That towards me it push'd on its rustling coils. I made me hastily from that poisonous breath As from the tree I bare it, Jas. Away! Jas. Go foremost thou. I follow with the Fleece. What follows is little else than matter of course, except that our author properly spares his heroine the crime of her brother's death. In the last conflict near the ship, as the Greeks are at the point of embarking, he is made prisoner. Jason uses the danger of his life to deter Aietes from further violence, intending, he says, to take him on board, and reland him where pursuit must cease, at the extremity of the Colchian coast. But the gallant-spirited boy calls impatiently on his father to free him with arms; and when he sees that the menace of Jason is effectual, and that fear of the consequences to himself keeps back Aietes from the attempt to release him, or further to obstruct the pro ceeding of the Greeks, not bearing that his safety should blunt his Colchians' weapons, and disdaining even for a little while to live without liberty, he throws himself from the rock, on to which he has been led, into the sea, and perishes. The unhappy father, bereaved of his last childand in the same moment vanquished in his last hold of hope and courage, by being shewn the pledge, as he, with inconsistent superstition, has, from the dream of Phryxus, believed it to be, of Victory and Revenge to its possessor-the Fleece-in the hands of his enemy-falls upon the earth, which he invokes to unclose its graves; and the Argonauts embark unmolested. THIRD PLAY OF THE TRILOGY. FOUR years, since she turned her prow from Colchis, have seen the Argo a wanderer of the deep. One month has passed since she gave back the last and leader-of her hero-crew to his birth-place, Iolcos; and already, driven out by the citizens in tumult, on suspicion of having part in the sudden death of its king, his usurping uncle Pelias, Jason is in flight, with his family, through Greece. They have reached Corinth, where, connect ed in ties, hereditary and personal, of ancient hospitality with Creon the King, he hopes for an asylum. This Third Drama, opening, discovers the Tent, which he has pitched without the walls, awaiting the opportunity to prefer his supplication. The time is "early morning, before daybreak." Medea is seen, with a slave, in the act of interring, in a chest of singular appearance, the implements and memorials of her inherited Art; of which some are enumerated :-" the veil and rod of the goddess;" one vessel inclosing flames, ready to seize and consume him who imprudently opens it; another, filled with sudden death; many herbs, and many stones of might; to all which she lastly adds the "monument of her own shame and guilt," and token of her house's calamity, the unhappy Golden Fleece. She explains that she makes this sacrifice to the Country of Light, of which she is become, as she trusts, an inhabitant, -and to her husband's weakened affection. For the woe denounced and imprecated against her by her father, dead of sorrow, as she has heard, since her flight, has fallen on her. The love, suddenly inflamed amidst dangers and wild difficulty, at a distance from the country which nursed and stamped his early feelings and impressions, has, in some measure, during their exiled houseless wandering, but far more since they set foot in Greece, decayed in Jason's breast; giving way, in a mind not generous or tender, and which, it should seem, asked, therefore, some incitement, by obstacles, to its passion,-in part, to the tranquillity of possession,-but more actively altered and estranged by the reawakening of thoughts, which only vehement pas sion suppressed, the disdainful aversion of the Greek for the Barbarian. To which add that which this author has selected as the deep and invincible Med. ground of their separation,-the abhorrence of the Greek for dark and terrible arts, unknown to his own superstition. Since his return, the open and violent utterance by the people of indignation, scorn, and loathing for the Colchian and sorceress,-and for him who has united himself with her, has not only most deeply wounded his pride and self-love, but by pain brought into these strongest principles of his nature referring to her, has exasperated, it seems, what was languishing kindness, or incipient alienation, into a resentful and bitter hostile feeling, profounder and stronger than he has yet chosen to declare to her, or perhaps acknowledged to himself. Jason has entered among the interlocutors of the first scene, speaking with a countryman, whom he had charged with his message to the King. When he has received the answer, Medea comes forward. Have greeting. Jas. And thou!