nations composing the Hellenic family, is sufficiently evident from the circumstance that these are the only two characters of their class in the whole range of Grecian song. There is, certainly, nothing like their generous disposition in Homer, where it might be most reasonably expected to be found. The hero of the Iliad is a sensual and ferocious bandit, with the caprice of a petted child, and the strength of an infuriated beast of prey. He of the Odyssey does not gain much upon our admiration by engrafting a more studied cruelty, and a more refined craft, upon principles quite as revolting; whilst the subordinate actors in these great epics are for the most part reducible to nearly the same standard as the principal performers. Compare with these the chiefs of Saracenic and Indian romance, the jarls of Scandinavian verse, or, above all, those warriors, whether imaginary or real, whose names the genius of Ossian has succeeded in consecrating to immortality, by connecting them with the gleams of the moonbeam on the waste, and the sighing of the blast among the reeds of the lake—and it will be at once perceived how far the Greeks fell below the nations whom we are accustomed to look upon as most barbarous, in the ascription of such moral ornaments to their heroes, as have readily gained elsewhere the greatest portion of popular applause. Among these it is hardly necessary to mention courtesy to friends, generosity to foes, and, though last not least, that deference to the gentler sex, which may be justly designated a law of nature for the preservation of society, whose existence always constitutes a protection from any overt act against decency and order, and whose absence invariably distinguishes a condition of mankind of the lowest possible grade and character. This, however, is a long digression, and we hasten to return to the subject of our drama.

Shortly before the death of Alcestis, Hercules, by the power of the persecuting house of Eurystheus, has been devoted to the performance of a new labour of unexampled danger. Alone, and with no other aids than a strong arm and a dauntless heart, he is directed to penetrate into Thrace, and to bear off from Diomede, a flourishing tyrant of that country, a celebrated stud of horses, which he has been in the habit of feeding with the flesh of previous adventurers. Hercules, who it appears is not at first acquainted with the full extent of the peril to which he is exposed, at once sets forward on his expedition. He traverses the Corinthian isthmus, passes through the fertile plains of Boeotia, surmounts the rugged crags of the Othryc chain, and arrives, with a weary frame but an undiminished resolution, at the threshold of Admetus, with whom, it seems, he has been connected by the ties of previous hospitality. The following brief dialogue, characteristic of the military indifference of the hero, then takes place with the chorus :

Her. Say, habitants of this Pheroan earth,

If in his palace I may greet your king?

Cho. Thou mayest, oh Hercules! and next say thou,
What leads thee to Thessalian Pheroe thus?

Her. A certain task Eurystheus has imposed.

Cho. Whither then goest thou? on what wandering quest?
Her. From Thracian Diomede to win his steeds.
Cho. Impossible! knowest thou this tyrant king?
Her. Not I, since yet his realms are far remote.
Cho. Not without battle may those steeds be won.
Her. Nor is it mine such wager to refuse.

Cho. Be certain, then, one of the twain must die.
Her. Be it so. My first of fields has long been fought.
Cho. And if in fight thou slayest thy foe-what next?
Her. To Argos, with his horses I return.

Cho. No easy task to bridle them, methinks.
Her. What! is the breath within their nostrils flame?
Cho. No: but their daily food is flesh of man.
Her. Such food, bethink thee, suits but beasts of prey.
Cho. Thyself shalt see their stalls deep dyed with gore.
Her. And of what lineage boasts this lord of theirs?
Cho. From Mars his birth-gold shielded king of Thrace.
Her. A task well worthy of my fate thou namest,
If ever with these earthly sons of Mars
I must contend with bold Lycaon first,
Next Cycnus, and the third this owner fell

The

Of monster horses, whom I haste to dare,
For none Alcmena's offspring e'er shall see
Turn like a recreant back, whate'er the foe.

