The fable on which the subject is founded is as follows:-Laocoon was the son of Priam and Hecuba, or, according to others, of Antenor, or of Capys. Being Priest of Apollo, he was commissioned by the Trojans to offer a bullock to Neptune, to render him propitious. During the sacrifice two enormous serpents issued from the sea, and attacked Laocoon's two sons, who stood next to the altar. The father immediately attempted to defend them; but the serpents falling upon him, squeezed him in their complicated wreathes, and he died in the greatest agonies. This punishment was said to have been inflicted on him for dissuading the Trojans to bring into the city the fatal wooden horse which the Greeks had consecrated to Minerva, as also for his impiety in huiling a javelin against the sides of the horse as it entered within the walls.

The Laocoon, says Dr. Gillies, may be regarded as the triumph of Grecian sculpture; since bodily pain, the grossest and most ungovernable of all our passions, and that pain united with anguish and torture of mind, are yet expressed with such propriety and dignity, as afford lessons superior to any taught in the schools of philosophy. The horrible shrick which Virgil's Laocoon* emits is a proper subject for poetry, which speaks to the fancy by images and ideas borrowed from all the senses, and has a thousand ways of ennobling its object; but the expression of this shriek would have totally degraded the statue. It is softened, therefore, into a patient sigh, with eyes turned to heaven in search of relief. The intolerable agony of suffering nature is represented in the lower part, and particularly in the extremities of the body; but the manly breast struggles against calamity. The contention is still more perceived in his furrowed forehead; and his languishing paternal eye demands assistance less for himself than for his miserable children, who look up to him for help. To be more minute-The paternal tenderness of Laocoon is conspicuous in his eyes, which appear suffused with sympathy. His features express complaints, not cries. His mouth is ma ked with languor, and his nether lip sinks with its depression; whilst, in the upper, which is drawn upward, this languor is blended with acute pain. Suffering, united with indignation at the justice of his punishment, rises to his nose, and has its full vent in the dilatation of his nostrils. Beneath the forehead, the struggle between pain and resistance is united in a point, and given with the greatest sagacity: for, whilst the one reaches to the eye-brows, the other compresses

Æneid. lib. ii. v. 222.

the fleshy parts over the eye, and causes them to descend toward the upper eye-lid, which is almost covered. The artist, unable to embellish Nature, has endeavoured to render it in its full force; so that where the greatest pain is exhibited, there the greatest beauty also is found. The left side, where the bite of the serpent darts his utmost venom, seems to suffer most from its proximity to the heart; and that part of the body may be stiled a prodigy of skill. He tries to raise his legs, to extricate himself from his unhappy condition: no part is at rest. The touch of the master concurs even to express a rigour on the skin.

THEATRE.

WE E have hitherto deferred making observations on the performances at the Theatre, wishing to commence with some work of that merit which has, of late, rarely appeared in the new compositions presented on the London stage. We waited with anxious expectation for a production expected from the pen of a writer whose genius has produced a greater accession of dramatic excellence to British literature than any which it has received since the time of Congreve.

The importance of the author's name, the variety of excellence, intermixed with not an inconsiderable share of redundant and unne

cessary* matter, requires, to form a just estimate, a particularity of analysis, minuteness and accuracy of investigation, which, from the late period in the month, we confess ourselves not endued with sufficient confidence to undertake. To give a hasty or cursory c.iticism on a dramatic work of Mr. Sheridan would, we think, be very unworthy of such an author, and very inconsistent with the duty which we owe to our readers. We must, therefore, request their indulgence on the subject until time and adequate examination shall make us more competent to write upon the subject.

As to the fable of the piece and bounds of representation we mean. For those very parts which, in that relative view, may be considered as expletive, are in themselves striking instances of the brilliant genius and impressive coquence which mark the author of the School for Scandal' and the Oration on the Proceedings at Oude.'

145

POETRY.

A LEGITIMATE SONNET,

ON THE ITALIAN MODEL,

TO MY UNCLE'S HOG JACK.*

POOR grunting animal, that all the day
Plods dull and mopish round my Uncle's yard!
Ah, me! it strikes me that thy lot is hard,

For thou dost droop thy ears, thy hairs are grey,
Thy humid eyes look wet.-O wretch ill-starr'd!
What sorrowing sadness seems to mark thy way,
While every pleasure is from thee debarr'd,

Nor frolic rapture bids thy heart be gay I
Poor grunting Jack! full much I grieve to view
Thy groping snout enslav'd with iron cold;
For thou must feel, and feel with sorrow too,
What yet thy peaceful tongue has never told.
Adieu! poor beast!-again I sigh, adieu!
My tears fast fall; they fall, alas! for you.

QUIZICUS MUM.

TO EUDORA.

My heart's dear love! O what a heaven of bliss!
What joys extatic seize my trembling frame,
While on the wish'd-for page I view thy name;
While my pale quivering lips thy dear name kiss!
And as I trace the hand that far, far hence,
Pens the fond wish, my soul is rapture all;

I feel wild transports thrill each love-fraught sense.
Yes! yes! this potent charm can well recall

That the writer of this article may not be charged with plagiarism, the Editor thinks it necessary to assert, that it had been written, and in his pos session, a month before the reception of the Sentimental Sonnet' which ap peared in our last Number.

QUIZICUS MUM, however, seems rather to be a disciple of the Coleridgean than the Della Cruscan school,

Gay Hope's emblazon'd tints, can well renew
The faded scenes that died within my view ;
Can peace, and joy, and life itself restore.
Long shall the precious token press my breast,
For ever be my bosom's welcome guest;
Eudora's kind, and I can ask no more!

T. HARRAL.

VERSES TO CHARLOTTE.

O WOULD'ST thou share with me some cot,
Where love and innocence might rove;

Or o'er some lawn, or dasied spot,

Or through some verdant foliag'd grove!
With thee to stray near some pure stream,
To taste the vernal joys of youth,
To realize fair Fancy's dream,

And prove to Heaven my plighted truth.
No more, dear maid! the falling tear
Should e'er thy lovely cheeks distain,
Unless the pearly drop, so dear,

Stealt softly down for others' pain.

That bosom mild no more should heave,