BARBERINI.

Bravo! And now, sweet Angelina, lend
Your arm, like sister, to a minstrel brother,
And wedded thus, like melody and song,
Lead him a captive to the banquet hall.

[Exeunt.

SCENE-Cell in the Inquisition.

GALILEO alone. Enter MILTON, attended by an Officer of the

Inquisition.

MILTON.

Hail, Galileo! great in thy distress!

GALILEO.

What ignis fatuus glare has lured thy steps,
Unhappy stranger, to this fatal place?

MILTON.

By no false light my steps have been allured.
The Sun of Science, sage sublime, that shines
Bright as its prototype in lofty skies,

And quenchless as its beams, has led me on,
Exulting, to the shrine I most desired;
That sun which bigot ignorance maligns,
And vainly hopes in dungeons to obscure,
Will never wane, while shining in truth's sky.
Though now in thee it struggles with eclipse,
It will break out again in future times,
And like the radiance of the righteous man,
Shine more and more unto the perfect day.
Be stedfast like the sun, and shed like him
An everlasting lustre o'er the world.
And if permitted, in my purposed song,
To vindicate the ways of God to man,
Thee I'll inwreathe with my aspiring verse,

And glorying" spread thy name o'er lands and seas,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms,"
Till sage and bard like kindred planets blaze.

GALILEO.

My blessing on thee, brave, benignant stranger!
Thy tuneful voice has cheer'd my sunless cell,
As the sweet nightingale enchants the dark.
If aught were wanting to confirm my vow,

Made at the shrine of science, 'tis the thought
That I shall find a place in British song,
Responding ever to the voice of Freedom.

MILTON.

Permit me, reverend father, to enshrine
This happy interview, and bear away
A grateful token of the sacred hour.
Deign, Galileo, to inform the mind

Of youthful bard, aspiring after knowledge,
In all the realms of matter and of spirit,
Eager to listen how the embryo thought
Of some sublime discovery born in heaven,
To cast increasing light on darkling man,
In Time's successive centuries-first dawns
Upon the destined and recipient mind,
To blaze in bright reflection o'er the earth.
Reveal, I pray, how first you greatly dared
T'arrest the rising and the setting sun
In his diurnal course, and fix his orb
Immoveable for ever in the sky.

GALILEO.

Learn, youthful minstrel, learn the simple chain

Of reasoning that first allured me on,

Till it o'erthrew the old erroneous system.

Twas by a clue analogous I traced

My daring flight along the boundless skies.

The regal splendour of the orb of day

Proclaim'd him monarch of the heav'nly host,

I ask'd if he, the regent of the sky,

Exceeding earth in greatness as in glory,

Would leave his dazzling throne, and through the bounds

Of his resplendent realms pursue for ever

One of his lesser subject-planets, earth,

And leave the other five, deserted, drear,

To catch, as best they might, his wand'ring light?
Was it not more in harmony with reason,

That he, enthroned in his unmoving state,
Should sit receiving pleased the tuneful homage
Of all his vassal-stars, who, from his smile,

For ever changeless, cheering, all derived

That charm which garlanded their orbs revolving

With all their blushing fruits and fragrant flowers ?—
Or in their clouds receive the bright impress
Of heavenly love, the covenanting bow?
Then was my soul intent to find the laws
According confirmation that the sun-

OFFICER.

Hold! My instructions force me to forbid
Further discourse on subjects such as these.
The time allotted for the interview

Has now expired. The stranger must withdraw.

MILTON.

Farewell, great Galileo, we may meet

No more on earth, to talk on subjects high;
But we shall meet where Science will unfold
Her wonders, not as in this lower sphere,

Through envious clouds, and darkly through a glass,
But in high noon of Heaven, and where the sun-

OFFICER.

No more! Begone! and thank my clemency.
Were Cardinal Barberini not your friend,
I must have dragg'd you to our holy court,
To answer for abetting heresy;

Abusing thus the indulgence of the Church.

MILTON.

O, tell it not in Gath! Again, farewell.

[GALILEO and MILTON embrace, and part. Exeunt.

SCENE-MILTON's lodgings in Rome.

MILTON alone.

"He intended to have staid longer abroad; but hearing of the differences between the King and Parliament, he thought proper to hasten home."-Life of Milton.

MILTON.

Once more the lightning glance from her dark eyes,

One melting word from her most loving lips,

And Angelina holds my heart in thrall.

