conflict of passions. The diction is nervous, rich, and elegant; but
splendid language, and melodious numbers, will make a fine poem--not a
tragedy. The sentiments are beautiful, always happily expressed, but
seldom appropriated to the character, and generally too philosophic.
What Johnson has said of the tragedy of Cato, may be applied to Irene:
"It is rather a poem in dialogue than a drama; rather a succession of
just sentiments, in elegant language, than a representation of natural
affections. Nothing excites or assuages emotion. The events are expected
without solicitude, and are remembered without joy or sorrow. Of the
agents we have no care; we consider not what they are doing, nor what
they are suffering; we wish only to know, what they have to say. It is
unaffecting elegance, and chill philosophy." The following speech, in
the mouth of a Turk, who is supposed to have heard of the British
constitution, has been often selected from the numberless beauties with
which Irene abounds:

"If there be any land, as fame reports,
Where common laws restrain the prince and subject;
A happy land, where circulating power
Flows through each member of th' embodied state,
Sure, not unconscious of the mighty blessing,
Her grateful sons shine bright with ev'ry virtue;
Untainted with the LUST OF INNOVATION;
Sure, all unite to hold her league of rule,
Unbroken, as the sacred chain of nature,
That links the jarring elements in peace."

These are British sentiments. Above forty years ago, they found an echo
in the breast of applauding audiences; and to this hour they are the
voice of the people, in defiance of the metaphysics, and the new lights
of certain politicians, who would gladly find their private advantage in
the disasters of their country; a race of men, "quibus nulla ex honesto
spes."

The prologue to Irene is written with elegance, and, in a peculiar
style, shows the literary pride and lofty spirit of the author. The
epilogue, we are told, in a late publication, was written by sir William
Yonge. This is a new discovery, but by no means probable. When the
appendages to a dramatic performance are not assigned to a friend, or an
unknown hand, or a person of fashion, they are always supposed to be
written by the author of the play. It is to be wished, however, that the
epilogue, in question, could be transferred to any other writer. It is
the worst jeu d'esprit that ever fell from Johnson's pen[cc].