tuous incidents of female biography-these, and such as these, constituted the main subjects of the Grecian drama-while moral truths, robed in all the witchery of genius, and set off by the persuasive eloquence of style and argument, were the constant themes on which the muse Melpomene delighted to expatiate.

The stage, therefore, in its proper use, became a teacher of commanding authority.

But while we deprecate an indiscriminate perusal, | secrated in their country's memory by acts of valor, we assert the moral bearing of the classics, peculiarly patriotism, virtue, and wisdom; the affecting and virso called, to be of the most enlightened order. Who can read or hear the dulcet harmonies of Virgil, arrayed in all the graceful gorgeousness of sentiment and language, without feeling his soul elevated, and imbibing in its hidden depths, the fire, the majesty, the divinity of his godlike genius? What youth has not glowed with rapture over the magic and virtuous page of a Cicero or Seneca, and felt his admiration of patriotism, public spirit, and self-devotion, nourished and invigorated? Does the "blind old man of Scio's rocky isle" awaken no throb of divine energy, no latent vein of virtuous emotion, no godlike aspiration of fame, no ecstasy of thought in the human soul? Do the lyric odes of a Horace, that master of manners, fall passionless on the ear, or the stinging satire of a Juvenal lash triumphant vice in vain? Has Pindar's lyre swept from its strings no genial music for moralist or christian, when now, in symphonious strain, it sings of truth, and now bursts, in a stream of thoughtful melody, on the delighted ear?

Hail! ye mighty masters of the lay!

Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth!
Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay,
Amused my childhood and informed my youth:
O let your spirit still my bosom soothe-
Inspire my dreams, and my wild wand'rings guide.
Your voice each rugged path of life can smoothe;
For well I know, wherever ye reside,
There harmony and peace and innocence abide.
Beattie's Minstrel.

The celebrated writers, before mentioned, carried the dramatic performance to its highest perfection, and consecrated their genius to the task of enriching its representations with their sublimest effusions. Not one pleaded the cause of vice or arrayed the "monster" in the fascinating charms that belong only to the brow of virtue. Amongst writers so equal in the highest endowments of intellect, it would be difficult to assign the palm of superiority. Eschylus excels in wild sublimity of thought and terrific imagery-Sophocles flows, like a honied stream, murmuring on the ear with seraphic harmony-Euripides is shrouded in grace and majesty, charming by the pathos of his sentiment, and unfolding at every step the moral grandeur of his muse.

The "Medea" of the latter author, is confessedly a wonderful production; it abounds in masterly strokes of genius-not general effusions of fancy or brilliant passages, solitary in the waste. On the contrary, the play is highly marked and characteristic—preserving an uniformly elevated caste of thought, set off, not unfrequently, by the most splendid drapery of imagination. The muse of Euripides seems to have indulged its widest scope of pathos; the poet colored his scenes with the sad hues of his own reflections. It was chiefly on this account, that Cicero admired the bard of Salamis most of all the tragedians; and he occupied the last moments of his life in perusing his favorite "Medea," as if no preparation was more suitable for the unknown realities of eternity.

Having sufficiently vindicated the true classics from the base imputation of demoralizing the mind, we shall proceed more directly to consider the play of " Medea," as the best exemplification of our remarks, that we can present to the reader. The three great lights of the Grecian drama, Eschylus, Sophocles and Euripides, combine within the compass of their works a system of pure morality, which it would be difficult to equal in all The affecting sublimity of Medea's story was evithe hundred tomes of scholastic theology. These dently adapted to the poet's singular caste of mind; ethical precepts are conveyed in language of the utmost and in the execution of the task, he awaked in his dignity and simplicity-the genuine characteristic of ma-behalf the popular belief and tradition of the age. jestic thought; they are produced without effort, and Hence there are many who have doubted of the existas naturally, they strike the mind with an air of grace-ence of such a personage as Medea, and represent the ful propriety and with all the force of impressive truth. The remarks of those celebrated masters are founded on the justest views of human nature; they carry their researches into the deepest fountains of the soul; they scrutinize with accuracy the caste and complexion of character, and by a single stroke, present to the ima-fate. That the history has been much embellished by the gination a finished portrait.

