Your will must be obey'd. Imperious captive,
It shall. Henceforth I blot you from my mind:
You teach me to forget your charms; to hate you
For know, inhuman beauty, I have lov'd
Too well to treat you with indifference.
Think well upon it, my disorder'd soul
Wavers between th' extremes of love and rage;
I've been too tame; I will awake to vengeance!
The son shall answer for the mother's scorn.
The Greeks demand him: nor will I endanger
My realms, to pleasure an ungrateful woman.

Andr. Then he must die! Alas, my son must die!
He has no friend, no succour left, beside
His mother's tears, and his own innocence.

Pyr. Go, madam; visit this unhappy son.
The sight of him may bend your stubborn heart;
And tarn to softness your unjust disdain.
I shall once more expect your answer. Go,
And think, while you embrace the captive boy,
Think that his life depends on your resolves.

[Exit PYRRHUS, &c.

Andr. I have no hope left!

Andr. I'll go; and in the anguish of my heart, Weep o'er my child-If he must die, my life Is wrapt in his; I shall not long survive. 'Tis for his sake that I have suffer'd life, Groan'd in captivity, and out-liv'd Hector. Yes my Astyanax, we'll go together! Together to the realms of night we'll go! There to thy ravish'd eyes thy sire I'll show, And point him out among the shades below.

ANDROMACHE, HERMIONE and CEPHISA.

Andr. to Hermione. Ah, madame, whither, whither do you fly?

Where can your eyes behold a sight more pleasing
Than Hector's widow suppliant and in tears?
I come not an alarm'd, a jealous foe,

To envy you the heart your charms have won :
The only man I sought to please is gone;
Kill'd in my sight, by an inhuman hand.
Hector first taught me love; which my fond heart
Shall ever cherish, till we meet in death.
But, Oh, I have a son !-And you, one day,
Will be no stranger to a mother's fondness:
But Heav'n forbid that you should ever know
A mother's sorrow for an only son.
Her joy, her bliss, her last surviving comfort!
When every hour she trembles for his life!
Your power o'er Pyrrhus may relieve my fears
Alas, what danger is there in a child,
Sav'd from the wreck of a whole ruin'd empire!
Let me go hide him in some desert isle:
You may rely upon my tender care
To keep him far from perils of ambition;
All he can learn of me will be, to weep.

Her. Madame, 'tis easy to conceive your grief;
But, it would ill become me, to solicit
In contradiction to my father's will;
"Tis he who urges to destroy your son."
Madame, if Pyrrhus must be wrought to pity,

[To CEPH.

said!

If you give up my son, Oh give up me!—

You, who so many times have sworn me friendship:
Oh, Heav'ns!-will you not look with pity on me?
Is there no hope? Is there no room for pardon?
Pyr. Phoenix will answer you: my word is past.
Andr. You, who would brave so many dangers for me.
Pyr. I was your lover then: I now am free.
To favour you, I might have spar'd his life:
But you would ne'er vouchsafe to ask it of me.
Now, 'tis too late.

Andr. Ah, sir, you understood

My tears, my wishes, which I durst not utter,
Afraid of a repulse. Oh, sir, excuse

The pride of royal blood, that checks my soul.
You know, alas! I was not born to kneel,

To sue for pity, and to own a master.

Pyr. No! in your heart you curse me! you disdain My generous flame, and scorn to be oblig'd! This very son, this darling of your soul,

Would be less dear, did I preserve him for you.

Your anger, your aversion fall on me!

You hate me more than the whole league of Greece;
But I shall leave you to your great resentments.
Let us go, Phoenix, and appease the Greeks.

Andr. Then let me die! and let me go to Hector.
Ceph. But, madame-

Oh, my dead lord! Oh, Priam's royal house!
Oh, my Astyanax! At what a price
Thy mother buys thee !-Let us go.

Ceph. But whither?

And what does your unsettled heart resolve?
Andr. Come, my Cephisa, let us go together,
To the sad monument which I have rais'd
To Hector's shade; where in their sacred urn
The ashes of my hero lie inclos'd;

The dear remains, which I have sav'd from Troy;
There let me weep, there summon to my aid,
With pious rites, my Hector's awful shade;
Let him be witness to my doubts, my fears;
My agonizing heart, my flowing tears;
Oh! may he rise in pity from his tomb,
And fix his wretched son's uncertain doom.

