FOR MARRYING ANGIOLINA.

Inheriting a prince's name and riches,

Secured, by the short penance of enduring
An old man for some summers, against all
That laws chicane or envious kinsmen might

Have urged against her right; my best friend's child
Would choose more fitly in respect of years,

And not less truly in a faithful heart.”

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The scene of the conspirators too much resembles similar passages in Venice Preserved to be repeated; but the fourth act opens with the most delightful part of the whole piece. Lioni, a young nobleman, returns home from a brilliant assembly quite jaded, and opening the window for air, contrasts the tranquillity of the night-scene before him with the glaring and bustling enchantments which he had just left. Nothing can be more fine than the force and luxuriance of description of the assembly, to which that of the placid moonlight view, equally poetic and grand, forms as striking an opposition as can be well conceived. It is long, but its beauty will excuse its introduction: "I will try

Whether the air will calm my spirits; 'tis

A goodly night; the cloudy wind, which blew

From the Levant, hath crept into its cave,

And the broad moon has brighten'd. What a stillness!
[Goes to an open lattice.

And what a contrast to the scene I left,

Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps'
More pallid gleam along the tapestried walls.
Spread over the reluctant gloom which haunts
Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries
A dazzling mass of artificial light,

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BEAUTIFUL DESCRIPTION.

Which show'd all things, but nothing as they were.

There age essaying to recall the past,

After long striving for the hues of youth

At the sad labour of the toilet, and

Full many a glance at the too faithful mirror,
Forgot itself, and trusting to the falsehood

Of the indulgent beams, which show, yet hide,
Believed itself forgotten, and was fool'd.

There youth, which needed not, nor thought of such
Vain adjuncts, lavish'd its true bloom and health,
And bridal beauty, in the unwholesome press
Of flush'd and crowded wassailers, and wasted
Its hours of rest in dreaming this was pleasure,
And so shall waste them, till the sun-rise streams
On sallow cheeks and sunken eyes, which should not
Have worn this aspect yet for many a year.
The music, and the banquet, and the wine,
The garlands, the rose odours, and the flowers,
The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments—
The white arms, and the raven hair,—the braids
And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace,
An India in itself, yet dazzling not

The

eye like what it circled; the thin robes

Floating like light clouds 'twixt our gaze and heaven;
The many twinkling feet so small and sylph-like,
Suggesting the more secret symmetry

Of the fair forms that terminate so well

All the delusion of the dizzy scene,

Its false and true enchantments-art and nature,
Which swam before my giddy eyes, that drank
The sight of beauty as the parch'd pilgrim's
On Arab's sands the false mirage, which offers
A lucid lake to his eluded thirst,

Are gone.-Around me are the stars and waters-
Worlds mirror'd in the ocean, goodlier sight
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass;
And the great element, which is to space

A MOONLIGHT NIGHT AT VENICE.

What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths,
Soften'd with the first breathing of the spring;
The high moon sails upon her beauteous way,
Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls
Of these tall piles, and sea-girt palaces,
Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,
Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles,
Like altars ranged along the broad canal,
Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed
Rear'd up from out the waters, scarce less strangely
Than those more massy and mysterious giants
Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,
Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have
No other record. All is gentle: nought
Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night,
Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit.
The tinklings of some vigilant guitars
Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,
And cautious opening of the casement, shewing
That he is not unheard; while her young hand,
Fair as the moonlight of which it seems part,
So delicately white, it trembles in

The act of opening the forbidden lattice,
To let in love through music, makes his heart
Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight;—the dash
Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle
Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,
And the responsive voices of the choir

Of boatmen answering back with verse for verse;
Some dusky shadow chequering the Rialto;
Some glimmering palace-roof, or tapering spire,
Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade
The ocean-born, and earth-commanding city-
How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm!
I thank thee, Night! for thou hast chas'd away
These horrid bodements which, amidst the throng,

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22

MARINO FALIERO NOT

I could not dissipate: and with the blessing
Of thy benign and quiet influence,—
Now will I to my couch, although to rest
Is almost wronging such a night as this."

Now who, after so sublime a specimen, must not regret-lament-that the giant's strength was wasted on air; who will not feel assured, that with such a flow of ideas, and such a command of diction, if the poet had made a proper choice of a plot, and had paid attention to the arrangement, one half of the abilities that he has here thrown away might have produced a drama that would have delighted the audience, and have kept possession of the stage? As a dramatic poem, no one of taste can now peruse it without experiencing admiration, and feeling pleasure. As a play, in representation it is defective of the moving passions, of probability, and of depth and variety of interest; and the injury bears an extravagant disproportion to the vengeance with which it is attempted to be followed up. In some parts, owing to the scantiness of the plot, the diction is cumbrous and heavy, and in the best passages it is, as already hinted, much too verbose for an English audience. Otway's play will always bear it down, because the probability is greater, there is a much stronger cause for the insurrection, the tenderness and magnanimity of Belvidera, and the friendship of Jaffier and Pierre are admirable auxiliaries; and, finally, because the language is more simple, the

INTENDED FOR THE THEATRE.

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arrangement more dramatic, and the tout ensemble much more natural. It is for these reasons that no piece has ever possessed a stronger hold on the affections of Britons, and no attempt could have been more daring or injudicious than that of entering into competition with an established favourite.

On these grounds, and probably, too, because every thing that was great and excellent was expected from Lord Byron, the piece was pronounced to be a failure by the public voice, although how he could fail in an attempt which he never intended to make seems rather paradoxical. Notwithstanding his Lordship's avowed repugnance to its representation, Mr Elliston, the lessee of Drury-lane theatre, evidently relying on his Lordship's fame and popularity, determined to bring it out; and his Lordship's publisher, on the other hand, applied for and obtained an injunction of the Court of Chancery to restrain him from the exhibition. The lessee, however, managed so as have the injunction dissolved, and the representation took place.. Under these circumstances, it may be doubted whether "Marino Faliero," not being intended for theatrical exhibition, can be deemed a fair object of dramatic criticism.

We had the curiosity to go to see the performance of "Marino Faliero." The want of stage effect was never more visible; we came away, however, nothing doubting that had his Lordship moulded it for the stage, he would have ensured