which he is first brought upon the stage, appears to us dulness; and a good number of songs are introduced, about the most spirited in the drama : OSWALD (whom his wife has assisted to take off his Ay, take them off, and bring my peasant's bonnet And poverty hath neither right of birth, Nor rank, relation, claim, nor privilege, To match a new-coin'd viscount, whose good grandsire, And steer'd his paltry skiff 'twixt Leith and Campyere- And knew the coast by moonlight. FLORA. Mean you the Viscount Ellondale, my father? OSWALD. O, a trifle! Not worth a wise man's thinking twice about- About a table's end, joint stool, and trencher. It is indeed a dream. ELEANOR. OSWALD (turning upon her rather quickly.) Ha! said ye? Let me hear these words more plain. ELEANOR. Alas! they are but echoes of your own. But, as you term them, dreams, and toys, and trifles, OSWALD. Ay, 'twas for you I framed that consolation, ELEANOR (who has listened to the last speech with This is but empty declamation, Oswald. OSWALD. Thou'lt drive me frantic!-I will tell thee, woman,— Which that tale better suits, and he shall hear it. mostly of an inferior quality. The following, however, is good: SONG. "When the tempest's at the loudest, On its gale the eagle rides ; When the ocean rolls the proudest, Through the foam the sea-bird glides- Is subdued by constancy. "Gnawing want and sickness pining, "Bar me from each wonted pleasure, "Auchindrane, or the Ayrshire Tragedy," is founded upon some occurrences which took place in Ayrshire during the reign of James VI., and for the detail of which Sir Walter seems to be indebted to the forthcoming number of Mr Pitcairn's publications from the Scottish Criminal Records. We must say that the Preface to this drama, in which is given a prose account of the crimes of Mure of Auchindrane, appears to us much more interesting than the attempt which has been made to put them into the shape of a play. The reason of this is, that the prose narrative gives us an account of the whole series of wickednesses committed by the Auchindrane family, whereas the play limits itself to one incident, which is by no means sufficient for a whole drama. John Mure of Auchindrane, whom Sir Walter denominates "a Richard the Third in private life," began his career by compassing and procuring the death of Sir Thomas Kennedy, the uncle of his hereditary enemy the Earl of Cassilis. He escaped being prosecuted for this crime, for there was only one person knew of his being its instigator, and that person, a lad of the name of Dalrymple, he contrived to send out of the country for some years. Dalrymple, however, at length returned, and Mure now considered it necessary to murder him, which he did on the sea-shore, with the aid of his son Philip, and a vassal of his own called James Bannatyne. To divert public attention from this murder, he renewed his feud with the Earl of Cassilis, and made an assault upon one of his followers. He also laid a scheme for the destruction of his accomplice Bannatyne; but public suspicion being now fairly roused, he and his son were apprehended and brought to trial. It was not without much difficulty that sufficient evidence was procured against them; but it was at length obtained, and they were both publicly executed. We are not sure that any body could make a very good drama out of this story ;— certainly it has not been done by Sir Walter Scott. He confines himself to the single incident of Dalrymple's return and subsequent murder, which is not of itself sufficient fully to arouse our interest, and arrest our attention. One of the best scenes is that in which Philip [Looks at his sword, which he has unbuckled, and ad- Mure describes to his father the mode of Dalrymple's dresses the rest of the speech to it. Yes, trusty friend, my father knew thy worth, And want the gilded hatchments of the time, [Hangs up the su rd. There are, of course, some pretty passages and happy thoughts scattered here and there to relieve the general death. It is necessary to observe that the name of Dal- A remote and rocky part of the Sea-beach. Enter AUCH- AUCHINDRANE. The devil's brought his legions to this beach, Hear me yet more!-I say I did the deed It was enchantment!