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Torments, or contamely, or the sneers
Of erring judging men
Can break the heart where it abides. Alas ! if Love, whose smile makes this obscure world splendid
Can change, with its false times and tides,
Like hope and terror
Alas for Love!
Before the dazzled eyes of Error.
Through many an hostile Anarchy!
Rome was, and young Atlantis shall become
The wonder, or the terror, or the tomb
Whose fairest thoughts and limbs were built
She knew not pain or guilt ;
When ye desert the free!
If Greece must be
In a diviner clime,
Let the free possess the paradise they claim ;
Our survivors be the shadows of their pride,
Their dishonour a remembrance to abide !
Voice without. Victory! Victory! The bought Briton sends The keys of ocean to the Islamite. Now shall the blazon of the cross be veiled, And British skill directing Othman might, Thunder-strike rebel victory. O keep holy This jubilee of unrevenged blood ! Kill I crush! despoil ! Let not a Greek escape !
On the noon of time :
From the hungry clime.
To a sunnier strand,
Her exhausted horn
But the night is not born ;
Fast-flashing, soft and bright.
Guide us far, far away,
Thou art hidden
Beneath Heaven's cope.
Their shadows more clear float by-
Through the walls of our prison ;
The golden years return,
Her winter weeds outworn :
A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
From waves serener far;
A new Peneus rolls its fountains
Against the morning-star. Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep. A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
Fraught with a later prize; Another Orpheus sings again,
And loves, and weeps, and dies. A new Ulysses leaves once more Calypso for his native shore.
O write no more the tale of Troy,
If earth Death's scroll must be ! Nor mix with Laian rage the joy
Which dawns upon the free : Although a subtler sphinx renew Riddles of death Thebes never knew.
Another Athens shall arise,
And to remoter time
The splendour of its prime;
Shall burst, more bright and good
Than many unsubdued :
Cease! must men kill and die ?
Of bitter prophecy.
SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT.
A TRAGEDY IN TWO ACTS, TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL DORIC.
Choose Reform or Civil War,
ADVERTISEMENT. Thrs Tragedy is one of a triad, or system of three Plays, (an arrangement according to which the Greeks were accustomed to connect their Dramatic representations,) elucidating the wonderful and appalling fortunes of the SWELLFOOT dynasty. It was evidently written by some learned Theban, and from its characteristic dulness, apparently before the duties on the importation of Attic salt had been repealed by the Bæotarchs. The tenderness with which he beats the Pigs proves him to have been a sus Boeotice; possibly Epicuri de grege Porcus ; for, as the poet observes,
“A fellow feeling makes us wond'rous kind." No liberty has been taken with the translation of this remark. able piece of antiquity, except the suppressing a seditious and blasphemous chorus of the Pigs and Bulls at the last act. The word Hoydipouse, (or more properly Edipus,) has been rendered literally SWELLFOOT, without its having been conceived necessary to determine whether a swelling of the hind or the fore feet of the Swinish Monarch is particularly indicated.
Should the remaining portions of this Tragedy be found, entitled, “ Swellfoot in Angaria," and " Charité," the Translator might be tempted to give them to the reading Public.
DRAMATIS PERSON Æ.
TYRANT SWELLFOOT, King of Theber.
The LEECH. Iona TAURINA, his Queen.
Moses, the Sou-gelder.
SOLOMON, the Porkman.
ZEPHANIAH, Pig-butcher. CHORUS of the Swinish Multitude. -Guards, Attendants, Priests, &c. &c.
SCENE I.-A magnificent Temple, built of thigh-bones and death's
heads, and tiled with scalps. Over the Altar the statue of Pamine, veiled ; a number of boars, sows, and sucking-pigs, crowned with thistle, shamrock, and oak, sitting on the steps,
and clinging round the Altar of the Temple. Enter SWELLFoot, in his royal robes, without perceiving the Pigs.
Swellfoot. Thou supreme Goddess ! by whose power divine
[He contemplates himself with satisfaction.
The Swine. Eigh ! eigh ! eigh ! eigh !
Ha! what are ye,
Swine. Aigh ! aigh ! aigh !
What ! ye that are
Swine. Ugh! ugh! ugh!
What! ye who grub
* See Universal History for an account of the number of people who died and the immense consumption of garlic by the wretched Egyptians, who made a sepulchre for the name as well as the bodies of their tyrants.