University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE, A royal Apartment.
Enter Demophoon and Cephisa.
Demophoon.
Return to Phrygia, princess? Canst thou ask
Abruptly thus to bid adieu to Thrace?
While now Timanthes with presaging hope
Anticipates the hour, decreed to bless
The prince and lover, when this solemn day
Shall pass, whose rising light now faintly strikes
The sacred laurels, where the temple's grove
Receives the dawn.

CEPHISA.
Believe me, my resolves
Are such as suit my sex and rank; the name
Of virgin and of princess both require me
To quit the Thracian palace—for Timanthes
No longer urge—

DEMOPHOON.
I can forgive thy anger:
Nurs'd in the pleasures of the Phrygian court,
A Thracian's manners may be harsh to thee:
Wonder not then if so Timanthes seems,
Inur'd to rugged arms; be thine the glory
To teach him first the flowery path that leads
To the calm dwelling of domestic sweets:
What cannot charms like thine?—yes, fair Cephisa,
Those eyes shall thaw the ice around his heart,
And warm the youth to unexperienc'd love.

CEPHISA.
My lord, it cannot be—as soon this morn
That spreads the veil of sorrow o'er the land,
Might raise each heart with gladness, as Cephisa
Find happiness in Thrace—at thy command,
And thine alone, the ships can quit the port,
To bear me back to my paternal land:
Give orders then to loose the bark, whose sails
Must waft me hence for ever.

DEMOPHOON.
Think not, princess,
Demophoon would detain thee while thy thoughts
Revisit Phrygia; yet permit me now
To say I hop'd far other from the daughter
Of him, whose wish'd alliance promis'd all
An anxious king and parent could demand.
But yet, whate'er thy wish, till the next sun,
Thou canst not hence; no vessel from the port
Presumes to rear the mast, or spread the sail,
Till this sad day declines.

CEPHISA.
Since now the law
Forbids to quit the realm, I must submit
To breathe the air of Thrace—yet I respect
The friend of great Nicanor, but remember
My father's honour and my own; nay more,
Demophoon's urges me to leave a court,
Where every moment's voluntary stay
Insults my sex's rights, and stains my glory.

[Exit.
Demophoon
alone.
Ha! whence is this? sure something lurks beneath
That yet I know not—I remember now,
When first I nam'd the princess, that my son
Heard with reluctance—should he disobey—
A father's just resentment—but no more,
It cannot be—I am alarm'd too soon.

Enter Timanthes.
TIMANTHES.
Where is my king!

DEMOPHOON.
Timanthes, thou art come
In happy time—

TIMANTHES.
Dread sir, permit your son,
To sue for grace and pardon—

DEMOPHOON.
Say, for whom
Dost thou intreat?

TIMANTHES.
For an unhappy victim?
One, whose misfortune is her only crime,
The daughter of Mathusius—

DEMOPHOON.
'Tis too late,
Her doom is seal'd—

TIMANTHES.
Grant to your suppliant son
Her guiltless life!—

DEMOPHOON.
And dar'st thou still presume
To name her? If thou valu'st ought my love,
Forego this vain request—

TIMANTHES.
Alas! my father,
I cannot now obey you—O! if ever
I have deserv'd a parent's tenderness,
If with a bosom seam'd with honest scars,
I have return'd a conqueror to your arms,
If e'er my triumphs in the glorious field,
Have drawn the tear of pleasure from your eyes,
Release, forgive Ismena—lost, unhappy,
She has no friend but me to plead her cause!
And shall she perish!—think you view her now
In early bloom of life, who never knew
The thoughts of guilt, stretch'd on the fatal altar
In all the pangs of suffering—think you see
The life-warm blood gush from her tender breast,
Hear the last accents from her trembling lips,
Behold her dying eyes—but thou art pale!
Why look'st thou thus upon me!—O! my father!
I see, I see the gracious signs of pity;
Do not repent, my lord—indulge it still,
For never will I quit these sacred feet
Till thou hast given the word to spare Ismena.

DEMOPHOON.
Rise, prince—Almighty powers! what must I think
That with such tenderness thou nam'st Ismena.
Yet mark how far my fond indulgence yields;
On one condition I recall her sentence:
Ismena yet may live, but if the father,
Impell'd by love, forgets his just resentment,
Let not the son forget the sacred ties
Of gratitude and duty—

TIMANTHES.
Never, never
Timanthes shall forget them, every hour
To come shall bless your goodness for this pardon,
Which life itself were cheaply given to purchase.

DEMOPHOON.
No, my dear son, my future peace and thine
Ask but one sacrifice, and all is well:
What hast thou done to offend the Phrygian princess?
Learn to respect my choice in fair Cephisa—
Have I not felt compassion for thy weakness?
Do thou preserve my honour—think, Timanthes,
Nor let the breath of rumour taint my name;
Then, let us seek Cephisa, there, my son,
Instruct thy lips to deprecate the anger
I fear thy scorn has justly rais'd—to-morrow
We'll to the temple, thither shalt thou lead
Thy beauteous bride, and at the altar there,
At once before th'attesting Gods fulfill
What justice claims from thee and from Demophoon.