-Did you strike at it? The two Auchindranes are apprehended, and the drama ends abruptly and unsatisfactorily. We have spoken of this volume freely, because we have pledged ourselves to give the public our honest opinions upon all occasions. We know there are many who cannot bear to hear a single word uttered against Sir Walter Scott, and do not scruple to accuse a man of unworthy motives should he dare to raise his voice for a moment against any of the perfections of their idol. Now, so far from objecting to, we honour this enthusiasm ; but at the same time we cannot help seeing its fallacy. If we are to talk generally of the brightness of the sun, none shall use more glowing language than we; but if it be asserted that there are no spots upon its disc, we should wish to separate ourselves from those who cannot, or who will not, see the difference between indiscriminate flattery and judicious admiration. Sir Walter is sure of his immortality; but it will not depend on 66 The Doom of Devorgoil," or "The Ayrshire Tragedy." Life of Sir William Wallace of Elderslie. By John D. Carrick. 2 vols. Constable's Miscellany, vols. LIII." and LIV. Edinburgh. 1830. THE Life of Wallace, the gallant and uncompromising champion of our national independence, will always be read with interest by every true-hearted Scotchman. Unfortunately, the details which have reached our day are neither so numerous nor so authentic as could be wished upon so important a subject. With the exception of those more distinguished exploits by which Edward the First's government in Scotland was first shaken, and finally overturned, and which, accordingly, occupy a prominent place in the legitimate history of the period, the personal career of the Scottish hero is involved in considerable obscurity. Some of our ancient chroniclers, indeed, have recorded various strange adventures, in which Wallace is said to have been engaged, and national tradition has preserved the memory of others; but the evident exaggeration, or, as sometimes happens, the manifest absurdities of such legends, have destroyed their authority. Under these circumstances, judgment to discriminate, as well as industrious research, are indispensable to a biographer. The latter qualification Mr Carrick possesses in an eminent degree; he has also proved, in more instances than one, that he is by no means deficient in the former, though his plan of a popular biography does not bind him down to the strict rules by which the historian is fettered. We do not mean to say that the biographer is at liberty to depart from truth in his statements, any more than the general historian; but the former may very properly attach importance to the traditions of the country, to strong probabilities, and to documents not strictly of historical authority, though their admission might affect the credit of the graver annalist. Our author, accordingly, where other authority is deficient, has sometimes adopted without scruple the statements of Blind Harry's narrative; and when the anecdotes recorded are characteristic of the actors and the times, we think he is fairly entitled to do so. No doubt, the Minstrel is partial to his hero, and to his countrymen in general; his facts are, probably, in many instances greatly exaggerated, and his colouring, if not that of a poet, is often enough that of a zealous party-man; yet, as he professes to adhere strictly to a narrative written by Wallace's chaplain and friend, John Blair, and this, too, at a time when it must have been easy to detect any imposition by collating the Scottish version with the Latin original, we think that they are not a little unreasonable who insist upon our throwing aside the work of Harry as altogether an idle romance, whose statements are of no value. We conceive our author has made a very judicious use of the much-abused Minstrel's delightful work, and that he has not claimed for it a higher authority than it is fairly entitled to. With regard to local tradition, also, we are of opinion that its evidence ought not to be rashly rejected. But, "Thus fell this great and exemplary patriot, a martyr to while we believe that it seldom, perhaps never, is with- the rights and independence of his country, than whom, if we consider his extraordinary personal and mental endowout a foundation in truth, we acknowledge that it is exments, joined to his inextinguishable and disinterested love tremely apt to exaggerate, extenuate, alter, and misrepre- of liberty, a greater hero is not to be found in the annals of sent particular circumstances. Its evidence must, thereany people. Born to a slender inheritance, and unconnectfore, be received with caution, and its averments must ed by birth with the opulent families of his country, he degenerally be taken cum grano salis. This, however, is an rived no advantage from those circumstances which often objection that we may safely extend even to those vener-assisted other distinguished characters in attaining that place able chroniclers of both countries, from whose pages our in the temple of fame to which their ambition was directed. To his own genius he was indebted for a system of tactics historians have gleaned the only tolerably authentic