University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Flourish of Trumpets.
Enter ACAMAS and Officers.
ACAMAS.
Lead to the grove the light-armed troop—call Sicyon.
Now, my brave friends! who, side by side with me,
Full many a time have fought; fellows in arms,
Attend; for never a more glorious cause
Called your young valour forth: 'tis Deianira,
The great Alcides' widow: 'tis Macaria,
Whose wrongs and beauty might with hero's fire
Warm the cold coward's heart. These Royal Suppliants
Ask your bold aid against that black usurper,
Who comes from Argos with a cursed design
To drag them from your shrines. And will not each
Athenian sword start forth? If public honour,
If reverence for your altars, if compassion,
That noblest virtue of a noble mind,
If these can fire your breasts, in this day's battle
Strain every nerve; oh, fight it to the death.
And now go forth; go each among the lines;
Rouze, animate the soldiers, man by man.
—Menas?

[Exit Officers.
OFFICER.
My lord.—

ACAMAS.
Thou, Menas, with thy troop,
Shalt guard this temple, and its royal guests,
Till my return from th'onset. Would to heaven
I were sole combatant! in single fight,
Shield against shield, to grapple with yon tyrant,
Beneath Macaria's banners. 'Twas at Argos
My eyes first caught her charms; and here my soul
Each hour is more her captive. Fancy dwells
Enchanted on th'idea; on my ears
Still floats her tongue's sweet melody, and sways
The motion of my heart.

OFFICER.
Another signal,
And louder than the last.—

ACAMAS.
It sounds to arms.
March my battalion to the western gate.
[Ex. Officer.
—What, Sicyon, hoa!—the soldiers' hearts are mine;
Mine too their arms, till Demophon's return,
And nobly will I use them. Should he come,
My hopes were air. Oh, not one moment then
Will I trust fate.—Give me, dread god of war!
In this day's fight, some portion of thy own
Terrific spirit.—

Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
Demophon, my lord—

ACAMAS.
Hah, what of Demophon?

OFFICER.
With all his train
Enters the gates from Marathon.

ACAMAS.
No—no.—

OFFICER.
My gracious lord, I saw him; while his son,
Young Conon, with the troops of royal guards,
Marched towards the grove.

ACAMAS.
Oh, death to all my hopes!
Back, and inform thee better—nay remain.
What's to be done? his cold, his gloomy spirit
Blunts every sword, and deadens every heart.
What's to be done?—Alcander, was he with him?

OFFICER.
With most obsequious reverence I beheld him
Tender the king a paper, as he enter'd
The shrine of Juno.

ACAMAS.
Vengeance on the villain!
Worse than a poisonous mineral he works here;
The traitor teems with wiles. I'll cross upon them;
I'll rouze this brother to defy Eurystheus.
Should he, by priestly phantoms terrified,
Refuse to fight—should he presume to yield,
To yield Macaria! horrible surmise!
“Be my protector!” was the dear maid's prayer
Upon her trembling knees. Thou, holy altar!
Hear and attest my vow. I will, by heaven!

[Exit.
Enter ALCANDER.
ALCANDER.
Yonder he stalks; and at full freedom leaves me
To work upon the priest, and credulous king;
And force the temple's portal to let forth
Its royal victims. Now my bark's afloat,
And to Eurystheus' throne, on a full tide,
Will bear me, if my marriage with his sister
Fail not.—But still this headlong Acamas!
He is a rock will wreck us. Demophon
Is jealous of him: on that jealousy
I'll strike a dangerous, superstitious spark,
Soon to flame forth. At Juno's temple now
He makes a holy halt; the interim's mine,
Here with old Thestor. Wherefore loiters thus
The reverend dreamer, whose high sanctity
The magic power of gold must move to murder?
Enter THESTOR.
Oh, art thou come at length, my ancient friend?
Ancient, but, ah! how unimpaired by age!
Time, that digs deep his furrows on most brows,
Only gives comlier grace to Thestor's years,
Adds reverence to the hairs it silvers o'er.
Well, we are once more met; my king's concerns
Call us in haste together: they are weighty,
Nice, urgent, full of dexterous enterprize,
And ask thy secret, sudden aid.

THESTOR.
If they
Aught of religious import bear, (as what
But sacred purposes claim Thestor's counsel)
Impart them to the servant of the god,
Whose conscientious mind—

ALCANDER.
I know it well;
Well as I know thy zeal, thy friendly zeal,
Proved oft in times long past, which now Alcander
Means to prove home again. Nearer, good Thestor.
Thou see'st yon shrine; thou know'st what fugitives
Its sanctuary shelters; and the hate,
The mortal hate, Eurystheus bears their race,
But chiefly bears Macaria; from whose loins
Another race, more hateful, may come forth.
Canst thou not then—Why do thy fearful eyes
So cautiously shun mine?—Canst thou not then
Call down a voice oracular from heaven,
That claims a victim?—that Macaria claims?
I know thou canst; and far be't from Alcander
To question his friend's will.

