Imágenes de páginas

PURGANAX. [His heart is teen to beat through hit waistcoat. Gods! What would ye be at?


Purganax has plainly shown a
Cloven foot and jack-daw feather.


I vote Swellfoot and Iona
Try the magic test together;
Whenever royal spouses bicker,
Both should try the magic liquor.

An Old Boar (aside).
A miserable state is that of pigs,
For if their drivers would tear caps and wigs,
The swine must bite each other's ear therefore.

An Old sow (aside).
A wretched lot Jove has assigned to swine,
Squabbling makes pig-herds hungry, and they dine
On bacon, and whip sucking-pigs the more.

Hog-wash has been ta'en away:
If the Bull-Queen is divested,
We shall be in every way

Hunted, stript, exposed, molested;
Let us do whate'er we may,
That she shall not be arrested.
Queen, we entrench you with walls of brawn,
And palisades of tusks, sharp as a bayonet:
Place your most sacred person here. We pawn
Our lives that none a finger dare to lay on it.
Those who wrong you, wrong us;
Those who hate you, hate us;
Those who sting you, sting us;
Those who bait you, bait us;
The oracle is now about to be
Fulfilled by circumvolving destiny;
Which says: "Thebes, choose reform or civil war,
When through your streets, instead of hare with

dogs, A Consort Queen shall hunt a Kino with hogs, Riding upon the Ionian Minotaur."

Enter Iona Taurina. Iona Taurina (coming forward). Gentlemen swine, and gentle lady-pigs, The tender heart of every boar acquits Their Queen, of any act incongruous With native piggishness, and she reposing With confidence upon the grunting nation, Has thrown herself, her cause, her life, her all, Her innocence, into their hoggish arms; Nor has the expectation been deceived Of finding shelter there. Yet know, great boars, (For such who ever lives among you finds you, And so do I) the innocent are proud! I have accepted your protection only In compliment of your kind love and care, Not for necessity. The innocent Are safest there where trials and dangers wait; Innocent Queens o'er white-hot plough-shares

tread Unsinged; and ladies, Erin's laureate sinfrR it,*

•" Ilich and rare were the gems she wore."

See Moore't Irish Melodist.

Decked with rare gems, and beauty rarer still,
Walked from Killarney to the Giant's Canseway,
Through rebels, smugglers, troops of yeomanry,
White-boys, and orange-boys, and constables,
Tithe-proctors, and excise people, uninjured!
Thus I !—

Lord Puroanax, I do commit myself
Into your custody, and am prepared
To stand the test, whatever it may be!


This magnanimity in your sacred Majesty
Must please the pigs. You cannot fail of being
A heavenly angel. Smoke your bits of glass,
Ye loyal swine, or her transfiguration
Will blind your wondering eyes

AN Old Boar (aside).

Take care, my Lord, They do not smoke you first.


At the approaching feast Of Famine, let the expiation be.


Content! content!

Iona Taurina (aside).

I, most content of all, Know that my foes even thus prepare their fall!

[Exeunt <


The interior of the Temple 0/Famine. The statu* of Ou Goddess, a skeleton clothed in party-coXovred rags,Mated upon a heap of skulls and loaves intermingle*!. A number of exceedingly fat Priests in black garments arrayed on each side. Kith marrow-bones and cleavers in tiuir hands. A flourish of trumpets.

Enter Mammon at Arch-priest, Swellfoot, Dakxt, Puroanax,<Tonos, folleuvd by Iona Taujuxa guarded. On the other side enter the Swine.

CHORUS OP PRIESTS, Accompanied by the Court Porkman on mamne-bmnes and cleavers. Goddess bare, and gaunt, and pale, Empress of the world, all hail! What though Cretans old called thee City-crested Cybele % We call thee Famine!

Goddess of fasts and feasts, starving and cramming; Through thee, for emperors, kings, and priests and

Who rule by viziers, sceptres, bank-notes, words,
The earth pours forth its plenteous fruits,
Corn, wool, linen, flesh, and roots— [fat,

Those who consume these fruits through thee grow
Those who produce these fruits through thee
grow lean,
Whatever change takes place, oh, stick to that!

And let things be as they have ever been;
At least while we remain thy priests,
And proclaim thy fasts and feasts!
Through thee the sacred Swellfoot dynasty
Is based upon a rock amid that sea
Whose waves are swine—so let it ever be!

[fiw-XLLPOoT, Sfc. teal themselves at a table, magnifi-
cently covered at the upptr end ofthe temple. Atten-
dants pott over the stage tcith hog-wath in pails.
A number of Pigs, exceedingly lean, follow them
licking up the wash.


I fear your sacred Majesty has lost

The appetite which you were used to have.

Allow me now to recommend this dish—

A simple kickshaw by your Persian cook,

Sach as is served at the great King's second table.

The price and pains which its ingredients cost,

Might have maintained some dozen families

A winter or two—not more—so plain a dish

Could scarcely disagree.—


, After the trial,
And these fastidious pigs are gone, perhaps
I may recover my lost appetite,—
I feel the gout flying about my stomach—
Give me a glass of Maraschino punch.


IFilling his glass, and standing up. The glorious constitution of the Pigs!


A toast! a toast! stand up, and three times three!


No heel-taps—darken day-lights!


Claret, somehow, Puts me in mind of blood, and blood of claret!


Laoctonos is fishing for a compliment,

But 'tis his due. Yes, you have drunk more wine,

And shed more blood, than any man in Thebes.


For God's sake stop the grunting of those pigs!


We dare not, sire! 'tis Famine's privilege.


Hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine!

Thy throne is on blood, and thy robe is of rags; Thou devil which livest on damning;

Saintofnewchurches,andcant,and Green Baos;

Till in pity and terror thou risest,

Confounding the schemes of the wisest.

When thou liftest thy skeleton form,
When the loaves and the skulls roll about,

We will greet thee—the voice of a storm
Would be lost in our terrible shout!

Then hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine!

Hail to thee, Empress of Earth!
When thou risest, dividing possessions;
When thou risest, uprooting oppressions;

In the pride of thy ghastly mirth.
Over palaces, temples, and graves,
We will rush as thy minister-slaves,
Trampling behind in thy train,
Till all be made level again I

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I have rehearsed the entire scene With an ox-bladder and some ditch-water, On Lady P.—it cannot fail.

{Taking tip the bag. Your Majesty (to Swellfoot) In such a filthy business had better Stand on one side, lest it should sprinkle you. A spot or two on me would do no harm; Nay, it might hide the blood, which the sad

genius Of the Green Isle has fixed, as by a spell, Upon my brow—which would stain all its seas, But which those seas could never wash away I


My Lord, I am ready—nay I am impatient,
To undergo the test.

{A graceful figure in a semi-transparent veil passes
unnoticed through the Temple; the wordLiberty
is seen through the veil, as If it were written in fire
upon its forehead. Its words are almost drowned in
the furious grunting of the Pigs, and the business
of the trial. She kneels on the steps of the Altar,
and speaks in tones at first faint and low, but which
ever become louder and louder.

Mighty Empress f Death's white wife!

Ghastly mother-in-law of life!

By the God who made thee such,

By the magic of thy touch,

By the starving and the cramming, Of fasts and feasts!—by thy dread self, O Famine! I charge thee! when thou wake the multitude, Thou lead them not upon the paths of blood. The earth did never mean her foizon For those who crown life's cup with poison Of fanatic rage and meaningless revenge—

But for those radiant spirits, who are still
The standard-bearers in the van of Change.

Be they th' appointed stewards, to fill
The lap of Pain, and toil, and Age !—
Remit, O Queen ! thy accustom'd rage!
Be what thou art not! In voice faint and low
Freedom calls Famine,—her eternal foe,
To brief alliance, hollow truce.—Rise now!

{Whilst the veiled Figure has been chaunting this
strophe, Mammon, Dakby, Laoctonos, and Swill-

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Foot, have surrounded Iowa Taurina, who, with her hands folded on her breast, and her eyes lifted to Heaven, stands, as with saint-like resignation, to wait the issue of the business, in perfect confidence of her innocence,

Vurqanax, after unsealing the Green Bao, is gravel]/ about to pour the liquor upon her head, when suddenly the whole expression of her figure and countenance changes; she snatches it from his hand with a loud laugh of triumph, and empties it over Swkllfoot and his whole Court, who are instantly changed into a number of filthy and ugly animals, and rush out of the Temple. The image of Famine then arises with a tremendous sound, the Pigs begin scrambling for the loaves, and are tripped up by the sculls; all those who eat the loaves are turned into Bulls, and arrange themselve* quietly behind the altar. The image O/famine sinks through a chasm in the earth, and a Minotaur rises.


I am the Ionian Minotaur, the mightiest

Of all Europa's taurine progeny—

I am the old traditional man bull;

And from my ancestors having been Ionian,

I am called Ion, which, by interpretation,

Is John ; in plain Theban, that is to say,

My name's John Bull ; I am a famous hunter,

And can leap any gate in all Boeotia,

Even the palings of the royal park,

Or double ditch about the new inclosures;

And if your Majesty will deign to mount me,

At least till you have hunted down your game,

I will not throw you.


[During this speech she has been putting on bocu a»d spurs, and a hunting-cap, buckishly cocked on w*w side, and tucking up her hair, she leaps stimbtp his back.

