University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene—The Same.
MEMNON
—SOLUS.
The billet did its business well—it woke
Her fears, and chac'd her from her father's house.—
But why return'd, and whence this wond'rous tale
Of violence and rescue? Is it feign'd
Or true?—It is no time to question now!
I still am unsuspected, and some means
Of more effect this working brain must find
To spirit her away, and leave no space
To lay the basis of my fortunes deep
But here the rangers, and their captive come,
I hasten to resume my priestly garb!

[Exit.
[Aristodemus, and Helots, bring in a captive.
Arist.
[The captive is led forward.

1st Hel.
No sign of guilt he show'd,
No mark of terror his demeanor wore,
More than you see at present; nay, he ask'd
To be conducted hither.

Arist.
to the Cap.
Tell me—say
Why that impassion'd gate? that scornful smile!

Cap.
From no contempt. I smile at your mistake.
Yourselves will smile, when you forget your rage
Against your firmest friends!

Arist.
What! art thou not
A Spartan, and a ruffian, sent to spy,
And single from our tribes the choicest prey
To dye your maiden sword in Helot's gore?

Cap.
From no Laconian veins my birth I draw,
As well my dialect may show. My country
Is that distinguish'd land, where Theseus rul'd,
Now the proud arbitress of Greece. To you,
(If you command those Helot tribes) I bear
My orders.

Arist.
Tell thy business! Falter not!
It must be bloody, deep, important, secret,
Well suited to the past; but no disguise
Will here avail. Messenia's tottering state
(To be cemented by thy Spartan blood)
Must not be baffled by a soothing tale!

Cap.
Mistaken men! Would Heaven the time allow'd
To send to Athens, (if you doubt my faith)
Your fears would soon disperse!

Arist.
An artful scheme!
But futile as the former! You would gain
Time to elude our vengeance, and to leave us
To wonder at our folly!

Cap.
Send this instant.—
Be I your hostage till your messenger
Returns. Then will you find me not a spy,
But delegated from th'Athenian state,
To proffer aid; nay more, to raise you high
From this inglorious state, akin to beasts,
To cope with men.

Arist.
You think us beasts, indeed,
Devoid of all sagacity!—Whate'er
Thy purpose, thou and thy confederate friends
Can best disclose. But now thy thin pretext
Is all transparent as the air. Thy words—
Yes—thine own words condemn thee! We ourselves
A messenger already have dismiss'd
To Athens and to Delphi, both at once,
And were there aught of moment, not by thee,
But them, the answer had been sent. But thou
Prepare to meet thy doom!

[As they are going to seize him.
Cop.
Hold! On your lives
Presume not thou to touch me, or thy slaves!
Approach not, or by all th'Athenian gods,
An horrible revenge awaits the deed.
Let me but send to Athens! Let me wait
In bonds, till my credentials may arrive!

Amph.
Could it be done!—But think, Aristodemus,
How often wild temerity has rued
The violence of direful deeds too late.

Arist.
He only wants to profit by delay,
And what from thence might grow. He bears no stamp
Of Athens in his dialect, or garb!—
Have we not seen Athenians? And from whence
Can he then be, but from our deadliest foes,
Our masters of Laconia! Call the priest, [Exit Helot.

And bid the altars fume. Propitious gods
Accept our offering!

Cap.
Am I then to fall
Obscure, inglorious, by a curst mistake?
Nay, then, whatever hostile power, whose hate
Has lur'd me to the snare, shall never see me
Thus tamely, like a steer, to slaughter led!

