From house to house, from street to street*,
The crashing flames roar round, and meet;
Each way the fiery deluge preys,

And girds us with the circling blaze.
The brave, that midst these dire alarms
For their lost country greatly dare,
And fired with vengeance rush to arms,

Fall victims to the blood-stain'd spear.
The bleeding babe, with innocent cries,
Drops from his mother's breast, and dies.
See Rapine rushes, bent on prey,
His hasty step brooks no delay.
The spoiler, loaded with his store,
Envious the loaded spoiler views;
Disdains another should have more,
And his insatiate toil renews.

Thick on the earth the rich spoil lies:
For the rude plunderers' restless rolling tide,
Their worthless numbers waving wide,
Drop in their wild haste many a glittering prize.
Whilst, in her chaste apartment bred,

The trembling virgin, captive led,
Pours, in the anguish of her soul, the tear :
And, torn from all her heart holds dear,
The youthful bride, a novice yet in woe,
Obeys the haughty happy foe.

But ere such horrors blast my sight,
May these sad eyes close in eternal night!

POTTER.

The translator makes no apology for adopting the inter

pretation of Pauw. Periti sciunt.

ELECTRA TAKING THE URN OF

ORESTES.

FROM THE GREEK OF SOPHOCLES.

During the absence of Agamemnon, Egysthus was left regent, and protector of his wife and children, Faithless to his trust, he intrigues with Clytemnestra: she murders her husband on his return; marries Ægysthus, and admits him as partner of her throne. To secure their power, they are bent on the murder of Orestes, heir to the crown, who would have fallen a sacrifice in his infancy, but for the affection of his sister Electra, who rescues him from death by privately sending him to Phocis. Meanwhile she hears frequent accounts of him, and cherishes a hope that when he has arrived at manhood he will return and be the avenger of his father. After the lapse of twenty years he arrives for that purpose, in company with his protector. To lull Clytemnestra into a fatal security, his companion relates to her that Orestes has been killed in a chariot race. A meeting between the brother and sister takes place, without any remembrance on either side. Orestes, mistaking Electra for one of the do. mestics, and desirous to keep his arrival a secret until the hour for vengeance should arrive, carries on the delusion by producing an urn in which his ashes are supposed to rest. Electra, believing him to be really dead, takes the urn in despair, and discovers herself by this passionate and beautiful address.

MOURNFUL remembrancer, whose orb contains
Whate'er of dear Orestes now remains,
How dead my hopes in thee, but lately sent
A blooming boy to happy banishment;
For now I bear whatever lived of thee
In this small record of mortality!

Oh had I died, before to foreign lands

I sent thee rescued from the murderer's hands! Then had we shared one melancholy doom, And peaceful slumber'd in thy father's tomb.

Afar from home, beneath another sky

Thou diedst-and ah! no sister then was nigh To bathe thy corse, and from the greedy fire Collect thy ashes, as the dead require ;

But strangers paid the debt: who now return
Thy cherish'd dust within this little urn.
And have I watch'd thine infancy in vain
With lengthen'd hope,and love that sweeten'd pain?
Shielded thine innocence from dangers rude
With more than parents' fond solicitude?
Ta'en thee from menial hands, myself thy slave,
And rear'd thee, brother-only for the grave?
Now barren all my hopeful cares are made,
Lost with thy life, unfruitful as thy shade.
Oh thou hast gone, and like the whirlwind's force
Swept all away together in thy course.
Dead is my sire, and I, who lived alone
In thee, no longer live, since thou art gone.
Our foes exult-our mother wild with joy
(Alas, no mother) hails her lifeless boy,
For whom I waited as my sorrow's friend,
Avenger of his father's timeless end;
But now, instead, o'er this sad urn I weep,
Where his poor ashes cold and silent sleep.

Oh piteous corse!-oh brother, sent to tread
Before this wretch the regions of the dead,
How hast thou left me to my foes a prey,
How has thy funeral swept my hopes away?
Yet take me, gentle brother-give me room
To rest beside thee in this narrow tomb,
That, as we shared affliction when alive,
Our boundless love may in the shades survive,
While our dust slumbers, mix'd by friendly fate,
Dull and unconscious of a mother's hate.

BLAND.

THE

FAREWELL OF ADMETUS TO ALCESTIS.

FROM THE GREEK OF EURIPIDES.

Admetus, a prince of Thessaly, was married to Alcestis, of whom he was passionately enamoured. Their happiness was interrupted by the declining health of Admetns, who was fast approaching to the grave. The infernal powers, however, grant him a reprieve, on condition of finding a substitute, who would, by a voluntary death, pay the price of his recovery. After the refusal of his aged parents, who are represented to have outlived the sense of those pleasures, which among barbarous nations can alone make life acceptable, bis wife Alcestis prepares to devote herself, that the husband might survive to be the protector of their children. To reconcile the seeming cowardice of Admetus with the noble affection displayed for his wife, and the generosity of his disposition, we must suppose him forbidden by the Fates from preventing the sacrifice of his wife by his own devotion. A parting scene of the most exquisite tenderness ensues. Alcestis exhorts her husband to live, and be guardian of their offspring; but requests him to bear her in his memory, and never to surrender that place in his heart to another which was once hers alone. He promises never to forget her, to pass his days in mourning for her loss, and to devote the remnant of his life to the contemplation of her virtues and her last act of heroic affection.

I GRANT thee all-distrust not, gentle wife-
Dead thou art mine, thou only, as in life;
No bride of all Thessalia's blooming race
Shall call me husband second in thy place,
Not though she mate thy high nobility,
Nor yield in angel loveliness to thee.
Enough of children-guard them, Heaven, I pray,
For her ye only lent, and tore away;
Not for a year, but while my pulses beat,
In this poor heart while memory holds a seat,

So long I'll mourn thee on this hateful earth,
Curse my gray sire, and her who gave me birth,
Who fear'd to die, though bow'd by grief and time,
But sent thee dress'd in smiles, and in thy prime,
Torn from the joys of youth and nuptial bed,
A ransom for thy lord, to join the dead.

Farewell to revel, and the festive throng,
To wanton garlands, dance, and social song;
Henceforth to me, sweet instruments, be mute,
The harp's wild raptures, and the Libyan flute,
All that was pleasure once my thoughts resign,
For all my joys are buried in thy shrine.

I'll have thee moulded as in life, and bear To my lone couch thy image sadly dear; Fall on the semblance, clasp it in my arms, Name it from thee-and, circling fancied charms, Gaze on the fair deceit, nor e'er forsake The death-cold statue, till it seems to wake. Poor comfort-but in trifles light as these My aching heart shall idly ask for ease. Yet in the dead still hour of night arise, When troubled phantoms flit before my eyes, Thou shalt not fright me, but my senses close In dreams of gentleness and lost repose. Oh, had I voice and power of song to melt The prince of night, who once for Orpheus felt, Pleased would I journey o'er these dreary coasts, And bear thee, dearest, from the land of ghosts; Ne'er should I tremble at that fearful way, But wake thy eyes to smile upon the day. Vain, idle thoughts! In those sad realms await Thy husband's coming when released by fate; One common mansion for our shades prepare, That our rent loves may join eternal there: