University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

[Scene I.]

Scene.—An open space in Sparta, before a prison.
EUDEMON—PHÆBIDAS.
Eud.
'Tis now, oh Phæbidas! we feel the loss
Of brave Androcles! By th'eternal gods
Some fiend with folly and pernicious-rage
Dashes our counsels! Both our kings at once
You know, are absent, on the frontier bounds
Watching at every pass the coming foe
Like some pale shepherd, on a rock, forlorn
With stunn'd ear list'ning to the land-floods roar
That threats to desolate the plenteous year!—
Our Ephori in mute despondence sit
Or with vile brawls disturb the deep debate—
By heaven! to abject Helots all are turn'd!—
Some god has robb'd us of our better minds
And given them to our slaves!—In yonder woods
Like nobler savages they growl for freedom
And Athens listens to their awful voice
Delighted! Nay, they say, her envoys there
Manage, with skill refin'd, the dreadful strain
And pitch the horrid note so loud and shrill
That nations tremble at the din!—O thou
Great lion-tamer! teach thy torpid sons
How to subdue this monster of the groves
That yells for carnage!

Phæb.
From the northern hills
Messenia's exiles on the sounding shore
Of Helice and Bura, boldly spread
Their Ensigns to the wind, and, but some omens
Withhold them, it is fear'd, that, long ere now
By fatal instinct they had found their friends
Who spurn their chains in old Amyclæs vale!
O thou, that o'er the unseen world of horrors
Rulest paramount, and hurl'st thy dreadful spells
Thro' the scar'd soul, which, like the spreading plague
Catches from man to man, till armies fly
Before embattled nothings.—grant thine aid
Transfer thy terrours from the Spartan mind
And send them (like yon fogs that roll away
Over the dawning hills) upon our foes
Or all is lost!—

Eud.
By Jove it must not be!
Was it for this the Spartan glory rose
So formidable to the nations round
Like a red comet o'er the trembling world
That the vile hand of a revolted slave
Should pluck it from the stars, and tread it out
Like an extinguish'd lamp whose oil is spent?
—And now, I know, some cold-blood compromise
Is our dull subject of debate!—for me
I always blamed the stern and rigid laws
Which, not content with unremitting toil
Prest from our groaning slaves the vital flood
Mixt with their tears,—but, to submit, to sue
For league with them, what is it; but to blend
The name of Lacedemon with the dregs
Of mankind, who along our fruitful fields
Clank the vile chain of bondage?—If we fall—
Why—let us fall like Spartans, like the lion
Which our brave father slew, and not like dogs
That crouch beneath the blow, and let their lords
Twist the suspending cord around their necks
And drag them to their doom—if by their aid
We face the war, oh! never let us hope
Again to bend them to their ancient state
Of tame fervility! for settled peace
And unassuming, calm timidity
That scarcely seem'd to writhe beneath the scourge
Expect the brow of bold rebellion rais'd
At every fancy'd wrong! our quiet groves
Profan'd with midnight meetings, when they deem
Some privilege infring'd, or right withheld—
—And shall we teach their sacrilegious eyes
To pry into the mystic things of state
To peep behind the scene, and find, that we
(Whom, with implicit reverence, like the gods,
For ages they have worship'd) are but men
Subject like them to fear, the common prey
Of every mutinous passion?

Phæb.
Is there aught
In kindness, love, and mutual offices
Of friendship, and of favour, to command
Their mutual confidence and love? If not
Society is but a rope of sand
To be untwisted by the coming breeze!
Had we, by nobler maxims, rul'd our slaves
They now had wall'd us, like a mound of brass
Or measur'd equal steps with you to meet
Th'insulting foe! But we, alas! forgetting
That we ourselves are men, and own'd, with them
A common nature, have deprav'd ourselves,
And them to savages, by uncouth deeds
Of cruelty, of wrong, and violence!

Eud.
Had these more friendly maxims been adopted
In other times! But now, what would they seem
But the result of abject fear? The state
Seems to prefer thy reasoning. Fare thee well.
We meet no more, till this important crisis
Is past, for on the winged moments ride
The doom of Lacedæmon!

[Exit,
Phæb.
Alone.
Now, may heaven
Second my purpose! If I reason right,
The means are yet my own, (if duly us'd)
To reconcile those fell domestic foes.
—God of Cyllene! teach my lips the art
Of soothing rage to harmony! Apollo!
With thine own magic numbers tune my voice,
Like thine own son's, who charm'd the silent woods
To listen and obey. O bid me touch
The sacred spring of sympathy, the source
Of every noble sentiment, and warm
To glorious growth, the full expanding mind
Like the blest touch of thy benignant beam!

[Exit.

SCENE II.