re cords of those times which we possess. What, for in-eminently calculated for the contest he had in view; and stance, shall we say of Hemingford, (quoted by our author,) who, on the authority of eye-witnesses, gravely asserts that “fifty thousand Scots were slain in the battle (of Falkirk), many drowned, three hundred thousand foot taken prisoners, besides a thousand horse!" For our own part, in reading the histories which treat of this period, we have derived considerable benefit from the following method, which we heartily recommend to our readers: If the historian be a Scot, we subtract five from every six men who are said to have fallen by Wallace's own hand —we double the number of Scots said to have been engaged, and reduce the opponents by two-thirds-then, substituting the words skirmish for battle, and petty advantage for great and decisive victory, we are satisfied that we have arrived pretty near the truth. If the historian is an Englishman, we, of course, just invert the proportion, and arrive at nearly the same result. Even Mr Carrick's excellent work must, we suspect, be read with some little allowance for national bias. We are not aware, indeed, that this partiality exists to the extent of invalidating his general accuracy; but where he meets with conflicting statements, he very naturally leans to that which is most favourable to the character of his hero. But this is the privilege of all biographers, and it is a privilege of which few have neglected to avail themselves. op with his own arm he gave the first impulse to the cause of freedom, which afterwards, on the field of Bannockburn, was crowned with such glorious and decisive success under a kindred spirit-on whom the inspiring mantle of our patriot descended, as he winged his flight to the regions of immortality. "In person, Wallace was admirably fitted to grace that elevated station among mankind, for which his genius and well-proportioned, and exquisitely beautiful; his eyes were talents so eminently qualified him. His visage was long, bright and piercing; the hair of his head and beard auburn, and inclined to curl: that on his brows and eyelashes was of a lighter shade; his lips were round and full. Under the chin, on the left side, was a scar, the only one visible, although many were to be found on his person; his stature was lofty and majestic, rising the head and shoulders above the tallest men in the country. Yet his form, though gigantic, possessed the most perfect symmetry; and with a degree of strength almost incredible, there was combined such an agility of body and fleetness in running, that no one, except when mounted on horseback, could outstrip, or escape from him, when he happened to pursue. All-pow erful as a swordsman, and unrivalled as an archer, his blows were fatal, and his shafts unerring. As an equestrian, he was a model of dexterity and grace; while the hardships he experienced in his youth made him view with indifference the severest privations incident to a military life. In common intercourse, his accents were mild, and his manners grave and urbane. In the field, when addressing his solOur author has admitted into his work many of those diers, his discourse was brief and animating, and the sound statements, which, since the days of Lord Hailes, have of his voice thrilled through their hearts like the spirit-stirring notes of the clarion. Great and varied, however, as been generally abandoned by our historians. We entertain great respect for the name of Lord Hailes-his stric-son, the graces with which she had enriched his mind were the accomplishments nature had lavished on his pertures on the apocryphal parts of our history are always threw a radiance over all the rest of her gifts. Untaught ingenious, and often extremely just; but we question himself in the military art, he became the instructor of his whether he has not sometimes pushed his doubts too far. countrymen, and his first efforts were worthy of the greatThe fear of being charged with credulity or national pre-est captain of the age. judice, seems to have driven him occasionally into the "If we may judge from his regard to the sanctity of an posite and less pardonable extreme. Mr Carrick is often oath, his ideas of morality appear to have been much at variance with the corrupt practice of the age. Uncontamisuccessful in pointing out the fallacy of the learned annalnated by the pernicious example of the great men of the ist's reasoning, and the unreasonableness of his historical country, he rather chose to bear hunger and every other scepticism. These animadversions are principally con- privation the unsheltered outlaw might be exposed to, than fined to the notes, which form a large, and