[Struggles and overthrows several of the Helots, but is at last overpowered and muffled for sacrifice.
Enter MEMNON, as Priest.—The Altar lighted and surrounded with preparations for Necromancy.
Mem.
Ye nameless powers! who in the dark profound,
Despise the common sacrifice, and joy
To see the voluntary victim throw
The load of life aside! Ye who inspire
The Gentian widow with the dire resolve
To plunge amid the slaming bounds, that part
Both worlds, and seek the partner of her soul
In other elements than ours—command
The dull, reluctant, lingering wish away.
That ties the sullen captive to the world!
Give him to taste of immortality.
That his exalted sentiment may scorn
The vapid pleasures of this nether clime,
That sicken in enjoyment! Imp his wings,
That droop like some young eaglet's, on the verge
Of dread vacuity, yet unexplored,
Till his undaunted parent heaves him off,
To poise his pinions in the wide expanse
Of the sustaining air. If ye accept
The offering, by thy dread response, we soon
Shall learn! The gods, who rule our changing spheres
Remand us back to you, who know no change
In purpose or in fortune. They will melt
At human woe, and turn at human prayer,
Like their own clouds and sunshine. Ye are stern,
Immoveable, and scorn the wav'ring breeze
That causes chance and change below! Prepare
The rites! And now produce the captive youth,
Unmask him—let him look upon his fate.

[The mask is taken off and discovers Alcibiades.
Mem.
Aside.
Ha!—Who is here! Oh Nemesis and Jove!
What dreadful vision bursts upon my sight!
My deadliest foe within my power! The man
That caus'd my exile, forc'd me to renounce
My native clime—and oh—but I must save him,
Else my revenge were short of half its ends.—
It must be full, complete!

Arist.
What new delay?
Some sudden ecstasy has seiz'd our priest,
Mark his disorder'd mein, his kindling eyes
Like glaring orbs, that threat revenge and war!—
And now they melt to pity—say what means
This strange convulsion?—

Mem.
Aside.
To Arist.

Arist.
We will not be deluded!—say, what means
Your mystic rapture?—Name the wondrous man
So late our captive for intended crimes
On bloody purpose bent, and seiz'd within
Our groves; now suddenly transform'd and claim'd
The favourite of the gods!—

Mem.
The gods demand
A Spartan life, but should your hasty hand
Shed this youth's blood (no Spartan blood perhaps)
Messenia still might mourn.

[To them, enter Semanthe in haste.
Sem.
Immortal gods!
I am not yet, I hope, too late to save
My saviour—to return him life for life!

Arist.
What profanation's this!—Semanthe! Why
Forgetful of your sex, will you intrude
Where yet no female is allowed to spy
Our interdicted rites?

Sem.
Forgive me, father!
Forgive the transports of a grateful mind
I heard the rumour of a captive's fate—
My heart presag'd it might be he, whose arm
Guarded my life—I ran, I flew to save him
Oh my prophetic heart! this! this is he
Who snatch'd me from the ruffians!

Arist.
Gracious heaven!
From what a dreadful plunge of fate I rise
How every hour with strange discoveries teems
Forgive, whoe'er thou art, the dark intent.—
What horrour had surrounded me! What guilt
Of black ingratitude, tho' undesign'd
Tho' sanction'd by religion! Yet disclose
Why thus involv'd in night, and dark disguise
You chose to hide your worth!

Alcib.
Thy son could tell
Whom oft I met in secret—but I spare
Your heart the keen remembrance of your loss.—
I did not wish that more than one (and he
Of highest trust) should know the deep intent
That led me hither—tho' my lucky hand
Rescu'd the fair Semanthe, when I learn'd
Alcander's fate, I deem'd Messenia's hope
For ever sunk, and deep desponding trac'd
My backward steps, irresolute to go
Or stay. To warm your Helots to revenge
Or leave them tamely in their turns to fall
Deliberating long I stood—Till fate
Drew these night rangers on my lonely track.—
But those strange rites, this midnight sacrifice,
Those awful preparations shew, that still
The spirit of my slaughter'd friend survives.
Even from below, the powers that love revenge
Seem to call on us. Even the fates proclaim
Some mighty birth at hand!

