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Je suis vostre homicide, Hippolyte! je suis
Celle quy vous enferme aux infernales nuits;
Mais de mon sang lascif je vay purger l'offence
Que j'ay commise a tort contre vostre innocence.

Mon cœur que tremble-tu? quelle soudaine horreur,
Quelle horreur frissonante alentist ta fureur?
Quelle affreuse Megere a mes yeux se presente?
Quels serpens encordés, quelle torche Hambante,
Quelle rive escumeuse et quel fleuve grondant,
Quelle rouge fournaise horriblement ardent?
Ah! ce sont les enfers, ce les sont, ils m'attendent,
Et pour me recevoir leurs cavernes ils fendent.
Adieu! soleil luisant, luisant soleil adieu ! . . .
Adieu, triste Thesée! adieu funebre lieu!

Il est temps de mourir: sus, que mon sang ondoye
Sur ce corps trespassé, &c. &c.

In his tragedy of "Cornelia," the widow of Pompey relates the following dream, diffusely, but eloquently, imitated from the apparition of Hector in the Eneid:-

lytus!

* Deja la nuit muette, ayant faict long sejour,
Tournoit plus loin du soir que de l'aube du jour.

Quand d'un petit sommeil (s'il faut ainsy nommer
Un estourdissement quy nous vient assommer)
Coule dedans mes yeux inusités au somme,

Las et chargés des pleurs du deuil quy me consomme.
Et voicy que je vois prés de mon lict moiteux
Le funebre Pompé, d'un visage piteux,

Pâle, et tout descharné, nou tel qu'il souloit estre
En triomphe porté parmi le peuple maistre,
Et que
dedans un throsne il voyoit à ses pieds
Les Roys de gros cordeaux contre le dos liés.

Il estoit triste, affreux, les yeux creux, et la face,

La barbe, et les cheveux oints de sang et de crasse.

It is I who shut thee captive in the dungeon of infernal night. But my own unchaste blood shall wash out my crime against thy innocence. My heart, why tremblest thou? What sudden shuddering horror congeals thy rage? What horrid fury appears before my eyes? What coiled serpent, what flaming torch, what foaming wave, what roaring current, what red furnace blazing horribly! Ah! it is Hell, it is, it is, Hell that opens to receive me in its caverns. Adieu, thou shining sun, bright sun adieu; farewell, sad Theseus-this mournful spot farewell. It is time to die. Come! let my blood flow upon this dear mangled corse, &c. &c.

* Already silent night, having made a tedious stay, had passed the midway between evening and morning when a light sleep (if I may so call the numbness of thought which overcomes us) flows on my eyes unused to repose -wearied and surcharged with tears for the sorrow which consumes me. And behold I see by my moistened pillow, the buried Pompey, his visage piteous, sad, pale, and disfigured; ah! not such as he was wont to be, when carried in triumph amidst the sovereign people, or when, scated on a throne, he beheld at his feet kings manacled with clumsy cords. He looked mournful, frightful, his eyes sunken,

Un linceul, tout saigneux, à son dos s'estendoit,
Quy jusque aux talons deschiré luy pendoit. .
Il desserra ses dents de peaux toutes couvertes;
Puis ceste voix sortist, quand il les eust ouvertes:
Vous dormez, Cornelie, et vostre pere et moy, &c.

His "Marc-Antony," though it possessed no other beauty, would deserve notice for the following single verse, which anticipates the stately and affecting grandeur of Corneille, when the nobleness and simplicity of that great poet are least impaired by declamation. Marc-Antony, vanquished at Actium, betrayed by Cleopatra, and abandoned by all the world, exclaims,

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Je demeure tout seul, reste de ma fortune!"

The image here is the more powerful from being but barely, indeed imperfectly, sketched by the poet. The imagination of the reader completes it beyond the utmost touching and colouring of language in detail. It presents Antony with all the moral attributes of his former greatness magnified by pity,--himself, sole surviving remnant of his wrecked fortunes, cast naked upon the beach. "Bradamante," though the most elaborate, as well as the last of Garnier's performances, more than counterbalanced the improvement which his preceding pieces had made in the drama. It was the first of that monstrous species called tragi-comedy, a thing so utterly absurd in its essence, as to carry a solecism of expression in its very title. "Bradamante," as the name suggests, was taken from the Orlando Furioso. That bewitching poem, by its chivalrous sentiment, romantic adventure, gorgeous magnificence--by its draughts of valour, beauty, glory, and love, mingled as in an enchanted cup, seems to have fascinated Garnier's imagination, and extinguished his purer taste. Thus early did the romantic dame commence that dispute for empire with the classic Muse, which divides the literature of imagination throughout Europe at the present day. The way once open, tragi-comedy, no longer an association of the grave and gay, but a mixture of horror with libertinism and buffoonery, overspread the drama, until it reached its acme and its death in Fraucis Hardy, the contemporary of Shakspeare, and predecessor of Corneille.

W.

his face, beard, and hair covered and clotted with miry gore. A shroud, all bloody, torn, hung from his shoulders to his heels. He unclosed his teeth all covered with skin, and these words came forth, "Thou sleepest, Cornelia," &c.

ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION.

AND thou hast walk'd about (how strange a story!)

In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,

And Time had not begun to overthrow

Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous.

Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy,
Thou hast a tongue-come-let us hear its tune;
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above-ground, Mummy!
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon,

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features.

Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect,

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame;
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect

Of either Pyramid that bears his name?
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer ?

Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer?
Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden

By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade,-
Then say what secret melody was hidden

In Memnon's statue which at sun-rise play'd?
Perhaps thou wert a Priest-if so, my struggles
Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles.
Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,
Has hob-a-nob'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass;
Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat,

Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.
I need not ask thee if that hand, when arm'd,
Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled,
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm'd,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled :-
Antiquity appears to have begun

Long after thy primeval race was run.

Thou couldst develope, if that wither'd tongue
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen,
How the world look'd when it was fresh and young,
And the great Deluge still had left it green-

, Or was it then so old that History's pages
Contain❜d no record of its early ages?

Still silent, incommunicative elf?

Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows;

But prythee tell us something of thyself,

Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house;

Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumber'd,

What hast thou seen-what strange adventures number'd?

Since first thy form was in this box extended,

We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations;

The Roman empire has begun and ended,

New worlds have risen-we have lost old nations,

And countless kings have into dust been humbled,
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head
When the great Persian conqueror Cambyses
March'd armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,

And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?

If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd,
The nature of thy private life unfold :—

A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast,
And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll'd:-
Have children climb'd those knees, and kiss'd that face?
What was thy name and station, age and race?
Statue of flesh-Immortal of the dead!
Imperishable type of evanescence!

Posthumous man, who quit'st thy narrow bed,
And standest undecayed within our presence,

Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning,
When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its warning.
Why should this worthless tegument endure,

If its undying guest be lost for ever?

O let us keep the soul embalm'd and pure

In living virtue, that when both must sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume,
Th' immortal spirit in the skies may bloom.

H.

SPECIMEN OF A PROSPECTIVE NEWSPAPER.

The North American Luminary, 1st July, 4796.

A CELEBRATED professor of chemistry has discovered a method of composing and decomposing the surrounding atmosphere, so that any farmer can, with the greatest facility, and at a small expense, avert rain, or produce it in any quantity necessary for the perfection of his crops. The professor recently dispelled the clouds over the city of New York and its suburbs for the space of a week, converting the cold, damp weather of our winter into a clear and comparatively warm season. By this useful contrivance, any mariner may allay the violence of a hurricane, or give the wind the direction and degree of force best suited to the objects of his voyage.

The corporation of Baltimore have subscribed a sum for erecting one of the newly-invented telescopes. It is to be liberally appropriated to the use of all the citizens, so that the meanest mechanic may amuse himself in his leisure moments by viewing the different occupations of the inhabitants of the moon. The effect of this invention upon morals is beyond all calculation. The labouring classes now give up the enjoyment of spirituous liquors for the superior pleasure of contemplating

the wonders which this invention exposes to the human

senses.

The army of the northern states will take the field against that of the southern provinces early next spring. The principal northern force will consist of 1,490,000 picked troops. General Congreve's new mechanical cannon was tried last week at the siege of Georgia. It discharged in one hour 1120 balls, each weighing five hundred weight. The distance of the objects fired at was eleven miles, and so perfect was the engine, that the whole of these balls were lodged in a space of twenty feet

square.

According to the census just taken by the order of government, the population of New York amounts to 4,892,568 souls, that of Philadelphia to 4,981,947, and the population of Washington, our capital, exceeds six millions and a half.

Our celebrated travellers Dr. Clarke and Baron Humbold have just arrived from their researches into two of the countries of ancient Europe. By means of a new invention, Dr. Clarke crossed the Atlantic in seven days. He sailed up the ancient river Thames, to a spot which our antiquaries are now agreed must be the site of the once renowned city of London, but not a vestige of human habitation remained. There existed the mutilated portion of a granite arch, which Dr. Clarke conceived might be the last remains of the once-celebrated bridge of Waterloo. The Doctor proceeded further up the river, to an elevated situation on the left bank, which commanded a view of savage but delightful scenery. This our antiquary conjectured might be the ancient Richmond Hill, but he could not procure a single coin, or discover any one object of antiquarian research. Our traveller was extremely desirous of ascending the river yet higher, in order to reach the ancient Windsor, once the proud abode of England's monarchs, but he was so annoyed by the tribes of savages, that he found it impossible to proceed. Dr. Clarke intends next year to renew his travels in this once glorious and now almost forgotten island; and he will take with him a body of five and twenty of the United States' troops, which will effectually repel any force that the savage inhabitants can bring against him.

Our traveller Baron Humbold directed his researches to France. He discovered the mouth of the ancient river Seine,

The origin of this name of Waterloo is now irrecoverably lost, unless it be corruption of the terms water low, or low water, the bridge perhaps having been built at a spot of less depth than the contiguous parts of the river.

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