The inside of a Prison.
ALCANDER
—ALONE.
I wonder what delays my doom so long?
This terrible suspence is worse than death.
Were I, in any other's power but his
Whose brother fell by me, I should incline
To hope they meant remission. But they now
Spend their invention in new kinds of torture.
—Perhaps they have found out my birth, and here
Detain me, as an hostage for the faith
Of our oppressed helots. Or, they mean,
By menaces to me, of torments new,
Unheard of pains, and terrible as those
Inflicted on the Titans by the rage
Of angry Jove, to bend the Helots down
To tame submission! This, if this they mean,
Would double every pang! Shall I, the heir
Of great Alcides, in ignoble bonds,
Pine here in hopeless gloom, while on my breath,
(Precarious tenure!) hangs the destiny
Of poor Messenia, like the gossamer,
That trembles at the breeze! Will not my foes
Thus hold me, till extremity of age?—
Till with my slow, declining spirit, sinks
The languid flame of liberty, subdued
By this rare spell of despotism refin'd,
This fraudful policy? or, like the forms
(Fashion'd in wax by wizard's plastic power
Of those alive) by slow consuming fires,
In secret waste, while those, whose shapes they wear
Confess the horrible decay, nor know
The cause! I cannot—cannot bear the thought
With patience! I shall find some means to send
My last, my dearest testament to those
Who mourn for me! I'll bid them look to him,
Who weds the last of the Herculean race,
Their leader now! For me, let tortures rend,
Or slow consuming sorrow waste my frame.—
—Let them look on me as a sacrifice
Devoted for my people! Could I think
They meant to make me a degraded tool,
A living instrument, a mere machine,
To play upon a people's hopes and fears,
And tame a gallant nation on the verge
Of freedom, to the galling scourge again,
This hand would soon decide my doom! But hark,
Perhaps this instant moment turns the scale!

Enter a MAN masqued.
Alc.
I thank thee. Thou art come, I hope, to speed
A wretche's doom, who trembles not to see
The welcome steel, that sends his soaring soul
To mingle with his fathers! He exults
At instant fate, but dreads the dungeon's gloom,
And the slow wasting chain! Be quick and merciful,
And he will thank you!

Spar.
Follow me! I come
To give thee all thy wish; but in this cell
Thy fall were too obscure—thou must be made
A fearful warning to thy fellow-slaves,
And teach a wholesome lesson of obedience.

Alc.
Then I were short of half my hopes! Art thou
More than a man, to force me hence? I see not
Who comes to aid thee, and a wretch can die
Even here! I will not leave this penal spot,
(Unless the rigorous hand of force compell me)
A spectacle to Sparta's haughty sons,
And poor Messenia's suffering tribes! Thou seem'st
Irresolute. But dread me not—my bosom
Is open to the blow, and I shall bless
The hand that lays me here, unseen, unknown!
For well proud Sparta knows, how I'm belov'd
By the afflicted Helots, and they bear
Enough already, not to have their woes
Enhanc'd by mine!

Spar.
I'll try a stronger charm
To lure thee hence. [Unmasks.]
Say, art thou now convinc'd
That there's no hopes for thee, and that my power
Can call a speedy guard to force you hence?

Alc.
Ha! Phæbidas! I would not lift my hand
Against thy life; nor had thy brother fallen
By me, but in my own defence!

Phæb.
I know it—
And, probably, my knowledge even of thee
Exceeds thy thoughts! Before this period, long
Thy slaughter had aton'd a brother's blood.
—But, let me not be thought to want the touch
Of kindred feeling, when I own his rage
Deserv'd, and drew his fate upon himself.
He lov'd his country—but his fiery zeal
Was indiscreet; he scorn'd to try the means
Of generous policy, but thought to sweep,
By the strong current of resistless power,
All that oppos'd his favourite views, away;
He thought, by terror, to obtain, what love,
Humanity, and mercy had ensured!

Alc.
Oh had such generous sentiments been his,
He now, perhaps, had liv'd, and thousands more,
(Whose life-blood, shed in wanton sport, distain'd
Our moonlight vales) had now enjoy'd the day.
But other policy prevail'd, and Sparta
Learns, in her turn, to weep!

Phæb.
Stern Justice claims
Blood, for his blood!

Alc.
I know it, and I stand
Prepar'd to meet my doom! Let it be sudden,
And leave all retribution to the gods!
Perhaps, even they may think a people's wrongs
A full atonement for their sins of old,
And turn the scale of vengeance!

Phæd.
What canst thou
Expect from me in justice, call'd by heaven
And earth, the avenger of a brother's blood?

