Where Bethlehem nursed Creation's lowly Lord, Before the radiance of the Gospel beam,h Down, baffled Crescent! shrink, Euphrates' stream!i Earth, sea, and sky, be glad, before the Prince of Peace! f I confess that I perceive with surprise Mr. Buckle's very favourable estimate of the Mahomedan religion, especially as proceeding from one who generally professes himself so much averse to mere military prowess. "Through his policy he shall cause craft to prosper."-Ver. 25. b" He shall be broken without hand."-Ver. 25. 1 And the sixth angel poured out his vial upon the great river Euphrates; and the water thereof was dried up, that the way of the kings of the east might be prepared."-Rev. xvi. 12. THE LAST OF THE GREEKS ; OR, THE FALL OF CONSTANTINOPLE: A Tragedy. PREFACE. It will easily be perceived that the following Play, if for no other reason than the uniform progress of the story towards an inevitable catastrophe, would be ill adapted to dramatic representation. I fear that the experiment which I have now ventured to make may only have the effect of teaching me, that it is not much better calculated to be read. I have, however, been willing to hope that the events which are now attracting so much of public attention in the East of Europe, though they did not suggest the undertaking, may confer upon it a portion of interest which it could not have commanded by any merit of its own. It is hardly requisite to observe, that Miss Baillie has published a Tragedy upon the same subject. I should naturally shrink from entering into such formidable competition; but I believe that, except in so far as our common authorities have necessarily led us to allude to the same prominent events, we shall not be found to have clashed. PROLOGUE. WHILE in rapt mood the fancy loved to stray And saw in mystic vision pass along The buried forms of glory and of song, The nymphs, the heroes, and the gods, whose love What was the angry sound that dared invade The solemn stillness of each haunted glade, O'ercame the murmurs of Castalia's rill, The leafy whispers of Dodona's hill, And filled the shore, the islands, and the main, From Eta's caverns to Messene's plain? It was the clang of arms-the cry of strife The shout of Freedom starting into life. There went a voice of mourning through the land: Pale is his brow, and proud, yet calm, his mien ; His curling lip seems formed for scornful ire, 'Tis He--the master of the chorded shell, The Muse, that loved and mourned him, could not save But hark! another and a louder wail O'er the far billow loads the western gale. Land of the wise, the eloquent, the free, • Weep for a stranger, worthy c'en of Thee; Whose lips drank deep of all thy springs; whose mind Learned of thy lore to fascinate mankind; Who loved thee in his boyhood's careless hour, Who pitied in his high career of power, Yet rear again thy drooping head, and raise The choral peans of forgotten days, The strains once chaunted on thine azure sea, The songs of Salamis and Mycale. Ne'er were thy hopes more fair, than when the day Gilt the armed prows in Navarino's bay; Ne'er was thy star more high, than when the night It is enough of triumph to be freed. 1st Soldier. I will not to the walls. 2nd Soldier. Man. Nor I. You will not? 1st Sol. We but expose ourselves to certain death, Perched up together on the naked wall, A mark for all their murderous instruments. 2nd Soldier. Besides, no change can make us suffer more Man. Shame on ye, factious, heartless citizens, I swear I would not wreak it on the foe, 1st Sol. Old man, 'tis well That sweep away whole ranks of us at once, Make breaches in our thickest walls, and cleave Our stoutest breast-plates and best tempered armour, Heard ye that shout, and stand ye here and gape? |