TIMANTHES.
My lord, I cannot—

DEMOPHOON.
Prince, thou yet hast heard
The father only; force me not to employ
The king's authority.

TIMANTHES.
Sacred alike,
I hold the dictates of the king and father,
But love disdains compulsion—

DEMOPHOON.
In the heart
Of subjects, love may rule with sovereign sway;
But in a prince, on whom a nation's weal
Depends, it ill beseems to sacrifice
The good of thousands to the selfish weakness
That better fits a cottage than a throne.

TIMANTHES.
Hard state of royalty! if on such terms
Timanthes must be king, take back, ye powers!
The dignity ye gave—can Heaven decree,
That public virtue never should reside
Where the soft passions dwell? Must he, whose cares
Incessant labour for the good of others,
Still want that happiness he gives to all?

DEMOPHOON.
And dar'st thou dress thy disobedience thus
In reason's garb, to oppose my sovereign will?
Hence every partial weakness—just resentment
Points out the way to reach thy stubborn heart:
This darling of thy soul, Ismena—she
Shall pay the forfeit—now I see full well
What caus'd thy coldness—she shall die.—

TIMANTHES.
O heaven!

DEMOPHOON.
Away!

TIMANTHES.
Yet hear me, sir,—

DEMOPHOON.
I've heard too much!
This day Ismena dies—

TIMANTHES.
Forbid it heaven!
Now by yon skies—

DEMOPHOON.
Still dost thou linger here?

TIMANTHES.
I go—but should she fall—this desperate hand—

DEMOPHOON.
Gods! dost thou threaten!

TIMANTHES.
Force me not, my father,
To passion's wild extreme—would'st thou preserve
The peace of thy unhappy son, preserve
His fame, his all—revoke Ismena's doom—
He answers not—that look confirms her death—
Farewell—but whither, whither shall I fly
To shun myself?—Ismena's image still
Hangs on my sight, and haunts my tortur'd soul!

[Exit.
Demophoon
alone.
Where, where, Demophoon, is the mighty power
A monarch boasts, when all insult thee thus?
'Tis time to assert my rights—Adrastus!
Enter Adrastus.
Haste,
Give orders that the victim be prepar'd
This instant for the sacrifice.—

ADRASTUS.
Already,
Ismena, vested in the robes of death,
Expects the fatal hour.—I heard the priests
Exhort her with becoming fortitude
To yield her life a sacrifice for Thrace,
While with a down-cast look the virgin stood
In all the majesty of silent woe;
And now they wait thy last command alone
To bear her to the temple.

DEMOPHOON.
Her misfortune
Excites my pity; but her father's bold
Rebellious insults on my crown and fame,
My own repose, the glory of my realm,
Demand her death—the weal of Thrace requires
Timanthes' marriage with the Phrygian princess,
But this Timanthes never will compleat
While she survives—this obstacle remov'd,
The flame of stubborn love shall soon decay,
And the rash youth, who now condemns my power,
Shall yield obedience to a parent's will.

[Exeunt.
SCENE An open part of the city.
Enter Timanthes and Mathusius.
MATHUSIUS.
And canst thou then partake Mathusius' fortune,
A willing exile from thy father's kingdom?
Think, think, my son, when thou shalt wander hence,
An obscure fugitive, will then Ismena,
With chaste endearments, from thy mind erase
Remembrance of the prince? Will not the phantom
Of royalty still haunt thy lonely hours?
Wilt thou not then regret paternal wealth
Abandon'd, and a scepter lost?

TIMANTHES.
No more—
My wife and son are dearer far than all:
Each other good has no intrinsic worth;
Opinion makes it great; the tender feelings
Of father, husband, are not bred by custom,
Or early thoughts instill'd from infancy:
The seeds are in ourselves, are with us born,
Grow with our life, and but with life expire.

MATHUSIUS.
But how to set her free? Is she not now
Encompass'd by Demophoon's guards?

TIMANTHES.
The care
Be mine to elude their utmost vigilance:
Assisted by some chosen friends, I'll bear
Ismena safe from danger.

MATHUSIUS.
Mighty powers!
Direct our flight—each moment that detains us
I'm on the rack of doubt—O! prince, remember
To thee alone I trust my all, my last
Remains of ebbing life.

TIMANTHES.
Haste then, Mathusius,
Ascend thy bark, and near yon rocks, that rise
Right of the port, expect my coming, thither
With all the speed of love I'll bear Ismena!—

[Exeunt severally.
SCENE, a view of an arch leading from the city, through which the procession for the sacrifice appears; first the guards, who range themselves on each side the stage; then a train of priests and virgins: Ismena, in white vestments, supported by two virgins, advances towards the front of the stage, while the following words are sung; the Music composed by Mr. Arnold.
Chorus.
Hail God of light! whose chearing ray
Dispels the gloom, reveals the day,
And glads the universe with all-creating sway!

SONG, by a Priest.
To him the pow'r, whose awful will
Trembling mortals must fulfill,
To him the dreadful altar rear,
And swell the notes till Phœbus hear!

Chorus.
Phœbus hear!

