Am not tormented by a thousand Hells
In being depriv'd of everlasting bliss?—

In one set place, but where we are is Hell—
And where Hell is, there must we ever be.
And, to be short, when all the world dissolves,
And every creature shall be purified,

All places shall be Hell that are not Heaven."

These are noble lines-Lord Byron's obligations to them in his "Manfred" have been noted.— The last hour of Faustus' life is spent in such mental torture, as "thicks the" reader's "blood with cold."-" It is indeed an agony and fearful colluctation."

66 (The clock strikes eleven.)
(Faustus solus.) Oh! Faustus!

Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damn'd perpetually.—
Stand still you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come.
Fair Nature's eye! rise, rise again, and make
Perpetual day! or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul.—
O lentè, lentè, currite noctis equi!-

-

The stars move still-time runs-the clock will strikeThe devil will come, and Faustus must be damned.Oh! I'll leap up to Heaven!-Who pulls me down? (Distractly) See where Christ's blood streams in the firmament!

One drop of blood will save me.-Oh! my Christ[Attempts to pray.

Rend not my heart for naming of my Christ!

Yet will I call on him-Oh! spare me, Lucifer!
Where is it now?-'tis gone! and see-

A threat'ning arm, an angry brow!

Mountains and hills! come, come and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of Heaven!—No?—
Then will I headlong run into the earth:
Gape, earth!-O no, it will not harbour me.
You stars that reign'd at my nativity,

Whose influence hath allotted death and hell,
Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist
Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud.

(The clock chimes the half hour.)

Oh! half the hour is past, 'twill all be past anon.—
Oh! if my soul must suffer for my sin,
Impose some end to my incessant pain!
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years-
A hundred thousand, and at last be sav'd!
No end is limited to damned souls.
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?
Or why is this immortal that thou hast?

XX

Curs'd be the parents that engendered me-
No, Faustus! curse thyself, curse Lucifer,
That hath depriv'd thee of the joys of heaven.

(The clock strikes twelve.)

It strikes! it strikes!-Now, body! turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to Hell.
O soul! be chang'd into small water-drops,
And fall into the ocean-ne'er be found.

(Thunder.) Enter DÆMONS.

Oh! mercy, Heaven! look not so fierce on me!
Adders and serpents! let me breathe awhile!—
Oh! Mephistophiles *!—"

(Rolling thunder.)

[They all disappear.

The foregoing horrible picture demands such a relief as will gently lead the shaken mind to a calmer region, and hush it into a meek-eyed

* In these extracts I have ventured on one or two trifling emendations, which were much needed. A tolerably correct edition of the plays of Marlow, Thomas Heywood, Chapman, Decker, &c. &c. would be a real blessing. It is not possible to exceed the blunders committed or disregarded in the "Old English Plays,” on which work an acute critique appeared in the Monthly Review, N. S. vol. lxxv. p. 225.

sadness. This relief may be derived from the works of Marlow himself, who seems, after all, to have had a considerable leaning to voluptuous reposing fancies, and to have dallied with love, like an accomplished amorist.-The beautiful tradition of the "broad Hellespont" is of undoubted antiquity, though unfortunately no fragment has reached us of the parent stock. Virgil alludes to it in a manner sufficient to show its notoriety in his day.

“Quid juvenis, magnum cui versat in ossibus ignem Durus amor?-Nempe abruptis turbata procellis Nocte natat cæcâ serus freta: quem super ingens Porta tonat cœli, et scopulis illisa reclamant Æquora: nec miseri possunt revocare parentes, Nec moritura super crudeli funere virgo."

Georg. Lib. iii. 258.

The two Heroides of Naso are familiar to every school-boy; in Lucan, l. 9, 954, Cæsar beholds the

66

Amore notatum *

Æquor, et Heroas lacrymoso littore turres;"

So Burmann-Oudendorp has natatum, which per

haps is best.

and lastly, in the fifth century, Musæus the grammarian, the contemporary of Nonnus and Coluthus, produced his brilliant poem.

It will not, perhaps, be displeasing to the poetical reader, to be able to compare at his breakfast table, without the trouble of reference to other volumes, the different methods of handling the same story. For this purpose selections are given from Mr. Elton's* elegant version of Musæus, so arranged as to form a continuous narrative. Mr. Elton says truly of the Erotopoegnion," that it is a beautiful and impassioned production, combining in its love-details the warmth and luxuriance of Ovid, with the delicate

*The amiable author of that beautiful monody "The Brothers," and the excellent translator of Hesiod, and specimens of the Classic Poets, 3 vols. 8vo. 1814. Where all is good, it is difficult to make any preference, yet with due diffidence I may venture to point out for admiration his translated extracts from Onomacritus, Pindar, Nonnus, and Apollonius. The visit of Hermes to Calypso (Odyss. 5. v. 43.) and part of the hymn to Apollo, beginning “ Λητώ δ' ἐννῆμάρ τε και ἐννέα νύκλας, &c. are both rendered with equal fidelity and poetry; and Horace's ode, "Quis multâ gracilis," is sweetly touched.