style and theory of the dramas of Mr Knowles seem fashioned on those of Massinger. He enjoys the honour of being almost the only modern dramatic writer whose efforts in tragedy have been popular; his success has been ascribed in some measure to his having united the characters of actor and dramatist.1

FROM CAIUS GRACCHUS. ACT IV. SC. 2.

PARTING OF GRACCHUS AND HIS MOTHER.

Cornelia. I do not like that Flaccus. He's a man
Hath more ambition than integrity,

And zeal than wisdom. Is he of your party?

C. Grac. He is.

Cor. The sooner then you break with him

The better. Send him word you cannot come.

C. Grac. My word's already pledged to go with him
To the Forum.

Cor. On what errand, Caius Gracchus?
Is it about your laws they would annul?
Mind, Caius, you're no longer Tribune!

C. Grac. Fear not!

I shall be prudent.

Cor. Stop, Caius.

[Going.

[Takes his hand.

I can almost think you still

The boy did con his lessons at my knee,

And I could rule in all his little moods

With but a look.-Ay, Caius-but a look

Of your mother's made you calm as sunshine, in

Your biggest storm! I would not lose you, Caius !
Caius, I would not lose you!-Go not to

The Forum.

C. Grac. Mother, is it you?

Cor. Ay, son!

It is your mother, feels that she is all

The mother-whatso'er she seems.-I would

Be left a son, my Caius !-Go not to

The Forum!

C. Grac. Wherefore, mother ?-What is there

That I should fear?

Cor. Your brother's blood, my son!

Do I not know you, Caius?

It has been remarked that Shakspeare and other eminent dramatists were actors as well as writers.

2 The lady whose Roman pride plumed itself in contemplating her renown as the "Mother of the Gracchi."-We have selected the extract as an example of the "dramatic" power of Mr Knowles; in "William Tell," "The Wife," &c., will be found beautiful examples of his poetic faculty.

3 The extract affords several examples of Mr Knowles' favourite idiom, the omission

of the relative.

Tiberius Gracchus had, several years before (133 B. C.), fallen a victim in the cause for which his brother was now about to sacrifice himself.

Does not his blood

Cry for revenge, and is your ear unapt
To hear it ?-Caius, that dear brother's death's
The life of all thy acts!-'Twas that did plead
For Vettius-ask'd the Tribuneship-revived
Tiberius' laws-defied the Senate-made thee
Like a god to Rome, dealing out fate-and, now
Thou art no longer arm'd with thy great office,
Would lead thee forth to sacrifice-My son,
Go not to the Forum! 'Tis a worthless cause!
Why should you go, my Caius? To defend
Your laws from abrogation? Think of them
For whom you made those laws-the fickle people
Did lend a hand to pull you from your seat,

And raise up them they shake at! Thou art single!
Thou hast no seconds! 'Tis a hopeless struggle !
So sunk are all, the heart of public virtue

Has not the blood to make it beat again!

C. Grac. And should I therefore sink with the base times ?

What, mother, what! Are the gods also base?

Is virtue base? Is honour sunk? Is manhood

A thing contemptible-and not to be

Maintain'd? Remember you Messina, mother?
Once from its promontory we beheld
A galley in a storm; and as the bark
Approach'd the fatal shore, could well discern
The features of the crew with horror all
Aghast, save one! Alone he strove to guide
The prow, erect amidst the horrid war
Of winds and waters raging.-With one hand
He rul'd the hopeless helm-the other strain'd
The fragment of a shiver'd sail-his brow
The while bent proudly on the scowling surge,
At which he scowl'd again.—The vessel struck!
One man alone bestrode the wave, and rode
The foaming courser safe! 'Twas he, the same!
You clasp'd your Caius in your arms, and cried,
"Look, look, my son! the brave man ne'er despairs;
And lives where cowards die!" I would but make
Due profit of your lesson.

Cor. Caius!-Caius !

C. Grac. Mother-I

Cor. My Son!

C. Grac. Well, I'll not go [sits down], I will be ruled by you, If you please; let men say what they list of me.

I care not if they whisper as I pass,

And point and smile, and say to one another,
"Lo the bold Tribune Gracchus! Lo the man
Did lord it o'er the Senate !" What is't to me!
I know I am your son, and would approve it,

If I might but since you will not have it so,
I'll stay from the forum, mother; I'll not go
To the Forum.

Cor. Know the people you did promise

To go?

C. Grac. Are they not here with Fulvius Flaccus
Expecting me? But let them go with him;

He'll speak for them.-He'll be their friend-He'll dare
Oppose the Senate.-He'll preserve my laws
If he can. If there's no other man to speak
For liberty, he'll do it! Pray you, mother,
Send Lucius to them-tell them I'll not go
Abroad to-day.

Cor. You must go to the Forum—you must.
C. Grac. Not if you will it not.

Cor. I neither will it nor will it not.
C. Grac. Unless you bid me go,

They go without me!

Cor. Why, I think, as it is,

You cannot help but go. I know not what's
The matter. 'Tis perhaps the fears of thy wife
Infect me-but I've dark forebodings, Caius.
What will be left me, should I lose thee, Son?
C. Grac. My monument!
Cor. Go to the Forum. Go!

You are Cornelia's Son !

C. Grac. My only use

Of life's to prove it!