SONG, by a Virgin.
to Ism.
Sad victim! learn the stroke to brave
That renders Heav'n the life it gave,
And sheds thy blood a land to save!

Chorus.
Hear and save!

ISMENA.
Yet, yet, Ismena, drain the bitter dregs
Of sorrow's cup—but some few painful moments
And all may then be well!—each step I tread
Leads me still nearer to the fated land
Where I shall rest in peace—but, O! support
My fainting sense—'tis he! what adverse power
Directs him hither, in this hour of terror,
To shake my firm resolves!

Enter Timanthes.
TIMANTHES.
Eyes! can it be!
Ismena, speak—what means this dreadful pomp!

ISMENA.
At length 'tis past, and ruthless death demands
Its victim—yes, Timanthes, we must part,
Demophoon has decreed my fate—even now
These ministers of heaven receiv'd the mandate.
My soul seem'd more than half releas'd, but thou
Hast call'd her back to life—this meeting wakes
A thousand tender thoughts—

TIMANTHES.
Cease, cease, Ismena,
It wakes distraction—shall I thus behold thee
Torn from my hopes—no first—

ISMENA.
Alas! what means
Timanthes—

TIMANTHES.
Never whilst I live, this sword
That oft has mow'd my way thro' sanguine fields,
Shall sleep inglorious—

[lays his hand on his sword.
ISMENA.
Ah! what wild despair
Unmans thy better sense—thou wilt but rush
On certain ruin, nor preserve my life.

TIMANTHES.
It shall be so—farewell!

[going.
ISMENA.
Some dreadful purpose
Hangs on thy brow—yet hear me—

TIMANTHES.
Fate cuts short
Each precious moment—still I can command
A few but trusty friends, whose blood will flow
For their Timanthes—go then—seek the temple,
I'll save thee yet or die!

ISMENA.
Forbid it, heaven!
Be calm again—

TIMANTHES.
Be calm!—Impossible!
Is there a power on earth—let ruin come,
If midst the wreck one treasure still is mine!
[Exit.

Ismena
, Priests, Virgins, and Guards.
Forbear—he heeds me not—Eternal powers!
Preserve him still—for me, my mind has fix'd
Its last resolve—'tis death, and death alone
Shall quickly close the scene, and ere the priest
Strike in my breast the consecrated steel,
This dagger shall prevent the unhallow'd offering!
So shall I fall a spotless wife, nor stain
The sacred altar with forbidden blood!
Yet hear me, Phœbus, still defend Timanthes,
And guard him 'midst this whirlwind of the soul!

Enter Cephisa and Attendant.
CEPHISA.
Look, look, Clemene, view a sight to move
The breast that never felt the touch of sorrow:
Behold yon' maid, this day decreed to death,
Yet, midst this awful pomp, see with what grace
She moves, while fortitude and beauty join'd,
Proclaim her more than woman—but observe,
She sees us and approaches.

ISMENA.
Pardon, princess,
But if I err not I behold Cephisa.

CEPHISA.
I am indeed Cephisa.

ISMENA.
Fame that speaks
Thy virtues, tells me, that affliction never
Will pass unpity'd by thy tender breast.

CEPHISA.
My sympathizing heart!—Unhappy maid!
What would'st thou? speak.

ISMENA.
The fortune of Ismena
Who has not known? my life will soon have run
Its race of grief, this pomp proclaims me near
The wish'd-for goal, where the freed soul shall leave
Her cumberous chains—I go prepar'd to die,
Nor deprecate my fate—not for myself
I plead, but for the poor distress'd Timanthes!
To guard my life he courts his own destruction:
If e'er th'intreaties of the dying move,
Still let him find in you a kind protectress,
Prevent his rage, or O! procure his pardon
For all the frantic deeds of wild despair.

CEPHISA.
Ill-fated virgin! canst thou, with the shade
Of cruel death already compass'd round,
Forgetful of thyself, in generous care,
Dwell on another's safety.

ISMENA.
Search not, princess,
Too deep my bosom's woe—but if thy goodness
Shall mediate with the king—to avert those evils
Whose only fear now weighs me down to earth,
The blessings of a wretch, whose latest breath
By thee shall leave its care-worn breast in peace,
Attend thy gentle steps!

CEPHISA.
Doubt not, Ismena,
But every good Cephisa can obtain,
Shall sooth thy parting hour—I'll seek Cherinthus,
He, with a brother's warmest tenderest zeal,
Shall calm the ungovern'd fury of Timanthes,
While I, on his behalf, intreat the king.

ISMENA.
Then all is well—and now I've not a thought
That here detains my flight—farewell! for ever—
And every happiness to me deny'd,
Be doubled on thy head—lead to the temple.

[Exeunt Cephisa and Attendant.
Recitative by a PRIEST.
Now slowly lead the solemn train
To reach the grove and hallow'd fane!

Here Ismena falls again into the order of procession, while the priests and virgins sing the following Chorus, as they go out:
Chorus.
Phœbus, to thee our choral hymn we raise,
Each year the land this sad oblation pays;
O! save at length—descend with healing grace,
And from thy scourge relieve unhappy Thrace!

[Exeunt.