(Rinaldo enters, much agitated.) Rin. You are alone, my father? Fal. Quite alone.

Rin. No witness overhears us ?

Fal. What has happen'd?

Whence com'st thou ?-What has moved thee thus ?

Rin. I come,

Even now, from a mysterious conference, That all my veins has fired and agitated, As in the wild rage of a half lost battle, "Twas never mine to feel. From Contarini, I learn that you, my father, have conspired With him against our native land;-to crush

The establish'd laws of Venice, and yourselves

Raise up to power supreme;-reckless to shed,

To your own passions, in dire sacrifice,
The blood of citizens and noblemen;
With more of horrid crimes, that I repeat

But that which I have known and have en

joy'd

Seizes and rules resistlessly my heart.As I have known her from mine earliest years,

Even as I loved her with my first affections, Wears Venice still the garb of consecration.

Fal. Too lightly such divinities by youth Are fashion'd; for imagination then Teems, like the fleeting clouds of morn and even,

With ever-changing hues; nor hesitates, Even on the meanest phantom of the brain, The beaming wreath of glory to bestow. What seest thou of divinity in Venice ?— Freedom, perchance? And yet, in sober truth,

The people are enslaved. Not only they,We all are slaves ;-nor only deeds but words

Are fetter'd here. And no one knows today

What harsh command awaits him on the

morrow.

Our justice, then? Nay, boy, our judges sit

Calmly, and pour forth their anathemas,
Even like the inscrutable decrees of fate,
On their defenceless victims. Or, per
chance,

Thy fancy dwells on the free path that still
Is open to preferment by high deeds?
But narrow is the circle wherein here
Virtue dare claim her rights. Whether the

crown,

By merit won, our temples shall adorn, Birth must decide, though nature oft hath rear'd,

Even in the humblest cot, her favourites ; And lavish'd gifts of heaven-born genius there

That in proud palaces are sought in vain!

We should willingly give the rest of the dialogue, but it is very long; and, by his liberal introduction of politics, we think the author has gone too far. The work, perhaps, was not destined for the stage; yet, an attempt to explain the constitution of Venice was here superfluous. Every mode of persuasion, however, is exhausted between the parties; and, towards the end of the scene, the dialogue becomes sufficiently impassioned. It closes, at last, with the despair of Rinaldo, and denunciations of the implacable resentment and resolution of Faledro.

At the beginning of the second act, Rinaldo is discovered walking distractedly through his chamber, while near him, on a table with lights, appears a large book, which he has just been consulting. His soliloquy in the first paragraph is somewhat obscure, and yet not very original; the rest is better,

Nature demands affection to a fatherYet cleaves my soul unto my father-land!Two elements there are, that in the realms

rights, shall the son, on such an occasion, be silent?-Surely not. On the contrary, he shall, in the first place, try every method of persuasion, and even threats, with his father, and if these do not succeed, it is his duty to give the preference to his country !" A dialogue now follows, displaying considerable ingenuity, but at the same time exceedingly undramatic. The author has very skilfully contrived, however, that every word uttered by Kalergos, tends more and more to distract and madden his unfortunate pupil.-Kalergos himself becomes at last so completely puzzled and confounded, that he retires, requesting a few days to deliberate on the subject in solitude,

peace,

more miserable than he had found him.

A short scene follows this, which is in some respects sufficiently effective. -Faledro apprehending that his son would reveal the conspiracy, has formed the notion of keeping Rinaldo for the next twelve or twenty-four hours a prisoner in his chamber. For this purpose, Matteo, a servant of the doge, now appears; but the moment that Rinaldo is thoroughly aware of his intentions, he seizes his intended guard by the collar, thrusts him violently aside, and escapes. To this succeeds a short conference, full of anxiety and preparation between Faledro and Contarini, after whose disappearance we again meet with Rinaldo, who is now accompanied by, and in the house of his intimate friend Bernardo, to whom traordinary situation in which he is he has confidentially disclosed the explaced. Of the dialogue between them we can afford room only for a few lines at the beginning.