ANDROMACHE AND CEPHISA.

Ceph. Madame, once more you look and move a queen!

Your sorrows are dispers'd, your charms revive,
And every faded beauty blooms anew.

Andr. Yet all is not as I could wish, Cephisa.
Ceph. You see the king is watchful o'er your son
Decks him with princely robes, with guards surrounds
him.

Astyanax begins to reign already.

Andr. Pyrrhus is nobly minded: and I fain
Would live to thank him for Astyanax:
'Tis a vain thought-However, since my child
Has such a friend, I ought not to repine.

Ceph. These dark unfoldings of your soul perplex me. What meant those floods of tears, those warm embraces,

As if you bid your son adieu for ever?

For Heav'n's sake, madame, let me know your griefs! If you mistrust my faith

Andr. That were to wrong thee. Oh, my Cephisa! this gay, borrow'd air, This blaze of jewels, and this bridal dress, Are but mock trappings to conceal my woe: My heart still mourns; I still am Hector's widow. Ceph. Will you then break the promise giv'n to Pyrrhus;

Blow up his rage afresh, and blast your hopes?
Andr. I thought, Cephisa, thou hadst known thy
mistress.

Could'st thou believe I would be false to Hector?
Fall off from such a husband! break his rest,
And call him to this hated light again,
To see Andromache in Pyrrhus' arms?
Would Hector, were he living, and I dead,

Forget Andromache, and wed her foe?

Ceph. I cannot guess what drift your thoughts pur

sue;

But, oh, I fear there's something dreadful in it! Must then Astyanax be doom'd to die;

And you to linger out a life in bondage?

Andr. Nor this, nor that, Cephisa, will I bear; My word is past to Pyrrhus, his to me;

And I rely upon his promis'd faith.

Relate the dreadful vision, which I saw,
When first I landed captive in Epirus.
That very night, as in a dream I lay,
A ghastly figure, full of gaping wounds,
His eyes aglare, his hair all stiff with blood,

Full in my sight thrice shook his head, and groan'd;
I soon discern'd my slaughter'd Hector's shade;
But, oh, how chang'd! Ye gods, how much unlike
The living Hector!-Loud he bid me fly!
Fly from Achilles' son! then sternly frown'd,
And disappear'd. Struck with the dreadful sound,
I started, and awak'd.

Ceph. But did he bid you

Destroy Astyanax?

Andr. Cephisa, I'll preserve him;

With my own life, Cephisa, I'll preserve him.

Ceph. What may these words, so full of horror,

mean?

Andr. Know then the secret purpose of my soul
Andromache will not be false to Pyrrhus,

Nor violate her sacred love to Hector.
This hour I'll meet the king; the holy priest
Shall join us, and confirm our mutual vows:
This will secure a father to my child:
That done, I have no further use for life:
This pointed dagger, this determin'd hand,
Shall save my virtue, and conclude my woes.
Ceph. Ah, madam! recollect your scatter'd reason;
This fell despair ill suits your present fortunes.
Andr. No other stratagem can serve my purpose:
This is the sole expedient to be just

To Hector, to Astyanax, to Pyrrhus.

I shall soon visit Hector, and the shades

Of my great ancestors :-Cephisa, thou
Wilt lend a hand to close thy mistress' eyes.

Ceph. Oh, never think that I will stay behind you!
Andr. No, my Cephisa, I must have thee live.
Remember thou didst promise to obey,
And to be secret: wilt thou now betray me?
After thy long, thy faithful service, wilt thou
Refuse my last commands, my dying wish?
Once more I do conjure thee live for me.

Ceph. Life is not worth my care when you are gone
Andr. I must commit into thy faithful hands

All that is dear and precious to my soul:

Live, and supply my absence to my child;

All that remains of Troy; a future progeny

Of heroes, and a distant line of kings,

In him is all intrusted to thy care.