certainly not purchase the advantage so much prized by others, at the the least valuable, part of the work. There are also two expense of taking an oath he had no intention of holding large appendices, containing some interesting illustrations sacred:-still this inflexible rectitude of soul could not and biographical notices of the principal characters intro- the bands by which he strove to unite them together beshame the aristocracy from their convenient perjuries; for duced in the body of the work. The most interesting came like ropes of sand in the hour of trial. Notwithand valuable feature of the Appendix to Vol. II. con- standing, however, all the difficulties that were thrown in sists of an original letter, addressed by Sir William Wal- his way, the vigour of his own character, and the wisdom lace and Sir Andrew Murray, in the year 1297, to the of his measures, enabled him to achieve the deliverance of citizens of Hamburg and Lubec,-a very important wri-his native land. To the charges of ambition and usurpating, which has not hitherto appeared in the works of either English or Scottish historians, nor even been alluded to in any former account of Wallace. Altogether, our author appears to have given us as full and as authentic a Life of Sir William Wallace as can be collected from the scanty and uncertain authorities upon this obscure period of Scottish history, that have escaped the ravages of the First Edward, of Cromwell, and of that more extensive destroyer-Time. This being the case, we can the more easily pardon Mr Carrick's minor faults of authorship, the principal of which we conceive to be a somewhat heavy style, deficient frequently in elevation, and sometimes, though rarely, even in correctness. But such faults weigh little against the genuine merits of the work. The following extract from our author's description of Wallace's person and character will not, we dare say, be unacceptable to our readers: tion that were brought against him, he gave the noblest refutation, by resigning the bauble of power into the hands of those little spirits, who would otherwise have betrayed the cause of national independence, or involved their country in all the horrors of civil war. Thus his virtuous self-denial preserved the people whom his valour had set free." Mr Carrick's Life of Wallace is highly creditable to the author's industry and talents; and it contains the best history with which we are acquainted of those important events which, under the auspices of that hero and patriot, led to the re-establishment of Scottish independence. The College Album for 1830. A Selection of Original Ir there was ever a pleasant man in this world, it is the Editor of the Edinburgh Literary Journal, when he is in a good humour. We see ourselves at this moment standing in the centre of the inner Court of Glasgow College, our hair, which is beginning to acquire an almost imperceptible silvery tinge, escaping from under our hat, and playing in the zephyr over our placid brow and calm benevolent countenance. We see the brighteyed students either crowding round us with irrepressible delight, or keeping apart in groups, fixed in silent admiration, not unchequered with a small touch of awe, as they gaze upon the man who has so often instructed them in their hours of application, and solaced and delighted them in their moments of leisure. We see them watch our every movement, dwell upon our every look, and as we at length pass away into the domicile of Milne, or Sandford, or Buchanan, we hear a shout that makes the old stones of the University quake, and many a deepbreathed resolution, that at the next election of a Lord Rector, we shall be the person. Shall we wantonly destroy so pleasant a dream as this, by cutting up the "College Album?" Forbid it! ye reminiscences of happy boyhood! when we ourselves wrote trash unparalleled, some of which, we blush to say, survives even to this day to witness against us. Though the "College Album" were twenty thousand times worse than it is, it could not be half so bad as what we ourselves did when at College. It would be easy for us to rap young gentlemen over the fingers now; but were we not egregious idiots ourselves once? One thing, however, we are sorry for ;-the poetry of the College Album is not better than the poetry of the Athenæum, except that it is printed upon better paper and in a neater style, and we therefore now say, what we threatened to say last week, that the gods have not made the Glasgow students poetical. Had "W. E. A.," the author of "A Venetian Tale," no compunctious visitings when he ended his poem with this couplet, "And wish their loves may savour less of woe Than that of Agnes and her Ju-li-o?" 66 We