Arist.
Twas then to thee
We owe my son's too sanguine hopes. Alas!
Too long it seem'd the birth of youthful fancy
And generous ardour! Too intense it flam'd,
Too, too conspicuous! Like the lambent blaze
That hovers o'er Eurotas' banks by night,
It led the midnight murtherer to his mark,
Whose fatal dagger struck my noblest hopes
To earth!

Alcib.
If consolation yet can touch
Thy heart, be it thy comfort, reverend sire,
That now, with better caution we pursue
Our plan, which else the ardour of thy son,
(Generous and bold, but to the perilous times
Ill suited) had undone. He, by his birth
And merit, mark'd our pilot, in a sea,
Full of quick sands, and shoals, and sudden flaws,
And dangerous currents, had o'erset our bark,
Which needs more steady hands (like yours) to steer.

Arist.
Alas, I am too old! My nerves are slack
With grief and age! Tho' vengeance well might brace
Limbs more decrepid and relax'd than mine.

Alcib.
Your son is fallen, but still the line survives
In your fair daughter. On her choice, by you
Confirm'd, the fortunes of your line depend.
A race, that underneath the patron power
Of Athens, yet may climb its antient throne.
—But let us leave this dark, ill-omen'd spot,
This scene, design'd for massacre and blood;
Its omen suits not with our better hopes.
Come—I have something further to propose,
Beyond your boldest aims.

[Exit Alcib. Arist. Seman. and Helots.
Mem.
Alone.

[Walks apart.
Enter SEMANTHE.
[SEMANTHE]
Shall I that secret to the gods disclose
I scarce can tell myself? O thought profane,
Will they, too partial, aid my fond pursuits,
And with the mist of passion blind, release
From right's eternal bonds, the heedless wretch,
A willing captive of the wand'ring heart?
I dare not think it. Syren! cease your strain,
For from that urn there comes a solemn voice
That checks the passions in their wild career,
And pales the rosy hue of Hope. It says,
“Oh think, Semanthe! on my fate!—no more,
“Thy brother's hand the helm of Reason sways,
“Or aids thee with his counsels! Thou, perhaps,
“Sole heiress of Messenia's line, canst boast
“That awful verdict lodged within thy lips,
“On which thy country's weal depends! thy choice
“Sows discord thro' our plains, or gently sooths
“Our patriotic bands to peace! Thy choice,
“Or Hymen, with the Graces shall attend,
“Or the pale Furies light the nuptial flame.”
And how shall I resolve, when either choice
Frowns with alternate danger! On each hand
I see the deep fermenting storm, that wrecks
My peace—but with mute eloquence, my heart
Presses decision. Friendly monitor!
Dumb guide to wisdom! Thy successful vote
At last I find will turn the fatal scale!

Mem.
Aside.
Then it is time, misguided maid, to foil
The Stygian charm that brews eternal feuds
Against the coming peace! The public cause
And mine are now combin'd: with confidence
I go to thwart her hopes.

[Comes forward.
Sem.
Kneels
Immortal gods!
Who art thou? Of this earth, or from above?
It was not fancy then! The voice was thine
Which even but now I heard, or seem'd to hear!
Whence and what art thou? Let not feeble mortals
Dissolve with terror at this awful hour,
When the dread barriers of the meeting worlds
Are broke!—When heaven converses oft with earth,
And to the charm'd soul, of her kindred skies,
The rapturous hint conveys!

Mem.
That humble posture
Befits not fellow mortals. Know'st thou not
My voice, my garb?

Sem.
Ha! Memnon! Why this time,
This place? I sink with terror! Why delay
Behind! Doth it become a man, like thee,
To listen to my orisons? But here
It suits me ill to be observ'd with thee,
If any eye beheld us!

Mem.
From thy slave,
Dread not a deed or word, but such as Virtue
Might hear and see! Thou shalt not need thy friend,
Thy hardy champion in those awful shades,
To virtue sacred, and to public love,
To vengeance, and to fame!