appearance of Admetus, who advances from within, with his hair shorn, in the manner of a mourner, prevents the conversation from proceeding any further. Hercules immediately questions him as to the reason of this mark of sorrow, while Admetus ingeniously eludes mentioning the full extent of his loss, under the fear that his guest, unwilling to intrude on a scene of domestic sorrow, may be induced to seek a temporary shelter elsewhere. The hero, therefore, is led to believe that some one unrelated to Admetus by birth, and only connected with him in the character of a retainer, is the object of lamentation, and, under this belief, allows himself to be conducted to the apartment for the reception of guests. There is a generous spirit of hospitality, combined with a refined delicacy, developed in this scene, which leaves upon the mind a very favourable opinion of the character of Admetus; a feeling which, however, is unfortunately destined to be soon destroyed by the introduction of his aged parent Pheres. For what possible end this personage is brought before the spectators, it is difficult to conceive; but his presence gives rise to a most startling explosion of resentment on the part of Admetus, who upbraids his father, in good set terms, as the cause of the death of Alcestis, by his selfish cowardice. The honest old monarch, who has expected a very different kind of reception, is for a time silent with astonishment, but at length, recovering himself, retorts the charge upon his son with interest, and, being prohibited from attending the funeral rites which he had come to witness, makes his exit in a fit of natural indignation, while Admetus proceeds with the chorus to perform the last melancholy duties to his deceased wife. During this absurd altercation, which at times is carried to such a pitch of extravagance as to border pretty closely upon the ludicrous, Hercules, it seems, has made himself perfectly at home within, and turned the means provided for his enjoyment to such good account, as to scare the attendant appointed to wait upon him, from his post, by the boisterous style of his revelry. The not very flattering comments of the latter upon the manners of his singular guest, and his subsequent conversation with Hercules, we proceed rather freely to translate, only pausing for a moment to observe, with respect to the heartless precepts delivered in the advice of Hercules,-how melancholy must have been that mirth which drew the principal reason for its existence from those very facts, which the judgment of truth determines to be the most solemn inducements to reflection and concern. Yet such has been invariably the language of man in a state of natural religion, when driven to seek consolation and support from his own resources. Such was the language

of the popular Lesbian minstrelsy; such the philosophy of the no less favourite Epicurean school; and such have been, in too many cases, the precepts of a literature, partaking much of the same characters, which we have seen prevalent in our own day; truly illustrative of the miserable maxim of old, πινε και τερπευ αποθανων γαρ εσσεαι τοιουτος, or, as that brief abstract of sensual principle has been so powerfully expressed by apostolic lips, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."

Attend. Guests from all different quarters, many a one,
To entertain, has been my lot ere now,
Within these walls :-but never till this day,
One of such shameless face as he within.
For, first, although our master's grief he saw,
His widowed home he entered ne'ertheless:
Then not with decency did he receive
Our service, as at such a time was meet,
But with loud clamours chiding our delay.
Next taking in his hands the ivy bowl,
He quaffed the pure juice of the sable grape,
Until its fiery essence warmed his heart,

And with the myrtle's branches crowned his head,
Howling his songs discordant: thus two sounds,
In contrast strange within our gates were heard.
First, the rude ditties of this sensual guest,
Regardless of his host; and next the dirge

Which for the venerated dead we breathed,
Though from the stranger hiding with all care
Our grief, for thus Admetus had enjoined.
And now within the house detained, I wait
Some crafty thief, or sturdy bandit's beck,
Detained from following to her lonely grave
My kind protectress, and with funeral wail
Lamenting her who not alone to me,

But unto all her house a mother proved,
Softening a thousand times her husband's wrath,

And shielding us from blame,-with justice then

Do I not loathe this most untimely guest?

Her. Ho, friend! what mean these sour and thoughtful looks?
Not with such carriage, servants it becomes
Strangers to greet, but with a smiling face.
Yet thou, although the comrade of thy lord,
Thou seest beneath this hospitable roof,
With knitted brows, and visage woe-begone,
Receivest me, mourning for some vulgar death.
Come hither, and more wisdom learn of me.
Knowest thou the tenour of this mortal state?
I reckon not, how shouldest thou? listen then,-
Death is a lot decreed to all on earth,

Nor is there of her children one who knows,
If through the morrow shall extend his span.
Our fortune speeds upon a viewless track,
Not to be scanned or traced by human art.
This learning, and by my example taught,
Rejoice thine heart; drink deeply-deem to-day
Thine own, though fortune hers the morrow call;
O'er all divinities, distinguish most