have first, however, a small crow to pluck with the author, Mr " W. X." In the course of his sketch we find the following sentence:-" It was in 1788 that the gallant young officer came, and was allowed to 'jump, feathers and all,' as somebody has said, into the heart of the blooming girl of eighteen." Somebody," indeed! Was this a way to treat us, Mr "W. X?" We beg to inform you, sir, that we are the somebody alluded to, and in your next edition we request, that you will couple our name with those epithets of praise to which it is so justly entitled. You found the phrase, Mr " W. X." in the last Christmas Number of the Literary Journal. But be not downcast; we are not angry with you; we offer you our hand, and shall be glad to see you in our study. Now for your sketch, which is pleasant, though mournful: THE TUTOR'S NEW-YEAR'S DAY. "Ah! happy, ever happy may they be, and blessings on their happiness!' said I, as I returned from the formal party in the drawing-room, to my own quiet chamber and crackling fire, in much sadness of spirit. Why should they be otherwise than glad?-they are at home.' "I had just been thinking of my friends, from all of whom I was far distant. There was magic in the name of 'home,' and my imagination instantly took flight, wafting me at once into the midst of the merry group. The merry "The cousins are assembled, and a few select friends mingle with them, around the plain but cheerful ingle. A joyous band do they form in the dear snug little parlour, in which, as long as my memory can serve me, has met our happy family-party on New-year's Night. song alternates with the joke, which, however homely, never fails to excite the mirth of hearts tuned only to cheerfulness. There is a sparkle in every eye, and a smile on every lip; yet, perchance a tear may trickle down a mother's cheek, and a sigh break forth amid a father's smiles, as they think of their only absent one. The sisters, too, and the only brother, and the cousins, and all, may think, as they observe his violin, which has long been suspended in silence, that his presence might have added to the enjoy ments of the evening. But the cloud raised by these kind remembrances soon passes away; and why should it not? Friendship and love have harmoniously blended all their affections. They have had their cares and crosses; but where the heart is not withered by continued disappoint Did "Y. Z.," who has committed "A Drinking Song," not fear to be immolated on the shrine of Cockney vulgarity, when he gave birth to such rhymes as the follow-ments, the presence of those with whom its sympathies are ing "Which makes their pretty faces glow, and look more Than if they tippled nought but unadulterate ambrosia"(!) "Well let them drink, though I'm not there, I'll not | entwined, can never be without gladness. Blessings be with them all!—and though a son-a brother-a relation -who is far from every object on which his affections can calmly rest, or by which his rankling cares can be soothed, may, with a bursting heart, and a tear in his eye, claim a place in their memories, yet, would he not for worlds disturb the peace and the pleasure which now breathe around them! "Such was the vision which glided rapidly past as I sat While goddesses and nectar too I find on terra firma." (!) down before the fire, placed both my feet upon the fender, and then pulled my arm chair, and with it the old rug, Yet let us not judge too hastily. There may be at this very backward and forward, till I got it adjusted to a comfortmoment among the students at Glasgow College geniuses able sitting distance. My exterior arrangements were comdestined to illumine the world,-young men who, per- pleted, by taking up the poker in my right hand, leaning haps, shun notoriety, and who write neither for the Athe-my head on my left, and my elbows on the respective elbows of the chair. The fire was burning as beautifully as abunnæum nor the Album, or who perhaps write for both, withdance of fuel, and a sharp frosty atmosphere, could make it, out distinguishing themselves, the mysterious principle so the poker could be applied to no reasonable purpose. and hidden powers of their nature not being yet developed. Nevertheless, I could not help taking it up, and swinging Who shall dare to say to one of God's creatures" Thou it backwards and forwards like a pendulum; as I watched art a dunce?" Jeffrey said it to Byron, and the slumber- its oscillations, I began to contrast the present New-year'sing mind of the poet, as if in scorn, started at once into day with those that were past. life and action more glorious than Hector in his day of triumph, when, radiant in his burnished armour, he issued from his father's halls to stretch