IV. FROM ALI PACHA.-Payne.

ZENOCLES, DISGUISED-TALATHON.

Talathon. Now, stranger, what would you with me?
Zenocles. Are we by ourselves?

Tal. Whence this mystery? Who art thou?

Zeno. (Discovering himself.) Zenocles.

Tal. Zenocles!

Zeno. Anguish has worn my features. Ten years of suf fering, work awful changes. Do you still doubt?

Tal.

The savior of my life

Zeno. Now comes to save your honor.

Tal.

of Ismail!

How chances this? A Suliot chief, the ambassador

Zeno. That character is a stratagem; 'twas assumed but to open these gates, and enable me to converse with Talathon. Tal. And what do you expect from Talathon?

Zeno. Mark me! You are not the only Greek, who, spell. bound by the genius of Ali Thebelen, is become the accomplice of his crimes. But a new glory awaits you—the glory of effacing the stain which soils your name, by the destruction of your country's tyrant.

Tal. Shall the chief of Ali's warriors betray him in adversity?

Zeno. Have you not already betrayed your country in adversity, by joining Ali? Is it only towards Greece, that her sons think perjury no crime? Oh, men! men! Offspring of the soil which has sent arts and refinement through the earth; which has filled history with its first great examples; which has taught countries unborn, when it was greatest, to be free and great-oh! men of Greece, can ye alone crouch tamely to the barbarian, and invite the yoke, while distant nations madden at the story of your wrongs, and burn to vindicate your cause? Sons of heroes, start from your lethargy! Crush the insulters of the land of glory; show the expecting world that Greece is not extinct, and give some future Homer themes for a mightier Iliad.

Tal. Zenocles, your voice rouses me! I feel what I have lost, and am ready to redeem it. Speak on.-What is your purpose?

Żeno. Ismail, trembling for the life of his father, now a

captive in your charge, has made me the bearer of a treaty, which demands that Ibrahim be set free; and upon this condition grants that Ali, with his family, may depart on the seas of Epirus. But, should Ali accept the terms

Tal. What then?

Zeno. May he not collect fresh armies to harass Greece anew, when his wasting strength shall have had time to recover? And shall we stand by, and see him bear to a strange clime the spoils of our country, and the life, which has derived its fame only from her miseries? No, I will await him with a chosen band, upon the shore. Here in the sight of Epirus, shall the spoiler's blood bathe the soil he has made desolate! Our longhumbled land shall rise up once more a nation, and heaventopped Olympus tremble with delight, as its echoes once more awaken to the shouts of liberty!

Tal. Zenocles, command me.-But stay.-Should Ali reject the treaty, and decide to tempt, to the last, the chance of battle in the citadel

Zeno. Then, Talathon, to you, and to you only, can we look. The warriors of Ali, whom you command, have more than once signalized their devotion to you. You must enlist

them in our cause. Their dread of Ismail may make them eager to earn their pardon of the foe, and their feeble attachment to Ali will soon be lost, in the hope of sharing the spoils of his overthrow.

Tal. Yanina shall be avenged!

Zeno. Exult, my countrymen, exult! The hour is come, when, like your own Ulysses, ye shall cast off the weeds of slavery, and once more be masters in your homes.

(Exeunt.)

V.-FROM THE VESPERS OF PALERMO.-Mrs. Hemans.

ERIBERT-ANSELMO.

Anselmo. Will you not hear me?-Oh! that they who need Hourly forgiveness-they who do but live, While mercy's voice, beyond th' eternal stars, Wins the great Judge to listen, should be thus, In their vain exercise of pageant power, Hard and relentless!-Gentle brother, yet,

'Tis in your choice to imitate that heaven Whose noblest joy is pardon.

Eribert.

'Tis too late.

You have a soft and moving voice, which pleads
With eloquent melody-but they must die.

Ansel. What, die!-for words ?-for breath, which leaves

no trace

To sully the pure air, wherewith it blends,

And is, being uttered, gone?-Why, 'twere enough
For such a venial fault, to be deprived

One little day of man's free heritage,

Heaven's warm and sunny light !—Oh! if you deem
That evil harbors in their souls, at least

Delay the stroke, till guilt, made manifest,
Shall bid stern justice wake.

