Review of Conscience, or the Bridal Night.

the latter being in the power of Alfero, who threatened to denounce him instantly, unless he moved the senate in his favor; this the other could not do, and to avoid a public punishment, both had fled. This answer, however, did not satisfy the guard, who insisted on his accompanying them to the duke to answer for his conduct, to which Lorenzo consents. When he is about to depart, Elmira enters, and is informed of the circumstances; she demands what he had done with her father, and, apprehending violence had been used towards him, vows never to know Lorenzo 'till he is restored to her. Lorenzo is then led off, guarded. Julio returns to the castle, where he meets Rodolpho and Elmira ; shortly after a messenger enters from the senate to require the immediate presence of Elmira, on whom suspicion lay of having conspired against Arsenio's life. She is horrorstruck at the charge, but instantly obeys the order.

This, however, was but a stratagem of the Duke's, that by accusing Elmira he might induce Lorenzo to declare the truth. The artifice succeeded; Lorenzo, to save his wife from the foul charge of murder, commands Julio to release her father and Alfero, and bring them to the city. Alfero is ordered to execution, but, with his dying breath, accuses Lorenzo of having given poison to Rinaldo. Elmira meets her father, and entreats him not to prosecute the charge against her husband; he is still hardened against her supplications, when she draws a dagger, and vows that it shall drink her blood if he refuses to comply with her request. He contrives, however, to get the dagger from her, and swears that nothing shall delay his vengeace against the murderer of his brother. Elmira, finding all vain, solemnly vows, that neither food nor drink shall pass within her lips if he persist in his purpose against her husband, and Arsenio, at length, is conquered by her resolution, when Lorenzo and Julio enter. She flies to his arms, tells of her father's forgiveness, and bids him be happy. He turns on her with a mournful look, and tells her 'tis too late; to avoid the shame of a public trial, he had taken poison, and already he began to feel its effects. Elmira faintly asks if he is guilty of the charge against him, and, being answered hesitatingly by Lorenzo, she dies, broken-hearted, in his arms. The poison had now reached the vitals of Lorenzo, and he drops dead by the side of his hapless bride, which concludes the Tragedy.

We have little to add in addition to what we have already said respecting this work; that it has particular merits

Isabel, a Dramatic Poem.

we will not deny, but our general objection is a tameness and dulness in the dialogue, and a want of originality in the plot, and of interest in the incidents. The language is plain and unconstrained; unadorned by any fanciful imagery, and never approaching to the sublime, though frequently sinking beneath the level of ordinary composition. In its representation it obtained a degree of estimation, to which, on perusal, we could not subscribe. We shall never be influenced by any adventitious circumstances to waver in our opinion, or hesitate in pronouncing it; and no matter how that opinion may differ from others, we will not be deterred from fulfilling our duty according to those principles of candour and justice, which shall ever form the basis of our conduct as impartial Reviewers.

Poetry.

ISABEL.

A DRAMATIC POEM.

(Concluded from p. 321.)

A large

ACT 2d.-Scene 1st.-A Gothic Hall in Lindenberg Castle. window at the extremity, through which the distant country is visible ;the moon sheds a faint light on Agnes, who stands gazing on it intently.— A pause

AGNES.

Petrarch and Tasso, what illustrious names
Are thine,-at such a silent time as this,
"Tis lonely joy to contemplate and inusé-
To pause upon the memory of the spell,
That numbers shed upon the soul; to look
Within, where the tenacious mind has stored
A treasure beyond earthly wealth-to turn
From busy Man to such a scene as this!
This is a change to my romantic heart,
Most welcome. There are beings near me now,
With whom my spirit holds discourse-whom none
But I can recognise ;-the light, thin air
That floats around me has a murmuring sound
Which I alone can hear-the vaulted roof
Of this great pile has echoes all unheard
By vulgar ears,-and through the painted glass

Isabel, a Dramatic Poem.

A thousand forms and shapes appear, whom none
Can see, or seeing understand, save Agnes.

Sweet dream of life!-thou art enchantment all!—
That hast a spell o'er my unconscious soul,

Pervading my whole thought, words, actions, being-
That spread'st an influence round my volant steps,
Which, though they wander, leads them still to thee.
Thou art to me a spirit of the air,

Shrin'd in the blue and infinite expanse,
That I can gaze on in the cloudless moon,
Or worship in the thron'd and sleepless stars;
On the bleak mountain, or disturbed ocean,
Enthusiast! through those lone but lovely scenes,
Where Nature from the heartless world retreats,
Thou 'rt with me!-oh! that I could tread with thee
The wild and consecrated spots I love,

Scatter'd through the Earth's desert!-that sweet font
Whose rude and prison'd rocks gave faithful echo
To thy inspired song-romantic Vaucluse!

