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Of all, this canip include. Great Destiny,
Give me a fign! And he shall be the man,
Who, on the approaching morning, comes the first
To meet me with some token of his love :
And thinking this, I fell into a Number.
Then nidinost in the battle was I led
In spirit. Great the pressure and the tumult!
Then was my horse kill'd under me: I lank;
And over me away, all unconcernedly,
Drove horse and rider—and thus trod to pieces
I lay, and panted like a dying man.
Then seiz'd me suddenly a saviour arm.
It was Octavio's—I awoke at once.

Twas broad day, and Octavio stood before me..
6 My brother,” said he, “ do not ride to-day
The dapple, as you're wont; but mount the horse
Which I have chosen for thee. Do it brother!
In love to me. A strong dream warn'd me so.”
It was the swiftness of this horse that snatch'd me
From the hot pursuit of Bannier's dragoons.
My cousin rode the dapple on that day,

And never more saw I or horse or rider. P. 193. In fpite, however, of the superstitious assurance of Wallen.' flein, Otavio employs the precious moments of delay in estranging from the general's interests Isolani and Butler, the latter of whom determines to remain in Wallenstein's camp for the purpose of revenging an injury, which, according to the representation of Piccolomini, the general had done him by a letter to the inperial court. The drama thus concludes with the refusal of Max. Piccolomini to quit the camp together with his father.

Ost. How? not one look
Of filial love. No grasp of the hand at parting?
It is a bloody war, to which we are going,
And the event uncertain and in darkness.
So usid we not to part—it was not so!
Is it then true? I have a son no longer !
(Max. falls into his arms, they hold each for a long time in a
Speechless embrace, then go away at different fides.)?

P. 214. And truly may it be said, that this is a 'most lame and impotent conclufion.'. Nothing is decided the fate of the principal characters hangs in suspense--all is dark and uncertain : and upon a review of the whole drama we mast, however unwillingly, acknowledge that it is flat and tedious. The author. seems indeed to have intended it merely as an introduction to The Death of Wallenstein.

Th emperor, and bind nini to induce

f her father.

In this latter tragedy, · Schiller is himself again. Its action is rapid; its events interesting. It abounds in pathetic incidents and moving speeches. The moral which it inculcates is correct and bighly important.

The three first scenes of The Death of Wallenstein are of a domestic nature, and exhibit the countess Tertsky instigating Thekla to use her influence over Max. Piccolomini to induce him to desert his duty to the emperor, and bind himself to the fortunes of her father. The princess is unwilling to understand the true nature of Wallenstein's designs; but when at length the truth is plainly disclosed, she bursts forth into the following pathetic exclamation.'

"O my fore-boding bosom! Even now,
E'en now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror!
And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp.
I knew it well-no sooner had I enter'd,
An heavy ominous presentiment
Reveal'd to me that spirits of death were hov'ring
Over my happy fortune. But why think I

First of myself? My mother! O, my mother!' P. 6. The affectionate timidity of the duchess, the wife of Wallenstein, is feelingly depicted in the ensuing dialogue, which is interrupted by the intervention of Wallenstein and Illo. The former, oppressed with care, desires his daughter to soothe his fpirits by a song.

• Come here, my sweet girl! Seat thee by me,
For there is a good spirit on thy lips.
Thy mother prais’d to me thy ready skill:
She says a voice of melody dwells in thee,
Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice
Will drive away for me the evil dæmon

That beats his black wings close above my head.' P. 13. Thekla, unable, on account of the agitation of her heart, co comply with her father's request, abruptly retires. This gives the countess Tertíky an opportunity of disclosing to her brother the mutual love of his daughter and the younger Pic. colomini. Of this passion Wallenstein sternly disapproves. The discussion of the matter, however, is clofed by the abrupt arrival of Tertíky to announce the revolt of several of the regiments, and among the rest ot the troops of Isolani, from the cause of their general. Tertíky is toon followed by Ilio, who communicates further particulars of the disaffection of the army. Wallenstein now looks for comfort and advice from the treacherous Butler, who remains with him apparently from nolives of friend:hip, but in reality with a determination to ensure his ruin. In this truly pathetic scene, Butler announces to the general the failure of his designs upon the city of Prague. On the receipt of this intelligence, Wallenstein thus expreffes the emotions of a determined mind.

"Tis decided !
'Tis well! I have receiv'd a sudden cure
From all the pangs of doubt: with steady Atream
Once more my life-blood flows! My soul's secure !
In the night only Friedland's stars can beain.
Ling'ring, irresolute, with fitful fears
I drew the sword—'twas with an inward strife,
While yet the choice was mine. The murd'rous knife
Is lifted for my heart! Doubt disappears!

