translation the exquisite tenderness of this passage cannot altogether fail of its effect. "For my fate, let it pass! My children, Creon! My sons--nay, they the bitter wants of life May master--they are MEN?--my girls--my darlings-- Why, never sat I at my household board Without their blessed looks--our very bread We brake together; thou'lt be kind to them For my sake, Creon--and (oh, latest prayer!) Let me but touch them--feel them with these hands, And pour such sorrow as may speak farewell O'er ills that must be theirs! By thy pure line-- For thin is pure--do this, sweet prince. Methinks I should not miss these eyes, could I but touch them. What shall I say to move thee? Sobs! And do I, Oh do I hear my sweet ones? Hast thou sent, In mercy sent, my children to my arms? Speak--speak--I do not dream! Creon. They are thy children; I would not shut thee from the dear delight In the old time they gave thee. Oedipus. Blessings on thee For this one mercy mayst thou find above A kinder God than I have. Ye--where are ye? My children--come!--nearer and nearer yet," etc. The pathos of this scene is continued to the end; and the very last words Oedipus utters as his children cling to him, implore that they at least may not be torn away. It is in this concluding scene that the art of the play is consummated; the horrors of the catastrophe, which, if a last impression, would have left behind a too painful and gloomy feeling, are softened down by this beautiful resort to the tenderest and holiest sources of emotion. And the pathos is rendered doubly effective, not only from the immediate contrast of the terror that preceded it, but from the masterly skill with which all display of the softer features in the character of Oedipus is reserved to the close. In the breaking up of the strong mind and the daring spirit, when empire, honour, name, are all annihilated, the heart is seen, as it were, surviving the wrecks around it, and clinging for support to the affections.