THE DELIGHTS OF SWIMMING.

59

been dictated from the author's remembrance of his own boyish days; and an amusement of which, as has been several times before observed, he was peculiarly fond:

"Limbs! how often have they borne me Bounding o'er yon blue tide, as I have skimm'd

The gondola along in childish race,

And, masked as a young gondolier, amidst
My gay competitors, noble as I,

Raced for our pleasure in the pride of strength,
While the fair populace of crowding beauties,
Plebeian as patrician, cheer'd us on
With dazzing smiles, and wishes audible,
And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands,
Even to the goal!-How many a time have I
Cloven with arm still lustier, breast more daring,
The wave all roughen'd; with a swimmer's stroke
Flinging the billows back from my drench'd hair,
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine,
Which kiss'd it like a wine cup, rising o'er
The waves as they arose, and prouder still
The loftier they uplifted me; and oft,
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down
Into their green and glassy gulphs, and making
My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen
By those above, till they wax'd fearful; then
Returning with my grasp full of such token
As show'd that I had searched the deep: exulting,
With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep
The long suspended breath, again I spurn'd
The foam which broke around me, and pursued
My track like a sea-bird.-I was a boy then."

When Marina endeavours to console her husband under the sentence of banishment, she re

60

POWERFUL EFFECT OF LOVE

minds him that it was by exiles his beloved native city, Venice, was founded:

Mar. And yet you see how from their banishment
Before the Tartar into these salt isles,

Their antique energy of mind, all that
Remained of Rome for their inheritance,
Created by degrees an ocean-Rome;
And shall an evil, which so often leads
To good, depress thee thus?—

Jac. Fos.

Had I gone forth

From my own land, like the old patriarchs, seeking

Another region, with their flocks and herds;

Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion,

Or like our fathers, driven by Attila

From fertile Italy to barren islets,

I would have given some tears to my late country,
And many thoughts; but afterwards address'd
Myself, with those about me, to create

A new home, and fresh state: perhaps I could
Have borne this-though I know not.

Mar.

Wherefore not?

It was the lot of millions, and must be
The fate of myriads more.

Jac. Fos.

Ay-we but hear

Of the survivors' toil in their new lands,

Their numbers and success; but who can number
The hearts which broke in silence of that parting,

Or after their departure; of that malady

Which calls up green and native fields to view

From the rough deep, with such identity,

To the poor exile's fever'd

eye, that he

Can scarcely be restrain'd from treading them?
That melody, which out of tones and tunes
Collects such pasture for the longing sorrow
Of the sad mountaineer, when far away

OEOFN'S COUNTRY.

From his snow canopy of cliffs and clouds,

That he feeds on the sweet, but poisonous thought,
And dies. You call this weakness! It is strength,

I say, the parent of all honest feeling.

He who loves not his country, can love nothing."

61

Of Lord Byron's dramatic writings there can be but one opinion: that, as they were not written, so they are not calculated for the English stage (without much alteration), and that it is a pity that they were not written for it. The beautiful images and poetry dispersed throughout them (and particularly in Sardanapalus), must make every one regret that such a drama should not have been so arranged by the noble bard himself as to have afforded by its representation delight to the present and future generations. There is too often a pride in genius that scorns the judgment of the world, and yet no men are so liable to err as men of genius. Their history throughout is but a tissue of failures and misfortunes, and even our bard himself might have avoided most of his heart-rending pangs, if he would but have submitted to the rules of common life. But like his own "Sardanapalus," he covered himself with the ægis of his wit, and laughed to scorn both advice and advisers. He who keeps himself aloof from the world, is but ill qualified to make an appeal to their feelings, and the drama is nothing else than such an appeal; and the holding up a mirror to human nature. If the author do not pourtray the feelings, frailties and workings of humanity, his audience can never sympathize

62

SHAKESPEARE AND

with him. If he deviates from nature, they will reject his art, as too cold a substitute. Shakespeare had very little knowledge, more than that of mankind in general; yet what a noble and unbounded use does he make of it! He exhausts this world, and travels to realms unknown: yet he never exceeds nor opposes, but always keeps within the limits of the popular belief and superstitions of his age. He writes solely to please his audience; and he invariably succeeds, where many of far superior literary acquirements have totally failed. The greatest wits of Queen Anne's days combined together to decry, and even to ridicule him, as the poet of a rude and barbarous age. Dryden and Lansdowne re-cast his Tempest'

and "Merchant of Venice," and their vile imitations superseded the originals for a short time, to the disgrace of the age; but when the frenzy subsided, the immortal old bard was reinstated in his supremacy, which he has ever since maintained, and is in no danger of being ever again dethroned. With Dryden, Otway, Lee, and Rowe, the dramatic genius decreased gradually, and wholly died away with Congreve, Young, Lillo, and Home. Lord Byron, if any man in the world could have revived the dying embers, was the best qualified for the glorious task; but he either really entertained, or feigned a contempt for popularity. It was a false pride; or why did he write at all? There can be but one motive for a

HIS MUTILATORS.

63

man's publishing his works. He may write to amuse his leisure hours; but if he publishes the amusements of his leisure hours, he solicits the public approbation. Lord Byron himself acknowledges this, when he more than once produces part of a work, and if that should meet with the public approval he promises more, as in the Prefaces to the two first cantos of " Childe Harold" and in that of" Dantè." Why, then, should he have been more fastidious in his dramatic productions? It is hard to guess, unless success had rendered him less complaisant and more unyielding. He would not be content to succeed by following the steps which Shakespeare had trodden before him, and he failed; he measured his strength with Otway (one greatly inferior to Shakespeare), and he was defeated. The bard would not submit to be dictated to; and the public had an equal right to refuse to submit to his dictation. He would not write to please their taste, and they would not applaud dramas written according to his own: and thus the matter rested.

The third and last piece of this volume was a Mystery, intitled "Cain," in imitation of those ancient interludes which were written solely on scriptural subjects, and peformed at first chiefly in churches, by monks, &c. The reader, who may wish for further information on this head, may refer to Dr. Johnson's Preface, or Mr. Malone's Historical Account of the English Stage; but it is