n, was
fully aware of the merit of the "OEdipus Tyrannus;" and, with the
addition of the under-plot of Adrastus and Eurydice, has traced out
the events of the drama, in close imitation of Sophocles. The Grecian
bard, however, in concurrence with the history or tradition of Greece,
has made OEdipus survive the discovery of his unintentional guilt, and
reserved him, in blindness and banishment, for the subject of his
second tragedy of "OEdipus Coloneus." This may have been well judged,
considering that the audience were intimately acquainted with the
important scenes which were to follow among the descendants of
OEdipus, with the first and second wars against Thebes, and her final
conquest by the ancestors of those Athenians, before whom the play was
rehearsed, led on by their demi-god Theseus. They were also prepared
to receive, with reverence and faith, the belief on which the whole
interest turns, that if OEdipus should be restored to Thebes, the
vengeance of the gods against the devoted city might be averted; and
to applaud his determination to remain on Athenian ground, that the
predestined curse might descend on his unnatural sons and ungrateful
country. But while the modern reader admires the lofty tone of poetry
and high strain of morality which pervades "OEdipus Coloneus," it must
appear more natural to his feelings, that the life of the hero,
stained with unintentional incest and parricide, should be terminated,
as in Dryden's play, upon the discovery of his complicated guilt and
wretchedness. Yet there is something awful in the idea of the monarch,
blind and exiled, innocent in intention, though so horribly criminal
in fact, devoted, as it were, to the infernal deities, and sacred from
human power and violence by the very excess of his guilt and misery.
The account of the death of OEdipus Coloneus reaches the highest tone
of sublimity. While the lightning flashes around him, he expresses the
feeling, that his hour is come; and the reader anticipates, that, like
Malefort in the "Unnatural Combat," he is to perish by a thunder-bolt.
Yet, for the awful catastrophe, which we are artfully led to expect,
is substituted a mysterious termination, still more awful. OEdipus
arrays himself in splendid apparel, and dismisses his daughters and
the attending Athenians. Theseus alone remains with him. The storm
subsides, and the attendants return to the place, but OEdipus is there
no longer--he had not perished by water, by sw