Sem.
My champion! mean'st thou
An insult by this word?

Mem.
Thy pardon, fair one!
I did not mean to call the burning blush
Over thy cheek! He, whom thy father's voice,
Destin'd to that blest union, were he nam'd,
Had scarcely wak'd a warmer tinge.

Sem.
Thy words,
And sly, officious observation, veil'd
Beneath the covert of the night, to spy,
(Like some dark fiend, who waits the witching hour
To shed infection) the disclosing soul;
But ill becomes my father's seeming friend,
A person delegated by the gods
To offices more dignified!

Mem.
I pardon
This error—'tis the time's mistake—nor thine.
So far your first conjecture was well founded.
—I am not what I seem.—

Sem.
Aside.
To Mem.

Mem.
Your indignation
Becomes you well. But it is needless now.
Our meeting was to me the work of chance.
But what I heard, nor time, nor chance, nor change
Shall from this bosom wring. Tho' much, perhaps,
(More than you yet surmise) your secret words,
(When none, you thought, was near) alarm'd my soul,
And wak'd a grief which years had lull'd to rest.
—Wonder not that it flows—and for a time
Denies you the discovery.

Sem.
Tears! Amazement!
How could the casual breathing of a prayer
In calm deliberation, heard or not
Concern your peace.—A sojourner, an Asian
A few short moons with us! A foreigner
Born in a climate half the world from us
Remote?

Mem.
Fair maid! No drop of Persian blood
Flows in those veins! Full sixteen summers past
O'er this devoted head before I crost
The swelling main, and lost the Grecian name,
(My birthright,) by the doom of cruel Fate
And yet more cruel man, torn from me!—

Sem.
Still
Your words bewilder,—but excuse me, stranger,
If other proofs, besides your bare assertion
Are needed!—were it my concern.—

Mem.
Full proof
I could disclose, and will.—The fraud itself
Bears witness to my truth.—

Sem.
You speak in riddles
Yourself, your dress, your words, are mystic all.

Mem.
A single word dispells the mournful cloud
That hangs upon my fate! This Persian garb
(A dress, to either sex adapted well)
Conceals—a woman.

Sem.
Gracious Heaven! A woman!
From whence thy origin. What country claims
Thy birth!

Asph.
[Opening her bosom.

Sem.
Aside.
To her.

Asp.
To that city
Whose fleets now ride triumphant round your coasts,
The seat of arts, of eloquence, and arms
I owe my birth. Yet not of Attic stem.
—My parents were by race Athenian exiles.
Oft have I heard, and wept the mournful tale
Of Ithomes sad fate.

Sem.
More wonders still!
Where will this end? Thou of Messenian race!

Asp.
And of no vulgar one. To Euphaes
Nearly allied. Oh! had my lofty birth
Inspir'd me with the spirit which belong'd
To that high rank, I ne'er had worn disguise,
Nor past for a plebeian slave, the spy
Of sunburnt swains!

Sem.
Say, what disastrous chance
Sent you to Athens?

Asp.
Ask the young Athenian,
Your captive, and your champion, on whose word
Perhaps your country's weal depends, and guess
The rest!

Sem.
It is then as I fear'd.

[Aside.
Asp.
His vows
Upon my fond belief impos'd, the sooner,
As all our meetings were by night conceal'd,
My hapless father had a tincture still
Of regal pride, and would have scorn'd the son
Of Clinias for his heir!

Sem.
Aside.
And so, perhaps,
Would mine! But my poor father's royal blood
Is tainted with vile slavery; and the son
Of Clinias, in his turn, might scorn me too!