Rin. A dream? a jest!-Am I then such a jester?Or is there here a carnival when folly Reigns uncontroll'd ?—

Ber. Thou speak'st in earnest then? Rin. In earnest ? aye! so my deep sufferings prove!

I wonder not that thou should'st doubt.

They would yet seek reward by treachery,

And bold disclosure

Should we proceed any farther with this dialogue, it would be necessary to transcribe the whole, and considering that there are three long acts before us, this would be rather too much. It is indeed much more dramatic and poetical than the disputation on the same subject with Kalergos. The character of Bernardo is in itself finely drawn.He is eloquent, impassioned, and (like Rinaldo) unhappy-but though his arguments, and the conclusions that he draws, are utterly different from those of Kalergos, yet they have precisely the same effect on our hero, by rendering him only more wretched than ever.-Bernardo, on one occasion, observes, that to injure a king on his throne, a priest at the altar, or a father in his own home, are all horrible crimes; but that of those sacred persons, a father is of all the most important. To this Rinaldo instantly replies, that such an argument is, in his estimation, utterly vain-for that by naming his native country, (" fatherland)," he expresses in one word the concentration of all sanctities. Indeed, we think that the attempts of Rinaldo to obtain advice and consolation, first, from the learning of Kalergos; secondly, from the friendship, spirit, and

sympathy of his brother soldier, Bernardo; and, thirdly, (as it appears afterwards) from a Catholic priest, are, to a solitary student, among the best parts of the poem. Yet, notwithstanding this, their merit is altogether undramatic. Their beauty consists in the diversity of interest which the author has given to each dialogue ;-but this would be lost on the stage; for an audience must of necessity judge of every thing in the gross. In like manner, they neither know nor care whether the diamonds in the tiara of an actress are true or false. It is the toute for. These three scenes resemble each ensemble only that is conceived or cared other in their general effect, and in their conclusion, all tending to weave more inextricably the meshes of perplexity and despair around Rinaldo. Though philosophically and historically correct, they would, on account of this resemblance, be tedious on the stage. We have been led en passant into this disquisition, because we think that Frofessor Raupach, as a dramatic author, is deserving of counsel and encouragement.

After the hopeless conference with Bernardo, Rinaldo has an interview with Isarel, one of the conspirators, from whom he obtains by stratagem every particular relating to the conduct of the enterprize. After another soliloquy, conceived much in the same spirit with that already quoted, the drop scene falls.

At the beginning of the third act, we find Clara waiting in the garden of Contarini's palace, to keep an appointment with her betrothed lover, which we forgot to mention, had been agreed upon, before their conversation was interrupted, in the first act. Clara is yet utterly unconscious of all the horrors, which have been disclosed, and whose consequences are darkly brooding over her. Her mind dwells yet the beautiful imagery and passionate declarations of their former dialogue ; and her only cause of perturbation arises from the unaccountable delay of Rinaldo. He comes at last, however, and under the disguise of a PRETENDED DREAM, describes to her the fearful agitation which he has undergone.

ACT III.

сп

SCENE I.-Night. The pleasure grounds behind Contarini's palace,—with a glass door opening from a veranda into the

Be not thus angry.-"Tis unto myself A riddle, how I have so long delay'd!— Cla. The time

Perchance will come ere long, when I must learn

To bear such lengthened absence uncomplaining.

That anxious longing of a lover's heart That flatters foolish woman, but extends Unto the wedding day.

Rin. Jest not, dear Clara!

I merit not thy scorn.-'Twas all the work Of adverse chance. Heaven knows how it befell.

I was so tir'd-yet would not leave the place,

Watching for thee, ere yet our hour was

come;

At last I sat beneath the dusky shade Of a large oak there in the park ;—while all

Was silent round me,-save the ceaseless voice

Of the deep murmuring sca.