-But ye, (to the Slave,) thou and thy fellows, go, And break yourselves green branches from the trees, As is of supplicants the usage here; And hold you quiet then, and still. Hear'st thou ? (To the Countryman.) Enough. Med. Jas. Med. The Countryman and the Slave go out. Thou'rt busied. No hour of rest. Jas. A fugitive, and rest! Med. Thou hast not slept to-night: thou wentest forth, Jas. I stay here waiting for him. Med. He was. He will comply. Jas. Men shun the fellowship of the plague touch'd. Jas. Med. I have said, No. Jas. Indeed? Then do I say to thee Brew not from cull'd herbs juices, drinks of sleep; For thou hast given me, and thou keep'st thy word. Are rife, unstirr'd-and all too prompt to spring? -There do they lie, fair Corinth's warlike towers, I only changed-I in myself another. Ye gods! why was my morning's splendour given, Thou lov'st me: nor I know it not, Medea. I know thy head droops under many a grief, This country's King received me to his hearth, Creon, and his daughter Creusa, going out to sacrifice to Neptune, on the sea-shore, pass by their tent. Jason, who had charged his messenger with his request, and the title by which he made it, but not his name, makes himself known. Creon's first anxiety is to understand the truth of the accusation, divulged through Greece, from which he flies; and being satisfied, by Jason's solemn asse◄ VOL. XXIV. veration, of his innocence, he offers him for himself the protection he had formerly enjoyed. This Jason afterwards explains to him, that he cannot accept, unless with those who are dependent on him; to which also the King consents, unwillingly, suspecting and fearing Medea; but not before Creusa, from regarding her at first with dislike as a Barbarian, and with horror as a Sorceress, gradually won, Y when they converse alone, to more tenderness, by the natural expression of her melancholy desolate feelings, has already extended the invitation to her and her children. There is something entirely new, we believe, and in the first effect hap py, in our author's management of this ancient story-in the idea of thus as sociating Medea and Creusa. And there is one scene, which, how far to praise for discreet execution we know not, but it is well-purposed, where the kindness of one, and gratitude of the other, are worked together into a sort of placid charm, like a vernal gleaming of gentle affections and hopes, before the storm seize its possession of the sky. The temper, naturally austere, and now gloomy with sorrows and self-reproach, of the Colchian wife, is attracted and softened by the serene, still, gracious spirit of her destined rival, who pities, and is zealous to aid her, in fashioning herself to her new country. She has taken its dress; and in the scene of which we speak is trying, not aptly, with hand wont to the grasp of bow and spear, to repeat the sweet skill of Creusa's on the lyre; and, with the voice, that better knew to compel reluctant spirits, to catch from hers the sprightly music of a song, which was Jason's when a boy. These are unforbidden arts, which the compassionate instructress does, and the forlorn pupil fain would hope shall have power to re-attach, at least gently to touch, one altered heart. The lesson is interrupted by him who is its object. He finds Medea a reason for her absence; and, in the conversation that follows with Creusa, returning upon their earlier years, discovers that, under the guise of brotherly and sisterly kindness, a stronger affection had arisen between them, and that the idea of their future union, by others than themselves had been-half-seriously, perhaps, half-sportively-entertained. She, clear-thoughted and calm, in that past divided inseparably from the present, sees only pleasant recollection. He joins the two; and, throwing himself back with ardent fancy into that season of his rejoicing youth, contrasts, though not so as to make sensible to the innocent-hearted maiden the reference to herself, the unhappy marriage into which he has fallen, with that which the pure heart dictates, and the gods favour. The return of Medea does not check these thoughts, nor, however painful to her, nor, for a time, however patiently borne, their utterance. When this torture, with variations, has gone the length of the poet's use for it, it is diverted by the King entering much disturbed, to declare the coming, and on what errand, of a herald of the Amphictyons. He follows, and proceeds to execute his office, by proclaiming the ban of the holy sovereign council against the murderers of King Pelias-Jason and Medea. Against her, as the herald is led to explain, for he employs the criminal designation with latitude, the perpetrator of the