Hath levell'd with the dust the tow'rs of Troy;
Their altars are o'erturn'd, their sacred shrines,
And all the race destroy'd. This iron yoke
Fix'd on the neck of Troy, victorious comes
The great Atrides, of all mortal men
Worthy of highest honours. Paris now,
And the perfidious state, shall boast no more
His proud deeds unreveng'd; stript of his spoils,
The debt of justice for his thefts, his rapines,
Paid amply, o'er his father's house he spreads
With two-fold loss the wide-involving ruin.

Clyt. Joy to thee, herald of the Argive host.
Her. For joy like this, death were a cheap exchange.
Clyt. Strong thy affection to thy native soil.

Her. So strong, the tear of joy starts from my eye. Clyt. What, hath this sweet infection reach'd e'en you?

Her. Beyond the pow'r of language have I felt it. Clyt. The fond desire of those, whose equal loveHer. This of the army say'st thou, whose warm love Streams to this land? is this thy fond desire?

Clyt. Such, that I oft have breath'd the secret sigh. Her. Whence did the army cause this anxious sadness?

Clyt. Silence I long have held a healing balm.

Her. The princes absent, had'st thou whom to fear? Clyt. To use thy words, death were a wish'd exchange.

Her. Well is the conflict ended. In the tide

Of so long time, if 'midst the easy flow

Of wish'd events some tyrannous blast assail us,
What marvel? who, save the blest gods, can claim
Through life's whole course an unmix'd happiness?
Should I relate our toils, our wretched plight,
Wedg'd in our narrow ill-provided cabins,
Each irksome hour was loaded with fatigues.

Yet these were slight essays to those worse hardships
We suffer'd on the shore: our lodging near
The walls of the enemy, the dews of heaven

Fell on us from above, the damps beneath
From the moist marsh annoy'd us, shrouded ill
Or should one relate

In shaggy coverings

The winter's keen blasts, which from Ida's snows Breathe frore, that pierc'd through all their plumes the birds

Shiver and die; or th' extreme heat that scalds,
When in his inid-day caves the sea reclines,
And not a breeze disturbs his calm repose.
But why lament these sufferings? they are past;
Past to the dead indeed; they lie, no more

Anxious to rise. What then avails to count
Those, whom the wasteful war hath swept away,
And with their loss afflict the living? rather
Bid we farewell to misery: in our scale,
Who haply of the Grecian host remain,
The good preponderates, and in counterpoise
Our loss is light; and. after all our toils
By sea and land, before yon golden sun
It is our glorious privilege to boast,

"At length from vanquish'd Troy our warlike troops Have to the gods of Greece brought home these spoils, And in their temples, to record our conquests,

Fix'd these proud trophies." Those, that hear this boast,

It well becomes to gratulate the state,

And the brave chiefs : revering Jove's high pow'r
That grac'd our conquering arms. Thou hast my mes-

sage.

Pythian king. Apollo was called so because he slew the serpent Python. This is figurative: Python was Disease or Malady, and as enemy to the human constitution is called a serpent. Apollo being the god of health, the healer or destroyer of disease, is described as having slain a serpent.

Thy shafis no longer winged for our destruction. This alludes to that pestilence in the Greek camp, which is described in the first book of the Iliad. The instantaneous

operation of the pest, causes its effects to be compared to the sudden and mortal wound of an arrow from the bow. This pestilence is ascribed by Homer to Apollo, as a punishment for the affront offered to his priest Chryses.

Mercury, as the messenger of the gods, was esteemed the patron of heralds, whose character therefore was always held sacred.

SOPHOCLES.

"Sophocles, surnamed the Bee and the Attic Siren, was born at Athens, in the year 495 B. C. He gave early proofs of his talent for poetry, and aptitude for the business of government. He reached the dignity of Archon, and, in this capacity, commanded the armies of the re-、 public of Athens, with considerable reputation. As a tragic writer, he shared the favour of the Athenian public with Euripides, his contemporary and rival. Sophocles died at the advanced age of eighty-five. Some of his biographers relate that he expired from an ecstasy of joy, produced by his having carried the prize at the Olympic Games. But his number of years may alone account for his dissolution. He is said to have composed one hundred and twenty tragedies, of which seven only remain."