Asp.
His vows impos'd upon my virgin heart—
My shame was known— my father doom'd me dead.—
—A faithful slave, partaker of my guilt,
Attended my escape. In man's disguise
We stole by moonlight thro' the neighbouring port,
Where stood a brigantine for Samos bound.—
Our gold obtain'd our passage, and the bark,
With easy sail, divided the blue wave,
That sparkled to the moon beam, as she plow'd
Her foamy course. But, oh! thou conscious moon!
Pale witness of my guilt, and of my flight,
Thy radiant light serene, the cloudless sky
Caus'd our unhappy doom! Oh had the clouds
From either end of Heaven roll'd o'er our heads,
And hid our shining sails! Our shining sails
By a Milesian corsair was descry'd,
The splendid bucklers, rang'd along her side,
By fits, thick flashing to the lunar beam
Glar'd fate upon us, like the comet's blaze,
As he advanc'd amain;—we yielded soon,
For his force trebled ours—in Persia's pay.
To Pharnabazus he his captive sold,
The noblest far of our barbarian foes.
A languishing disease had long confin'd
This Persian lord. Some little skill I learn'd
In herbs and simples from an hoary sire
Who dwelt on fair Hymettus, (oft at morn
My charming walk) was now of sovereign use,
To the great satrap. I found out the means
That rais'd him. With his health, his gratitude,
To me, commenc'd: he gave me to the king.
There Æsculapius still (to whom my pray'rs
With unabating fervour flow'd) return'd
My vows with every wish'd success; full thrice
The circling sun had cloth'd Gedrosia's hills
In summer pride, since next to regal state
Was mine in Sufa's haughty court: I scorn'd
These honours, when I felt each languid hour,
(Tho' rich with many a gift,) the galling chain
Of slavery, to the warm, ingenuous mind,
More galling for its splendour. Some dark scheme,
Some secret preparation 'gainst the weal
Of my lov'd Athens urg'd me on to speed
My wish'd return.
I found—wouldst thou believe it?—In the hills
Of Margiana , the detested source
Of all the civil feuds that waste our states
There, from the mines, near to the Stygian realm
The pale fiend rises on the day, whose hand
Sows discord thro' our nations, and dissolves
That harmony of Greece, which Asia dreads
Worse than the red-wing'd pestilence which rides
The burning sky.—With steel and banded fleets
Bold Xerxes sought our shores. His subtler heir—
Directs his engines not against our walls
Our forts, or navies—but against our minds
And bears down all before him!—

Sem.
Why then here
Delays thy mighty Mission? Why to Athens
Returnst thou not, to Thebes, to Argos, Corinth,
And show, what fatal spell, unknown to them
Brews the dark storm that wrecks them?

Asp.
No design,
No wish of mine to the Laconian shore
Led my devoted steps, but wayward fate
Or some kind god that wept Messenia's doom.
I burn'd for liberty; and long'd, once more
To see my native country, and expose
The fatal arts of Persia.—From the court
Veil'd in the humble habit of a slave
Feigning a message to the Sardian court
Where Tissaphernes rules Ionia's court.
I journey'd on, and reach'd the Carian shore,
There in a Rhodian vessel I embark'd
Bound for the port of Sunium. Adverse gales
Drove us to Malea southward, and again
Doom'd me to cruel bonds a wretched prey.—
The rest were mingled with the Helot band
Except a few, whom their more wealthy friends
Thought fit to ransom, as for me, thou seest
My fate and knowst my fortune since!—

Sem.
Thy tale
Would call attention from the dead, yet still
Seems it not strange that here you waste away
The precious hours of action, when a voice
Like thunder, calls thee to forsake those woods
And save desponding Greece!

Asp.
Yet wonder not!
My fate, has fixt me here.—You know my birth.—
Deep interest in your fortunes, and your wrongs
A sympathizing pang to see your woes,
Rooted me to this soil like yonder oaks
That wave so awful to the midnight gale.
I saw a manly spirit far diffus'd
Among your tribes.—With transport I perceiv'd
That nothing but religion's mighty charm
Was wanting to enflame the nascent spark
And form that influence, whose potent spell
Gives the due energy. A short exertion
In old Messenia's tribes, to free their hands
I knew, would turn the balance, and incline
Laconia's lords to think on moderate terms
As yet too haughty far.—

Sem.
Great are thy views
And laudable! Already Athens sends
To warm us with the hope of present aid
And present freedom!