the bravest of the Grecians prostrate before him. Jeffrey said it to Byron, and away soared Byron, with a rush of wings, far into the blue empyrean, leaving the pigmy critic to follow his lofty flight with straining and bloodshot eyes. "I had just left the drawing-room. All, I suppose, who can afford to entertain a party, invite their friends, or are is Mrs, the mother of the three young urchins whom invited by them, on New-year's-day. Accordingly we, that I have the felicity to instruct, had a party;-and such a party! The young ladies and young gentlemen, who composed the majority of the company, mutually absorbed one another's attention; and as they thus formed a separate The prose articles in the College Album are pretty re- society, they will not be distressed at being excluded from my sketch. Fragspectable. The best are," School Recollections," " Of old gentlemen there were none, though abundance of elderly ladies; and to the society of elderly ments of the Chronicles of Cambus-Kenneth Abbey,' ladies, therefore, was I confined during the whole of the "The Catastrophe," "A Legend of the Wild Rider," evening of New-year's-day. Between two of them I was "The Aucht Years' Plea," and "The Tutor's New-seated at dinner, with the laudable determination that I Year's-Day." From this last we shall take an extract, would, by patiently attending to their conversation, endea vour to banish the thought of distant friends, which too painfully contrasted with the scene around me. "I have often wondered why it is that tutors are supposed to know nothing but what every one else has forgotten. He whom fortune has doomed to this servile situation, may sit at meals of every kind, among men, women, and children-for all are alike in this instance-without being once spoken to for months together, unless something be under discussion, the particulars of which no one else can remember. It is true, that once in my life, and I have sat at table in professional silence for many long years,-a maiden lady, who happened to be placed next me at dinner, having long waited in vain for an opportunity of addressing some one else, asked me if I was a botanist or a fiddler.' But such a case of despair may not happen again in a century. I was so surprised and confused at the singular occurrence, that I stammered out the wrong monosyllable,― a blunder, however, which was of no consequence, as the lady only wanted a listener; and I so satisfied her in this capacity, that, although I never had time to thrust in more than a monosyllable, she complimented me once or twice very handsomely on my sense and discretion. She was astonished, I think, to find that a tutor could even listen well. Of the ordinary topics of conversation, however, a tutor generally knows something; less, perhaps, sometimes, than those whose conversation he hears; but frequently, it is to be hoped, much more. Theology, for instance, is, in this age of bold speculators, a standing topic of discussion; all, especially ladies, are Doctors in Divinity; self-constituted, it is true, but this is evidently considered to be of no importance by them, as, unconscious of their ignorance, they dogmatize on the highest and most sacred subjects with disgraceful temerity. In statistics, chronology, and history, however, even ladies are sometimes conscious of their deficiencies, and refer to the poor tutor, whom they sometimes seem to take for Itinerary, Almanack, and Universal Encyclopædia; for an Index, in short, of whatever is detailed and uninteresting. A political economist has forgotten the population of Sheffield, a politician, the member for Kilkenny,-a poetical gentleman enquires when Spenser commenced his Fairy Queen, -a traveller, the height of Mount Rosa or Great St Bernard, a would-be-literary fair one, the length and breadth of the vale of Tempe,-and a painting lady, the when-andwhere of Salvator Rosa's birth and decease;-a dumpy widow wishes to know the name of the parish of which the celebrated Mr is minister,-and a lean old maid, the name of the woman whom he married. The poor tutor has probably never had the means of becoming acquainted with a tenth part of these subjects; yet he is expected to be ready with answers to each one of these questions ;-and by queries such as these, and a thousand others a thousand times more unreasonable and absurd, which are from day to day put to him, is he, poor soul, tormented and harassed, "My cogitations, however, upon this subject also soon received an interruption by the removal of the cloth, and a call to join in the annual exchange of the compliments of the season. Though fashion has long dispensed with the drinking of healths, yet, on New-year's-day, the custom was not to