Ceph. But, madame, what will be the rage of Pyrr hus,

Defrauded of his promis'd happiness?

Andr. That will require thy utmost skill: Observe
The first impetuous onset of his grief;
Use ev'ry artifice to keep him steadfast.

Sometimes with tears thou mayst discourse of me;
Speak of our marriage; let him think I lov'd him;
Tell him my soul repos'd itself on him,
When I resign'd my son to his protection.

Ceph. Oh, for a spirit to support my grief!
Is there aught more before you go for ever?

Andr. Oh, my Cephisa! my swol'n heart is full !
I have a thousand farewells to my son:
But tears break in !-Grief interrupts my speech-
My soul o'erflows in fondness-Let him know
I died to save him:-And would die again :-
Season his mind with early hints of glory;
Make him acquainted with his ancestors;
Trace out their shining story in his thoughts;
Dwell on th' exploits of his immortal father,
And sometimes let him hear his mother's name.
Let him reflect upon his royal birth

With modest pride; Pyrrhus will prove a friend:
But let him know he has a conqueror's right.
He must be taught to stifle his resentments,
And sacrifice his vengeance to his safety.
Should he prove headstrong, rash, or unadvis'd,
He then will frustrate all his mother's virtue,
Provoke his fate, and I shall die in vain.

Ceph. Alas! I fear I never shall outlive you.
Andr. No more; thy tears, Cephisa, will betray me;
Assume a cheerful look: but still remember-

[Flourish within. Hark how the trumpet, with its sprightly notes, Proclaims the appointed hour, and calls us hence, Hector, I come, once more a queen, to join thee! Thus the gay victim, with fresh garlands crown'd, Pleas'd with the sacred fife's enliv'ning sound, Through gazing crowds in solemn state proceeds, And drest in fatal pomp magnificently bleeds.

*

*

Is my child there?

Ceph. It is the corpse of Pyrrhus.
The weeping soldiers bear him on their shields.
Andr. Ill-fated prince! too negligent of life:
And too unwary of the faithless Greeks!
Cut off in the fresh rip'ning prime of manhood,
Even in the pride of life: thy triumphs new,
And all thy glories in full blossom round thee!
The very Trojans would bewail thy fate.

Ceph. Alas, then, will your sorrows never end!
Andr. Oh, never, never!-While I live, my tears
Will never cease; for I was born to grieve.-
Give present orders for the fun'ral pomp:

[TO PROEN.

Let him be rob'd in all his regal state,
Place round him ev'ry shining mark of honour:
And let the pile, that consecrates his ashes,
Rise like his fame, and blaze above the clouds.
[A Flourish of Trumpets.
Ceph. That sound proclaims th' arrival of the prince
The guards conduct him from the citadel.
Andr. With open arms I'll meet him!-Oh, Cephisa!
A springing joy, mixed with a soft concern,
A pleasure which no language can express,
An ecstacy shat mothers only feel,

Plays round my heart, and brightens up my sorrow,
Like gleams of sunshine in a low'ring sky.
Though plunged in ills, and exercis'd in care,

Yet never let the noble mind despair:

When prest by dangers and beset with foes,

The gods their timely succour interpose;
And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelmed with grief,
By unforeseen expedients brings relief.

RACINE-Andromaque.

OUTLINES OF ROMAN HISTORY.

[ANNAEUS FLORUS, a Roman historian who wrote in the second century. His "Epitome of Roman History," in four books, extends from the founding of the city to the age of Augustus. Little is known of the author, and his work is of small authority and no originality, though a convenient summary.]

The Roman people, during seven hundred years, from the time of King Romulus to that of Cæsar Augustus, performed such mighty acts both in peace and war, that if any one compares the greatness of their empire with its years, he will think it out of proportion to its age. So far throughout the world have they extended their arms, that those who read their exploits, learn the fate, not of one people only, but of all mankind. So numerous are the toils and dangers in which they have been exercised, that ability and fortune seem to have concurred in establishing their sway.