The Cyprian queen, as least disposed to frown;
Thy present cares dispel, and by my words
Persuaded, if I seem to counsel right,

As wherefore not? thy mourning cast aside;
Come in, and entering, join thy pledge to mine,
Wreathe in like guise thy brow, and know that soon
The wine's light sound, as from the bowl it flows,
Afar shall chase each melancholy thought.
Since mortal born, as mortals let us live,
But to the down-cast soul and boding heart,
'Life in my judgment merits not its name,
Meaning but care, wretchedness, and woe.
Attend. This may be true,-but present griefs afford
But little space for revelry and mirth.

Her. A female stranger is deceased-what then?

Mourn not while yet thy master's house is spared.

Attend. What sayest thou-knowest thou not for whom our grief?
Her. Aye, if thy lord, at least, has spoken truth.

Attend. Too well, too well, as host he fills his part.

Her. What! for a stranger's death should I be scorned?

Attend. This stranger was an inmate dearly loved.

Her. Then hath thy lord some dark mischance concealed. Attend. Ask not-suffice it that his griefs are ours.

Her. Surely such words are for no stranger's loss. Attend. Had I else shunned to look upon thy mirth? Her. So! insult has been shewn me, as it seems. Altend. At no befitting season art thou come;

Thy master's child or aged parent-which?
Attend. Our monarch's wife herself, oh, guest, we mourn.
Her. His wife! then, wherefore was entertained?
Attend. Respect forbade to send thee from our doors.
Her. Oh, wretched king! of such a bride deprived.
Attend. Fallen are we all this day,-not one alone.
Her. I knew it, well I knew it, when his tears,

And locks close cut, and mourning dress, I saw ;
Yet by his words was I deceived, and deemed
One born afar, and by no tie of blood
Or love endeared, he carried to the tomb.

And thus induced to pass within his gates,

Have I been revelling in the house of one

Bowed by the heaviest grief; and wreathed my head

With festal leaves! (to the Attendant,) to think, too, that thy tongue
Should silence keep 'neath such a weight of ill.

Quick! tell me in what spot the queen is laid.
Attend. Near the straight road which to Larissa leads,
Leaving our suburbs, thou the tomb may'st see.
Her. Oh, much enduring heart,-and thou, my soul:
Now shew what kind of progeny, to Jove
Amphitryon's Argive bride, Alcmena, bore.
For yet Alcestis shall this hand reclaim,
And place securely on her husband's hearth,
In fitting recompense for favours shewn.
First then, the sable-mantled king of death
To meet I hasten; whom, if right I deem,
Quaffing the blood of victims near the tomb,
I soon shall find; and if, when ambushed near,
He chances to approach me, sallying forth
Upon the instant, and within my arms
Holding his struggling form, no rescuing power
Shall force me from his ribs to slack my grasp,
Till to my hands he renders back the queen!
Or if this prey I find not by the grave,

Seeking his sanguine draught, to Hades next,
Dim house of Ceres' daughter, and her spouse,
Will I proceed, and seek Alcestis thence:
Whom I shall surely gain, and bring once more
To share the home of this considerate host,
Who thus hath given me welcome to his doors;
Though stricken with misfortune's keenest shaft,
And nobly hid his grief to spare mine own.
Than this, more hospitably who could act,-
Greek, or Thessalian? towards an ingrate, then,

Ne'er shall he deem his kindness has been shown.

Hercules, upon this, retires from the stage, which is again occupied by Admetus, returning with the funeral procession from the tomb of his wife. The length to which we have already extended our remarks compels us to pass over his pathetic address to the chorus, in which he contrasts his present state of misery with the enviable quiet and passionless sleep of the deceased. The chorus attempt to console him with the usual arguments to fortitude, drawn from the consideration of the inflexible character of a necessity to which all must submit. After sufficient time has thus elapsed for the accomplishment of the principal action of the piece, Hercules re-enters, leading a veiled figure by the hand, and thus accosts the Thessalian monarch.