Asp.
Would to all the gods
Another Envoy had been chosen! I then
Had not been led to this disast'rous tale.—

Sem.
I sought it not.

Asp.
Yet thou alone compell'st
The sad recital.—

Sem.
I compell! I know not
The purport of thy words!—

Asp.
Mistake me not—
I saw thee on a precipice—I knew
The dangers of that honey'd tongue, that flows
With Aspics deadly venom,—tho' disguis'd
Beneath the sweets of Hybla!—

Sem.
What to me
The venom, or its sweets? Dost thou presume
Upon my weakness, measur'd by thine own
Or a few whispers, by the dubious ear,
Heard indistinctly in the midnight hour?
The business of a list'ner ill accords
With all thy pomp, and high pretext of office?
From an ignobler passion, low surmise,
Thy seeming friendly caution came!

Asp.
Semanthe,
I can forgive thee—but thou wrong'st me much.
Time long has heal'd the deep corrosive wound,
And I have too much pride to court a man,
Who now, perhaps, contemns me. No.—Those groves,
That tomb shall be my witness, that, for me,
The secret of my birth and sex shall rest
Unknown. Unless it be, perhaps, thy choice
To give this Greek the means to triumph o'er
A maid, who once had not disgrac'd his hand
—Even in her fall. But tho' to me, my love
Was death, my wand'rings may to Greece procure
The glorious means of harmony and peace
Thro' her unequall'd states.

Sem.
I scorn the office,
And for Messenia's state my zeal would glow,
Perhaps, as warm as yours!

Asp.
Then lay your hand
Upon your heart; for, on that pulse that moves
Your snowy bosom, now, even now, perhaps,
Thy father's, and his people's weal depends—
A worthy youth, Philemon, is his choice
For thee, already to the royal stem
Ally'd, and powerful in his vote, among
The tribes of old Messenia. Let thy voice
Confirm thy father's will! Like balmy Peace,
When first she harmoniz'd the new-made world,
Thou breath'st sweet concord thro' the loyal bands,
That, on thy brother's doom, look up to thee,
And on thy choice, to fix a nation's weal!
—Philemon is thy father's choice. To thee,
Perhaps our envoy may pretend, elate
With his Athenian birth, and offer'd aid.
He has a specious person, and the means
To gain the coldest heart. Apollo's grace,
The lip of Hermes, and the port of Mars.
But trust not to his vows!—
Philemon's spirit soars above the pitch
Of his obscure and servile doom. The swains
Revere him as their leader to the field
After Alcander's fall. His name is dear,
Even as the life-blood to their heart. Should he,
Admit the bane of dark surmise, his pride
Might make him raise a faction in the tribes,
Merely to thwart his rival, and undo
All that the gods and Athens have perform'd
For freedom and Messenia. Thus the fate
Of a whole people were perhaps involv'd
In his dread efforts of revenge;

Sem.
From thee
Those precepts? I accountable to thee
For aught I do? And thou, dost thou pretend
To read my heart?—Alas! thou only show'st
Thine own too plain. Beneath the friendly mask
Of patriotic zeal! shalt thou, a stranger,
Feel for my country more than I? Should fate,
Ordain by me, in closer league to join
Ascending Athens, and our sinking state,
Shall I oppose it? But it is not mine,
Nor thine, alas! but the Messenian cause.
It is a father's fiat shall determine
For me! To thee and thine officious zeal
I give its due of gratitude! No more—
But, heed this friendly caution: When a friend
Taxes thy wisdom for advice, employ
Thy choicest stores of prudence in her cause,
And all th'experience of thy wand'rings gain'd.—
—But should his modesty or pride deny
The expedience—proffer not too rashly thou
Thy service, lest he spurn it, and deny
Belief to thy romantic tale of love,
Of exile, and of Asiatic honours!

