ness of the subject.

Prometheus.

Not in threat,-in very deed
Reeleth now the tottering earth:
Bellows now the thunder near;
From the rifted heaven run out
Tendrils of far glittering flame :
From the plains the dust is soaring
In the whirlwind; all the breaths
Of all tempests leap and rush
One against the other roaring:
To the sky the deep is lifted.
Such a blast with terror armed
Down upon me cometh, charged
With the anger of the gods.

O my mother, dread and vast!
Who about the earth art cast,

Who the common light dost hold,

O thou Firmament, behold

Me thine offspring, how I suffer wrongful woes untold.

(The curtain drops.)

Thus our readers are in possession of the principal part of this most wonderful play. Thus they have a specimen of the Greek Drama. But it is a specimen only of one kind. All in it is superhuman. But let it not be thought that such was always the case. Our next chapter will bring before them three plays by the same author on the story of Agamemnon's family.

Mysterious. But let us conclude with a few remarks on the Prometheus Bound. Has not the reader felt ere this, that there is about it a strange air of mystery-a link of association with even high and holy things? This benefactor of human kind-the object of divine wrath-thus crucified on high-bears he not a dim resemblance to One other of whom we know? It is so

-but how, we say not. We know that Eschylus was once accused of divulging the doctrines taught in the mysteries: we know that these mysteries contained many a fragment of ancient truth, pure in some degree from the overlaying of the popular superstition may some primitive tradition have descended from the diluvian forefathers of the Grecian race

some part of the creed of man before the flood-may not the Prometheus Bound contain a ray, however confused and distorted, of that light, by which we are taught to believe heaven hath enlightened the world?

The world must be at an end before an answer can be given.

Р

CHAPTER VII.

THE ORESTEA OF ESCHYLUS.

Sequel of the tale of Troy.

NEVER were two series of legends more fertile in stirring incident and pregnant moral, than the tales of Troy and Thebes. From each of them the great dramatists of Greece have woven some of their most masterly plays.

The details of the Trojan expedition had been amply given in the Iliad of Homer. Various other poems (now lost) had continued the narrative to the dispersion of the Greeks after the taking of the city. The returns of these heroes were full of adventure and peril. Dangers on the deep, and dangers at home, awaited them. Odysseus, as we have seen, after ten years' wandering on the waters, only reached his home to do desperate battle with the suitors, and to end his days in blood. Menelaus, the person on whose behalf the expedition had been made, after being tempest-tost, and carried into another sea, from which the birds take a year to fly,' with difficulty reached his kingdom. One of the two who bore the name of Ajax, had fallen by his own hand in his madness; the other perished by the wrath of the goddess Athena. Achilles, godlike and swift, had been treacherously slain in the dance, before the destruction of Troy, by an arrow from the ravisher of Helen. Diomede, the thunderbolt of war, who had wounded even celestial warriors, found the wrath of the offended deities working in his home, and fled indignant to settle in distant parts. Of all, the aged Nestor seems alone to have arrived at the sandy Pylos' in peace, and reigned as aforetime, pondering on the days gone by.

6

Orestéa.

But our present concern is with the king of men, Agamem- Subject of the non; with his return, and its consequences. Eschylus founds on these occurrences three distinct plays, but forming one course of action, and called by the name of Orestéa, from Orestes, son of Agamemnon, being the most prominent person in the three taken together. The titles of these three are. 1. Agamemnon, containing the death of the king. 2. Choëphori, containing the avenging of his death.

3. Eumenides, containing the pursuit and trial of the avenger.

Through these three our limits will only allow us to pass very hastily. A few preliminaries being explained, we shall at once carry our readers to the scene of action.

Names of the three plays.

emnou.

Notices.

The king, on his departure from Troy, had left at home his 1. The Agamqueen, Clytemnestra, of divine birth, and half sister to Helen, the cause of the war. A bard, of sacred character, was left Prefatory to guard and advise the queen; and Ægisthus, a relation, was left in charge of the kingdom. But in the course of the expedition, a deep wound was inflicted on her maternal feelings. We have selected in our first chapter, as an instance of our doctrines respecting art, the sacrifice of Agamemnon's daughter on the altar, to procure favourable winds for the fleet. This took place at Aulis, where the allied fleet was assembled. She was decoyed from home under pretence of marriage to Achilles. The fond and joyful mother sent her away in her beauty and pride-and next heard of her as a victim to her father's ambition! The cords of her affection were now broken. Her lord had (so she reasoned) forfeited his power: her husband, his claim to her faith. The bard was dismissed into exile. The steward of the kingdom was accepted by the queen, and she became his. Meantime, the years waxed on. Ten summers had nearly elapsed since the king had departed. The guilty pair reigned in the palace, keeping, however, as yet their union private. Electra, the surviving daughter of the king, and Orestes, whom he left an infant, were pining for his return. So, in semblance, was the

Opening of the play.

false queen. It had been agreed, before the expedition, that whenever Troy should be taken, the event should be announced to those at home by a series of beacons placed on the highlands between Europe and Asia.

But hush-the scene opens-what do we see?

TIME, MIDNIGHT.

The stars burn

are dimly seen, On the roof sits He pauses,

The flat roof of the palace of Agamemnon, at Mycena.
brightly overhead. Beneath, the houses and streets
and beyond, the far hills loom heavily in the sky.
one wrapt in a night-cloak, humming an ancient song.
and stretches him as one wearied. The stars look to him cold and
cheerless. He gazes blankly on them. They seem to him to have a
presence, and to witness his thoughts, which thus find utterance:

GRANT me, ye gods, release from this my toil,
This length of yearly watch, which, as a dog,
High on this roof I am ordained to keep:-
I know the company of nightly stars,
The lamping potentates, glittering in heaven,
Which bring the summer and the winter round-

I know their risings and their settings all.

I wait the appointed sign, the beacon light
Which is to bring the news of captured Troy:
For such the counsel of our reigning queen.
And oft as this my dark and dewy couch

I keep, not visited by dreams, Fear stands
And warns off Slumber, which alights not down
Upon my weary eyes: and when to song

I would betake me, or low murmured hum,
Sweet music, medicining my dearth of sleep,
I fall to grieving for this ancient house,

Not well-appointed, as in former days.

So that I need to pray for blest relief

From these my toils, when the glad light appears.

A something appears above yonder dark hill-is it a star rising? It increases-no star was ever so bright and red. It shoots up and flares wildly in the sky-the watchman starts up and gazes