Offi. The wall which skirted near the river's brink Is thrown down by the sudden inundation Of the Euphrates, which now rolling, swoln From the enormous mountains where it rises, By the late rains of that tempestuous region, V'erfloods its banks, and hath destroyed the bulwark. Pan. That's a black augury! it has been said For ages, "That the city ne'er should yield To man, until the river grew its foe."

Sar. I can forgive the omen, not the ravage. How much is swept down of the wall?

They are not my subjects, girl,

And may be pardon'd, since they can't be punish'd.
Myr. I joy to see this portent shakes you not.
Sar. I am past the fear of portents: they can tell me
Nothing I have not told myself since midnight:
Despair anticipates such things.

The only thing common to all mankind,

So different in their births, tongues, sexes, natures, Hues, features, climes, times, feelings, intellects, 2 Without one point of union save in this,

To which we tend, for which we're born, and thread The labyrinth of mystery, call'd life. [cheerful.

Sar. Our clew being well nigh wound out, let's be They who have nothing more to fear may well Indulge a smile at that which once appall'd; As children at discover'd bugbears.

[Gives a key.

It opens to a secret chamber, placed
Behind the couch in my own chamber. (Now
Press'd by a nobler weight than e'er it bore-
Though a long line of sovereigns have lain down
Along its golden frame-as bearing for
A time what late was Salemenes.) Search
The secret covert to which this will lead you;
'Tis full of treasure 3; take it for yourself
And your companions: there's enough to load ye,
Though ye be many.4 Let the slaves be freed, too;
And all the inmates of the palace, of
Whatever sex, now quit it in an hour.

[pleasure,

Thence launch the regal barks, once form'd for
And now to serve for safety, and embark.
The river's broad and swoln, and uncommanded
(More potent than a king) by these besiegers.
Fly and be happy!

Pan.

Under your protection! So you accompany your faithful guard.

Sar. No, Pania! that must not be; get thee hence, And leave me to my fate.

lost if he attempts to sum up the whole value; which induces me to believe, that Athenæus must have very much exaggerated; however, we may be assured, from his account, that the treasures were immensely great."- ROLLIN.]

4 [

"Ye will find the crevice

To which the key fits, with a little care." - MS.] T

Thy vow:- -'tis sacred and irrevocable.
Pan. Since it is so, farewell.
Sar.

Thou shalt see.

[Exit MYRRHA.

Sar. (solus). She's firm. My fathers! whom I will
It may be, purified by death from some [rejoin,
Of the gross stains of too material being,
I would not leave your ancient first abode
To the defilement of usurping bondmen;
If I have not kept your inheritance

As ye bequeath'd it, this bright part of it,
Your treasure, your abode, your sacred relics
Of arms and records, monuments, and spoils,
In which they would have revell'd, I bear with me
To you in that absorbing element,

Which most personifies the soul as leaving
The least of matter unconsumed before

Its fiery workings: - - and the light of this

Most royal of funereal pyres shall be

Not a mere pillar form'd of cloud and flame,
A beacon in the horizon for a day,

And then a mount of ashes, but a light
To lesson ages, rebel nations, and

Feel no remorse at bearing off the gold;
Remember, what you leave you leave the slaves
Who slew me and when you have borne away
All safe off to your boats, blow one long blast
Upon the trumpet as you quit the palace.
The river's brink is too remote, its stream
Too loud at present to permit the echo

To reach distinctly from its banks. Then fly,-
And as you sail, turn back; but still keep on
Your way along the Euphrates: if you reach
The land of Paphlagonia, where the queen
Is safe with my three sons in Cotta's court,
Say what you saw at parting, and request
That she remember what I said at one
Parting more mournful still.

Sar.

[The Soldiers and PANIA throng round him, kissing his hand and the hem of his robe. My best! my last friends! Let's not unman each other-part at once: All farewells should be sudden, when for ever, Else they make an eternity of moments,

And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.
Hence, and be happy: trust me, I am not
Now to be pitied; or far more for what

Is past than present;-for the future, 'tis
In the hands of the deities, if such
There be I shall know soon.

Farewell-Farewell. [Exeunt PANIA and Soldiers.

Myr. These men were honest: it is comfort still

That our last looks should be on loving faces.

And mine

Make a libation to the gods.

Sar.