ANTIGONE.

The character of Antigone, as she is represented by Sophocles, is that of the loveliest and best of women. She was the daughter of Edipus, king of Thebes. Her father being driven from his kingdom, and having in despair torn out his eyes, his faithful and patient child follows his wanderings, and soothes his sufferings as long as he lives. When her father is no more, she is afflicted by the discord of her brothers, and the persecutions of her uncle Creon. Her affection, fortitude, and undismayed sense of duty, are worthy of a Christian heroine.

To illustrate the dialogue which follows, these notes are extracted from Francklin's Sophocles.

"Eteocles and Polynices, sons of the unfortunate Edipus, having an equal claim to the kingdom of Thebes, had agreed to divide the power, and to reign year by year alternately; but Eteocles stepping first into the throne, and tasting the sweets of sovereignty, broke the contract, and maintained himself in the possession of his dominions Polynices, in revenge, raised an army of Argians, and made an incursion on Thebes; a battle ensued, and, after much slaughter on both sides, the brothers agreed to decide it by single combat; they fought, and were slain by each other. After the death of the brothers, the kingdom of Thebes devolved to their uncle Creon, whose first act of supreme power was an edict forbidding all rites of sepulture to Polynices, as a traitor; and pronouncing instant death on any who should dare to bury him. Here the action of the tragedy commences, the subject of which is the piety of Antigone in opposition to the edict of Creon, with the distresses consequent upon it. gone calls her sister out of the palace into the adjoining area, to inform her of the decree which had been issued on the preceding day, and her resolutions concerning it.

Anti

Of all the honours paid to the dead by the ancients, the care of their funerals was looked upon by them as most necessary and indispensable; as to be deprived of sepulture was accounted the greatest misfortune, and the highest injury. No imprecation was therefore so terrible as that any person might 'die destitute of burial;' it was not to be wondered at that they were thus solicitous about the interment of their dead, when they were strongly possessed with the opinion that the souls of the deceased could not be admitted into the Elysian shades, but were forced to wander desolate and alone, till their bodies were committed to the earth. Nor was it sufficient to be honoured with the solemn performance of their funeral rites, except their bodies were prepared for burial by their relations, and interred in the sepulchres of their fathers."

The importance attached by the Greeks to the rites of sepulture, is clear from that passage in Homer, in which

Achilles is described as seeing, in a vision of the night, his friend Patroclus, who had recently been killed, and who reproaches him with neglecting the last duty to his remains:

"Tis true, 'tis certain, man, though dead, retains Part of himself-the immortal mind remains.

This night my friend so late in battle lost
Stood at my side, a pensive, plaintive ghost.
Sleeps my Achilles'-thus the phantom said-
'Sleeps my Achilles-his Patroclus dead?
Living I seem'd his dearest, tenderest care,
But now forgot I wander in the air.
Let my pale corse the rites of burial know,
And give me entrance to the realms below:
Till then the spirit finds no resting place'

ANTIGONE and ISMENE.

Ant. O! my dear sister, my best-belov'd Ismene,
Is there an evil, by the wrath of Jove
Reserv'd for Edipus' unhappy race,

We have not felt already? sorrow and shame,
And bitterness and anguish, all that's sad,
All that's distressful hath been ours, and now
This dreadful edict from the tyrant comes
To double our misfortunes; hast thou heard
What harsh commands he hath impos'd on all,
Or art thou still to know what future ills

Our foes have yet in store to make us wretched?
Ism. Since that unhappy day, Antigone,
When by each other's hand our brothers fell,
And Greece dismiss'd her armies, I have heard
Nought that could give or joy or grief to me.

Ant. I thought thou wert a stranger to the tidings,
And therefore call'd thee forth, that here alone
I might impart them to thee.

Ism.

O! what are they?
For something dreadful labours in my breast.