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she speaks not, who could give the reply but the Hercules who had grappled with Death, and knew the undiscoverable mysteries, and the holiness

which the newly-vested spirit must in part put off, in the resumption of her mortal loveliness?

Ad. Τί γάρ ποθ ̓ ἡδ ̓ ἄναυδος ἕστηκεν γυνή ;
Herc. Οὔπω θέμις σοι τῆσδε προσφωνημάτων
Κλύειν, πρὶν ἂν θεοῖσι τοῖσι νερτέροις
Αφαγνισηται, καὶ τρίτον μόλη φάος.
̓Αλλ' εἴταγ ̓ εἴσω τήνδε. Line 1146.

Ad. Why, then, does this lady stand speechless?
Herc. It is not permitted you as yet to hear her words
Address'd to you before her purification, and rites
To the infernal gods, and the third day shall come.
But lead her now within.

In the tale of Orpheus, he is him-
self every thing-not so in the play.
The Eurydice there is every thing in
Alcestis. It is sufficient, therefore,
in the latter, that the conquest over
Death should be by main force; for,
had the spell of Orpheus been added,
the pathos of the wife's devotion would
have been diminished, and the dying
weakness of the gentle wife is not ill
set off by the vigour of the arm that
rescues her; yet the real story is
more poetical, and more really grand
in itself. Hercules conquers Hades by
main force-Orpheus by a new power,
his lyre, a thousand times more po-
tent; for the earth yields to his incan-
tation, and opens to him a passage,
and Pluto and Proserpine are not
constrained, but charmed. Death is
but as the minister-the servant-and
had not delivered up his charge; but
in the case of Orpheus the inexorable
deities were moved. We have ob-
served that Admetus is not the most
worthy character. Was this intended,
to show the nature of woman's love?
to enhance it? to exalt it? How per-
fect is that woman in her all-perfect
love, whose sense of duty, and obe-
dience, and affection, absorbs to itself,
but to annihilate them, the defects of
the man she has chosen, and sees in
him but the husband and the father!
ry
If Euripides has selected so poor a
character as Admetus, we may sup-
pose it was not without reason, for
Shakspeare has even worse mated
Hermione. And here in Hermione
we have Eurydice again-the new
version, the invention, but from the
original tale, of consummate genius.
If, in the Alcestis, the Eurydice be
brought within the circle of domestic
life, a real dramatis persona, it is
much more the case in the Hermione

of the Winter's Tale. The fabulous is altogether dropped. We lose something, it is true, of the awful interest, the wondrous mystery of the rescue from Death itself that bold personification; but the situations, therefore, the more come home to our own hearts.

In the Alcestis, we admire more than we pity. She is a voluntary sufferer. So, indeed, to a certain extent, is Hermione, for she endures a sixteen years' seclusion--unnecessarily, but for her honour's sake-but, in all that relates to her husband, she is vilely injured. Euripides makes Admetus but a poor character. Shakspeare makes Leontes a wicked one. Perhaps the Queen sees but his jealousy as the cause of his cruelty to her, and may therefore be excused for her final reconciliation; but the commanding one of his courtiers secretly to poison Polyxenes, the object of his jealous passion, his friend, and his guest, is so mean a piece of villany, that we are scarcely reconciled to him throughout the play, and are the less interested in his penitence. This would have been injurious to the piece, were it not for the divided interest afforded by Perdita in the two last acts. In Perdita Hermione finds her reward. She is, indeed, reconciled to Leontes, and wonderfully fine is that reconciliation, and therein she, too, like Alcestis, is silent; but Perdita she blesses-like a creature that had for years been conversant with holy thoughts and prayers for the preservation of her child, and as one entitled to bless.

The statue is a fine conception, a beautiful version of the fable, and the peculiar character of Hermione well suits it. She has all the calm dignity, even in her greatest trials, which is

the grace of ancient marbles. We are not surprised to see her represented, for she is statuesque (if there be such a word) throughout. She is sensible of her husband's full peni"Paulina.

tence, and of his love, of the agony of his affection, yet still she moves not! The impetuous Paulina could not have borne this yet it is not for Hermione that she fears

I'll draw the curtain,
My Lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon it lives."

And even yet Hermione moves not. Nay! she waits the bidding, and as it were the animating the statue by an incantation; and when she stirs, she moves solemnly, as one slowly returning to life. Shakspeare here did not forget the mystery of the original fable

"Paulina. Stir; nay, come away,

Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.

Start not, her action shall be holy, as
You hear my spell is lawful."

[Hermione comes down.

Here, too, as far as he could, has Shakspeare taken advantage of the silence of Alcestis. They embrace, but not a word does she yet speak. We learn her action from others

"Leontes.

Oh, she is warm!

If this be magic, let it be an act
Lawful as eating.

