Let the wave be my grave-none more silent I crave;

Let my shroud be the rustling sea;

Yet, witha-think me not to salt-water a slave :

Love-an ocean of love-let it be !

HAL.

FLOWERS AND FROWNS.

THE flowers breathing perfumes of heaven, a bright creation born to minister delight, to them alone may tender woman be compared. Yet when have flowers frowned?-As the bee that nestles in their open cups, robbing them of all their honey, and presenting its unlooked-for sting to the caressing hand of love, even such is the dark frown when it settles on fair woman's brow.

HAL.

EMILIA GALOTTI.

A Tragedy.

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

EMILIA GALOTTI has never, I believe, been translated into English; a matter of no small surprise, since this remarkable tragedy claims no less proud a distinction than that of having completed the reformation of the German taste, and turned its literature into the channel in which it at present flows. The Francomania and the Græcomania, long staggering under the well-directed force of Lessing's powerful criticism, before this specimen of the might of a genuine German spirit, were at length laid prostrate; and the German people, seized with astonishment at the superiority of their own natural powers, as exhibited by this glorious monument of their genius, were for the first time inspired with the desire of possessing a national literature. The example set, they laboured with diligence and effect; and it is to the direction given by Lessing to their thoughts, and decided by this specimen of German capabilities,-it is to this that we owe the mighty fabric of which the noble Schiller is the crowning glory. Had not Emilia Galotti been written, it is doubtful whether Don Carlos would have appeared. There is here no space to dwell upon the struggles that Lessing prosecuted, with a giant's force, against the unhealthy influence of the pseudo-classic French: sufficient that he prevailed, and won for himself the glory of being regarded by all posterity as the regenerator of German literature. He pointed out the false conceptions of the classic model by which the French laws of criticism were governed, the lifelessness of the French tragedians; and when Wieland translated Shakspere he was the first to proclaim with a mighty voice to his countrymen the glories of our immortal bard, and urge them to that zealous study of his works that has since formed so prominent a feature in the German character.

Emilia Galotti is justly looked upon as the first GERMAN tragedy. For the first time events of modern life were substituted for the strange deeds of heroes of antiquity; for the first time a modern court and modern courtiers assumed the place of Grecian or of

Roman monarchs. The bias of Lessing had always been dramatic, his pieces always successful, but they had never given promise of a work like this. By heightening the contrast to render the victory yet more decided between the style against which he combated, and that German spirit he endeavoured to revive,-to point out yet more convincingly that the life of the present day is not beneath the dignity of tragedy,-he abandoned even the fictitious aid of a poetic dress, and wrote his Emilia in simple prose. The change was no loss from bad Alexandrians to a style of which even a French critic has said, that it is so simple and chaste, so apparently without effort, and yet so exquisitively modulated, that while it never appears too elevated for a simple colloquy, we are not once reminded that it is not verse we read; and the same critic places it among the standard models of elegant prose composition.

Neither is the plot, neither are the characters, more beyond nature than the style. Every character is perfectly conceived, and seems to live and breathe before us. The stern, rough virtue of Odoardo, the exquisite delicacy, the simple, lovely purity of Emilia herself a creature such as only the noblest mind could have conceived-every character, in fact, is presented to us vividly by master strokes.

"Nathan the Wise" succeeded "Emilia Galotti," and excited, if possible, a more remarkable sensation, attributable in a degree, no doubt, to its somewhat controversial character: its influence was great, but rather political than literary, in promoting the cause which it advocated-of religious toleration. Nathan is generally considered the master piece of Lessing; without question it is a noble poem, but as a drama certainly, ay, and as a work of genius, I must confess a preference for Emilia Galotti.

Be this as it may, Emilia is the first German tragedy, the foundation of the German literature as we now behold it; this fact gives it a peculiar interest: it is, moreover, a tragedy perfect in its form, unsurpassed in its execution, one of the finest Germany has produced, thoroughly in accordance also with the English taste, and therefore, I think, worthy of translation.

When a gentleman of considerable pretension some time since translated Nathan the Wise, all the critics cried out against Lessing for his vulgarity and bad versification. Now Nathan the Wise, independently of its graceful thoughts, is written, as all who have read it acknowledge, in the most elegant iambics with which a modern language ever was adorned; but the translation was in the most

wretched doggrel with which a noble monument ever was defiled. The critics read a translation, and fancied they were passing judgment upon Lessing. I mention this lest my own faults should in a similar manner be imputed to him for whom I claim admiration, and earnestly entreat the reader if he find fault with diction not again to commit the injustice of blaming Lessing, whose style is faultless, but the translator, who thus proves himself unequal to his task.

As the acts are not too long, one will be given entire in each number of this magazine, until the completion of the play, which will thus be included within the compass of the present volume.

HAL.

EMILIA GALOTTI.

A Tragedy.

(Translated from the German of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing.)

(The Scene is in the Cabinet of the Prince.)

SCENE I.-The PRINCE at a table covered with letters and papers, over some of which he glances hastily.

Complaints, nothing but complaints! Petitions, nothing but petitions! The melancholy task; and yet men envy us!-Ay truly, if we could but help them all, then were we to be envied.— Emilia? (opening one of the petitions, and observing the name

undersigned.) An Emilia? But an Emilia Bruneschi-not Galotti. Not Emilia Galotti! What does she ask, this Emilia Bruneschi? (Reads.) Much to require of me; very much. But then she is an Emilia. Be it granted! (Signs and rings a bell; a Servant enters.) None of my advocates I suppose are in the ante

chamber?

SERV. No.

The morning

PRINCE. I have commenced my day too soon. is so fair, I will ride out. Marquis Marinelli shall be my compauion. Let him be called. (Exit Servant.) No, I can work no more. I was so quiet, I imagined, so quiet-and suddenly some miserable Bruneschi must call herself Emilia:-gone is my quietude, and all!—

SERV. (re-entering.) The marquis has been sent for. And here, a letter from the Countess Orsina.

PRINCE. Orsina? Lay it down.

SERV. Her courier waits.

PRINCE. The answer shall be sent, if answer be required. Where is she? In the town, or at her villa?

SERV. She arrived yesterday in town.

PRINCE. So much the worse-better, I would have said; the courier has the less need to wait. (Exit Servant.) My precious Countess! (bitterly, taking the letter in his hand.) As good so as read, (casting it aside again.)-Ay, well; I once fancied that I loved her! What fancies does one not have sometimes! be that I have actually loved her. But-I have!

May

SERV. (re-entering.) The painter Conti entreats the honourPRINCE. Conti? Right opportune; let him enter.—That will put other thoughts into my head. (Rises.)

SCENE II.-CONTI. The PRINCE.

PRINCE. Good morning, Conti. How live you? How goeth on thine art?

CON. Prince, mine art goeth after bread.

PRINCE. That must it not; that shall it not,-assuredly not in my small territory.-But the artist must not fear to labour.

CON. Labour? That is his delight. Only too much labour may ruin him the name of artist.

PRINCE. I mean not many things; but much: a little; but with industry. You come not empty-handed, Conti?