Pause, then, my soul, ere reason is usurp'd

By love irrevocable.

My service to my country's all to do,

And how may it be done, if I'm enslaved

By foreign charms; yet she might prove-but no

How would the stormy strife of boisterous Britain
Accord with maid of soft Italian clime?
Most selfish 'twere to take such tender flower
From mild congenial soil, transplanting it
To a bleak land of fierce contending men,
Struggling for freedom's glorious consummation:
And soon, perhaps, to hear her echoes ring
With cannon's stern reverberating roar,
Yet how to tear my soul from sweet subjection,
O! this alone of earth-born trials unmans me;
Love and the patriot in my breast at strife
Contending for supremacy.

Heav'n aid me to decide, that I may ne'er
Bring self-reproach, or prove my country's shame.

[Servant enters with letters from England.

MILTON (alone reading).

Now is the conflict o'er, and I am free!
The beacon of revolt 'gainst tyrant's sway
Blazes on Albion's hills, and every heart
That beats with freedom's blood is boiling o'er.
No passion now but patriot's must be own'd.-
The hour is come; no moment must be lost,
For every Briton speeding to the field,
And every freeman girding on his sword,
For every voice with eloquence attuned,
To roll its thrilling thunder o'er the land,
Till tyrants tremble, and the oppress'd are free!
One farewell sigh, and every loving wish
For thee, sweet Angelina. We must part.
May Heav'n bestow a more deserving lover,
A life as tranquil as thy placid skies,

And sometimes dreams of the ecstatic hour.
Thus, bleeding at the heart, I rend the spell;
My country calls; my lady-love, farewell!
I'll bear thine image with me o'er the sea,
And in each storm of life, thou still to me
Shalt prove the radiant angel-visit given,
And hope shall meet thee in the bowers of heav'n.
Here, danger lurks in ev'ry lingering hour;
While glory waves me to my native shore!

209

THE

ROYAL SCOTTISH ACADEMY'S EXHIBITION OF 1851.

THERE are few occurrences which more forcibly suggest to us the increasing rapidity with which the seasons glide past, as we ourselves grow older, than the annual opening of the Exhibition of the Scottish Academy. It is a very marked event in the circle of an Edinburgh year and looked forward to with eagerness alike by grave and gay. And now here it is once more, looking at the first glance as like as possible to all its many predecessors. Here are the large portraits and the large landscapes, and the small landscapes and portraits, and the scenes from Shakspere and those from the Scott novels all hanging in the same places as their representatives of last year. Here are the same groups of idle loungers-the same knots of orthodox critics, puffing the few artists who are the favourites of some ruling clique in our provincial society, and whom to criticise unfavourably is an offence worthy of ostracism. Here are the pert antagonists of the powers that be, bent on pulling down the ancient dynasties, full of Ruskinism and modern high art. And here are the usual mob who make a virtue of their ignorance, profess to be "no judges," but "to know what pleases their own taste," and go devotedly round the rooms, catalogue in hand, and examine everything in its turn, from those marvellous productions of ingenuity which adorn the highest part of the wall and resemble nothing in the earth or beneath it, to the chef d'œuvre of a Turner or an Etty.

Such is the first aspect of these rooms; but, on more earnest examination, do we find things really in this stationary position? or is there some trustworthy evidence of a genuine progress in art? Are the Scottish artists and are the Scottish people attaining anything like a higher and more consistent and intelligent knowledge of it? or are we really destined, as the scoffers say, never to be an artistic people at all? and are all our academies, exhibitions, and art-unions, only the means of annually distributing among the middle classes, a few hundreds of crude landscapes and would-be historical pictures, and encouraging some dozen persons to betake themselves to painting, whose natural position is at the desk or behind the counter? Short as our inspection of this year's Exhibition has necessarily been, we hope to be able to answer these questions much more hopefully than we could have done any former season. Neither our space nor our inclination permit of our running over, newspaper fashion, the whole or nearly the whole of the works of art contained in these rooms, but we shall try to generalise some of the more remarkable excellencies or glaring faults which we have found; and if our artist friends, who may chance to read these pages, should sometimes find the draught bitter, we trust it will also prove itself wholesome; and if our judgment be now and then at fault, we know that they will excuse its errors in respect of the fairness of our intention.

There is one feature more than usually prominent in this Exhibition; it is the great number of exotic works of a high class which stud the walls at something like regular intervals. We highly approve of this

VOL. 11.

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