Cla. You fell asleep?—

Rin. Strange-yet 'tis true-I slept.
Cla. And dream'd perchance ?-
Rin. Ay, love, I dream'd-but not those
visions bland,

That sooth a bridegroom's solitary hoursSome wandering demon of the approaching night,

Wove o'er my senses such a horrid spell, That even in thy bright presence scarcely

now

Can I regain my courage.

Cla. Tell me,-dearest,

What hast thou dream'd?--Yet evil dreams, 'tis said,

Are of good omen-even as morning clouds Portend a brilliant day.

Rin. Nay-from the depth

Of hell, methinks, the colouring was deriv'd That in my visious rul'd.-Methought, my father

Had join'd with thine in dire conspiracy, For the destruction of our native land,And chosen our marriage festival to be Their carnival of murder.-All the nobles They had decreed to death. Nor bough nor twig

Should of our ancient oak of liberty Remain to Venice.-On her ruins then, My father sought to triumph and ascend The throne of power despotic,

Cla. Foolish world

Of shapes and thoughts fantastic-yet tormenting!

Rin. Yet listen to the rest-methought the shades

Of night were deep around me. In that hour

Of gloom and mystery was reveal'd to me Their horrid scheme. All was to me disclos'd

And yet I cannot now recall by whom, Nor where. Methought I stood before the jaws

Of yawning hell, and cast a shuddering gaze

Into the dread abyss whence racking doubts

In form personified of hideous fiends Swarm'd round me, and mine inmost heart

assail'd

Should I, methought, be silent-or reveal At once whate'er I knew?-Protect my father,

Or save my country ?-See our Venice fall From all her ancient glory and renown, And henceforth from posterity in vain, Hiding her mournful aspect of disgrace And slavish degradation? Then I swore A solemn oath-Be that day's light accurs'd,

That gleaming on her ruins, shall rejoice
Rinaldo's eyes. But how methought shall
I-

How can I save my country?—
Mark I not,

Here by the lurid beams of hell disclos'd,
Her chains already forg'd and rivetted ?——
And then-my father too-his hoary head
Bent on the block-his blood already shed-
Thee too I see before me-trembling, pale,
And death-like-For the stroke that laid
him low

Mars all our hopes.-Oh, dire concatena

tion!

Without a real cause, thus haunt thy slum

ber?

Even as the current of my life flows on, My dreams are mark'd by varying pain and pleasure;

Thus, oftenest thy dear image I behold! If love inspir'd thee, as it rules thy Clara, Thy visions would not prove thus horrible. Rin. How can'st thou blame me thus?

I know, indeed,

Thou doubt'st not of my truth. If I am driven

By mine own sufferings thus to trouble thee,

To dim the cloudless lustre of thine eyes,— Blame then my fate, do not mistrust my love!

But now, thou should'st retire-The midnight hour

Is past Arcturus sinks, and from the sea Cold morning breezes rise. Therefore good night!

(Embracing her.)

Cla. Ay, morning will be here, anon-
Farewell!

And may your sleep be sound!-These fearful dreams

Indeed have marr'd our meeting.

Rin. (Embracing her again, and violently agitated.) Now, good night !--Good night!

No sooner is Clara left alone with her friend, Isabella, than she begins to suspect, from the singularity of Rinaldo's manner, that in what he has related, there is something more than a dream. She endeavours to resist this impression, however, and desires Isabella to sing. (The song, by the bye, is very good.) After interchanging a few sentences, they retire.

Rinaldo, meanwhile, has, as a last resource, betaken himself to his Father Confessor, with whom we find him in the next scene, seated on a tomb-stone in the church-yard, belonging to a said before, we think these conversaneighbouring monastery. As we have tions, in which the hero vainly endeavours to gain assistance from the advice of his friends, among the best parts of the play. But, like its precursors, this dialogue is too long to quote. Clara had, indeed, previously given her lover the best advice; but he had declared that his principles and conscience would not permit him to fly with her, and, if he remains at Venice,

it is obvious that he cannot stand neuter. Consequently we now very soon perceive, that he has resolved to give up