ELECTRA TAKING THE URN OF ORESTES. FROM THE GREEK OF SOPHOCLES. During the absence of Agamemnon, Egysthus was left regent, and protector of his wife and children. Faithless to his trust, he intrigues with Clytemnestra: she murders her husband on his return; marries Ægysthus, and admits him as partner of her throne. To secure their power, they are bent on the murder of Orestes, heir to the crown, who would have fallen a sacrifice in his infancy, but for the affection of his sister Electra, who rescues him from death by privately sending him to Phocis. Meanwhile she hears frequent accounts of him, and cherishes a hope that when he has arrived at manhood he will return and be the avenger of his father. After the lapse of twenty years he arrives for that purpose, in company with his protector. To lull Clytemnestra into a fatal security, his companion relates to her that Orestes has been killed in a chariot race. A meeting between the brother and sister takes place, without any remembrance on either side. Orestes, mistaking Electra for one of the domestics, and desirous to keep his arrival a secret until the hour for vengeance should arrive, carries on the delusion by producing an urn in which his ashes are supposed to rest. Electra, believing him to be really dead, takes the urn in despair, and discovers herself by this passionate and beautiful address. MOURNFUL remembrancer, whose orb contains Oh had I died, before to foreign lands I sent thee rescued from the murderer's hands! Then had we shared one melancholy doom, And peaceful slumber'd in thy father's tomb. Afar from home, beneath another sky Thou diedst-and ah! no sister then was nigh To bathe thy corse, and from the greedy fire Collect thy ashes, as the dead require; But strangers paid the debt: who now return But now, instead, o'er this sad urn I weep, Where his poor ashes cold and silent sleep. Oh piteous corse!-oh brother, sent to tread Before this wretch the regions of the dead, How hast thou left me to my foes a prey, How has thy funeral swept my hopes away? Yet take me, gentle brother-give me room To rest beside thee in this narrow tomb, That, as we shared affliction when alive, Our boundless love may in the shades survive, While our dust slumbers, mix'd by friendly fate, Dull and unconscious of a mother's hate. BLAND. THE FAREWELL OF ADMETUS TO ALCESTIS. FROM THE GREEK OF EURIPIDES. Admetus, a prince of Thessaly, was married to Alcestis, of whom he was passionately enamoured. Their happiness was interrupted by the declining health of Admetns, who was fast approaching to the grave. The infernal powers, however, grant him a reprieve, on condition of finding a substitate, who would, by a voluntary death, pay the price of his recovery. After the refusal of his aged parents, who are represented to have outlived the sense of those pleasures, which among barbarons nations can alone make life acceptable, his wife Alcestis prepares to devote herself, that the husband might survive to be the protector of their children. To reconcile the seeming cowardice of Admetus with the noble affection displayed for his wife, and the generosity of his disposition, we must suppose him forbidden by the Fates from preventing the sacrifice of his wife by his own devotion. A parting scene of the most exquisite tenderness enAlcestis exhorts her husband to live, and be guardian of their offspring; but requests him to bear her in his memory, and never to surrender that place in his heart to another which was once hers alone. He promises never to forget her, to pass his days in mourning for her loss, and to devote the remnant of his life to the contemplation of her virtues and her last act of heroic affection. sues. .I GRANT thee all-distrust not, gentle wife- In this poor heart while memory holds a seat, So long I'll mourn thee on this hateful earth, Farewell to revel, and the festive throng, I'll have thee moulded as in life, and bear To my lone couch thy image sadly dear; Fall on the semblance, clasp it in my arms, Name it from thee-and, circling fancied charms, Gaze on the fair deceit, nor e'er forsake The death-cold statue, till it seems to wake. Poor comfort-but in trifles light as these My aching heart shall idly ask for ease. Yet in the dead still hour of night arise, When troubled phantoms flit before my eyes, Thou shalt not fright me, but my senses close In dreams of gentleness and lost repose. Oh, had I voice and power of song to melt The prince of night, who once for Orpheus felt, Pleased would I journey o'er these dreary coasts, And bear thee, dearest, from the land of ghosts; Ne'er should I tremble at that fearful way, But wake thy eyes to smile upon the day. Vain, idle thoughts! In those sad realms await Thy husband's coming when released by fate; One common mansion for our shades prepare, That our rent loves may join eternal there: And when I die, to friendship I entrust In one small urn to mix our kindred dust; For as we loved on earth, the grave shall be Dearer than life in thy society. BLAND. A CHORUS. FROM THE GREEK OF EURIPIDES. THE rites derived from ancient days But ne'er the lute nor lyre applied Where Madness raves and Vengeance swells, Nor deign the festive hour to cloy Ah, little needs the minstrel's power JOHNSON. |