"Polyx. She embraces him." Alcestis has no friend, no companion. She needed none. Admetus was to her all in all-and she the selfdevoted. It was necessary for the plot that Hermione should have a friend; Leontes was not all to her she regarded the Oracle, and lived in hope of recovering her child. But, that she may stand alone in interest, how unlike is the calm Hermione to the impassioned and vehement Paulina, and how little do they come in contact in the play, that the majestic quiet may not suffer.

As the original Orpheus is among

the riotous Bacchants, so have the two plays their revel and wake. The jovial Hercules, who seems to have taken out a license "to be drunk on the premises," is at once the contrast and the relief to the universal wo of the house of Admetus. The country wake, with the merry knave Autolycus, set off the graver scenes, and pleasantly prepare the mind for the concluding happiness. Shakspeare must somehow or other have met with the play of Euripides, for he certainly alludes to the story. Florizel speaks of Apollo serving Admetus

"And the fire-robed god,

Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now."

And it is not impossible that the very idea of the statue may have been suggested by the following passage from the Alcestis of Euripides, wherein Admetus proposes to have a statue made of his wife :

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Can we wonder at the charm of such tales as Orpheus, Alcestis, and Hermione—or in one, of Eurydice-the lost Eurydice!—the just recovered-and the lost again. What is it but the poetical version of bereft affection's nightly dream? Did it not glide in with the stillness of night, and, enacting life, draw Milton's curtain ?

"Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescu'd from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom, wash'd from spot of childbed taint,
Purification in the old law did save,

And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint ;-
Came, vested all in white, pure as her mind :

Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
So clear as in no face with more delight.

But O, as to embrace me she inclin'd,

I wak'd; she fled; and day brought back my night."-Milton.

A dream! it shall be the poet's dream. And here is Elton's "Dream of Orpheus." He has most happily treated the subject as a dream, with the boldness, the transition, the action of a Greek. He is Greek in his dream, and has given us an English version not to be despised. The poet, in a vision,-" my visual sense was soul," is amongst strange mountains and forests. He pierces" a cavern's

mouth," and visits the subterranean cataracts. So much we consider as the drop-scene indicative of the general character of the piece, for in other respects it is unnecessary. From this he emerges, in his "bodiless, swift presence," and is again upon the mountains, which are poetically described as fit scenery for the agency of the poem.

"The vulture cross'd the azure with his shade,
And eagles from the cliffs the sun survey'd
With fix'd irradiate eye, and from those hills
I saw the lion stooping towards the rills

That boil'd in clefts of rocks, and tigers slow

Stole from the brake, or, crouching, gazed below

On some aërial antelope, anon

Starting, as 'twere a leaf, scarce seen and gone."-Page 181.

He is in the territory of the Bacchants, hears enchanting music, and "with a thought" is before a mountain grotto. There are "nymphs with vine-leaves erown'd." Orpheus, of the music of whose lyre he had heard, is here introduced with effect.

"Stags, with their antlers, peep'd; and the streak'd pard
Crouch'd harmless; for before them lean'd a bard

Against the lichen'd rock; within his grasp

A seven-string'd shell; a coil'd and trampled asp

Beneath his foot, the fang still dropping gore."-Page 182.

There is then silence-afterwards comes the song of the Bacchants, who taunt Orpheus with his absence, and his worship of his unaiding god, when his Eurydice, flying from the shepherd Aristæus, fell under the bite of the asp. They then try their amorous arts to engage him in a new affection. În

vain

"There was a pause: a silence, fearful, deep,

As though the wilderness were hush'd in sleep;
The youth had grasp'd with agonizing hands
His robe of snowy fleece, while propp'd he stands
Against the granite rock; his frame is shook
With ague thrills; a fire is in his look ;
And his wild locks seem curling from his head,
And his cheeks flush with hectic stains of red.
His hand is on his harp and hark!—the clash,
Shrill, loud, and sudden as the thunder-flash!

ORPHEUS.

I fix my eyes upon thee, mighty Sun!

Thou hear'st what these have witness'd, and behold'st
The mockery of their pity! Thou art HE!

The god, whom they blaspheme, is their own god,
Whom they in base and mortal shape would seek
Among their tangled haunts: when they might stand
Upon the mountain which thy glory gilds,

And see thee in thy naked majesty,

God of the vine they worship. Hear me now!
Celestial Bacchus ! radiant Hercules!

That runn'st thy race of strength around the stars!
Thou Jove, thou Juno of the azure air!

Thou Neptune, brother of thyself, that rulest
The tempest-toiling element of sea!

Thou! who art both the sign and source of all,

The world of earth and waters and deep skies,
Hear me !I ask a token."-Pp. 186, 7.

