University of Virginia Library

ACT the Third.

SCENE, A Grove.
Sylvia discovered sleeping at a distance; Philander enters and gazes on her.
Philander.
SONG.

Enter the Satyr looking about him.
Satyr.
Low murm'ring sounds I heard, yet none are here;
'Twas but the whispers of the am'rous breeze
That plays among the boughs.

Sylvia
awaking.
What do I see?
The brutal Satyr! guard me, chaste Diana.

Satyr.
Aye, you may call your goddess to your aid,
She hears you not; the music of her hounds
And beagle-horn will drown your feeble cries.

Sylvia.
Ah! whither would'st thou drag me, cruel Sylvan?
Help, help, some pitying power!

Enter Philander.
Philander.
Vile monster! hence.

The Satyr runs off.
Philander approaches Sylvia, who turns from him.
Philander.
Oh! stedfast hate, yet hear me, cruel maid,
If to have sav'd thee from the brutal rage
Of that fierce Sylvan, claims one kind regard,
Turn, turn, and listen to my ardent vows.

Sylvia.
Why will you still this hated theme pursue?
Must I another Satyr find in you?
Both persecutors in a different way,
My honour he, you would my heart betray.
SONG.

Philander.
Yet, yet, relent! yield to a lover's prayer.

Sylvia.
Away, or this detested theme forbear.

Philander.
What shall I say, her stubborn mind to move?
Declare her sentence: no, forbid it love! [To her]

Yet hear me, Sylvia, e'er it be too late,
Speak one kind word, for oh! thy breath is fate.

Sylvia.
Mark then my firm resolves, and oh! be thou,
Celestial maid, propitious to my vow;
With thee an humble vot'ry to remain,
Tho' last and meanest of thy virgin train.
If cold and temp'rate as thy own mild ray,
Thy shades I haunt, and thy commands obey,
Still, goddess, thy protection let me prove,
And guard me from the sly seducer, love.

[Exit.]
Philander.
Stay, Sylvia, stay, and from these trembling lips
Hear the stern god's decree—Alas! she flies
Swift as the trackless winds, to death she flies,
Death less abhorr'd than me.

Enter Nerina.
Nerina.
Here Sylvia should be found; but sure I heard
The plaintive voice of sorrow—'tis Philander,
Alas! poor youth, he weeps, I will observe him.

Philander.
Why wears
The face of nature such a chearful smile?
Why this soft verdure? why this gaudy bloom?
Fall horrors, fall, and make this beauteous scene
Dark as my gloomy soul—oh Sylvia! Sylvia!

Nerina.
Would she were here, and heard thee.

Philander.
Cold shadowy queen, who laugh'st at lover's woes,
Thy self unloving, unbelov'd, now save
From the sad doom incurr'd, thy beauteous vot'ry.

Nerina
(approaching him)
Alas! what doom? speak'st thou of Sylvia, shepherd?

Philander.
Ha! sure the goddess' self inspires the thought.
Haste, haste Nerina, seek thy cruel friend,
Tell her—oh heaven! tell her that Phœbus claims
Her forfeit life for violated faith:
Fly, bid her seek Diana's sacred fane,
And claim protection there.

Nerina.
Oh gen'rous youth! oh my unhappy friend!

[Exit running.]
Enter Thirsis.
Thirsis.
He's here: how shall I speak the dreadful news?

Philander.
Why art thou thus alarm'd? say, dearest Thirsis.
Alas! 'tis the sad privilege of despair
To fear no worse.

Thirsis.
She has refus'd you then.—

Philander.
She has, and oh! with such a fix'd disdain!
Ungrateful maid, then when my timely aid
Had sav'd her from a brutal Satyr's lust,
Then to reject my humble suff'ring love;
And, in despite of former ties, renew
Her vows to the rough goddess of the woods.

Thirsis.
Horrid ingratitude! would thou could'st hate her.

Philander.
Hate her! yes, friend, I'll tear her from my breast.
Oh! may she feel, like me, the pangs of love,
Like me unpity'd mourn, and sigh in vain.

Thirsis.
The righteous gods, to nobler vengeance doom
The perjur'd maid.

Philander.
Oh! Thirsis, there I'm lost.

Thirsis.
Arcadia groans beneath Apollo's frown,
In thee his priest is scorn'd; the wrathful god
Bends his dread bow o'er our devoted plains,
And claims his victim.

Philander.
Sylvia then must die!

Thirsis.
She must, my friend, e'en now with mild entreaty
Thy father urg'd her to perform her vow,
Scornful she heard, nor shook at the sad sentence
Which he with tears pronounc'd.

Philander.
Yet hold my heart,—
Where is she now?

Thrisis.
I saw her, guarded by the attending priests
In sad procession, led tow'rds the temple:
Her griev'd companions rend the air with cries,
And beat their snowy breasts in wild despair.
But she with haughty mien, erect and firm
As the stern deity by her obey'd,
Welcomes her fate; nor can th'approach of death
Banish the colour from her cheeks; or rage
And fierce disdain plant fresher roses there.

Philander.
Oh! Sylvia, must thou die?

Thirsis.
Alas! my friend,
You tremble, you look pale; think on your wrongs,
Think on her scorn, and th'impending curse
That threats Arcadia, till the god's appeas'd.

Solemn Music at a distance.
Philander.
By all the pangs that rend this tortur'd breast,
The sad solemnity is now begun:
Ah! friend, farewel! farewel my dearest Thirsis.

[Embracing him.]
Thirsis.
Ha! whither now? what mean'st thou, dear Philander?

