The torch of fire doth spring, Flashing from its lofty track Along dark Ocean's mighty back, The red-light of its journeying. Golden-beaming, like the Sun, It rushes on its path-way still, Of the watchman' on Macistus' hill. O'er Asopus' meadows leaping, Where the rocks with cloudy frown The Signal-fire went by; MOULTRIE. Potter lost much of the spirit of these lines; his version has a very considerable infusion of the Prosaic. Johnson's opinion of his translation of Eschylus is perhaps a little too severe; but never were the features of a great poet reflected more imperfectly than in the poetry of Potter. The Rambler's criticism is very characteristic. After wandering about, says Boswell, I got into a corner with Johnson, Garrick, and Harris. Garrick to Harris-Pray sir, have you read Potter's Eschylus?' Harris- Yes; and think it pretty." Garrick to Johnson—' And what think you, sir, of it?' Johnson-I thought what I read of it verbiage; but upon Mr. Harris's recommendation, I will read a play. two.' (To Mr. Harris)—Don't prescribe WALKER. When read the Orestes and Hecuba I cease to wonder why the Greeks called Euripides the most tragic of poets; they display a pathos of sentiment, a domestic interest of situation, and a dignity of affectionate endurance, which remind me of the tenderest scenes in Massinger or Heywood. The character of Electra is drawn with all the sweetness of those powerful pencils. Her watchings, her sorrows, her unwearied love, her desire to share the guilt with her brother, are affecting and natural features. The scene in which we behold her sitting by the bed of her afflicted brother, is one of the most beautiful in the whole range of dramatic poetry. The following translation is only a fragment. You see the Chorus approaching with gentle step to the couch of the mourner, who has fallen into repose; while Electra, alarmed at the slightest sound, entreats them to tread lightly. Does not this remind you of that charming verse in The Tempest. Pray you tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall. Electra. Softly! Softly! fall the sound Of thy footstep on the ground! Chorus. Listen, Dear! how meek and low! Electra. Blessings on thy quiet feet! Hush thy breathing, trembling, SWEET! Long hath sorrow torn his breast, Chorus. How fares it with him? dearest, say. Breathing on his couch he lieth, Still he suffers, still he sigheth! Chorus. What say'st thou, mourner? Electra. Woe to thee, If the dewy slumber flee, The beauty of a calmer sky. Chorus. See, the clothes his body shaketh; Electra. Curses on thee, dark and deep! Thou hast stirred the charm of sleep, Chorus. Hush! he sleeps! Electra. Thou sayest well. MOULTRIE. Young has very happily described the hushing silence of a footstep: More like a murderer than friend I crept, The interest of the play concentrates around Electra. She is the star of that stormy night. Orestes is only interesting from his deep attachment to his sister, and the entire trustfulness with which he rests upon her arms of love. Beaten down and tormented by the avenging spirits, the orphan feels that only one support remains to him; only one friend to comfort him. Hence his pathetic request to Electra to retire, and recruit her exhausted frame. Why dost thou weep my sister, folding thus WALKER. Euripides in this beautiful drama has combined all the elements of dramatic poetry. The scene where Staring Orestes flies With eyes flung back upon his mother's ghost might have been struck out by the fiery mind of Eschylus. As a whole the Drama is inferior to |