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with great beauty and pathos; and the whole story forms one of the most affecting and poetical incidents in the Shahnameh.

I wish it were in my power to gratify the reader with a translation of it, but I want both time and abilities for the task. I shall, howa ever, venture to present him with the version of a few lines, which Ferdusi puts into the mouth of Sohrab, immediately after he had received the fatal wound, describing the mode in which the two heroes discovered each other ; the passage (in the original at least) is neither deficient in merit nor interest.

To find a father only known by name,
Wretch that I am, I sought the field of fame.
Vain hope ! thy hand has seald a mother's woes;
On the cold sod, my head must now repose.
Yet, hero! deem not unreveng'd I bleed,
Paternal vengeance, marks thy ruthless deed.
No! couldst thou quit this earth, and viewless trace,
On airy pinions borne, the realms of

Or like a fish, the ocean's depths pervade,
Or like the night, involve thy form in shade,
My sire, pursuing, shall revenge my death.
“ What sire ?” the victor cries; with fault'ring breath,
“ Rustum !” (the youth rejoins) " Tahmina fair,

My spotless mother, nam'd me Rustum's heir.”

The plan of the proposed Tragedy, appears to have been frequently revised and corrected; the business of each act is detailed, but after all, it is too imperfect for publication. From the introduction of a chorus of Persian Sages or Magi, it may be inferred, that Sir William Jones proposed writing it, after the model of the Greek tragedy, and he certainly intended to observe a strict ad


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herence to the costume of the age and country, in which the events of his Tragedy were supposed to have occurred.

The following Epode, is the only part of the composition sufficiently complete for the reader's perusal.


What pow'r, beyond all pow'rs elate,
Sustains this universal frame?
"Tis not nature, 'tis not fate,
'Tis not the dance of atoms blind,
Etherial space, or subtile flame ;
No; 'tis one vast eternal mind,
Too sacred for an earthly name.
He forms, pervades, directs the whole;
Not like the macrocosm's imag’d soul,
But provident of endless good,
By ways nor seen, nor understood,
Which e'en bis angels vainly might explore.
High, their highest thoughts above,
Truth, wisdom, justice, mercy, love,
Wrought in his heav'nly essence, blaze and soar.
Mortals, who his glory seek,
Rapt in contemplation meek,
Him fear, him trust, him venerate, him adore.

I annex a fac-simile of the writing of Sir William Jones, and I close the volume with some lines on his death, written by her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire, and inserted at the particular request of Lady Jones.


the 4


Fatter and God of merey, que me

thy Loday heavéab, from the sea tutti greatshi

he present writt mer

ay labour with me, and teach me what

Wisdom, the afhidant of the authend her from this Hat the

Fray is acceptable to thee!

the an


/ On the Death of Sir WILLIAM JONES.

Teignmouth, 1795.

Unbounded learning, thoughts by genius fram'd,

To guide the bounteous labours of his pen, Distinguish'd him, whom kindred sages nam'd,

The most enlighten'd of the sons of men.” Upright through life, as in his death resign’d,

His actions spoke a pure and ardent breast; Faithful to God, and friendly to mankind,

His friends rever'd him, and his country bless'd.

Admir'd and valued in a distant land,

His gentle manners all affection won ;
The prostrate Hindu own'd his fostering hand,

And Science mark'd him for her fav'rite son.

Regret and praise the general voice bestows,

And public sorrows with domestic blend; But deeper yet must be the grief of those,

Who, while the sage they honour'd, lov'd the friend.

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