Asp.
Be it as thou and they decide. For me,
I might have err'd thro' zeal. Even Honesty
Is oft misguided, and some bitter dregs,
Tho' wholesome, mingle in the needful cup
Of counsel!

Seman.
As for me, 'tis not of import
What thy designs may be; at thy best leisure
Frame thy apology! But other cares
Demand my absence hence.

[Exit.
Asp.
Alone.
Go where thou wilt.
Go! where thy passions hurry thee along.
Perhaps, where Ruin lurks. Ha!—Is it thus,
That poor Messenia's public friends avow'd,
Consult her safety; to ferment the storm,
That slumbers yet in peace; and to confound
The firm confederacy, (just at the point
To close) with new convulsions? Be it so!
—But I am not in apathy so school'd,
So chill'd with stoic maxims, as to see
Another reap the harvest of my toil,
And triumph in my tears, perhaps with pity,
Insulting pity, to deride my wrong!—
—Ere she possesses him, first perish all
Messenia, Sparta, with their hopes and claims
In one wide ruin, sinking to the fiends!—
The raging flame that in my bosom glows
Shall burn down every obstacle, to find him!—
—But let me yet be calm, and temper well
My plans with cautious prudence, so to guard
Public and private ends at once! For her,
I know she dare not yet disclose my trust,
For that would tell her love, enflame the rage
Of wrong'd Philemon, and incense her sire
To rouse the storm I mean to lay. But see,
Her lover comes to seek her.

To her PHILEMON.
Asp.
Hail, Philemon!
You come not, if I read your looks aright,
To water with desponding tears, the urn
Of him that slumbers here! What, tho' his fall
Seem'd, like an earthquake, to disjoint the frame
Of new-cemented freedom; yet you stood,
And, like Alcides, plac'd your mighty hand
Against th'impending ruin! Now on thee
Our tribes rely; on thee, thy godlike sire,
The father of thy race, Alcides, bends
A parent's eye! and with the scrutiny
Of heavenly minds, observes thy rising thought—
Applauds the bright ideas, as they form
In glorious schemes of freedom like his own!—
And marks thy soaring soul, the progeny
Of his great mind, as this majestic port,
That marks the fam'd Herculean race!

Phil.
Such praise
From such cælestial lips, (tho' yet by me
Unearn'd,) I look on as a stimulant
In that illustrious course, which heaven's behest
Calls on me now to enter!—

Asp.
True, brave youth.—
I had not so addrest thee, but I know
That thou hast much to do—and much to suffer.

Phil.
Talk'st thou of suffering to a slave.—Alas!
We smile at sufferings—we have suffer'd long!
What, but the keenest sufferings could impell
A multitude, to wish their plagues exchanged
For the worst fiends that iron-handed war
Brings in her hideous train? To wish the foe
Already in our fields, our vineyards all
Our harvests and our hamlets wrapt in flames
That, in the conflagration we might 'scape
Woes more intolerable? The whips, the scorns
The contumelious, wanton injuries
Of proud unfeeling Sparta?—I have seen
And felt too much of this to be appall'd
With dread of suffering violence! Besides
We now have little to suspect of harm.—
Even danger smiles upon us!—The Athenians
By their late envoy, send most flattering terms,
If true.

Asp.
To him your debt of gratitude
Is ample, and demands a due return.

Phil.
As how.—

Asp
The fair Semanthe to his arm.—

Phil.
'Tis true, my friend, and while the life-blood springs
Thro' this warm heart, I live to thank him.

Asp.
She
Already has repaid him life for life!
But for her intervention, now perhaps
His blood had stain'd our Altars, and her prayers
Were offer'd up with fervour! Had they rose
For thee, I think she had not breath'd the vow
With deeper energy! and, when they met
Their due return.—Say, didst thou mark her eyes?
What transport there! but thou, I think, wast absent.

