These faded eyes, have turn'd your heart against me, With grief for you I wither'd in my bloom. Zamti. Why wilt thou pierce my heart? Have I then bore thee in these matron arms, To see thee bleed? Thus dost thou then return? Ah! could I think thy early love of fame He must submit to fate. Mandane. Barbarian! no-(She rises hastily.) He shall not die-rather-I pri'thee, Zamti, Zamti. I tremble rather at a breach of oaths. Mandane. Our kings!-our kings! What are the scepter'd rules of the world?- To drink the cup of human woe ?-alike Mine is a mother's cause-mine is the cause Of husband, wife, and child;-those tenderest ties! Zamti. Then go, Mandane, thou once faithful woman, Those virtuous lessons which I oft have taught thee, In fond credulity, while on each word You hung enamor'd. Go, to Timurkan, Of murder'd majesty. Embrace your son, A life ignobly bought. Then let those eyes, To brighten slavery, and beam their fires On the fell Scythian murderer. Mandane. And is it thus, Thus is Mandane known? My soul disdains Come, lead me hence, Where I may lay down life to save Zaphimri; A heart beats here, as warm and great as thine. Zamti. Then make with me one strong, one glorious effort, And rank with those who, from the first of time, In fame's eternal archives stand rever'd, For conquering all the dearest ties of nature, To serve the general weal. Mandane. That savage virtue Loses with me its horrid charms. I've sworn To save my king. But should a mother turn A dire assassin-oh! I cannot bear The piercing thought. Distraction-quick distraction Will seize my brain.-See there-my child-my child- By guards surrounded, a devoted victim, Barbarians, hold! Ab! see, he dies!-he dies! [She faints into Zamti's arms. Zamti. Where is Arsace? Fond maternal love Shakes her weak frame-(Enter Arsace.) Quickly, Arsace, help This ever tender creature. Wand'ring life Rekindles in her cheek. Soft, lead her off To where the fanning breeze in yonder bow'r Pity my strugglings with this best of women; A ray of your divine enthusiasm ; Such as inflames the patriot's breast, and lifts Th' imprison'd mind to that sublime of virtue, Which in a single hour it works to millions, And leaves the legacy to after-times. [Exit, leading off Mandane. Even in so short a specimen the reader sees a strength of thought, a propriety of diction, and a perfect acquaintance with the stage. The whole is thus in action, filled with incident, and embellished with a justness of sentiment, not to be found even in M. Voltaire. The French poet, for instance, seems to speak without detestation of self-murder, and instances the neighboring Japanese.* who find in it a refuge from all their sorrows: our poet more justly bounds it as a usurpation of Zamti. The dread prerogative Of life and death, and measure out the thread ("L'homme était-il done né pour tant dependance, De la nature humaine ils soutiennent les droits, L'Orphelin de la Chine, acte v sc. 5.] Mandane. Must we then wait a haughty tyrant's rod, The vassals of his will ?-no-let us rather Nobly break through the barriers of this life, Has nothing left to do;-when liberty No more can breathe at large;-'tis with the groans Of our dear country when we dare to die. Mandane. Then here at once direct the friendly steel. Thy husband's love! thus with uplifted blade Can I approach that bosom-bliss, where oft With other looks than those-oh! my Mandane I've hush'd my cares within thy shelt'ring arms? Mandene. Alas! the loves that hover'd o'er our pillows And the pale fates surround us Then lay me down in honorable rest; Come, as thou art, all hero, to my arms, And free a virtuous wife. Zamti. It must be so Now then, prepare thee-my arm flags and droops, Concious of thee in ev'ry trembling nerve. [Dashes down the dagger. This is finely conceived, and exquisitely executed. Subjoined to the play we find a letter, addressed from the author to Vol taire, which we think might have been better suppressed; for though it is written with fire and spirit, and contains many judicious observations, it may subject Mr. Murphy to the censure of having made but an indifferent return to a man, whose sentiments and plan he has, in a great measure, thought proper to adopt. It may be indeed considered as a just retribution on a Frenchman, who had served Shakspeare in the same manner; that is, adopted all his beauties, and then reviled him for his faults. Voltaire is entitled to particular regard from our countrymen, notwithstanding the petulance with which he has treated them on some occasions; for he was certainly the first who opened the eyes of Europe to the excellences of English poetry. XIX. DR. YOUNG ON ORIGINAL COMPOSITION.* [From the Critical Review, 1760. "Conjectures on Original Composition; in a letter to the Author of Sir Charles Grandison." 8vo.] ONE of the oldest and bravest champions in the cause of literature, has here resumed the gauntlet; and Dr. Young, the only survivor of our age of writers, instead of growing languid with age, seems to gather strength by time, and kindles as he runs. Some imagery, frequent metaphor, and a glowing imagination, are generally the prerogatives of a youthful author; however, *[" Dr. Johnson told us, the first time he saw Dr. Young was at the house of Mr. Richardson, the author of Clarissa. He was sent for, that the Doctor might read to him his Conjectures on Original Composition ;' which he did, and Dr. Johnson made his remarks; and he was surprised to find Young receive as novelties, what he thought very common maxims. He said he believed Young was not a great scholar, nor had studied regularly the art of writing "BosWELL, vol. iv. p. 301) |