THESTOR.
Is this thy friendship?
The token this of thy high veneration
For Thestor's character? whose heart long since
From this vain world estranged—

ALCANDER.
Old man!—but yet
Calmly I'll commune with thee; I'll convince
Thy scrupulous spirit that her single death
Will save the lives of thousands, which a war
With Argos must devote.

THESTOR.
The lives of thousands
Lie on their consciences who wage the war.
Shall Thestor's hands be stain'd with guiltless blood?
Shall Thestor's tongue belye the temple's god?
With a false oracle his thunders brave?
—Th'engendering storm already!

ALCANDER.
These nice qualms,
These conscientious horrors, were they wont
To stagger Thestor?—Wants the seer more warrant
To be oracular? Go then, consult
The entrails of your beasts, your babbling birds,
And groaning oaks; or single forth some goat,
Yeaned at full moon, and kill him with a knife,
(Of that be sure) exactly shaped and sized.
This shall disarm your god of his red bolt,
And make your murders holy.

THESTOR.
Such loud passion,
Affronting to the god!—

ALCANDER.
Are you not all,
Priestess and priest alike, the supple slaves
Of interest? Whence your tripods and your crowns,
Statues of gold and silver, glittering gems
That sanctify your shrines? Whence this vast splendour?
And what, but the rich bribes of crafty knaves,
And superstitious cowards?—One word more
Of hypocritic mummery, and, by heaven,
I will unfold such scenes!—

THESTOR.
Ungenerous man!
Whose headlong phrenzy, on my least demur,
Unmindful of all forms, all ceremonies,
Of all past benefits, temple and priest
Would overturn—

ALCANDER.
Why then the infirmity
Of thy friend's temper urge to the extreme,
Upon a point so trying?

THESTOR.
Hah! and is
The point to me less trying?—grant it just;
(And sad necessity makes most things just)
Yet, to pronounce a sacrifice at once—
Shed, without hesitation, royal blood—
No reverence had to my own fame; no care
For my own life, and every worldly hope.—

ALCANDER.
Thy fame, thy life, if there be confidence
In a king's word, in friendship like Alcander's,
Shall be secure; thy every worldly hope,
To the minutest scruple, warranted.
—And now, how soften'd seems that countenance,
Which speaks, without a tongue, my friend's assent;
Speaks him again my ancient honour'd Thestor!
Here then, behold th'instructions: take them; read them;
And with them take this pledge; Eurystheus sends it;
This gem from his own finger. Now dispatch;
Pronounce the oracle; be firm; and prosper.
[Exit Thestor.
Now fate begins its work!—I have already
Alarmed the timorous temper of the king
About these fugitives.—But he approaches,
Here to perform a superstitious vow,
He made before his march to Marathon.

Enter DEMOPHON and his train.
DEMOPHON.
How venerable the horror that enfolds
Jove's holy temple! with profoundest awe
Behold thy servant enters.

ALCANDER.
May its god
Inspire thy righteous spirit so to act
As best becomes his servant! This remember,
The hand, the chastening hand of heaven lies on
These exiles; and each shrine, save this, oh king,
Against them shut, as against things unholy.
How desperate then to risk for them a war!

DEMOPHON.
Thy doubts already have found entrance here.
Therefore, to know heaven's purpose, I have sent
The most inspired of all th'oracular priests,
Our ancient Thestor; without whose sage voice
In holy things we move not.

ALCANDER.
To his voice,
As is most fit, I bow me. Yet hear further,
What never oracle more truly spoke:
Your brother's dangerous spirit, every hour
More dangerous by Macaria's matchless charms—
Forgive my forward friendship—but behold,
Graced with the royal ensigns, where he comes
Exulting on, in burnished armour clad,
As he were Athens' king, and peace and war
Hung on his nod!—I must not stay to cross
The army's idol.

[Exit.
Enter ACAMAS.
ACAMAS.
Back to Athens welcome,
My royal brother.

DEMOPHON.
When we went from Athens,
In peaceful garb was Acamas arrayed.
The soldier's falchion now invests his thigh;
The sun now glitters on his polished helm;
And clanking arms and armour sound to war.

ACAMAS.
And if war e'er was just, and heaven approved,
'Tis now; when Deianira and Macaria,
By a vile tyrant exiled, suppliants come
To thee, and to the God whom thy religion
Doth venerate in that shrine; which scarce protects them
From the brute outrage of a haughty herald.
I heard Macaria plead; and tears burst forth.
Alcander spoke; and at each ruffian word
My indignation burned. To hesitate
In such a cause were guilt.

