E'en now, while death is on thee! Oh! the touch

Rekindles tenfold frenzy in my heart:
I rush, I fly impetuous to the shrine,
The image of yon ruthless Deity,

Impatient for her prey. Before thy death,
There, there, I too, self-sacrificed, will fall.

Vain is each obstacle-In vain the gods
Themselves would check my fury-I am lord
Of my own days-and thus I swear-

Alc. Yes! swear

Admetus! for thy children to sustain
The load of life. All other impious vows,
Which thou, a rebel to the sovereign will
Of those who rule on high, might'st dare to form
Within thy breast; thy lip, by them enchain'd,
Would vainly seek to utter.-See'st thou not,
It is from them the inspiration flows,

Which in my language breathes? They lend me

power,.

They bid me through thy strengthen'd soul transfuse
High courage, noble constancy. Submit,

Bow down to them thy spirit. Be thou calm;
Be near me. Aid me. In the dread extreme
To which I now approach, from whom but thee
Should comfort be derived? Afflict me not,
In such an hour, with anguish worse than death,
O faithful and beloved, support me still!

The choruses with which this tragedy is interspersed, are distinguished for their melody and classic beauty. The following translation will give our readers a faint idea of the one by which the third act is concluded.

Alc. My children! all is finish'd. Now, farewell! To thy fond care, O Pheres! I commit

My widow'd lord: forsake him not.

Eum. Alas!

Sweet mother! wilt thou leave us? from thy side Are we for ever parted?

Phe. Tears forbid

All utterance of our woes. Bereft of sense,
More lifeless than the dying victim, see
The desolate Admetus. Farther yet,

Still farther, let us bear him from the sight
Of his Alcestis.

Alc. O my handmaids! still

Lend me your pious aid, and thus compose
With sacred modesty these torpid limbs

When death's last pang is o'er.

Alas! how weak

Chorus,

८

Her struggling voice! that last keen pang is near.

Peace, mourners, peace!

Be hush'd, be silent, in this hour of dread!

Our cries would but increase

The sufferer's pangs; let tears unheard be shed.

Cease, voice of weeping, cease!

Sustain, O friend!

Upon thy faithful breast,

The head that sinks with mortal pain opprest!

And thou assistance lend

To close the languid eye,

Still beautiful in life's last agony.

Alas! how long a strife!

What anguish struggles in the parting breath

Ere yet immortal life

Be won by death!

Death! death! thy work complete!

Let thy sad hour be fleet,

Speed, in thy mercy, the releasing sigh!

No more keen pangs impart

To her, the high in heart,

Th' adored Alcestis, worthy ne'er to die.

Chorus of Admetus.

'Tis not enough, oh no!

To hide the scene of anguish from his eyes; Still must our silent band

Around him watchful stand,

And on the mourner ceaseless care bestow, That his ear catch not grief's funereal cries.

Yet, yet hope is not dead,

All is not lost below,

While yet the gods have pity on our woe.
Oft when all joy is fled,

Heaven lends support to those

Who on its care in pious hope repose.
Then to the blessed skies

Let our submissive prayers in chorus rise.
Pray! bow the knee, and pray!
What other task have mortals, born to tears,

Whom fate controls with adamantine sway?
O ruler of the spheres!

Jove! Jove! enthroned immortally on high,
Our supplication hear!

Nor plunge in bitterest woes

Him, who nor footstep moves nor lifts his eye
But as a child, which only knows
Its father to revere.

IL CONTE DI CARMAGNOLA;

A TRAGEDY.

BY ALESSANDRO MANZONI.

FRANCESCO BUSSONE, the son of a peasant in Carmagnola, from whence his nom de guerre was derived, was born in the year 1390. Whilst yet a boy, and employed in the care of flocks and herds, the lofty character of his countenance was observed by a soldier of fortune, who invited the youth to forsake his rustic occupations, and accompany him to the busier scenes of the camp. His persuasions were successful, and Francesco entered with him into the service of Facino Cane, Lord of Alessandria. At the time when Facino died, leaving fourteen cities acquired by conquest to Beatrice di Tenda, his wife, Francesco di Carmagnola was amongst the most distinguished of his captains. Beatrice afterwards marrying Philip Visconti, Duke of Milan (who rewarded her by an igno

minious death for the regal dowry she had conferred upon him), Carmagnola entered his army at the same time, and having, by his eminent services, firmly established the tottering power of that prince, received from him the title of Count, and was placed at the head of all his forces. The natural caprice and ingratitude of Philip's disposition, however, at length prevailed, and Carmagnola, disgusted with the evident proof of his wavering friendship and doubtful faith, left his service and his terrritories, and after a variety of adventures, took refuge in Venice. Thither the treachery of the Duke pursued him, and emissaries were employed to procure his assassination. The plot, however, proved abortive, and Carmagnola was elected captain-general of the Venetian armies, during the league formed by that republic against the Duke of Milan. The war was at first carried on with much spirit and success, and the battle of Maclodio, gained by Carmagnola, was one of the most important and decisive actions of those times. The night after the combat, the victorious soldiers gave liberty to almost all their prisoners. The Venetian envoys having made a complaint on this subject to the Count, he enquired what was become of the captives; and upon being informed that all, except four hundred, had been set free, he gave orders that the remaining ones also should be released immediately, according to the custom which prevailed amongst the armies of those days, the object of which was to prevent a speedy termination of the war. This proceeding of Carmagnola's occasioned much distrust and irritation in the minds of the Venetian rulers, and their displeasure was