Alc.
It matters not what Justice claims:—to Justice
Sparta has long been deaf! But for my fate,
I well have earn'd it, and I count it fame!
I might have led my Helots with an arm
Of flesh! but now my disembodied soul,
With all the Manes of th'immortal line!
Shall fire the van, and marshal them to vengeance!

Phæb.
Canst thou, deprest with bondage and with blows,
An abject Helot, burn with patriot love;
And canst thou glory in thy fall, to soothe
An empty hope of raising servile souls
To cherish liberty? And what from me,
A Spartan born, will honour claim to match
Our haughty boasts of yet unequall'd virtue?

Alc.
It calls on blood for blood, a nobler policy,
Than midnight murthers, unprovok'd and cool,
Weeding the noblest of our youth away,
Thro' base, unmanly dread: the men, whose spears
In this dread crisis, in the battles' edge
Had stood the shock of Athens! But, alas!
Why need I argue with a son of Sparta,
On justice, and on virtue?

Phæb.
All, perhaps,
Are not the advocates of cruelty
As thou presumest. There are, who scorn to wield
The scourge; there are who would disdain to hunt
Their slaves in midnight walks, with ruffian blade;
There are, who wish to raise their country's glory
On the broad basis of humanity,
And mutual deeds of love!

Alc.
Where do they hide
When the stern mandate goes abroad to lay
Our fields in blood, and bid our matrons weep?

Phæb.
Alas! amid the cry of savage fury
Their milder voice is lost! Their reason reels
Amid the gusts of prejudice and passion,
One only godlike privilege remains,
By private influence to serve the state.
Unseen benevolence, like the blest gods,
Who, tho' to us invisible, dispense
Their benefits around us. That to me,
(Mean as I am) this boon is not deny'd,
I count my greatest glory!

Alc.
Say, canst thou
Change the determin'd purpose of yon wolves?
Expell the savage lust for blood? Command
The tyger to grow tame, and in his paw
Dandle the kid? Say, canst thou purge away
The wrongs, deep-character'd, that glow for years
In the dark memory, till fermenting long,
They burst their way in rage? Canst thou do this?
—Then say thou art a god, and tell yon star
Of morn to rise no more, and bid the dawn
Forget her hour to shine!

Phæb.
I can do more!
I can at will command the world within,
Can bid my passions in their full career
Obey the check of Reason! when the blood
Of a fallen brother loud for vengeance calls,
And raises every holy sentiment
Of kindred sympathy, within my breast,
I can attend my country's deeper call
(A sound more solemn to the purged ear
Of Reason) and can bid his murtherer—go,
Free as the winds, to bless a weeping father,
And turn a people's tears to joy!

Alc.
To me!—
To me this unexpected boon! I dream.
From Phæbidas! A Spartan! Can it be?—

Phæb
Doubt not thy sense, or my fidelity,
In what I promise. Thou, (at my request)
Wast given to me in custody, as one
Whom all our Ephori, with justice deem'd
The most concern'd to see a brother's blood
Aton'd at full:—thou'rt number'd with the dead.
For Rumour, (so suborn'd by me) proclaims it.—
—I see the conflict of thy soul! I know
Thy power among thy friends!

Alc.
Tell me at once
On what conditions must I purchase life!
—Are they not hostile to my people's cause?
If I must buy a few short hours to breathe
A momentary privilege to view
The blessed sun (if I dare lift my eyes
To that prime orb) at the detested price
Of using my hereditary sway
To rob Messenia of her lofty claims,
If this devoted voice, to slavery tun'd
Must lure the slaves to thraldom down again
From that exalted height to which they soar'd,
Take my devoted blood—'tis freely given,
Ere I seduce them to their bonds again!—
Such life I scorn—altho' with generous views,
With pure, abstracted, public love bestow'd,
I must reject it! rather give me death,
Than life on terms like these! Thou lovest thy country,
Already have I seen you sacrifice
Thy feelings for a brother's fate. Of me
And of my feeling, judge, as of thine own
And sooner give me death than life, if life
Be branded with the shame of base revolt
From poor Messenia's cause, the cause of man!

Phæb.
Could you confide in Sparta, if my prayers
Prevail'd, even to relax your bondage?

Alc.
Never!—
Never! her inborn persidy and pride
Would ne'er relent to those she trode so low!
Nor will I ever give my voice for less
Than equal liberty, unqualified
Alliance!—less were dangerous, for this spirit
Of mutiny has so provok'd our lords
They'll take their time for vengeance, if we swerve
A single moment, from the manly bent—
Then reconcile my fighting duties all
And take my forfeit life!

