army, and sought eagerly to gather tokens of its defeat. He heard of the revolt of Genoa with emotions of transport. His whole heart and soul were in the triumph of their cause. We were living at Pisa at that time; and several well-informed Italians, at the head of whom we may place the celebrated Vaccá, were accustomed to seek for sympathy in their hopes from Shelley: they did not find such for the despair they too generally experienced, founded on contempt for their southern countrymen. While the fate of the progress of the Austrian armies then invading Naples was yet in suspense, the news of another revolution filled him with exultation. We had formed the acquaintance at Pisa of several Constantinopolitan Greeks, of the family of Prince Caradja, formerly Hospodar of Wallachia, who, hearing that the bowstring, the accustomed finale of his viceroyalty, was on the road to him, escaped with his treasures, and took up his abode in Tuscany. Among these was the gentleman to whom the drama of Hellas is dedicated. Prince Mavrocordato was warmed by those aspirations for the independence of his country, which filled the hearts of many of his countrymen. He often intimated the possibility of an insurrection in Greece; but we had no idea of its being so near at hand, when, on the 1st of April, 1821, he called on Shelley; bringing the proclamation of his cousin Prince Ipsilanti, and, radiant with exultation and delight, declared that henceforth Greece would be free. Shelley had hymned the dawn of liberty in Spain and Naples, in two odes, dictated by the warmest enthusiasm ;-he felt himself naturally impelled to decorate with poetry the uprise of the descendants of that people, whose works he regarded with deep admiration; and to adopt the vaticinatory character in prophesying their success. "Hellas" was written in a moment of enthusiasm. It is curious to remark how well he overcomes the difficulty of forming a drama out of such scant materials. His prophecies, indeed, came true in their general, not their particular purport. He But Greece and her foundations are And again, that philosophical truth, felicitously imaged forth Revenge and wrong bring forth their kind, And conscience feeds them with despair. The conclusion of the last chorus is among the most beautiful of his lyrics; the imagery is distinct and majestic; the prophecy, such as poets love to dwell upon, the regeneration of mankind— and that regeneration reflecting back splendour on the foregone time, from which it inherits so much of intellectual wealth, and memory of past virtuous deeds, as must render the possession of happiness and peace of tenfold value. END OF HELLAS. THIS 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 Bootarchs. The tenderness with which he beats the PIGS proves him to have been a sus Baotic; 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 remarkable 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. ACT I. SCENE I. A magnificent Temple, built of thigh-bones and death'sheads, and tiled with sealps. Over the Allar the statue of Famine, veiled; a number of boars, sows, and suckingpigs, 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 Of gold and purple, and this kingly paunch What! ye who grub With filthy snouts my red potatoes up In Allan's rushy bog? Who eat the oats Up, from my cavalry in the Hebrides? Who swill the hog-wash soup my cooks digest From bones, and rags, and scraps of shoe-leather, Which should be given to cleaner Pigs than you? *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. THE SWINE. SEMICHORUS I. The same, alas ! the same; Though only now the name Of pig remains to me. SEMICHORUS II. If 'twere your kingly will What should we yield to thee? SWELLFOOT. Why skin and bones, and some few hairs for mortar. CHORUS OF SWINE. I have heard your Laureate sing, That pity was a royal thing; Under your mighty ancestors, we pigs Were bless'd as nightingales on myrtle sprigs, Or grasshoppers that live on noon-day dew, And sung, old annals tell, as sweetly too: FIRST SOW. My pigs, 'tis in vain to tug! SECOND SOW. I could almost eat my litter! FIRST PIG. I suck, but no milk will come from the dug. SECOND PIG. Our skin and our bones would be bitter. THE BOARS. We fight for this rag of greasy rug, Though a trough of wash would be fitter. SEMICHORUS. Happier swine were they than we, I wish that pity would drive out the devils To bind your mortar with, or fill our colons SWELLFOOT. This is sedition, and rank blasphemy! Ho! there, my guards! Enter a GUARD. GUARD. Your sacred Majesty ? 1 SWELLFOOT. Call in the Jews, Solomon the court porkman, Moses the sow-gelder, and Zephaniah the hog butcher. GUARD. They are in waiting, sire. Enter SOLOMON, MOSES, and ZEPHANIAH. SWELLFOOT. Out with your knife, old Moses, and spay those sows, [The Pigs run about in consternation. PURGANAX. Oh, would that this were all! The oracle! MAMMON. Why it was I who spoke that oracle, PURGANAX. The words went thus :-"Boeotia, choose reform or civil war ! That load the earth with pigs; cut close and deep. When through the streets, instead of hare with Moral restraint I see has no effect, Nor prostitution, nor our own example, This was the art which the arch-priest of Famine MOSES. Keep the boars quiet, else— SWELLFOOT. dogs, A Consort Queen shall hunt a King with hogs, Riding on the Ionian Minotaur." MAMMON. Now if the oracle had ne'er foretold Let your Majesty And whether I was urged by grace divine, Kill them out of the way, That shall be price enough, and let me hear Their everlasting grunts and whines no more! [Exeunt, driving in the Swine. Enter MAMMON, the Arch Priest; and PURGANAX, Chief of The future looks as black as death, a cloud, MAMMON. Why what's the matter, my dear fellow, now? Yet our tickets Are seldom blanks. But what steps have you taken? For prophecies, when once they get abroad, Like liars who tell the truth to serve their ends, Or hypocrites, who, from assuming virtue, Do the same actions that the virtuous do, Contrive their own fulfilment. This IonaWell-you know what the chaste Pasiphae did, Wife to that most religious King of Crete, And still how popular the tale is here ; And these dull swine of Thebes boast their descent Is popular and respectable in Thebes : PURGANAX, I have taken good care I chose a LEECH, a GADFLY, and a RAT. *The Prometheus Bound of Eschylus. And the Lord whistled for the gadfly out of Ethiopia, and for the bee out of Egypt, &c.-EZECHIEL. Has a loud trumpet like the Scarabee; He sees fair things in many hideous shapes, A high connexion, Purganax. The bridegroom Of Hounslow Heath, Tyburn, and the New Drop, [A most tremendous humming is heard. PURGANAX. Ha! what do I hear? Enter GADFly. ΜΑΜΜΟΝ. Your Gadfly, as it seems, is tired of gadding. GADFLY. Hum! hum! hum! From the lakes of the Alps, and the cold grey scalps From Morocco and Fez, and the high palaces From the temples divine of old Palestine, With a ha! and a hum! I come! I come! All inn-doors and windows I saw all that sin does, Which lamps hardly see That burn in the night by the curtained bed,— The impudent lamps! for they blushed not red. Dinging and singing, From slumber I rung her, Loud as the clank of an ironmonger! Hum! hum! hum! Far, far, far, With the trump of my lips, and the sting at my hips, I drove her-afar! Far, far, far, From city to city, abandoned of pity, A ship without needle or star;— Homeless she past, like a cloud on the blast, I have stung her and wrung her! And if you had hung her With canting and quirking, She could not be deader than she will be soon; I have driven her close to you, under the moon. Night and day, hum! hum! ha! I have hummed her and drummed her From place to place, till at last I have dumbed her. Hum! hum! hum! |