Cor. Go! Go! Go! my Caius.1

JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.

MR LOCKHART's translations of the historical and romantic ballads of Spain have long been esteemed for the spirit and elegance with which the poet has exhibited the peculiar beauties of this literature in an English dress. The chivalrous incidents of the history of Spain, during her eight centuries of Moorish warfare, gave rise to a greater number of these compositions, and of greater excellence, than any other nation has produced.

BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO.9

With some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo hath appear'd
Before them all in the Palace hall, the lying King to beard;

1 The lights of this passage are reflected from Jul. Cæs. Act ii. Sc. 2, where Calphurnia persuades Cæsar to stay at home.

2 Bernardo del Carpio, the illegitimate son of Donna Ximena (the sister of King Alonzo or Alphonso the Chaste), and of Don Sancho Count Saldana, is supposed to have the interview, described in the ballad, with the king, after Alphonso's treacherous execution, or rather murder, of Bernardo's father. The period is cotemporaneous with that of Charlemagne.

With cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise, But ever and anon he frown'd, and flame broke from his eyes.

"A curse upon thee," cries the King, "who com'st unbid to me; But what from traitor's blood should spring, save traitors like to thee?

His sire, Lords, had a traitor's heart; perchance our Champion brave

May think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho's grave."

"Whoever told this tale the King hath rashness to repeat,"
Cries Bernard, "Here my gage I fling before THE LIAR's feet!
No treason was in Sancho's blood, no stain in mine doth lie-
Below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny ?

“The blood that I like water shed, when Roland1 did advance, By secret traitors hired and led, to make us slaves of France ;— The life of King Alphonso I saved at Roncesval,

Your words, Lord King, are recompense abundant for it all.

"Your horse was down-your hope was flown-I saw the faulchion shine,

That soon had drank your royal blood, had I not ventured mine ; But memory soon of service done deserteth the ingrate,

And ye've thank'd the son for life and crown by the father's bloody fate.

"Ye swore upon your kingly faith, to set Don Sancho free,
But, curse upon your paltering breath, the light he ne'er did see;
He died in dungeon cold and dim, by Alphonso's base decree,
And visage blind, and stiffen'd limb,2 were all they gave to me.

"The King that swerveth from his word hath stain'd his purple black,

No Spanish Lord will draw the sword behind a liar's back;
But noble vengeance shall be mine, an open hate I'll show-
The King hath injur'd Carpio's line, and Bernard is his foe."

"Seize-seize him !"—loud the King doth scream-"There are a thousand here

Let his foul blood this instant stream-What! caitiffs, do ye fear? Seize-seize the traitor !"-But not one to move a finger dareth,— Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth.

The tradition is, that Roland or Orlando, the celebrated peer of Charlemagne, fell by the hand of Bernardo in the French monarch's defeat at Roncesvalles.

2 The king had promised to Bernardo his father's liberation, but the son received only his father's corpse, which had been arrayed in armour and set on horseback to meet him. A similar incident occurs in Scottish history; see Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, ch. xxi.Carpio joined the Moors.

He drew the faulchion from the sheath, and held it up on high,
And all the hall was still as death: cries Bernard, "Here am I,
And here is the sword that owns no lord, excepting Heaven and me;
Fain would I know who dares his point-King, Condé, or Grandee!**

Then to his mouth the horn he drew-(it hung below his cloak)— His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke ;

With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake, And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king to quake.

"Ha! Bernard," quoth Alphonso, "what means this warlike guise?
Ye know full well I jested-ye know your worth I prize.”—
But Bernard turn'd upon his heel, and smiling pass'd away-
Long rued Alphonso and his realm the jesting of that day.

THE EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE CID.1

It was when from Spain across the main the Cid had come to Rome,

He chanced to see chairs four and three beneath Saint Peter's dome. "Now tell, I pray, what chairs be they?"-"Seven kings do sit

thereon,

As well doth suit, all at the foot of the holy Father's throne.

The Pope he sitteth above them all, that they may kiss his toe,
Below the keys the Flower-de-lys doth make a gallant show;
For his great puissance, the King of France next to the Pope may
sit,

The rest more low, all in a row, as doth their station fit."—

"Ha!" quoth the Cid, "now God forbid! it is a shame, I wiss,
To see the Castle2 planted beneath the Flower-de-lys.3
No harm, I hope, good Father Pope-although I move thy chair."-
In pieces small he kick'd it all, ('twas of the ivory fair).

The Pope's own seat he from his feet did kick it far away,
And the Spanish chair he planted upon its place that day;
Above them all he planted it, and laugh'd right bitterly;
Looks sour and bad, I trow he had, as grim as grim might be.

Now when the Pope was aware of this, he was an angry man,
His lips that night, with solemn rite, pronounced the awful ban;
The curse of God, who died on rood, was on that sinner's head-
To hell and woe man's soul must go, if once that curse be laid.

1 Roderigo (or familiarly Ruy) Diaz de Bivar, the Cid Campeador (noble champion), the most celebrated personage of the romances of Hispano-Moorish warfare, was born at Burgos in 1025. The Spaniard thrills with pride at the mention of his name. Cid is the Arab Said, noble.

2 The arins of Castille; see note 9, p. 63.

3 The arms of France; see note 4, p. 394.