The token is the repossession of Eurydice. Orpheus breaks from the Bacchants, throws himself to the branch of a high tree, whence "rock'd giddily,"

"when it bending swept

The verdure-tufted crag, at once he leapt
Sheer from the branch, and felt beneath his feet
Heights which no footsteps but the deer's had beat;
And bounding, where the eagle builds, from sight
He faded upwards into dizzy light.

Then javelins shook and clash'd; a long shrill yell
Was sent through every woodland, cave, and dell;
The hawk flew screaming from his rock; and o'er
The forest growl'd remote a mutter'd mingled roar.

"My sprite was with the bard; I follow'd him
To other mountains, where the sight grew dim
If backward turn'd below: one arm his lyre
Clasp'd close; the sun had touch'd a pine with fire;
He seized a branchy torch; I heard the wave
Dash loud and long and shrill; a yawning cave
Receiv'd him, and I enter'd."-P. 190.

The poet is in spirit with him, and the description of the descent is truly graphic. Orpheus arrives in confidence at the very centre of Infernal Glory, which is gorgeously painted.

"At length the rock receded over-head;

A sky of amethyst o'er-arching spread

Its concave, studded with strange stars, and bright
With comets, wheeling in concentric light;
And straight before, a palace rear'd on high
Its gold-leav'd doors and walls of porphyry;
And I beheld him, while the valves flew wide,
Across the threshold plant his venturous stride,
And pace, with harp in hand, the jasper floor:
Till, touching a soft stop, he paused before
A veiling arras, that with purpling glow
Checker'd in shifting lights the stone below.
He rais'd it with his arm, and the strong ray
Of starry lamps flash'd out a midnight day;
And supernatural statures caught the eye
Like shadows flung against a mountain sky:
Embodied attributes, strange virtues, powers
Of vengeance such as range the guilty towers
Where crime has left its stain: and some there were
Who wreathed the serpent round their female hair.
The sweet string trembled; all incontinent
Gazed, gestureless and mute; the prophet bent
His forehead; since, above that dream-like crowd,
Steps of pyramidal sweep sustain'd a cloud,

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Melted from Orpheus' lips; he dared to climb
The slope pyramidal of steps, that grew

Beneath his toiling feet, till to my view

He stood diminished; the last stair he trode,

Fainting, and touch'd the footstool of the god."-Pp. 193, 4.

Mr Elton has made the most advantageous use of the Orphic Remains, and has embodied with high poetical conception the Zus of the ancient Greek. The following lines are extremely beautiful, and the dream-like visionary transmutation of the distinct yet blended powers of the One are in the true spirit of poetry :

"He saw a monarch in his pomp of place
Propt on a staff of gold; he saw the face
Of Jove-Apollo in his subterrene
Presence of two-sex'd aspect: a dark queen
Sate, gazing pensive on him, Pluto's spouse;
Arch'd on her forehead met her raven brows,
And languishingly look'd her fawn-like eyes
Through long-fring'd eyelids dipt in hyacinth dyes;
Her tower-tress'd hair was diadem'd.

Anon

The apparition of that shape was gone;
And through the fire-red vapour, mantling round
The chair of burnish'd adamant, there frown'd

A giant king, whose spiky crown was set

O'er locks that dropp'd in rings of clustering jet;
Thus, in their violet robes enwrapt, the pair

Sate twain, or one; with crisp'd, or flowing, hair;

Or stern, or melancholy mild: each came

And went alone; each different, yet the same;

Nor e'er at once were those grand phantoms seen

A lonely king, a solitary queen.

One only lean'd upon that staff of gold,

And whom you late beheld, you still behold:

Her sandal'd feet still press the agate stair,

And his those raven brows, that tower-wreathed hair;
The lineaments by involution strange

of form and sex, pass'd with alternate change

And reappear'd; and still a disc of rays

Haloed each brow-a faint and flickering blaze;
And in that sign the ravish'd prophet knew

His priesthood pure, his inspirations true.
He look'd upon the self-dividing one,

The female Jove of hell, the subterranean Sun;
And, as he twitch'd the chords with ivory rod,

Lifted his plaintive chant, and hailed the goddess-god."-Pp. 194, 6.

The "Song of Orpheus," excepting the first few lines of the poem, we think a failure. It sadly wants dignity. The metre offends, and meets with little apology in the matter. It is of the common sing-song elegiac; and as good verses may be found in every village album amongst its fairhanded specimens of youthful and virgin talent. Nor do we see any charm in the speech of Proserpine, who tells Orpheus that, under spell, his Eurydice "flits behind him".

"But beware lest haste

The spell dissever,
Or, unembraced,

She is dead for ever!"-P. 201. From this point Mr Elton reassumes his poetical dignity and power. The dreaming Poet had been disengaged from the Bard Orpheus during the upward passage, left therefore undescribed. He awaits him at the entrance of the enormous cavern, the roarings of whose subterranean waves

are

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