Philander.
Oh Thirsis! I must see her once again.

Thirsis.
You must not go, forgive my friendly zeal.

[Holding him.]
Philander.
Off! or by heaven this moment is my last.
See, fate is in my power.

[Shewing a poniard.]
Thirsis.
Desp'rate youth!

[Exit Philander. Thirsis following.]
SCENE changes to the temple of Apollo, an altar, priests attending: solemn music plays; then the procession appears; four priests walk two and two, Montano next with the sacred knife in his hand; after him Sylvia in white, led by two priests, her head bound with the sacred fillets; a train of virgins following weeping: they advance to the altar: the Hymn to Apollo is sung.
HYMN to APOLLO.

Montano.
Ill-fated maid! whose soul no pray'rs could move,
No sorrows soften, and no vows could bind;
Tho' by thy fierce disdain, my hapless son
In anguish wastes his days: tho' o'er Arcadia
Apollo bends his fatal bow, and claims
Thy forfeit life, yet still this aged hand
Shrinks to perform its office.

Sylvia.
You may spare
Your ill-tim'd pity, priest, I need it not.
O Cynthia! guardian-goddess of my youth,
To whom my virgin vows have still been paid;
I die thy votary, and this pure blood
Shed in thy cause, seals me for ever thine.

Montano
to the Priests.
Lead her to the altar.

Enter Philander.
Philander.
I charge you hold.

Montano.
Rash youth retire, nor with your useless grief
Profane the solemn rites.

Philander.
Oh! give me way.—
I swear the awful pow'r shall be appeas'd,
He shall, my father; only suffer me
To kneel before that dear devoted maid,
And groan for pardon, since she dies my victim.

Sylvia
to Philander, who kneels.
Hence, from my sight, and let me die in peace.

Philander
rising.
Oh, cruel even in death! yet hold, my heart,
Break not, e'er thy sad purpose is compleated,
Lest heaven reject th'imperfect sacrifice.

Sylvia.
What mean'st thou?

Philander.
Mighty love!
This is thy triumph, Sylvia thou art free,
Oh! hate not life, because it is my gift;
Thus I appease the god, and die to save thee.

Kneels before the altar, and as he raises his arm to stab himself, Thirsis enters and holds him.
Thirsis.
Help! save him, help!

Montano.
My son! my dear Philander!

Sylvia.
Oh! wond'rous proof of unexampled love!

Montano.
Eternal night shroud my unhappy eyes.

Thirsis.
Why this excess of grief? your son is safe.

Montano.
No pow'r on earth
Can save him now, our sacred law forbids
A second victim; well he knew it's force,
And hence this dire resolve.

Sylvia.
Ah me! unhappy—

Montano.
Dost thou weep, proud maid?
Inhuman tears! such the hyena sheds
Over her helpless prey.

Philander.
Oh! sacred drops,
To me more grateful than the morning dew
On dying plants; then dost thou pity me?

Sylvia.
Pity! yet sure there is a softer name
For what I feel this moment—oh Philander!

Philander.
Why dost thou pause? why dost thou turn away?
Speak, speak again, and bless my ravish'd eyes
With one look more, then let them close for ever.

Sylvia.
For me thou shalt not die.

Philander.
For thee I will,
And oh! be witness, love!
With what extatic joy I meet my fate.

Montano.
Ungrateful to a father's tender cares,
A faithful lover, but a son unkind!
Yet let me fold thee to my aking breast
Before we part for ever,—now farewel!
Receive your victim, priests, but spare my eyes
The dreadful sight!—I go to weep and die.

Sylvia.
Stay, holy sire.

Montano.
What would'st thou?

Sylvia.
O! behold
The only lawful victim, save your son,
And strike this harden'd breast.

Montano.
Away, fond maid!
Your pity comes too late—oh, my Philander!

[Going.]
Sylvia.
Oh! youth, too little known, belov'd too late,
Thou shalt not conquer in this noble strife:
I cannot change, but I will share thy fate,
And death shall give what I deny'd in life.

[Snatches a dart from one of the nymphs.]
Philander
(catching hold of her.)
Oh! hold thy hand, or hate me once again:
Live, beauteous maid, nor let me die in vain.

Thunder; a bright cloud appears; Apollo is discovered seated in his chariot; soft music as he descends.
Montano.
He comes, the awful god himself appears!
Kneel, and confess the present deity.

[All kneel.]
Apollo.

Montano.
Oh! pow'r by me ador'd, with awful love,
With duteous rev'rence serv'd, gracious, accept
A happy father's thanks.

Philander.
Oh! son of Jove,
Immortal Phœbus, light-dispensing god,
And theme of verse perpetual, be thy praise
For ever sung by me.

Sylvia.
Oh! pow'r benign!
Fav'rite of gods and men, my grateful heart
To thee its purest vows shall ever pay.

Philander
to Sylvia.
Restor'd to life, to hope, to love, and thee,
Now let me gaze upon the beauteous eyes,
And read my bliss confirm'd, or else in vain
A god pronounc'd me happy.

Sylvia.
Dearest and best
Of all thy sex; oh! if thou read'st not there
The softest, truest passion, that e'er warm'd
A virgin-breast, they injure what I feel.

Philander
(taking her hand)
Oh! sweet reward of suff'ring love; oh! bliss
Unutterable.

Montano.
Still may your joys increase, a virtuous flame
Knows no decay, and burns through life the same;
Like noon-tide sun it glows in youth's short day,
And milder friendship is its setting ray.