Chor. What speed could bring such message? Cly. The speed of Vulcan! He first sent his blaze From Ida's top, and light from light conveyed The message flame! Ida flashed forth the beam To the Hermæan rock on Lemnus isle : E'en from its pitchy bosom pouring gold His beacon too sent forth its blaze, and gave it To those who watched beside the winding shores Of gratulation, which they soon repeated Even to this royal house of Atreus' sonsThe same as we had seen the very fire Flaming on Ida-so certain and so swift These fiery messengers-that first and last Seem equal and the same;-these are my proofs, The message by my husband sent from Troy ! Clytemnestra leaves the Chorus once more to their songs, which are intended to be notes of triumph; but their melancholy forebodings still prevail, and they rather recur to the wretched circumstance of the departure of Helen, than dwell upon the seemingly glorious termination of the war which that sad event had occasioned. Chor. She followed him!-alas! in bitter hour, Leaving behind, for her own country's flower, Quick burnishing of shields and spearsall motion Running to ships and ploughing the wild ocean! What did she bear to Ilium as her dower? Seem'd muttering round O city of the Gods! now comes thy fate! Yet none could speak he had now again unexpectedly returned, after the absence of so many years; and he concludes with formally announcing, not only the destruction of Troy, but the near approach of Agamemnon. The management of the poet on this occasion is very skilful, and, when aided by the powers of the actor, must have had a wonderful effect. Clytemnestra, apparently taken by surprise, and under the necessity of laying her plans much more rapidly than she had expected, does not at first utter a word, but maintains one of those expressive silences for which Eschylus has been so much admired in some other instances. The dialogue proceeds for some time between the Herald and the Chorus, who address him with While men and women crowded to the temples And fanned the sacred fires!-What should I say, Or how with thee hold converse,-from my husband So soon expecting all the welcome tale?— O'er him-she beholds her lord again Over his house, e'en like a watch-dog, kind lent protestations. The speech which we shall see her afterwards make to her husband is not at all overdone, but is most artfully natural. In all this variety of conduct, suited to the difference of eircumstances, this old poet, it is apprehended, shows quite as much knowledge of human nature as any of his most celebrated successors. On the departure of the Queen, the Chorus obscurely intimate, that, in their opinion, "the lady protests too much," and that they do not quite give credit to her strong assertions; and then proceed to make inquiries concerning the fate of Menelaus and some of the other leaders. This introduces the following animated description of a storm, which had scattered the navy on its return. us, The harbour that received us was not either Prove alike prosperous! Another choral song follows, beginning, in a very singular manner, with a pun, which, although it cannot well be translated, may yet be imitated. It may be remarked here, that the occasional plays upon words which are to be found in the Greek trage dians, and which have not escaped the animadversion of Mr Hume, in one of his notes to his history, are scarcely to be confounded with common quibbles, and have not altogether an unpleasing effect. Mr Hume says, "The name of Polynices, one of Edipus's sons, means, in the original, much quarrelling. In the altercations between the two brothers in Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, this conceit is employed; and it is remarkable that so poor a conundrum could not be rejected by any of these three poets so justly celebrated for their taste and simplicity! What could Shakespeare have done worse?" Now, the circumstance that these quibbles are entirely on the meaning of proper names, may serve as an apology for them. As the names, in fact, have, in general, the meaning assigned them, it is not at all unnatural, even in circumstances of violent passion, that the imagination should seize upon them, and regard them, perhaps, in the light of omens, especially in those stages of society in which very. considerable importance seemed to be attached to names. The sacred history affords innumerable instances of this supposed importance, and occasional allusions, too, to the meanings of names not at all unlike those of the Greek tragedians. In the Chorus before us, Eschylus has probably pushed this licence a little too far; he gives us no less than three puns upon one poor lady's name. In the following imitation one only has been attempted, but it is to be feared with a than even all his three. Whatever still greater trespass against good taste may be said of the quibble, however, it will scarcely be denied that the Chorus itself opens with a very fine lyrical spirit, which the translator only regrets that it was not more in his power to transfuse. Chor. O hellish is her name and nature, Before her steps hell's caverns gaping She gave her wanton tresses to the gales! * Έλενας, έλανδρος, έλεπολις. In one of the following stanzas there is another very interesting picture of this misguided woman, of whom, in imitation of the kind-hearted Homer, the Greek poets are always disposed to speak tenderly: And who could think that soul of beauty That lightened o'er her loveliest face, Seeming the very shrine of duty Of royal rank the graceCould think those eyes so sweetly beaming On every heart their soft light streaming, Were quivers full of poisoned darts ? Ah! yet