I see a field of battle wide and bloody;

And there thy crested figure fiercely strives.

Warrior. What farther? Speak! By this dread sign, proceed!

Second Figure. I see the field of war; its storm has ceased.

Thou art not there, though thy plumed helm and sword,
And blood stained banner lie amidst the corses.

Third figure. I see thy father's tombs, in pompous state,

Filling the vault of a monastic pile;

But there thou art not, nor thy sculptured name,

Fourth figure, I see a vast and sandy wilderness,
On which the hot sun pours his withering beams,
On the horizon's brink the sheening towers
Of a strange city glitter-thou art there,

A worn and shrivelled figure, and now death

Hath seized thee.-Thou art gone and lean dogs tear
The flesh from thy stiff limbs, and vultures pick
The oped eyes from their sockets, and thy bones
Lie parched and bleaching 'neath the torrid sky,

Warrior, Where is the hated foeman of my house?
All the figures. Our sayings are now said we know no

more.

Warrior, Liars! and slaves! ye mock me. By this word!

What destiny awaits my hated foe?

All the figures. Our sayings are now said-we know no

more.

(The figures are thrown down and shattered.) Hag. They're gone and all that can be told to thee Is told already, Hard may be their words,

But to thy memory, they'll cling for ever,

Nor joy, nor years, nor camp, nor court, nor field,
Nor wine-filled chalice, nor the minstrel's song,
Nor beauty's sun-like eyes, nor monarch's love,
Nor all that man doth gladden or requite,
Shall rase it from thy brain. Indelibly
The dark revealing is inscribed for ever.
Warrior, the curse of knowledge now is thine,
Unrighteously obtained, and heavily

"Twill press upon thee, as it has on me.
Our doings here are ended. Let thy serfs
Conduct me to my hut. I dare not stay-
In this dread building longer.

Warrior. Is it so?

Die like a dog upon a foreign strand!
Not slumber 'mid my marbled ancestry;
Not on the battle-field, 'mid wavering plumes,
And trumpet sounds, and war-cry gladdening,
And pennons won, and cloven helms laid low,
And hated foemen lifeless at my feet,

Not die the warrior's death. I rather would
My deadliest enemy should plant his lance
Here! and that, dying, I should see him smile
In triumph and in mockery, than meet
The doom now uttered by these shades of hell.
I'll heed it not-The juggling oracle
Perchance is all a lie-How should it be

The word of truth?-Can hell reveal the truth?
I know not-It may be-but time will shew.
Without there,-light my steps.

(The Warrior and his Attendants go out.) Hag. Stay, warrior,

And lead me with thee now our task is done.
Lend me thy hand; my limbs are worn with age;
And blindness too, thou know'st, is on my path.
Where is it? Let me clasp it: Thou'rt not gone?

(Pause.)

Lord AVELYNE! I hear their parting hoofs-
Lord AVELYNE! One moment!-bear me hence! (Pause.)
He hears me not-vassals and meanest serfs

I call ye.
I am here whose word hath power
To bless or ban ye !-Lead me to my home,
And riches, greater than a monarch's crown,
Or jewels buried in a soldier's tomb,

Shall be your recompense.-They hear me not-
The foulest malison be on ye all,

And blast your joys of life! The storm comes on;
It is the harbinger of their dread presence.

(A violent tempest.) ́ I hear their fearful wings come thundering up;

And now, and now, my fated hour is come.
Is there no help? no hope? have mercy, heaven!
Heap years of woe and agony upon me,
Let me endure whole centuries of pain,
But save me from their power! Angels hear!
And help a wretched being, who implores
But rescue from the fiends whom ye oppose.
Ye saints and blessed spirits! List my prayer!
I hear their taunting voices 'mid the storm:
Oh, listen to me,—hide me—hide me, earth!
Give me annihilation -Heaven!-Oh! God!

(A fearful clap of thunder; the lightning strikes the chapel, which falls and crushes the Hag in the ruins.)

"MAID MARIAN.”

And therefore is she called Maid Marian,
Because she leads a spotless maiden life,
And shall till ROBIN'S outlaw life have end.

OLD PLAY.