Hoa! hoa! tallyho ! tallyho! ho ! ho! Come, let us hunt these ugly badgers down, These stinking foxes, these devouring otters, These hares, these wolves, these any thing but men. Hey, for a whipper-in ! my loyal pigs, Now let your noses be as keen as beagles', Your steps as swift as greyhounds', and your cries More dulcet and symphonious than the belts Of village-towers, on sunshine holiday; Wake all the dewy woods with jangling music. Give them no law (are they not beasts of blood ?) But such as they gave you. Tallyho! ho! i Through forest, furze, and bog, and den, and desert, I Pursue the ugly beasts! tallyho ! ho!


Tallyho ! tallyho!
Through rain, hail, and snow,
Through brake, gorse, and briar,
Through fen, flood, and mire,

We go ! we go!

Tallyho ! tallyho!
Through pond, ditch, and slough,
Wind them, and find them,
Like the Devil behind them,

Tallyho ! tallyho! [Exeunt, in full cry; Iona driving on (he 9wur«, j with the empty Green Bag.



I > the brief journal I kept in those days, I find recorded, in August 1820, Shelley "begins Swellfoot the Tyrant, suggested by the pigs at the fair of San Giuliano." This was the period of Queen Caroline's landing in England, and the struggles made by Geo. IV. to get rid of her claims; which failing, Lord Castlereagh placed the " Green Bag" on the table of the House of Commons, demanding, in the King's name, that an inquiry should be instituted into his wife's conduct. These circumstances were the theme of all conversation among the English. We were then at the Baths of San Giuliano ; a friend came to visit us on the day when a fair was held in the square, beneath our windows : Shelley read to us his Ode to Liberty; and was riotously accompanied by the grunting of a quantity of pigs brought for sale to the fair. He compared it to the "chorus of frogs" in the satiric drama of Aristophanes; and it being an hour of merriment, and one ludicrous association suggesting another, he imagined a political satirical drama on the circumstances of the day, to which the pigs would serve as chorus—and Swellfoot was begun. When finished, it was transmitted to England, printed and published anonymously; but stifled at the very dawn of its existence by the "Society for the Suppression of Vice," who threatened to prosecute it, if not immediately withdrawn. The friend who had taken the trouble of bringing it out, of course did not think it worth the annoyance and expense of a contest, and it was laid aside.

Hesitation of whether it would do honour to Shelley prevented my publishing it at first; but I cannot bring myself to keep back anything he ever wrote, for each word is fraught with the peculiar views and sentiments which he believed to be beneficial to the human race; and the bright light of poetry irradiates every thought. The world has a right to the entire compositions of such a man; for it does not live and thrive by the out-worn lesson of the dullard or the hypocrite, but by the original free thoughts of men of Genius, who aspire to pluck bright truth

"from the pale-faced moon;

Or dive into the bottom of the deep.

Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,

And pluck up drowned— **

truth. Even those who may dissent from his opinions will consider that he was a man of genius, and that the world will take more interest in his slightest word, than from the waters of Lethe, which are so eagerly prescribed as medicinal for all its wrongs and woes. This drama, however, must not be judged for more than was meant. It is a mere plaything of the imagination, which even may not excite smiles among many, who will not see wit in those combinations of thought which were full of the ridiculous to the author. Bat, like everything he wrote, it breathes that deep sympathy for the sorrows of humanity, and indignation against its oppressors, which make it worthy of his name.



We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;

Howrestlessly they speed,andgleam,and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly !—yet soon

Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,

To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest—A dream has power to poison sleep;

We rise—One wandering thought pollutes the day; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;

Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same !—For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free;

Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.


• ——

There is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.—Ecclksiastes.

The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night

Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,

Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light,

Is the flame of life so fickle and wan

That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.

0 man! hold thee on in courage of soul

Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way,

And the billows of cloud that around thee roll
Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day,

Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free

To the universe of destiny.

This world is the nurse of all we know,
This world is the mother of all we feel,

And the coming of death is a fearful blow,

To a brain unencorapassed with nerves of steel;

When all that we know, or feel, or see,

Shall pass like an unreal mystery.

The secret things of the grave are there,
Where all but this frame must surely be,

Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous
No longer will live to hear or to see [ear

All that is great and all that is strange

In the boundless realm of unending change.

Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?

Who lifteth the veil of what is to come! Who painteth the shadows that are beneath

Tho wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb! Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see I



The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
Each vapour that obscured the sun-set's ray;

And pallid evening twines its beaming hair
In duskier braids around the languid eyes of day:

Silence and twilight, unbeloved of men,

Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.

They breathe their spells towards the departing day, Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea;

Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway. Responding to the charm with its own mystery.

The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass

Knows not their gentle motions as they pass.

Thou too, aerial Pile! whose pinnacles

Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire,

Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells, Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant

Around whose lessening and invisible height [spire,

Gather among the stars the clouds of night.

The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres:

And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound,

Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs, Breathed from their wormy beds all living things around,

And mingling with the still night and mute sky

Its awful hush is felt inaudibly.

Thus solemnised and softened, death is mild
And terrorless as this serenest night:

Here could I hope, like some inquiring child
Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human

Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep [sight

That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep.

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