 | The Impostor |  |
SCENE IX.
Enter Zaphna, looking about.Zaph.
He must be here—I held him in mine eye—
Yes,—in his sanctum yonder—Ah, poor victim!
What can thy prayers or faithless gods avail,
When such a foe hath enter'd?—How is this?—
Although religion, love, and empire, urge me,
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I have no stomach to't—I have been told,
That o'er the instant of some horrid act,
Voices not human have been heard to scream
Their nightly omens—spectred visages
Glared on the eye—and sudden lakes of blood
Have risen athwart the process!—
What a deep gloom dwells here to help devotion,
To awe the spirits down, and give the blood
Its reverential thrill!—My soul is caught—
Or is it cowardice that would unthread
These sinews from their bent?—It must be done.
O, never holy priest, when on the altar
He laid the lamb, that turn'd a piteous eye,
Look'd gently up, and bleated for compassion,
E'er struck with like reluctance—Yet it must—
No more of torturing doubts, of dread suspension—
What must be done—once done—and all is finish'd!
[Goes in behind the altar, and after some time returns.
What should I think?—
He did prevent my merit of its meaning;
And made, what Heaven appointed for a murder,
Mere self-defence—He aim'd his poniard well—
But from his hand I wrench'd the levell'd steel,
Struck the blow home, and cast him on the pavement.
| The Impostor | |