Thou wert the spring whence flow'd that mighty stream
Which thy seclusion cherish'd:-thy deep valley
Has hid more glory than returns to thee.
Oh! that I now could tread with thee inspirer!
То gaze on that delightful Vale of Love
Whose upland snows, unmarked by mortal tread,
Are pure as that too young and passionate heart,
Which breathes its burning language at thy feet;
Or by that river whose dissolving ice

Melts in the arms of roses;—or that ruin

O'er which the world doth weep ;-or that which is
At once the tomb and glory of the land.
I've met thee on the stormy cliff alone,
At midnight, when the yesty waves below
Mingling with bolt and flash, broke on the shore-
Then thou wert wildly beautiful!-thine eye
Had Heaven's lustre, and thy lip its language-
The deep convulsions of the clouds ;-the groan.
Of the untenanted caverns,-and the burst
Of the conflicting elements, that met
Like the rude breakers on a troubled sea,
And, grappling, fell together,the wild cry

Of the Earth's creatures, as their shuddering sight
Was blasted by the scene they gazed on,-all
Had terrible expression in thy looks.
I've met thee in the moonlight's stilly hour
Upon the mountain track: the high trees spread
Their broad, expanding branches to the beams,
And threw a shadow round my path-the leaves

Isabel, & Dramatic Poem..

Lay couched upon the narrow way, and rustled
As my feet pressed them-and there was no voice
In echo to my step-but thou wert there!
It was a calm and lovely solitude,

And all my spirits felt thy plastic sway.

(Lindenberg enters at the back.)

Lin.

I've left the revellers-their lawless shout
Still rings a boisterous peal, and from the din
Of man and music seek my Agnes here.

(Sees her)

Now by thy radiant eye, more worth to me
Than yon bright moon, and her attendant stars,
Thou art a very truant-why desert

So soon, and sudden your own Lindenberg ?
Come-come these melancholy wanderings
Ill suit a Baron's bride ;-you should be gay,
And, casting off this dress of seriousness,
Assume a habit of less sombre cast.
I would not that our vassals should perceive
Your solitary musings-they might hint
A hundred causes hurtful to us both.

Agnes. Why-why reproach me thus-I cannot move,
Nor sigh, nor wish for absent friends, nor ask
A question with a pensive look, but you,
I know not why it is, are still displeased.
Sometimes indeed there are, when, thus, alone,
Your brow unclouded by a frown, your eye
Full of devotion, flattery on your lip,

Lin.

And kindness at your heart you speak as gently
As if any peace-

[interrupts her hastily] Do I not speak so now ?
Oh! Agnes, those who love as I do, cannot
With common temper act-our burning hearts,
Full of exalted thoughts, and restless love,
Spurn at dull patience :-headstrong and yet weak,
O'er-ruling, yet o'er-ruled, we are the slaves
Of that which we control-at moments calm,
At others like the hurricane, we feel

No pause from pain which we ourselves create :
When we would chide, our transport fools itself,
And we exceed or falter at the task-

When we would praise, or thank, or play the lover,
We still are inconsistent ;—I'd be kind,
For ever kind to thee-but-there are thoughts

Isabel, a Dramatic Poem.

Which sometimes cross my mind-fugitive thoughts-
1 heed them not, but they at times distress-
No matter they can never break my rest,
While Agnes wreathes her snowy arms so fondly
Around me.-Agnes, hath your boasted sex
Fidelity like mine?-in sorrow still

My soul was with thee-who can part us now?
Agnes. Oh! through distress, and agony, and fear,

Through battle, and through danger, and despair,
How oft has woman proved her plighted faith ?—
She is a paragon of truth and virtue,-
Her name is like a spell that conjures up
Pure thoughts of holy excellence,―her vows
Are like the breath of angel promises,
And only pledged to bless and to redeem.
Poets have made her all that she deserves,
And moulded fictions on her fealty—
Romantic fictions!-

[4 moan is heard as proceeding from a distance-Lindenberg approaches the casement, and watches earnestly-a pause of mutual agitation—in a few moments a voice as if struggling against pain is distinguished :]

A voice from the clouds on Martha fell,
Its tone was like an unearthly spell —
By demons uttered, by demons given,
It borrowed the blissful notes of Heaven-

Oh! had she died when the blasting ray
Of the lightning-flash had crossed her way,
Oh! had she died while the spirit within
Was pure and chaste-untainted by sin-

She might have lain in her mountain bed,-
No parent's curse on her wretched head-
No foot unhallow'd had turn'd to tread
The grave where rested the lonely dead.

But she was doomed, and she roams the world,
Like one on whose path despair is hurled.

She has no refuge from anguish now,
And madness is branded on her brow.

[Lindenberg continues to gaze on the terrace and woods below- Agnes,

grasps his arm.]