Eri.

I am not one

Of those weak spirits, that timorously keep watch
For fair occasions, thence to borrow hues

Of virtue for their deeds. My school hath been

Where power sits crowned and armed. And, mark me, brother!

To a distrustful nature it might seem

Strange, that your lips thus earnestly should plead

For these Sicilian rebels. O'er my being

Suspicion holds no power. And yet take note—
-I have said—and they must die.

Ansel.

Eri. Of what ?-that heaven should fall?

Ansel.

Should arm in madness.

Have you no fear?

No!-but that earth

Brother! I have seen

Dark eyes bent on you, e'en 'midst festal throngs,
With such deep hatred settled in their glance,

My heart hath died within me.

Το

Eri.

pause,

Am I then

and doubt, and shrink, because a boy,

A dreaming boy, hath trembled at a look ?

Ansel. Oh! looks are no illusions, when the soul, Which may not speak in words, can find no way

But theirs, to liberty!-Have not these men

Brave sons, or noble brothers?

Eri.

Yes! whose name

It rests with me to make a word of fear,

A sound forbidden 'midst the haunts of men.

Ansel. But not forgotten!-Ah! beware, beware!

-Nay, look not sternly on me.

There is one

Of that devoted band, who yet will need
Years to be ripe for death. He is a youth,
A very boy, on whose unshaded cheek

The spring-time glow is lingering. 'Twas but now
His mother left me, with a timid hope

Just dawning in her breast;-and Ì—1 dared
To foster its faint spark. You smile!-Oh! then
He will be saved!

Eri.
Nay, I but smiled to think
What a fond fool is hope!-She may be taught
To deem that the great sun will change his course
To work her pleasure; or the tomb give back
Its inmates to her arms. In sooth, 'tis strange !
Yet with your pitying heart, you should not thus
Have mocked the boy's sad mother-I have said,
You should not thus have mocked her!-Now, farewell.
(Exit Eribert.)
Ansel. Oh, brother! hard of heart!-for deeds like these
There must be fearful chastening, if on high
Justice doth hold her state. And I must tell
Yon desolate mother that her fair young son
Is thus to perish !-Haply the dread tale
May slay her too;-for heaven is merciful.
Twill be a bitter task!

Orestes.

VI.--Philips.

T

ORESTES-PYRRHUS.

Before I speak the message of the Greeks,

Permit me, sir, to glory in the title

Of their ambassador; since I behold
Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' son.
Nor does the son rise short of such a father:
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you.
But what your father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the remains of Troy;
And, by an ill-timed pity, keep alive
The dying embers of a ten-years' war.
Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?

Who knows

The Greeks remember his high-brandished sword,
That filled their states with widows and with orphans;
For which they call for vengeance on his son.
Who knows what he may one day prove?
But he may brave us in our ports, and, filled
With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze?
You may yourself live to repent your mercy.
Comply, then, with the Grecians' just demand:
Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself.

Pyrrhus. The Greeks are for my safety more concerned
Than I desire: I thought your kings were met
On more important counsel. When I heard
The name of their ambassador, I hoped
Some glorious enterprise was taking birth.
Is Agamemnon's son despatched for this?
And do the Grecian chiefs, renowned in war,
A race of heroes, join in close debate

To plot an infant's death? What right has Greece
To ask his life? Must I, must I alone,

Of all her sceptered warriors, be denied

To treat my captive as I please? Know, prince,
When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each
Proud victor shared the harvest of the war,
Andromache, and this her son, were mine,

Were mine by lot; and who shall wrest them from me?
Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen;

Cassandra was your own great father's prize:
Did I concern myself in what they won?

Did I send embassies to claim their captives?

Orest. But, sir, we fear for you and for ourselves.
Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes-

Pyr. Let dastard souls be timorously wise;
But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form
Far-fancied ills, and dangers out of sight.

Orest. Sir, call to mind the unrivaled strength of Troy ; Her walls, her bulwarks, and her gates of brass, Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies! Pyr. I call them all to mind; and see them all Confused in dust; all mixed in one wide ruin; All but a child, and he in bondage held. What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy? If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's race,