current opinion as founded only on the fictions of poetry. They ground their belief on the strange and unaccountable reports of Medea's life-such as, her fiery chariot of dragons, [page 39,] her reputed skill in magic, and in short, the whole air of mystery which rests over her

license of fancy-farther, that large additions may have Nothing could be more noble than the design of the been made to her eventful fortunes-cannot, in truth ancient theatre. There the people were taught more and reason, be denied-but the actual existence of the impressively the truths of morality and religion, than very person herself, appears to us unquestionable. in the sanctuary of their gods; and so beneficial was For, no character is celebrated with more eclat in the reckoned the influence of the stage to good manners ancient writers; none is so involved in a narrative of and conduct, that the sage Socrates, honored by his pre-facts, whose truth it would be deemed folly to question. sence the representations of the tragic muse. But an Nor was the popular belief of her powers of enchantAthenian audience, in the days of Socrates, attached ment at all to be wondered at. In ages rude and ignoquite a different notion to the object of histrionic exhi-rant, an uncommon knowledge of simples and medicinal bitions from what prevails among their modern admi-herbs, (or what in modern times is termed chemistry,) rers. At that time, the great facts of national history-excited universally the opinion of magic and divination ; the description of manners and customs, the high-the secrets of nature were little explored, and therefore, wrought fictions of mythology, the life of heroes con- when displayed to view, they were well calculated to

raise in the vulgar, the most servile admiration. Such madness-the phrenzy of wild and resistless passionhas been the sway of science, in all barbarous climes-- it had engrossed every thought, every feeling, every nor did men, so artful as the Druids and Egyptian wish--it swayed the whole current of her soul. priests, neglect so prime an agent for fastening on the minds of the people the blindest devotion to their horrid mysteries.

Vulnus alit venis et cæco carpitur igni.

For Jason's sake, she had plunged into a dread abyss, from which there seemed no escape. She had em

means of successful villainy. For his sake, she had deserted her native country and royal family—had inflicted merciless pangs on her aged father, and robbed him of a darling son, by a cruel murder. She had endured the complicated hardships of a tedious voyage, without a

Medea's character was a strange compound of the extremes of human vice and virtue. With a soulployed the superior powers of her intellect in devising touchingly alive to the finest sympathies of nature, and a fascinating carriage, in which grace and majesty were wildly blended, she won on all who approached her, by the ease of her manners, her insinuating address, and the radiant charms of her beauty. The high intelligence of her mind beamed in every look and word-sigh or murmur, and finally, wreaked the most signal nor would it be easy to match her endowments by those of the most celebrated females of antiquity. But it is her moral character that we intend to delineate-and its great defect, doubtless, was the unsettled basis on which it was grounded. She possessed no principle of such binding and incontrovertible authority, that by its decisions alone she was willing to test her actions. She searched for other standards-that of interest, or of pleasure or passion. Her penetration was unrivalledand while, therefore, she could not but perceive the true moral grounds of human agency, she yet blindly pursued the compassing of her ends, by any means, fair or foul:

-Video meliora proboque

Sed deteriora sequor.

vengeance on all the enemies of her husband. After this frightful career, she was living at Corinth in the bosom of her family-not in tranquil repose--for, what magical association of home could calm that wild and ruffled breast? what dreams of the past but haunted her with the ghost of murdered innocence and joy? and what firm reliance could she place on the inconstant affections of her husband? Hitherto she had been subservient to his interest and advanced his fortunes; but now, in his native land, surrounded by the flower of beauty and wealth, would he not seek another marriage? Would he not disown a foreigner—a barbarian? The very thought was madness. Thus Medea tormented her soul with sad bodings of her fate, and when, at length, her worst fears were realized, she abandoned herself wholly to the fierce ravings of passion and inconsolable anguish. It is at this point of our heroine's history, that the drama opens.

But it was not without the sharpest pangs of remorse, that she violated the dictates of nature and conscience. Her soul was not yet indurated by the bleak mercy of The nurse of Medea bewails in a pathetic strain the an unfeeling world. She was not yet an adept in the evils which had flowed from the voyage of Jason in artifice and unblushing effrontery of crime. At the quest of the golden fleece. She hints at the numberless mercy of every gust of passion, she was hurried into favors the hero had received at the hands of her miswild excesses, of which her better judgment bitterly re-tress, and the ancient ties of love which had united pented; and it was only after she had experienced a them so closely; but variety of injuries, that she rushed forward to that pitch of crime and infamy that defied law and scorned contrition. We imagine to ourselves that her dark, mysterious character, would have offered a fit subject of The dearest objects of affection were spurned, that delineation to the scrutinizing genius of Byron. His Jason might fill the nuptial couch of the princess of muse delighted in the wild turmoil of guilt-in the fear-Corinth. She paints, in most affecting colors, the state ful desperation of Gulnare! Nor do we hazard much of the forlorn Medea: in saying that he would have executed this task with a masterly felicity, unsurpassed by any effort of antiquity.

We now approach the most remarkable event in the life of Medea-the source of her woes-and which exhibits in the strongest light, the poetic and ungovernable bias of her mind. She was enamored of the Argonautic hero. Her love knew no bounds; it was The traits in Byron's character, alluded to above, are thus happily sketched by Pollok:

All passions of all men

The wild and tame-the gentle and severe;
All that was hated, and all that was dear;
All that was hoped, all that was feared by man,
He tossed about, as tempest, withered leaves,
Then smiling looked upon the wreck he made.
With terror now he froze the cowering blood,
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself;
Dark, sullen, proud:

Vid. Corsair.

All is variance now
And sad distress.