As it is of the highest importance, therefore, to learn this history as well as others, but as the vastness of the subject is a hindrance to the knowledge of it, and the variety of topics distracts the faculty of attention, I shall follow the example of those who describe the face of the earth, and shall comprise the whole representation of the matter, as it were, in a small tablet, adding something, as I hope, to the admiration with which this eminent people are regarded, by showing their whole grandeur

together and at one view. If any one, then, contemplates the Roman people as he would contemplate a man, and considers its whole age, how it had its origin, how it grew up, how it arrived at a certain vigour of manhood, and how it has since, as it were, grown old, he will observe four degrees and stages of its existence. Its first period was under its kings, lasting nearly two hundred and fifty years, during which it struggled round its mother against its neighbours; this was its infancy. Its next period extended from the consulship of Brutus and Collatinus to that of Appius Claudius and Quintus Fulvius, a space of two hundred and fifty years, during which it subdued Italy; this was a time of action for men and arms, and we may therefore call it its youth. The next period was one of two hundred years to the time of Cæsar Augustus, in which it subdued the whole world; this may accordingly be called the manhood and robust maturity of the em pire. From the reign of Cæsar Augustus to our own time is a period of little less than two hundred years, in which from the inactivity of the Cæsars, it has grown old and lost its strength, except that it now raises its arms under the Emperor Trajan, and, contrary to the expectation of all, the old age of the empire, as if youth were restored to it, renews its vigour.

The founder of the city and empire was Romulus, the son of Mars and Rhea Sylvia. The priestess, when pregnant, confessed this fact of herself, nor did report, soon afterwards, testify a doubt of it, as, being thrown with his brother Remus, into the river by order of Amulius, he could not be destroyed; for not only did the Tiber repress its stream, but a she-wolf, leaving her young, and following the children's cries, offered her teats to the infants, and acted towards them the part of a mother. Being found, in these circumstances, under a tree, the king's shepherd carried them into a cottage, and brought them up.

The metropolis of Latium at that time, was Alba, built by Iulus; for he had disdained Lavinium, the city of his father Æneas. Amulius, the fourteenth descendant from them, was now reigning there, having dethroned his brother Numitor, of whose daughter Romulus was the son. Romulus, in the first ardour of youth, drove Amulius from the citadel, and restored his grandfather. Being fond, however, of the river, and of the mountains where he had

been brought up, he thought of founding among them the walls of a new city. But as he and his brother were twins, it was resolved to consult the gods which of the two should commence the work, and enjoy the sovereignty. Romulus, accordingly, took his station on Mount Aventine, and Remus on Mount Palatine. Romulus first saw six vultures; Remus was behind in time, but saw twelve. Being thus superior in point of augury, Romulus proceeded to build the city, with full expectation that it would prove a warlike one, for so the birds, accustomed to blood and prey, seemed to promise.

For the defence of the new city a rampart appeared sufficient. While Remus was deriding its diminutiveness, and showing his contempt for it by leaping over it, he was, whether by his brother's order is uncertain, put to death. He was certainly the first victim, and consecrated the fortification of the new city with his blood.

But Romulus had formed the idea of a city, rather than a real city; for inhabitants were wanting. In the neighbourhood there was a grove which he made a place of refuge; and immediately an extraordinary number of men, some Latin and Tuscan shepherds, others from beyond the seas, Phrygians who had come into the country under Æneas, and Arcadians under Evander, took up their residence in it. Thus of various elements, as it were, he formed one body, and was himself the founder of the Roman people. But a people consisting only of men could last but one age; wives were therefore sought from the neighbouring nations, and, as they were not obtained, were seized by force. For a pretence being made of celebrating some equestrian games, the young women who came to see them, became a prey; and this immediately gave rise to wars. The Vejentes were scouted and put to flight. The city of Caninenses was taken and demolished; and Romulus also, with his own hands, offered the spolia opima taken from their king, to Jupiter Feretrius. To the Sabines, the gates of Rome were given up by a young woman, though not treacherously; she had asked as a reward what they wore on their left arms, but whether she meant their shields, or their bracelets, is doubtful. They, to keep their word and be avenged on her, buried her under their bucklers. The enemy having thus gained admission within the walls, there ensued, in the very forum, so despe