Phil.
disturbed.
She has a feeling heart.

Asp.
And now my friend,
Think what thy country claims from thee, thy birth
Demands no common proof of public love!
Even should it cross thy dearest hopes, and blast
The joy most native to thy heart.

Phil.
My heart
Is all my country's.—Is there ought she claims
But to stand foremost in the day of peril
And sill the fallen Alcander's place?

Asp.
For that
A common warriour might suffice!—but he
Whose energy of soul aspires to lead
A people in the arduous paths of fame
Must lead them first in virtue: his example
Must foster those bright sparks of public love
And fan them to a flame, instruct them how
To quell their petty, selfish views, and feel
For all. Else let them never hope to form
A state conspicuous in the list of nations!
'Tis this, and this alone, that breathes around
That sacred ardour whose felt influence
Wakes in the general breast no common sense
Of public good, that emulative glow
By which the Spartans and Athenians rose
Conspicuous rivals in the lists of fame
Like two bright suns, in one resplendent sphere!

Phil.
Why this harangue to me? does Athens claim
More than a just alliance?

Asp.
What she claims
I know not.—But, if aught of heaven descend;
To this once favour'd bosom.—Even from thee
That sacrifice the gods expect, which gives
Concord and safety to Messenia's tribes!—

Phil.
Is there a rival chief that claims my post?
—Let him produce his claims!—And judge me then
If public love, or selfish ends inspire
Philemon's views!—

Asp.
There is—but arm thy soul
With patience—one, whose wishes interfere
With thine.—

Phil.
Mean'st thou the young Athenian?

Asp.
Yes.—
He claims no post of honour, but aspires
To more.

Phil.
Semanthe's love?

Asp.
Think not of love.
Think, should'st thou plead thy prior claim, the links
Of new alliance with the Attic state,
He may dissolve. His faction governs there
Once every moon.

Phil.
Is Athens then a tyrant?
Claims she from us, what Sparta durst not claim,
With our own hands to pierce our bleeding hearts,
And rend them from our bosoms? Then, for us,
'Tis better far to cherish, as our lives,
Our antient vassalage, than court new lords!
Our-masters hid their guilt in conscious night,
And came, like prowling wolves, beneath the moon,
To waste our hamlets, and profane our woods
With secret murthers! But our new allies
Resolve to hunt us in the face of day,
If this be true!

Asp.
Think what your country claims.

Phil.
My country! Does she then command to yield
Our dearest rights, for which alone we live,
The priceless boon of heaven, domestic bliss?
Is this the bright example I am called
To shew our swains? to teach our trampled slaves
New lessons of subjection, meaner proofs
Of low submission? This our haughty lords,
In all their hey-day of prosperity
Yet never dar'd! Nay, take my hated life!
For what is life when every comfort flies?
Why should I crawl on earth, contemn'd and scorn'd,
An impotent example of the pride
And pity of my foe? O thou, stern god,
From whom I draw my being, with contempt
Repay my fervent prayer, when I disgrace
Thy name, by such debasement of thy blood!
I am not yet so friendless. Her old sire,
The good Aristodemus, will support
My claim, tho' all the legions, all the fleets
Of Athens leave us naked to the foe!
Our friends of Helice are on their march.

Asp.
My friend, be calm! nor with ungovern'd passion
Disturb the new-form'd league. The haughty lover
May yet relent!

Phil.
And shall I owe to him
The favour of her hand? Thou seem'st to doubt—
But I am fixt for certainty or death!—

Asp.
Yet—yet be cautious. Let us sound the flood
Before we take the fatal plunge. Be calm—
It may be yet we dread too much!

Phil.
From her!—
From her I go to learn my doom, and spy,
If in her cold, averted look I read
A changing heart.

Asp.
Meantime, be mine the care
To sound her lover. Here we meet again
To sit in judgment on our country's fate.