Ill doth Medea brook

This base dishonor; on his oaths she calls,--
Recalls their plighted hands, the firmest pledge
Of mutual faith; and calls the gods to witness
What a requital she from Jason finds.
Of food regardless, and in sorrow sunk,
She lies, and melts in tears each tedious hour
Since first she knew her lord had injured her;
Nor lifts her eye, nor lifts her face from the earth;
Deaf to her friends' entreaties as a rock,

Or billow of the sea; save when she turns
Her snowy neck, and to herself bewails
Her father and her country, and her house,
Which she betrayed to follow this base man.

She will not stop short of any crime. Her own in-
nocent offspring, just in "the morn and liquid dew of
life," shall fall victims to her wrath; or, perchance, in
the dead of night, she will steal into the palace and
imbrue her hands in the blood of Jason's bride.

Medea sat solitary in her apartment, brooding, like a dark spirit, over the series of her misfortunes. Her VOL. V.-49

Jason, the favor of another interview. In his presence she will protest all obedience to his will, and with gentle and insinuating appeals calm his ruffled temper. She will make but one request, that her children may not rove with their mother into comfortless exile, but, in the smiles of their father's fortune, grow up to a brightening manhood.

I will send them

To this new bride with presents in their hands,
To win them leave to stay not exiled hence;
A fine-wrought robe, a gold-entwined wreath
To bind her tresses; in these ornaments

If she array her, instant shall she perish,

And all that touch her with such potent spells
These presents will I charm.

And now Medea's soul is convulsed with agony. Her dark intent involves the death of her sons--and with all a mother's tenderness, her affections gush forth in frantic violence. How shall she bathe her hands in the blood of her darling babes? How behold their innocent forms racked with mortal pain? Will nature bear the deed? With desperate energy she pushes from her thoughts the insinuating suggestions of love and mercy.

On the re-entrance of Jason, Medea plays her part with all the beseeching fervor of the lowliest suppliant. She retracts her rash expressions, and entreats him, by the memory of their past love, to regard her with an eye of favor and forgiveness.

Calm reason hath resum'd

Its station in my heart; much have I blamed
And chid myself; why wayward as thou art,
Thus have I schooled me; why wilt thou give way

To madness? Why this anger?

But why is this?

Why stands the moist tear trembling in thine eye?
Why is thy pale cheek turned aside, as if
Thou did'st receive my words unwillingly?

With sugared sophistry, Medea palliates woman's frailty-she begs Jason to intercede with his bride, in favor of her children, at least

Myself will send her

Presents, whose beauteous lustre far outshines
Whate'er of radiance human eyes have seen;
A fine-wrought robe, a goid-entwined crown
My sons shall bear. Of my attendant train,
Go one, and quickly bring these ornaments.
Not in one instance shall thy bride be blessed,
But in a thousand.

*

Go then, my sons, the royal house is nigh--
Entreat, beseech your father's new-won wife,
My mistress, that you may not from this land
Be forced to fly--present these ornaments ;*
And, mark me, give them to no hands but her's.

The children have executed the task assigned them,
and Medea waits the result in an agony of doubt and
impatience. At this interval, the ebbs and flows of the
tides of her mysterious soul are depicted by the poet in
the most harrowing expression. Her character glows
into life. The awful pathos and sublimity of Medea's
sentiments strike terror to the heart. The passionate
gush of her feelings stir up the fountains of sympathy.
We pity, while we condemn. We weep over the sad
wreck of this noble mind, containing in itself the ele-
ments of so much moral greatness, and enriched with
all the treasures of thought and imagination!

Medea fondly gazes upon her sons. She was a loving mother, and with a mother's bitter pang, she descants upon her blasted hopes :

To another land

I go a fugitive delight in you
Ere I enjoy, ere I behold you blest,

Ere I prepare you wives, ere I adorn
Your bridal bed, and hold the nuptial torch.f
In vain I nurtured you, my sons; in vain
I labor'd and consumed myself with cares;
In vain, I bore a mother's painful throes.

With touching address, she paints the bright scenes of
happiness that had gleamed afar to fancy's eye. Em-
bosomed amid the shades of retirement, she had hoped
to find repose in the eve of life-she had fondly deemed
that her children's love would have soothed her cares,

She should have furthered his counsels and decked and their tears moistened the green sod that hallowed his nuptial couch with her own hands

Rejoicing that thy royal bride

Regarded thee thus fondly.

She calls her children forth to share in the smiles and embrace of their father, and, darkly boding their: fate, with impassioned eloquence gives utterance to the sad current of her feelings:

Ah me! the thought of some concealed ill
Comes o'er my heart. Will you, my sons, live long
To stretch your dear hands thus? Unhappy me,
These eyes have lately learnt to weep, this heart
To know what fear is; time hath soften'd me.

Jason assures Medea of his interest in her behalf, and, with paternal warmth, clasps his sons in his arms.

her grave!