Phæb.
Then every hope
Were lost at once—thou bear'st a charmed life—
Thy very hairs are sacred—all the gods
Shed round thy favour'd form an hallow'd awe!
Curst be the hand that wounds thee, when thou art
The solitary spell that holds our tribes
In short, precarious concord! When you fall
Then, then perdition with alternate rage
Swallows her double prey! The sires that glow
At Sparta's crimes would blaze to swift revenge
Break down the barriers of our trembling state
And Athens and Messenia soon would sweep
Our very name away!
Already they believe you dead—your fall
(So far from damping their resolves) sublimes
The flame to tenfold fury—there is left
No hope, but from thy influence!

Alc.
Just gods
What shall I think! on what resolve.

Phæb.
Relent!

Alc.
Honour, my country, and my name forbids!

Phæb.
One only method then for me remains—
Dreadful—but glorious—to retract my words
Given for thy liberty my soul disdains!—
I here dismiss thee to thy native woods
To join thy friends—no bonds—no tyes—but those
That fasten mind to mind, the links of honour,
Of virtue, friendship,—shall I say—of gratitude?
No—I remit the debt. Thou owest me nought.—
—Go and relume the flame of liberty
Go—triumph in my country's fall—the light
Of Greece, and glory of those latter times!—
For oh! her fall is certain!

Alc.
Let me seek
The Spartan lords, and give my forfeit life!

Phæb.
No—there is one way left,—no more but this—
Proud Athens—you, her allies, press our state
On every hand around—thy single death
But added to the rising beam, would turn
The scale to our destruction! To the field
Your kindred armies from the northern bounds
Already bend their march, and burn to join
The war.—Two thousand Helots of thy tribe
Burst from our bleeding bowels, (like the train
That hunt their scaly mother in the seas,
Of Sicily,) and spread destruction round
Answering the havoc of external war
With threats of desolation.—What is left
For me? Shall I survive to bear the blame
Of letting loose a man, sworn to destroy
My country?—No! Since all my eloquence
Is vain, to teach you mercy, here I stand
Prepar'd, in the devouring chasm, to meet
The anger of the hostile gods for all.
That moment then that sees you head your bands
In glittering steel, once more we meet in arms!

Alc.
Deem'st thou me such a monster as to lift
A spear, against that generous breast, which gave
Life, liberty, and all to him, who slew
His brother?

Phæb.
No.—I would not stain thy sword
With blood of mine, nor taint thy better mind,
Nor bid one conscious pang thy bosom wring
For me! The gods, and Fate will find a lance
To finish a devoted life!

Alc.
Devoted!

Phæb.
Last night, with solemn sacrifice and prayer
To all th'infernal gods, that claim the soul
Of those, that for their country fall, my doom
Was fixt beyond recall! I know not then
Whether my prayers had power with you or not
To gain thee to the common good. I yet
Would try the means; as they have fail'd, I stand
Devoted for my country, at the sound,
At the first trump, at the first flight of spears
That sing along the sky, expect to see
The incense of my smoking blood ascend
Pure to the ambient skies, thence to draw down
Accumulated plagues upon our foes,
In this dread rite devoted all with me.—
Yet I forgive my blood to thee, as freely
As I forgave my brother's. And, by heavens!
I triumph in the glorious chance that gives
My happy name, to after times, enroll'd
With Iphigene and Hæmon.

Alc.
Yet, oh yet
Spare me this conflict, let my blood atone!

Phæb.
By heaven, I would not to my king forego
The glorious privilege. Farewell, at once!
—Nay go!—
Longer should I detain you. Danger waits,
Perhaps, to intercept your flight! The star
Of morning sparkles o'er yon piny hill,
And on Eurotas' banks, the morning bird
Laments her antient loss. Away! away
Before Suspicion's eagle-eye awakes.—
When next we meet—how shall that meeting be?—
Death will be there, and Discord, civil rage
And the dire conflict of contending nations!
—Thou then, perhaps, may'st triumph to behold
Red Vengeance, with th'accumulated wrongs
Of many a summer arm'd, ride thro' our ranks,
Scattering confusion, havoc, and dismay
Where'er she goes. But then—memember me—
For ere the battle's whirlwind sweeps along
The line, I am no more! If conquest then
Attend your arms. And if my vows should fail
To gain the gods.—indulge not thou the sword
Too far! Reflect on Sparta, and revere
Those rites, and that far-celebrated soil
Which bred Leonidas! when thou beholdst
The mighty mother prostrate, gently raise her
Respect her reverend hairs, and think of peace!
Cherish her then remains, and join your power
With her sad bands in one cemented league
To check th'Athenians overweening pride!

Alc.
Yet hear me Phæbidas! I cannot go
On such conditions.

Phæb.
Stay then, and be lost!
No more—but think on me—begone, begone,
The day will overtake us, hence—avaunt
I hear the tread of early passengers.

[Exeunt severally.