To make libations amongst men. I've not
Forgot the custom; and although alone,
Will drain one draught in memory of many
A joyous banquet past.

[SARDANAPALUS takes the cup, and after drink-
ing and tinkling the reversed cup, as a drop
falls, exclaims

And this libation

An Indian widow dares for custom, which
A Greck girl dare not do for love?"- - MS.]

2 [These lines are in bad taste enough, from the jingle between kings and kine, down to the absurdity of believing that Sardanapalus at such a moment would be likely to discuss a point of antiquarian curiosity. But they involve also an anachronism, inasmuch as, whatever date be assigned to the erection of the earlier pyramids, there can be no reason for apprehending that, at the fall of Nineveh, and while the kingdom and hierarchy of Egypt subsisted in their full splendour, the destination of those immense fabrics could have been a matter of doubt to any who might inquire concerning them. Herodotus, three hundred years later, may have been misinformed of these points; but, when Sardanapalus lived, the erection of pyramids must, in all probability, have not been still of unfrequent occurrence, and the nature of their contents no subject of mistake or mystery. - HEBER.]

3 [Here an anonymous critic suspects Lord Byron of having read old Fuller, who says, in his quaint way, "the pyramids, doting with age, have forgotten the names of their founders."j

[In "Sardanapalus" Lord Byron has been far more fortunate than in the" Doge of Venice," inasmuch as his subject is one eminently adapted not only to tragedy in general, but to that peculiar kind of tragedy which Lord Byron is anxious to recommend. The history of the last of the Assyrian kings is at once sufficiently well known to awaken that previous interest which belongs to illustrious names and early associations; and sufficiently remote and obscure to admit of any modification of incident or character which a poet may find convenient. All that we know of Nineveh and its sovereigns is majestic, indistinct, and mysterious. We read of an exten. sive and civilised monarchy erected in the ages immediately succeeding the deluge, and existing in full might and majesty while the shores of Greece and Italy were unoccupied, except by roving savages. We read of an empire whose influence extended from Samarcand to Troy, and from the mountains of Judah to those of Caucasus, subverted, after a continuance of thirteen hundred years, and a dynasty of thirty generations, in an almost incredibly short space of time, less by the revolt of two provinces than by the anger of Heaven and the predicted fury of natural and inanimate agents. And the influence which both the conquests and the misfortunes of Assyria appear to have exerted over the fates of the people for whom, of all others in ancient history, our strongest feelings are (from religious motives) interested, throws a sort of sacred pomp over the greatness and the crimes of the descendants of Nimrod, and a reverence which no other equally remote portion of profane history is likely to obtain with us. At the same time, all which we know is so brief, so general, and so disjointed, that we have few of those preconceived notions of the persons and facts represented which in classical dramas, if servilely followed, destroy the interest, and if rashly departed from offend the prejudices, of the reader or the auditor. An outline is given of the most majestic kind; but it is an outline only, which the poet may fill

[As MYRRHA springs forward to throw herself into the flames, the Curtain falls. ↑

up at pleasure; and in ascribing, as Lord Byron has done for the sake of his favourite unities, the destruction of the Assyrian empire to the treason of one night, instead of the war of several years, he has neither shocked our better know. ledge, nor incurred any conspicuous improbability.... Still, however, the developement of Sardanapalus's character is incidental only to the plot of Lord Byron's drama, and though the unities have confined his picture within far narrower limits than he might otherwise have thought advisable, the character is admirably sketched; nor is there any one of the portraits of this great master which gives us a more favour. able opinion of his talents, his force of conception, his delicacy and vigour of touch, or the richness and harmony of his colouring. He had, indeed, no unfavourable groundwork, even in the few hints supplied by the ancient historians, as to the conduct and history of the last and most unfortunate of the line of Belus. Though accused (whether truly or falsely), by his triumphant enemics, of the most revolting vices, and au effeminacy even beyond what might be expected from the last dregs of Asiatic despotism, we find Sardanapalus, when roused by the approach of danger, conducting his armies with a courage, a skill, and, for some time at least, with a success not inferior to those of his most warlike ancestors. We find him retaining to the last the fidelity of his most trusted servants, his nearest kindred, and no small propor tion of his hardiest subjects. We see him providing for the safety of his wife, his children, and his capital city, with all the calmness and prudence of an experienced captam. We see him at length subdued, not by man, but by Heaven and the elements, and seeking his death with a mixture of heroism and ferocity which little accords with our notions of a weak or utterly degraded character. And even the strange story, variously told, and without further explanation scarcely in telligible, which represents him as building (or fortifying) two cities in a single day, and then deforming his exploits with an indecent image and inscription, would seem to imply a mixture of energy with his folly not impossible, perhaps, to the madness of absolute power, and which may lead us to impute his fall less to weakness than to an injudicious and ostentatious contempt of the opinions and prejudices of man. kind. Such a character,-luxurious, energetic, misanthropical,affords, beyond a doubt, no common advantages to the work of poetic delineation; and it is precisely the charac ter which Lord Byron most delights to draw, and which he has succeeded best in drawing. - HEBER.