Mr. DRAMA,

In your remarks on "Maid Marian," you say, "Though extracted from the great novelist's romance of "Ivanhoe," &c. now it strikes me you are in error as to the foundation from whence the Opera, (or whatever you may be pleased to designate it) is derived; it has been said, and very justly, methinks, to have originated from a little novel, written I believe, by a Mr. PEACOCK, wherein by referring to it, all the characters are to be found as named in the piece now performing at Covent Garden Theatre. If, Mr. DRAMA, what I have stated be correct, by inserting it you will oblige

Walworth, Feb. 3, 1823.

Yours, &c.

LUDOVICO.

M

MR. DRAMA,

Should the following scraps meet your approval, 1 shall be glad to see them inserted.

Truro, Jan. 20, 1823.

SAM. SAM'S SON.

SOPHOCLES AND EURIPIDES.

"These two are universally esteemed the most excellent of all the ancient tragic poets; but which of these we are to prefer, in comparing them together, is a point that has not been so absolutely settled. SOPHOCLES, indeed, seems to have the greatest number of suffrages in general, and in the article of style there is scarce any one of the critics who does not give him the preference; but then, on the other hand, ARISTOTLE, and some of the moderns, have considered EURIPIDES as the most tragic of all the poets, that is, as having a genius the most peculiarly turned for this species of writing :-they were both Athenians, and flourished at the same time, but SOPHOCLES was the elder man. He died aged ninety-five years, about four hundred years before CHRIST, for joy of having gained the prize by one of his tragedies. EURIPIDES died about the same time, some say six years before, but in a less agreeable manner, for he was torn to pieces by dogs, after he had lived seventy-five years. The first of these authors composed one hundred and twenty-two tragedies, out of which only seven are extant: the latter wrote ninety-two, of which nineteen only remain.-Vide BAILLET and LE FEVRE."

"The play of Barnwell is not written according to the rules of unity, nor is it in verse like our regular tragedies; for this reason the design of its author, LILLO, and the manner in which he hath drawn his characters, are the principal things in it that deserve commendation. From Barnwell's character we learn the necessity of studying our favourite or ruling inclination, and the great danger of indulging it. Conscious reason, if we attend to it, will inform us where our weakness lies, and when we are be

trayed by it into a crime The way to hinder any vice from becoming habitual, is to observe the first notice of this internal monitor. The consequence of once indulging any passion in defiance of our reason, is giving additional power to that passion, and engaging in the practice of what we constantly disapprove. The unwillingness of Thoroughgood (his master) to suspect him of such crimes as he proved guilty of, and his tender behaviour towards him after conviction, is a picture finely drawn. Maria loves Barnwell, but conceals it till she sees him plunged into misfortunes; Trueman is his friend, and also signalizes himself on this occasion: their characters are therefore pointed out as examples to masters in general, to coquet mistresses, and summer friends."

FROM THE REMINISCENCES" OF C. BUTLER, ESQ.

"No letters, ancient or modern, are comparable with CICERO'S. RACINE always carried in his pocket a volume of those of ATTICUS; Lord BOLINGBROKE's may be thought to approach nearest to them; Mr. BURKE will be found eminently beautiful and interesting. Of the works of the ancients, which time has intercepted from us, it is difficult to fix on that of which we should most lament the loss. Mr. Fox used to say, he principally regretted the lost tragedies of EURIPIDES, and the comedies of MENANDER: some think the Decades of LIVY, and the portions of TACITUS, which have reached us, a greater loss. If, says our writer, I could obtain any of the Opera Deperdita by a wish, it would be the Memoirs of MEGASTHENES, the ambassador of SELEUCUS at Palibothra, the capital of Prasii, or the country watered by the confluence of the Ganges and Junna. What a store of ancient Indian learning they would unfold!"

66

CHARACTERS OF SHAKSPEARE FROM THE REMINISCENT.".

"SHAKSPEARE, perhaps, is the only poet who has put into the mouth of an actor a speech which the person, whom that actor was intended to represent, might have spoken on the occasion to which it is assigned. Brutus and Anthony might have uttered the very speeches. Ham