DEMOPHON.
Thy passion speaks this.
The glittering glory of rash enterprize
Fires thy transported spirit, that would flame
The meteor of a multitude's amaze,
No thought beyond the present hour: unmindful
Of a king's duty; that the royal sword
Should save, not sacrifice, a people's lives;
And then be sheath'd, when it has fixt the base
Of future happiness; that each exploit,
Weigh'd, and digested deep, must be consign'd,
In history's long roll, to times unborn,
And stand their rigid test.

ACAMAS.
Such then, such is
Th'occasion this important hour presents.
Stamp this exploit in history's long roll,
To stand the rigid test of times unborn.
Rouze then at once, insulted virtue cries,
Rouze, and revenge!—the troops are marshalled—I
Will march my veterans.

DEMOPHON.
Heedless of th'event;
By heavenly admonition unassured,
What would thy frantic fury?

ACAMAS.
It would hurl
Yon ruthless ruffian headlong from the throne
Of Argos, and restore its rightful heirs:
Restore Alcides' royal race!—i'th'presence
Of Jove's dread sanctuary, I've given my word
Irrevocable!

DEMOPHON.
To embroil my kingdom
In civil factions, well as foreign war.
Art thou to learn what spirits there are stirring,
By their own vices ruin'd? bold, seditious,
Desperate of what may happen; without hope,
But from the general wreck—these are at work,
All ready, like the pent-up pestilence
To burst upon us!

ACAMAS.
Oh, ignoble fear!
Bane of all worth! which every sacred tye,
The splendor of th'Athenian name, its glory,
Would basely trample down. Shall then this state,
Famed for its love of freedom thro' the world,
And love of mercy—hah! shall generous Athens
Crouch to Eurystheus? to an Argian tyrant
Its royal suppliants yield?—My brother, no!
They shall not quit the temple.

DEMOPHON.
Shall not quit?—
Presumest thou with these fantastic flights,
Romantic visions of a lovesick boy,
To fright us to compliance?

ACAMAS.
Lovesick boy?—

DEMOPHON.
That was my word.—Macaria? does the name
Flush with a crimson shame thy conscious cheek?
The loves that revel in Macaria's eyes,
These are the orators that plead for war;
And these the generous virtues that would risk
A kingdom's ruin.

ACAMAS.
Well; Macaria then
Sounds the alarm for war; her filial sighs,
The wrongs of weeping beauty, that might move
The world to arms, move me.—I own the charge;
I triumph in the weakness!—check thy scorn!
Cast on thy slave, not me, that menacing frown,
Proud king! for I will speak, when justice bids,
Tho' death his dart shook at me.—With these suppliants
My honour is at stake; dear as that honour
I hold, and will protect them; tho' Alcander
Had every wile of every fiend—remember!
For, by the soul of my dead sire! the sword,
To them, shall pass thro' me.

Exit.
Enter MACARIA.
MACARIA.
Did I not hear
A voice like that of Acamas? or was it
My fancy's coinage?—hah!

DEMOPHON.
What sudden blaze
Of beauty breaks upon me from the temple?
By heaven, 'tis she! the syren that seduc'd
My brother: and no wonder! for her eyes
Have witchcraft in them; and each lovely look
A melancholy grace that melts the soul.—
Art thou Macaria?

MACARIA.
The distrest Macaria!
Daughter of Deianira; and with her,
Hither from Argos by Eurystheus driven;
Where Acamas—may heaven reward his virtue!
Saw, and supported us. Canst thou inform me
Of my protector?

DEMOPHON.
Hence, this moment, lady,
My brother went.

MACARIA.
And art thou Demophon,
His brother? whom we owe a life of thanks.
Oh, sir, to him, to you, with gratitude
As low as to our guardian gods we bend,
For our late blessing. Like a chearful morn,
Fair opening on a dark and dismal night,
The gracious tidings came: they lifted up
The lamp of life just fading in her eye;
And gave to a despairing daughter's heart
A happy mother.

DEMOPHON.
In this changeful scene,
No mortal creature, till the hour of fate,
May be called happy.

MACARIA.
Yet might I entreat you
To cast one casual glance—admire the work
Of your own goodness—heavens! how changed from her,
Who lately on the ground, on the cold ground
Lay hopeless, almost lifeless.—With the sight
Of her good genius bless her!

DEMOPHON.
Much Macaria,
I fear, o'er-rates th'indulgence Demophon
May yield to Deianira.

MACARIA.
How such friendship
Fills me with wonder! but a virtuous heart
Is happy in the happiness it gives.
Enter the shrine, and bless her with thy presence.

Enter IOLAUS.
IOLAUS.
Joy to Macaria! if 'tis joy to hear
Hyllus has scaped the tyrant's treacherous wiles
T'ensnare his honoured life.

MACARIA.
Blest be the tongue
That speaks the tidings! Come, my Hyllus, come!
Ready to fold thee to his friendly breast
Stands Acamas; and Demophon will join
His godlike brother! Oh, we're blest indeed!
Son, mother, daughter, blest in two such friends!

