238 Monthly Review of Literature. [FEB. 



the Assyrian king. Nlnus, struck by the matchless valour she exhibits in an 

 ensuing war against the Bactrians, deprives Menon of his anticipated bride, and 

 Semiramis is raised to the throne. The rest of the story differs little from the 

 current version excepting the first catastrophe (we use the word literally not 

 technically) of the death of Ninus, who is made & felo-de-se. The alterations in 

 the history would sadly disappoint an audience who would go to see a German 

 version of Semiramide, with a gole's appetite to " sup on horrors." To our eyes 

 the character of Ranpach's Semiramis seems to be as little " of a piece," as 

 Nebuchadnezzars's image. 



" She is a monster : like the storm her rage, 

 And stubborn, as the senseless rock, her breast.'* 



She can fight, even when a child, with the " bloody tiger," 

 " And any thing else of the sort beside" 



as the author comprehensively expresses it. She can talk in the following strain, 

 and " a pretty considerable quantity of nonsense as well." (Vid. p. vii.) 



" I long with ardour now life's joys to share, 

 Yes, let me hear again those sounds extatic ! 



They are to me the enchanted horse that bears 

 The Sorcerer on his dreadful tour erratic. 



To heavens high thrones beyond the golden spheres. 

 Come, come on this impetuous rushing sea, 

 I feel myself upborne and rapt away." 



Some of the ideas of love she expresses to Menon, remind us of the beautiful 

 na'ivete and devotion of Mignon in Wilheim Meister ; and then in a few seconds 

 she is again transformed into a foaming tigress. But in spite of these and a few 

 minor specks which offend our (perhaps too fastidious) taste we would gladly 

 hail " The Daughter of the Air/' or any other daughter who would come to 

 Albion even in a foreign dress, to drive from our prostituted stage the mummers, 

 monsters, and monkeys, which have made the temple of the muse a den of fools. 

 To cool our anger, we will take a draught of Ranpach's beautiful poetry. 



SEMIRAMIS. 



And if I were your wife then, as you call it, 

 What must I do, and what will be my duties ? 



MENON. 



Love knows no duties : all it wishes is 

 To find its image in another's breast : 

 And when love thus meets love reciprocal, 

 It so entwines their mutual hearts in one, 

 That all the lover does, what e'er it be, 

 Is the fulfilling of his loved one's wish. 

 * # * 



SEMIRAMIS. 



Is't not enough that every pain we feel, 

 That hunger, thirst, tried nature, frost and heat 

 Weighs down the noble spirit to the worm ? 

 Is't not enough that I must daily die, 

 And many golden hours wherein the stars 

 Move bright and wakeful through the solemn heaven, 

 Lie blind and idle in a mighty death ? 

 Is't not enough that I have not got wings, 

 That I must let the stream, the clouds, the birds, 

 Pass on their course and cannot follow them ? 

 Is't not enough, must duty bind me too, 

 Invented thraldom ? have I then but left 

 One prison there to find another here ? 

 n For whether verdant field or dungeon dark 



Keeps me from life, 'tis one alike to me. 

 labJenoO 