I fight now for my head and for my life.' P. 31. In the beginning of the second act, Wallenstein receives a deputation from the regiment of Pappenheim, who, on behalf of their constituents, demand from him a declaration of his intentions with respect to the emperor. In his conference with this deputation, the inperial coinmander displays all the arts of popularity. But when he has almost persuaded the delegated Foldiers to adopt his quarrel, he is interrupted by Butler, who designedly enters to announce an open declaration of insurrection which has been made by count Teruky's regiment. These tidings disgust the deputies, who retire; and, in the course of a few minutes the Pappenheimers are heard in uproar, demanding Max. Piccoloinini their colonel, whom they imagine to be detained as a prisoner in Wallenstein's palace. Max. has, in fact, concealed himself in the palace, and now comes forward avowing to her father his love for Thekla. The act closes with the departure of Max, who is torn from the arms of his mistress by his soldiers, who rush into the palace to rescue hin from apprehended danger.

in the third act the scene is transferred to Egra, to which fortress the discomfited Wallenstein is determined to retire. He has dispatched Butler to prepare all things for his reception. Butler arrives, and intimates to Gordon, the governor, that Wallenstein is attainted of treason, and demands his co-operation in executing the sentence of death to which the einperor has doomed him. While Butler is thus endeavouring to inspirit the governor, who dislikes this commiflion, Wallenstein enters, and inquires into the state of the town and garrison. A courier now arrives with the tidings of the death of Max. Piccolomini, who, urged on by despair, was slain together with all his regiment in a furious onset on a superior body of Swedes. This intelligence haftens the designs of Butler, wlio resolves 10 murder the general that very night.

At the commencement of the fourth act Butler thus opens the detail of his plot against the life of Wallenstein.

• Find me twelve strong dragoons, arm them with pikes,
For there must be no firing-
Conceal them some-where near the banquet-room,
And soon as the desert is serv'd up, ruth all in
And cry-Who is loyal to the emperor?
I will overturn the table-while you attack
Illo and Tertíky, and dispatch them both.
The castle-palace is well barr'd and guarded,
That no intelligence of this proceeding

May make its way to the duke.' P. 97. The subsequent conference between Butler and his subordinate agents is fpun out to an unwarrantable length ; but it contains many true touches of nature. Rich aniends are, how. ever, made for the faults of this scene by scenes III. and IV. than which we remember nothing more pathetic in the whole range of dramatic writing. In these scenes Thekla, who had accidentally heard of the death of her lover, is indulged with the particulars of the event from the messenger who brought the sad intelligence.

In the first scene of the fifth act the reader is thus folemnly prepared for the approaching horrors. "Wal. (rises and Arides across the saloon.) The night's far

spent. Betake thee to thy chamber.
6 Countess. Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee!
Wal. (moves to the window.) There is a busy motion in

the heaven,
The wind doth chace the flag upon the tower,
Fast fly the clouds, the fickle of the moon,
Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light,
No form of star is visible! That one
White stain of light, that single glimm’ring yonder,
Is from Cassiopeia, and therein .
Is Jupiter. (a pause.) But now
The blackness of the troubled element hides him!
(he finks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the

Countess. (looks on him mournfully, shen graffs his hand.)
What art thou brooding on:

6 Wal. Methinks,
If I but saw him, 'would be well with me.
He is the far of my nativity,
And often marvellously hath his afpect
Shot strength into my heart.

Counsels. Thoul't see him again.

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. "Wal. (remains for a while with absent mind, then assumes

a livelier manner, and turns suddenly to the countess:)
See him again? O never, never again.

Countess. How?
Wal. He is gone-is dust.
6 Countess. Whom mean'st thou then?

Wal. He the more fortunate ! yea, he hath finish'd !
For him there is no longer any future-
His life is bright-bright without spot it was,
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
Knocks at his door with tidings of mis-hap.
Far off is he, above desire and fear;
No more submitted to the change and chance
Of the upsteady planets. O'tis well
With him! but who knows what the coming hour
Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us!

Countess. Thou speakest Of Piccolomini.' P. 127. After a conversation with Gordon and Seni, in which bis confidence in his good fortune casts an additional interest upon his perilous circumstances, Wallenstein retires to repose. Butler and the assassins now enter reeking from the murder of Illo and Tertky, whom they had surprised while revelling in a midnight banquet. The merciful agony of Gordon on the fight of these villains is thus expressed.

Gor. He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!

But. No! he shall die awake. (is going.)
« Gor. His heart still cleaves
To earthly things : he's not prepard to step
Into the presence of his God!

But, (going.) God's merciful!

Gor. (holds him.) Grant him but this night's respite.
But. (hurrying off.) The next moment
May ruin all.

Gor. (holds him fill.) One hour!

But. Unhold me! What
.. Can that short respite profit him?

o Gor: O_Time
Works miracles. In one hour many thousands
Of grains of land run out; and quick as they,
Thought follows thought within the human soul.
Only one hour! Your heart may change its purpose.
His heart may change its purpose-some new tidings
May come! some fortunate event, decilive,
May fall from heaven and rescue him! O what
May not one hour achieve!' .P. 145.

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