orestes is hurried on to the murder of his mother, not more by the instigation of his sister than the commands of Apollo. In the disasters of the family of Edipus, on which so many of the Greek plays were founded, and, among the rest, those I am now to analyze, all is the work of fate.

Laius, king of Thebes, was married to Jocasta. From this union there was no issue, and Laius, anxious for a son to inherit his kingdom, went to consult the oracle of Apollo. The response was, that it would be happy for

him if he had no children; for if his queen bore him a son, that son would be his murderer. Some time afterwards a son was born, and to avoid the accomplishment of the prediction, he was exposed, taken up and educated by the wife of a shepherd as her own child, and, when he grew to manhood, employed in the simple occupations of the pastoral life. His name was Edipus. One of his fellow shepherds reproached him with the circumstances of his birth, of which he had not before been informed, and this so roused his curiosity to discover his real parents, that, with this view, he went to consult the oracle at Delphi, and on his way met a stranger, whom he quarrelled with and slew. This was no other than his father Laius.

About this time the neighbourhood of Thebes was infested by a monster called a Sphinx, who proposed enigmas to the inhabitants, and devoured them if unable to explain them. Jocasta, alarmed by the ravages made by this horrible creature, offered her hand, and the crown of Thebes, to any one who should solve the riddle, as it was understood that the death of the Sphinx was to follow. In this Edipus succeeded, and became the husband of his mother, and the king of Thebes. From this connexion sprung two sons, Eteocles and Polynices, and two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. The curse of Heaven was supposed to hang over a family produced by this incestuous intercourse, and its final extinction is the subject of these plays. When Edipus made the horrible discovery, he was so shocked, that in a paroxysm of madness he tore out his eyes and cursed his children. He retired from the government; and his sons, that they might avoid the fatal consequences of his imprecations, agreed to reign alternately, each an year. Eteocles, who was allowed precedence as the eldest, when his year expired, refused to relinquish the honours of royalty to his brother, who, enraged at this violation of the solemn agreement, retired to Argos, and married the daughter of Adrastus, king of that city, whom he induced to aid him with a great army in the recovery of his natural rights. The Seven Chiefs, or the Siege of Thebes, as it might have been named, is founded on the expedition of the Argive army against that city, in support of the claims of Polynices. The alarm of the inhabitants of Thebes, expressed by the Chorus-the description of the chiefs-the assault of the besieging army-the cessation of hostilities-and a single combat between the brothers, in which both fall, are the leading. incidents.

In the Seven Chiefs, the first scene discovers Eteocles lamenting the cares and the difficulties of government, and animating the people to the defence of the city. A messenger comes in, and

gives a description of the leaders of the invading army, in language at once so sublime and so tender, that though it is rather an epic than a dramatic beauty, as indeed are many of the finest of this play, I cannot deny my

self the pleasure of laying it before my

readers.

"The impetuous leaders of the Argive host Are sacrificing buils upon the altars, And in the hollow of their shields receive

The blood, in which they dip their hands, and swear

By Fury, Mars, and murder-loving Terror, Either to make of Thebes a heap of ashes, Or with life's purest currents dye her soil; And hang upon the chariot of Adrastus Memorials of themselves, and send them home

To their loved parents, and their wives and children:

The tears of nature glisten in their eyes, Fierce as they are; yet does their voice re

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The din of war is hastening on,
And the shields are flaming in the sun;

Who may with such a host contend?
Who may the walls we love defend ?
Look on us prostrate in the dust,
We in your altars place our trust-
To them our spirits fondly cling,
While your statues are o'ershadowing-
What shali become of us! Do you not hear
The clang of many a shield, and many a

spear?

Thy people, Mars, wilt thou betray, And give them to the foeman's rage? Oh! shall this city pass away,

Thy chosen in a long past

age?

well-beloved people perish, Whom thou so long hast deign'd to cherish? God of the golden helm and mighty hand, Oh! look upon thy favoured land. Ye gods! the Theban maidens free From banishment and slavery; For round the city rolls a tide

of warriors in plumed pride,

In fury driven from afar,
By the tempestuous gales of war.
Oh, Jupiter! our guardian be,
And save us from captivity.
The Argives throng around the gates,
And murder on their steps awaits ;
And the trampling steed, and the piercing

spear,

And all the horrors of war are near;
For the Seven Chiefs are leading them on,
And the work of destruction is begun."