Solemn Musick. Enter THESTOR, and Priests.
THESTOR.
Pause ye, my reverend brethren? Let no thought,
Ill-omen'd look, or word, this place profane;
With solemn silence all ye priests of heaven
Attend. Brief are the words, and terrible,
Of the dread oracle!

MACARIA.
What oracle!

THESTOR.
No interruption, maid. At thy command,
Oh king, did we proclaim a sacrifice:
Wrapt in celestial musings then approached
These reverend sages; and with solemn voice
Chaunted their holiest hymn; the shrines burnt bright
With sacred fires; and every altar sent
Its swelling incense, on a hallowed cloud,
To him on high.

MACARIA.
This dreadful preparation—

THESTOR.
When thus burst forth the awful voice:—“No steer,
“No blood of bulls will now propitiate heaven
“To grant success. Would Athens stand secure—
“Would Hyllus save his royal father's throne,
“And his own life—the blood of Deianira—

MACARIA.
Horror of horrors!—Deianira's blood!

THESTOR.
The priest of Jove with pitying eye beholds
Thy suffering soul. But hear the oracle—
“Would Hyllus save his royal father's throne,
“And his own life, the blood of Deianira
“Must, in a purple stream of sacrifice,
“Float on the sacred altar of the god!”

IOLAUS.
She faints! ah, gently lend your aid!

[Macaria faints.
DEMOPHON.
How lovely,
Even when the hand of death lies cold upon her!

MACARIA.
I live! I yet survive! the dreadful sounds
Still thunder in my ears!—my mother's blood!
Tell me, tremendous god! what unknown crime
Provokes such vengeance? Why is it decreed,
That the whole race of Hercules must feel
Thy horrible displeasure?

THESTOR.
Ah! presume not,
Rash virgin, heavenly wisdom to arraign!
Just is the god, tho' terrible; his will
Must be obeyed. But that thy soul would sink
At the tremendous sounds, should'st thou hear all—
For yet the oracle's but half declared—

MACARIA.
But half declared?—

THESTOR.
“The blood of Deianira
“Must, in a purple stream of sacrifice,
“Float on the sacred altar of the god;
“Unless, with free and voluntary choice,
“Alcides' daughter here devotes her own!”

MACARIA.
Thanks, gracious powers! thanks, from her inmost soul,
That daughter offers!—Let her brother reign!
Spare her loved mother's life! and lo, Macaria,
With tears of transport, here devotes her own!
Lead to the altar! crown, with garlands crown,
Your victim; and be conquerors!

DEMOPHON.
What is this
That pleads for her so plaintively? a pity,
That's almost painful. Wherefore, in the bloom
Of youth, should such unblemish'd virtue die?
—Ponder a moment.

MACARIA.
Interrupt not, Sir,
The solemn offering; which, for worlds, I would not
Should now be frustrate. Holy men, proceed:
For me death has no terrors. I conjure you,
Ye delegates of heaven! obey heaven's voice.
Lead to the altar; I implore to die.

DEMOPHON.
It must not be.—

THESTOR.
Heaven's voice hath spoke! What mortal
May dare gainsay the sentence? Here below,
Mercy should sit enthroned in monarchs' hearts,
And temper justice; but when from above
The awful oracle of Jove hath spoke,
They hear, and they obey.

MACARIA.
True, sacred seer;
Thy word's the word of heaven; as heaven thou heed'st,
Oh, holy Demophon! hear and obey.

DEMOPHON.
Virgin, that fortitude, beyond thy sex,
Divinely is inspired; yet cautiously
We would proceed. My own religious purpose,
Yet unperformed, at present claims my care;
That done, ye sage interpreters of heaven!
We'll commune further.

[Exeunt Demophon and Priests.
MACARIA.
Look not, Iolaus,
With eyes like those. I pray thee, ruffle not
That calm serenity, which suits a soul
On its eternal journey. Wherefore weep?
The name of death no terror has for her,
Who with a conscious triumph dies; and goes
Youthful, with all her virgin virtues crown'd,
Like a bright star to heaven.

IOLAUS.
Macaria hear.
More sudden than the lightning's flash, a thought
Darts on my mind—

MACARIA.
Yet once more, Iolaus,
Cross not my purpose; I'm resolved to die:
Die for my mother—for thee, brother—friends—
Thou virtuous, good old man!

IOLAUS.
Me! die for me!
But gracious heaven may still point out a way—
May pour swift vengeance on th'usurper's head—

MACARIA.
Hyllus shall reign! a sister's death confirm
Her brother to his throne!—When I am gone,
Here, Iolaus, with a daughter's love,
Tend the poor queen! oh, sooth her sorrowing soul!
But tell her not thou saw'st this bursting tear.

[Exeunt.