death-against him, who brought the Sorceress into Greece-who further, according to the rudeness of judicial thought in such early times, joined with her in marriage, is joined in the condemnation of her guilt, or, as the herald words it, "The partner of one infamous, himself infamous." Jason attempts to repel the charge, by denying that his wife had the access alleged to the King's person, since, when, as the herald has recited, the daughters came to solicit for their fa ther the succour of her skill, he had refused her going. "Yes!" the herald says, "for the first time;" but adds, that on the request being repeated, she had, unknown to him, gone with them, conditioning only, in requital of her aid, for possession of the Fleece, which Jason had, on his return to Iolcos, delivered up to his uncle, the author of the Expedition. The messenger pursues his narrative: The maidens, much rejoicing, promised this; Be open'd; which was done. He lighter breathed; At once a cry is heard. In fearful haste The old man lay on earth, wildly convulsed; On this, perhaps not wholly incontestable proof of circumstances, he as commissioned banishes them from the earth, walked by gods, of the Greeks; to any, that, after three days and three nights shall harbour them, denouncing, if a private person, Death, -if a people, if a king, War. But Creon makes reply, that he avouches Jason innocent, takes him under his protection, and answers for him before the Amphictyons. Who, moreover, he demands, shall dare im peach the clear name of his son-inlaw? "Yes! of his son-in-law, for the purpose of the happy shall be brought to effect in the darker days; and the hand of Jason united to his daughter." With which answer he dismisses the herald. Creon now turns to Medea, the detested offspring of the wilderness, the doer of crimes, of which Jason sustains the shame and pursuit, and, in his own kingdom her judge, but adopting the conviction of another tribunal, pronounces her death, if the morrow find her within his borders. She answers that she is innocent; and when this declaration changes not the King's doom, calls upon her husband to go with her. He refuses; and, either authorized to himself by the solemn public judgment under which she stands, using, without remorse, its force to dissever intolerable ties, or letting loose the expression of his hate, he delivers her over to her father's curses. She demands her children-they are denied her-and she goes out, fired with her wrongs, and menacing vengeance on the Three. Struck with her threats, and having from the first seemed to labour under uneasy impressions of her powers, she has no sooner left them than Creon takes alarm at the leisure allowed by himself for her departure, which he now limits to the passing day. This alteration is not without consequences. In the first place, as she refuses to receive any communication from the slave sent, it leads to the King's going in person with Jason to acquaint her with it-this leads to her obtaining from the latter, against Creon's prudent and strong dissuasion, a private colloquyand this again to an incident of our author's devising, which he has made of much force, in bringing on the peculiar catastrophe of this drama. In this unwitnessed colloquy she begins by clearing herself to Jason, who is without power to doubt her simple recital, from his uncle's imputed murder. She next, returning to tenderness,-for latterly her language has been, more exasperated perhaps, with such cause as she has had, we should hardly say, but more marked, we think, with intimations of an. terior alienation, than we possibly, from want of due attention or reflec tion, had expected,-makes her final suppliant appeal to all kindly, all generous, all honourable feelings in his bosom, that he will not abandon her; and, this failing,-for the unmanly hardness of his spirit is not vulnerable,-in the last place, now resolvedly divorced, as the least favour that can be granted to a mother, and to her the latest, she sues and wrings from him permission for one of their children to go with her, which induces the peculiar incident before alluded to. She gives the following account of the King's mysterious death : Pelias, it should be understood, who, upon some quarrel with his bro ther son, Jason's father, touching his son's expedition, treacherously slew him, had, from the time he acquired it, as in consecration suspended over his domestic altar its Golden trophy, and sat before it in immovable horror, fancying that out of it he saw the face of his brother looking at him, till he fell into seemingly mortal sickness. Thus much we learnt long since from Jason's conversation with Creon. To the fur |