Her. Unto a friend with freedom should we speak,
Admetus, nor reserve in sullen wrath

Aught which the offended heart a grievance deems;
I then, when present in thine hour of woe,
Thought it but right to learn the cause of thee;
But thou, the death yet recent, of thy wife
Concealing, gavest me entrance to thine halls,
Feigning the loss of one of different kin:
Thus have I crowned my head, and to the gods
Libations poured, within a house bereaved;
This for complaint most worthy cause I deem,
But mean not to thine ills to add increase;
Rather the cause which brings me hither now
Back to thy doors, in brief let me explain :
This woman whom thou seest, receive and keep,
Till with the Thracian horses I return
Triumphant o'er the fierce Bistonian king;
Or if I perish, which the gods forbid,

I leave her as a handmaid to thine house;

No lightly purchased gift, as thou shalt learn.
For as I journeyed hence with certain games,
Free to all comers, and well worth their toil,
I chanced to meet, from whence this prize I bore.
As first in value,-since to those who proved,

In the less arduous contests eminent

For strength and speed, were offered high-bred steeds;
And to the victors in the sterner strife

Of wrestling and the cestus, herds of beeves;
With (last of all) this female: shameful then
Would it have been, when such a recompense,
Labour provoked, to stand inactive by.
But, as I said, my captive safely keep,
For no disgraceful spoil by theft procured
I bring, but what exertion has endeared,
And what thyself shalt praise me for-ere long.
Admet. Meaning no sleight or insult on a guest
To cast, far less esteeming thee a foe,
Did I conceal my wife's unhappy fate;
But ill to ill methinks had added been,

Hadst thou sought shelter 'neath a distant roof;
Nor needed it that thou should'st know my loss-
Alone oppressed, alone I wished to grieve.
As for this woman,-hear my earnest prayer,
And to some other, feeling than myself,
Sorrow less fell, commit thy prize in trust:
In this our Pheræ many friends are thine,
These seek-but of my loss remind me not.
Without fresh tears, and anguish felt anew,
Ne'er could I view her lodged within these walls;
On one thus suffering heap not then distress,

My present lot is hard enough to bear.
Besides, no home affording comforts meet,
Here would she find or shelter for her youth,
(And young, to judge from outward signs she is ;)
For 'midst the freedoms of our ruder sex

Scarce could her innocence be kept from wrong,
And to the chamber of my perished wife
How could I give her access, or endure
A stranger in that sacred place to see.
Moreover, from my people blame I dread,
And this reproach, that, mindless of the past,
I aim at wedlock with a younger bride;
Lastly, to her by whom this life was saved
Respect I owe, and whosoe'er thou art,

Oh youthful stranger, know, that such as thou

In shape and height was she whose death I mourn.

Alas! alas! remove her from my sight,

By all the gods this anxious prayer I urge,
For gazing on her thus methinks the lost
I see anew, and at the sight my heart

Melts in my feeble breast, and from mine eyes
Fast flow the tears, oh, wretched mourner, now
Knowest thou in truth the fulness of thy grief!
Cho. Little thy present fortune shows to praise,

But all, what Heaven to inflict sees fit, must bear.j
Her. Oh, that the power were mine, thy perished wife
From darkness into day's fair light to lead,
And thus to joy thy present sadness turn.
Admet. Thy friendly will I know-but wherefore this?
The dead return not, and the wish is vain.
Her. Let grief have bounds-nor sorrow to excess.
Admet. How much less hard to counsel than to bear!
Her. What profits it for ever to lament!

Admet. Little-yet wish I ceaselessly to grieve.

Her. True-for a love yet vigorous prompts thy tears.
Admet. Oh, words were weak my anguish to depict.
Her. None shall deny the greatness of thy loss.
Admet. So great that life henceforth one blank must seem.
Her. Time shall appease thy grief-the wound is new.
Admet. It might be so, if time and death were one.

Her. Some younger bride perchance the stroke may heal. Admet. Peace! peace! such words I looked not for from thee. Her. What then, unwedded, meanest thou to live?

Admet. Linked to no second bride, of that be sure.
Her. Thinkst thou to benefit the dead by this?