accurst these marriage vows! The hospitable God to her imparts His vengeance: an Erynnys this fair spouse! The concluding stanza of this fine ode almost rises to a strain of Christian morality, and presents us with a view of humble happiness which rather reminds us of the pictures of our own Burns, than seeins to flow from the clouded inspirations of a Heathen poet. Not so the life, howe'er obscurely While from the gilded roofs retiring, Cheering the peasant's lot, though seeming hard, Darkening the columns of the lordly dome! We On the conclusion of this choral song, Agamemnon himself makes his entreé in a triumphal car, and with a train of captives behind him. see very little of him, but what we do see impresses us in his favour. He comes in triumphant, indeed, but is full of gratitude to the Gods; his head, in short, does not seem to be at all turned by his good fortune, and he is fully aware both of the envy and of the hazards attending any extravagant displays of success. He is much averse to an exhibition of this kind, which Clytemnestra proposes. In her VOL. I. speech to him, nothing can well be more finely represented than the collected and well acted demonstration of her virtue and affection, at the very moment that she has laid the plot for his destruction. In truth, the character of Clytemnestra is quite a masterpiece; and it really may be doubted whether there is any thing in Shakespeare himself superior to it. Lady Macbeth does not equal the wife of Agamemnon in the coolness and protraction of her duplicity; and at last, when the horrible deed is perumph, in which she gives vent to her petrated, the burst of atrocious tristormy feelings, comes out with a much more wonderful effect from the deep restraint under which she had been so long forced to retain them. It has been already remarked, that the poet, although he gives us many intimations that all is not right with Clytemnestra, yet wishes us to be in some measure imposed upon by her; and her character, opening upon us by degrees, is much more impressive than if we were let into it at once. Not the slightest hint is given us of her intentions; she never speaks a word aside, (a very inartificial and clumsy mode, surely, of making the audience acquainted with the covert designs of the dramatic personages,) but we follow exactly the course of the feelings of those who are supposed to be really spectators of her conduct. The more that the management of the great Father of the Drama, in this parțicular, is studied, the more, it may be suggested, might dramatic poets learn of the true method of bringing out both their incidents and their characters. The following is a specimen of this scene, in which the treacherous queen receives her good-natured and unsuspecting husband: Cly. Now the fountains of my tears are dried, And not a drop remains! These eyes, indeed, Are damaged with long watching, while my tears Wore out the idle torches all night long- O from these sufferings, which I bore in silence RT Is he not to my peace, as to the fold Its malice interpose to blight the joy My share of evil!-Come then, my lov'd lord For the processions of the Gods: Shall I, Give me the honours of a man-I affect Thank heaven-I know myself-no trivial I seek no happiness beyond the present,- (To be continued.) JOHNNIE FAA, THE GYPSEY CHIEF, "Nupta Senatori comitata est Hippia lu- Ad Pharon, et Nilum." JUVENAL. Satyr. 6. As the author of the admirable romance of Guy Mannering has ren dered every thing respecting Scottish gypsies of extreme interest; it is presumed, that the following details regarding the elopement of a fair countess with the king of that dusky band, will prove not unacceptable to the generality of our readers. John, sixth Earl of Cassillis, commonly termed "the grave and solemn Earl," married to his first wife Lady Jean Hamilton, daughter of Thomas, first Earl of Haddington. It is said, that this match took place contrary to the inclinations of the young lady, whose affections had been previously engaged by a certain Sir John Faa of Dunbar, who was neither grave nor solemn, and moreover, much hand somer than his successful rival. While Lord Cassillis, who, by the way, was a very zealous Puritan, was absent on some mission from the Scottish Parliament to that of England, Sir John, with his followers, repaired to Cassillis, where the young lady then resided, and persuaded her to elope with him to England. As ill luck would have it, the Earl returned home before the lovers could cross the Border -pursued and overtook them-and in the conflict all the masquerade gypsies were slain save one, and the weeping Countess brought back to her husband's mansion, where she remained till a dungeon was prepared for her near the village of Maybole, wherein she languished for the short remainder of her life in humble sorrow and devotion. This is one edition of the story, still very current in the county where the elopement took place; but it is not supported by the tenor of the ballad, which was composed by the only surviving ravisher, and is contradicted by a number of those who still recite the verses; indeed, a very numerous jury of matrons, "spinsters and knitters in the sun," pronounce the fair Countess guilty of having eloped with a genuine gypsey, though compelled in some degree to that low-lived indiscretion by certain wicked charms and philtres, of which Faa and his party are said to have possessed the secret. It is recorded in the ballad itself, that "She gave to them the good wheat bread, And they gave her the ginger" which doubtless contained some drug to enforce love. At that time the belief in the power of such philtres was |