I remember Lord Byron's mentioning, that the story of Sardanapalus had been working in his brain for seven years before he commenced it. - TRELAWNEY.

The following is an extract from The Life of Dr. Parr:"In the course of the evening the Doctor cried out Have you read Sardanapalus ?'- Yes, Sir?'-Right; and you could n't sleep a wink after it ?'No.'-Right, rightnow don't say a word more about it to-night. The memory of that fine poem seemed to act like a spell of horrible fasci nation upon him."]

1 [Begun June the 12th, completed July the 9th, Ravenna, 1821.- Byron."— MS.

"The Two Foscari" was composed at Ravenna, between the 11th of June and the 10th of July, 1821, and published with Sardanapalus" in the following December. "The Venetian story," writes Lord Byron to Mr. Murray," is strictly historical. I am much mortified that Gifford don't take to my new dramas. To be sure, they are as opposite to the English drama as one thing can be to another; but I have a notion that, if understood, they will, in time, find favour (though not on the stage) with the reader. The simplicity of plot is intentional, and the avoidance of rant also, as also the compression of the speeches in the more severe situations. What I seek to show in 'the Foscaris' is the suppressed passions rather than the rant of the present day. For that matterNay, if thou 'It mouth,

I'll rant as well as thou-'

would not be difficult, as I think I have shown in my younger productions--not dramatic ones, to be sure." An account of the incidents on which this play is founded, is given in the Appendix. *]

[The disadvantage, and, in truth, absurdity, of sacrificing higher objects to a formal adherence to the unities (see ante, p. 244.) is strikingly displayed in this drama. The whole interest bere turns upon the Younger Foscari having returned from banishment, in defiance of the law and its consequences,

[See APPENDIX: The Two Foscari, Note A.]

Lor.

We shall see.

Bar.

You, Loredano,

Pursue hereditary hate too far.

Lor. How far?

Bar.

To extermination.

Lor.

When they are

Extinct, you may say this. Let's in to council. Bar. Yet pause- -the number of our colleagues

is not

Complete yet; two are wanting ere we can
Proceed.

Lor. from an unconquerable longing after his own country. Now, the only way to have made this sentiment palatable, the practicable foundation of stupendous sufferings, would have been, to have presented him to the audience, wearing out his heart in exile, and forming his resolution to return, at a distance from his country, or hovering, in excruciating suspense, within sight of its borders. We might then have caught some glimpse of the nature of his motives, and of so extraordinary a character. But as this would have been contrary to one of the unities, we first meet with him led from "the Question," and afterwards taken back to it in the Ducal Palace, or clinging to the dungeon-walls of his native city, and expiring from his dread of leaving them; and therefore feel more wonder than sympathy, when we are told, that these agonising consequences have resulted, not from guilt or disaster, but merely from the intensity of his love for his country. JEFFREY.]

And the chief judge, the Doge ?

3

[The character of Loredano is well conceived and truly tragic. The deep and settled principle of hatred which animates him, and which impels him to the commission of the most atrocious cruelties, may seem, at first, unnatural and overstrained. But not only is it historically true; but, when the cause of that hatred (the supposed murder of his father and uncles), and when the atrocious maxims of Italian revenge, and that habitual contempt of all the milder feelings are taken into consideration which constituted the glory of a Venetian patriot, we may conceive how such a principle might be not only avowed but exulted in by a Venetian who regarded the house of Foscari as, at once, the enemies of his family and his country. HEBER.]