be passed over, and a bumper was accordingly claimed to mutual good wishes and glad congratulations. This was to me the hardest trial of all. I wished to grant the boon as frankly as it was kindly craved; but as I looked round the circle, my eye lighted not on one whom my heart could love. I was a stranger in a foreign land. There might be an interchange of words, but none of feeling with me; all was unmeaning and heartless ceremony. My spirit sickened as the remembrance of the past came over me. I had, precisely a year before, witnessed the sacred observance of this good old custom, and then partook of that hallowed tenderness which it ought always to diffuse. The old, the young, and middle-aged were there, but their spirits were harmonized by the gentle hand of friendship. The blessing of the old and grey-headed fell in solemnity and something like sadness on the ear; and the smile of elastic youth was rendered doubly significant by the tear which obtruded itself on the sparkling and eloquent eye. The little girl climbing upon your knee, and putting her lovely cheek close to yours, while she softly breathed her prayer-wish of Many and happy years!' seemed an angel come to woo you to another world; and you felt as if you could lay aside this mortal frame, and fly away with her, and be at rest for ever. There is a solemnity in such a scene, which would be profaned by the presence of a stranger,-there is a sanctity of feeling, by which hearts are more closely and warmly united than before,-there is a religious awe, by which we are made better men and devouter Christians. "Alas! a dream of such happiness is all that remains to me, for we can never meet so again. The wasting hand of time is upon us all, and the arm of death has since that day been brought threateningly before us. But I will cherish the dream, forlorn and melancholy as I am; and when it becomes dim, I will go to the song of the captive Psalmist, and will drink its spirit thence in all its present freshness." We are glad to see at the end of the volume a long and respectable list of subscribers to the College Album. Publications so rational and useful should always be encouraged. We shall be happy to meet with our young friends again in 1831. Osmyn, the Renegade; or, The Siege of Salerno; a Tragedy, in Five Acts. By the late Rev. C. R. Maturin. (Unpublished.) A NEW Tragedy, from the pen of Maturin, must be highly interesting to the literary world. We are not aware, therefore, that we can do better this week, than devote a part of our space to the following account of this work, which we find in the Dublin Literary Gazette of last Saturday-a highly respectable periodical, which can hardly fail to be successful, because it deserves to be so. Our readers are already aware, that, through the exertions of Mr Macready, “ Osmyn” has been lately performed with great success in Dublin; and it is to be brought out, we understand, ere long, in one of the leading theatres in London. Meanwhile, the Editor of the Dublin Literary Gazette, having had an opportunity of perusing the MS., presents us with the following analysis of the piece: "The opening of the tragedy presents us with the Christians of Salerno besieged by the Turks, and reduced to the last extremity. The time of action is supposed to be somewhere about the year 1460. About this period there was a siege of Otranto, on the opposite shore of Italy, which the author informs us, in a note, suggested to him the groundwork of his plot, and is the only historical foundation for any of the incidents. Osmyn, a celebrated renegade, arrives to take the command of the Turkish forces. He learns that Manfred, Prince of Salerno, whom, for reasons not yet explained, he hates with unrelenting hatred, has been long dead, and that Guiscard, the son of Manfred, leads the Christians. He resolves not to delay his purposed vengeance, and rouses the Turks to the conflict with the following energetic appeal, which concludes the first Act: Where are ye? Gather round me, sons of blood! In all your fell and varied ranks of carnage. Pour like a flood, o'er bastion and o'er battlement- "In Act the second, the Turks are repulsed in a desperate ruins of a dilapidated cathedral, in the outskirts of the attempt to storm the city. Osmyn wanders among the place, moody and chafing with his defeat: he recognises the spot as one familiar to him in the days of his boyhood, and hears the voice of Matilda, Princess of Salerno, chanting a finds himself surrounded by the tombs of his ancestors; he miserere in the distant aisles. As he says in a subsequent passage: After a lapse of twenty years, I heard it, Like the remember'd music of a stream That lull'd our sleep in childhood.' |