"The rolling chariots are nigh,
And the lances are maddening in the sky:
My country! how I weep for thee,
In the hour of thy calamity!"

And in a succeeding ode the same subject is continued :

" Sleep flies from my eyelids, fear lives in my heart,

My cares are consuming, and never depart; As the delicate dove that sits close in her nest,

To guard, with her pinions and down of her

breast,

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A mingled murmur in my ear;

Ye gods! who from Jove the almighty de

But soon shall they in thunder break,
And the dreamer from his visions wake,
With the voice of many waters from the hills,
When the rains to torrents swell the rills.

scend,

This city and people, these temples, defend. To what lands can ye go that are blooming

so fair ?

Ye gods! whose power is over all, By whom the cities rise and fall, Oh! hear a wretched people's cries, And send protection from the skies.

To what streams or what fountains that once may compare

With the waters of Dirce, so cool and so clear, So rich in their flow, and to fancy so dear;

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Oh! god of my country, who, next to the sky,

Lov'st the temples of Thebes, in our troubles be nigh;

Put our foemen to shame, and the glory be thine, That for ages thy people may kneel at thy shrine.

Oh! doom not a city to ashes and dust, The pride of the nations, antiquity's trust; Shall our maidens, like cattle, be dragged by the locks,

flocks!

And our matrons be driven to bondage like Oh! loud is the wailing on that fatal day, From their homes when a people is hurried away,

Bound and fettered like slaves, and with
garments all torn,-
Wives severed from husbands, and lovers
forlorn;

When the bride in despair from the bride-
groom is led-
From the joy of her soul to an enemy's bed.
Rape, murder, and fire, are in every abode,
In the palace of kings and the temples of
God;

When the slumbering infant is startled from

rest,

And with pitiful wailings clings fast to the breast;

For the loved one, the cares of the mother are vain,

She may hide, through her body her darling is slain."

A herald enters, and gives a character of each of the chiefs, and describes the blazonry on their shields. In this part of the play there are some splendid passages, but like that already quoted, more fit for narrative than dramatic poetry. This is a fault which Æschylus frequently commits; but we are not to be surprised, that without any example of the drama to guide him, he should not have clearly seen the limits which separate acted from spoken poetry. These descriptions, in which he seems to have taken the shield of Achilles as his model, occupy a most disproportionate length of the play, nearly one half of the whole. The character of Amphiaraus may serve as a specimen. There was in this man, who was a prophet, and who was averse to the expedition, a gentleness of spirit well becoming a minister of religion, and finely opposed to the

ferocity of the other chiefs. "The sixth is Amphiaraus ;-a man Of sanctity of soul and gentle manners, Yet in a righteous cause he knows not terror; The virtuous indignation of his heart

Is uttered in reproaches against Tydeus,
The city's pestilence, the murderer
Who leads the Argives in the path of ruin;
The Fury's herald, the High Priest of death,
The counsellor of mischief to Adrastus;
Thy hapless brother he addresses thus :
'Is this a warfare sanctioned by the Gods?
Expect'st thou glory from a war like this?
A traitor to thy country and her Gods.
Oh! canst thou close the spring of nature's
fountains?

Although this city fall beneath thy might,
Will she receive thee as a son again ?
I know that in the combat I must die,
Yet will I dare the battle, and I hope
A fate not quite inglorious.' On his shield
There was no blazonry, he chose to be,
Rather than seem, a virtuous man."

Eteocles at last rushes out to battle, meets his brother, and both are slain, The bodies are brought on the stage, and are mourned by Ismene and Antigone, the former of whom was attached to Eteocles, and the latter to Polynices. Meanwhile they receive information that the senate of Thebes had ordered the remains of Eteocles to be interred with all the honours due to his rank; but that the body of Polynices should be cast out unburied, a prey to the dogs, as a traitor to his country. Antigone thus replies to the message: "Go tell the Magistrates of Thebes from me, Though all resist, that I will bury him; When nature bids, no dangers shall deter

me;

I will inter my brother, though the state Should brand me with the name of traitor for it;

Are we not bound by nature's strongest ties?
Did not one miserable mother bear us?
The children of the same unhappy father ?
Faint not, my spirit, in the path of duty,
The living with the dead shall hold com-

munion;

He shall not be the prey of hungry wolves. No! I will swathe him in fine linen garments, And in my bosom bear him to the grave, And rear for him affection's monument; Tho' a weak woman, and the state oppose me, Yet shall I find the means for this good purpose."

The "Phœnissæ," the play next to come under review, is the work of Euripides. It was the glory of Greek tragedy, that in it genius was enlisted under the banners of morality, and Euripides was not only a great poet, but an eminent teacher of moral wisdom. He had from nature a heart of the keenest sensibility and a rich imagination. In the school of philosophy, he had learned to turn the one into its proper channels, and to prune the other of its unprofitable luxuriance,

and, by a concentration of its energies, to give it a force and a vigour which it could not have obtained by any other training. He took the most exalted view of the end of poetry, and from the stores of philosophy he was enabled to confer a solidity and a value on her creations. It was not his aim merely to yield a momentary delight, but, through the imagination and the feelings, to elevate, and refine, and invigorate, the whole nature of man. But the quality the most prominent in this great man, is tenderness of heart; nor did he, like Sophocles, put a check on his sympathies, that they might be displayed with the more effect in some striking situation; where

ever an object presents itself for their

exercise there is an overflow of them, and by the communications of genius he never fails to inspire his readers with his own sorrows. His verses are laboured to the most exquisite polish, and he bestowed so much care on their composition, that he is said to have spent three days on the correction of so many lines. Whether this be literally true or not, it is certain that he was his own most severe critic, and might, in this respect, be imitated with profit in this scribbling generation, in which many seem to mistake the facility of manufacturing feeble lines for the inspiration of genius. A story, which has been often told, shews the extent of his reputation among his contemporaries. In the unfortunate expedition of the Athenians against Syracuse, all the prisoners who could repeat his verses obtained their liberty. This is perhaps a more splendid eulogy than ever was bestowed on poet. In dramatic management, he is less skilful than Sophocles, and his tragedies are often clumsy and disjointed in their structure, but even in this respect it will soon appear that he was superior to Æschylus.

In the Phœnisse, Jocasta, the mother of the warring princes, is introduced by Euripides, and acts a distinguished part in the play. She opens the piece by a prologue, in which she explains the causes of the calamities of her family, and the quarrels of her sons. Antigone, of whose attachment to her brother we had a proof in the conclusion of the last play, then appears, accompanied by an aged tutor. From the scene they had a full view of the besieging army, and the old

man points out to her the chiefs, and among the rest Polynices, for whom she had eagerly inquired.

"Tutor. See! there he is; he stands beyond the tomb

Of Niobe's seven daughters, near Adrastus; Dost thou not see him.

An. Yes! but indistinctly; Methinks I see him dimly shadow'd yonder. Oh! could I journey on that passing cloud, On the wings of the wind, to my dear brother,

And pour my spirit in a fond embrace.
See! how he shines in coat of golden mail,
Bright as the beaming of the morning sun."

By the mediation of Jocasta, an interview is obtained betwixt her sons, for the purpose of a reconciliation; and

Polynices, on his admission into the

city, meets her.

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me,

Harness his steeds, and fill the plain with chariots, I will not yield to him the sovereignty."

The dialogue is continued, and is so extremely beautiful, that I regret my limits will not permit me to translate even a part of it.

A scene follows betwixt Eteocles and his uncle Creon, who recommends caution; but the impetuous young man, impatient of restraint, and burning for revenge, delegates to him the care of the government, and hurries out to battle. Creon sends for the soothsayer Tiresias, to consult him respecting the issue of the war; who informs him, that there is no other means of delivering the city from destruction but offering up his son a victim for the general safety. The father refuses, but the generous youth retires, and puts an end to his life. This scene, taken in itself, is good; but, as it is little connected with the principal story, it must be condemned

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(Then did he lay her hands upon his eyes,) And fare ye well; for now the shades of death

Surround me.' It was thus the princes
perished.
Then was Jocasta conquered by her sorrows,
And in a fit of frenzy drew the sword
From her son's side, and thrust it through
her throat,
And long as life remained, embraced her
And died between them."

sons,

The play concludes with the banishment of old Edipus, by the orders of Creon, and a pathetic scene betwixt him and Antigone, who accompanies him into exile.

2

Z.

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