University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A WOOD.
DIONE. CLEANTHES, (who lies wounded in a distant part of the stage.)
Dione.
The moon serene now climbs th'aerial way;
See, at her sight ten thousand stars decay:
With trembling gleam she tips the silent grove,
While all beneath the chequer'd shadows move.
Turn back thy silver axles, downward roll,
Darkness best fits the horrors of my soul.
Rise, rise, ye clouds; the face of heav'n deform,
Veil the bright goddess in a sable storm:
O look not down upon a wretched maid!
Let thy bright torch the happy lover aid,
And light his wand'ring footsteps to the bow'r,
Where the kind nymph attends th'appointed hour.
Yet thou hast seen unhappy love, like mine;
Did not thy lamp in heav'n's blue forehead shine,
When Thisbe sought her love along the glade?
Didst thou not then behold the gleaming blade,
And gild the fatal point that stabb'd her breast?
Soon I, like her, shall seek the realms of rest.
Let groves of mournful yew a wretch surround!
O sooth my ear with melancholy sound!
The village curs now stretch their yelling throat,
And dogs from distant cots return the note;
The rav'nous wolf along the valley prowls,
And with his famish'd cries the mountain howls.
But hark! what sudden noise advances near?
Repeated groans alarm my frighted ear!

Cleanthes.
Shepherd, approach; ah! fly not through the glade,
A wretch all dy'd with wounds invokes thy aid.

Dione.
Say then, unhappy stranger, how you bled;
Collect thy spirits, raise thy drooping head.
[Cleanthes raises himself on his arm.
O horrid sight! Cleanthes gasping lies;
And death's black shadows float before his eyes.
Unknown in this disguise, I'll check my woe,
And learn what bloody hand has struck the blow.
[Aside.
Say, youth, ere fate thy feeble voice confounds,
What led thee hither? whence these purple wounds?

Cleanthes.
Stay, fleeting life; may strength a while prevail,
Lest my clos'd lips confine th'imperfect tale.
Ere the streak'd east grew warm with amber ray,
I from the city took my doubtful way,
Far o'er the plains I sought a beauteous maid,
Who from the court in those wide forests stray'd,
Wanders unknown; as I, with weary pain,
Try'd ev'ry path, and op'ning glade in vain;
A band of thieves, forth rushing from the wood,
Unsheath'd their daggers warm with daily blood;
Deep in my breast the barb'rous steel is dy'd,
And purple hands the golden prey divide.
Hence are the mangling wounds. Say, gentle swain,
If thou hast known among the sylvan train
The vagrant nymph I seek?

Dione.
—What mov'd thy care,
Thus, in these pathless wilds to search the fair?

Cleanthes.
I charge you, O ye daughters of the grove,
Ye Naiads, who the mossy fountains love,
Ye happy swains, who range the pastures wide,
Ye tender nymphs, who feed your flocks beside;
If my last gasping breath can pity move,
If e'er you knew the pangs of slighted love,
Show her, I charge you, where Cleanthes dy'd,
The grass yet reeking with the sanguine tide,
A father's power to me the virgin gave,
But she disdain'd to live a nuptial slave;
So fled her native home.

Dione.
—'Tis then from thee
Springs the foul source of all her misery.
Could'st thou, thy selfish appetite to please,
Condemn to endless woes another's peace?

Cleanthes.
O spare me; nor my hapless love upbraid,
While on my heart death's frozen hand is laid!
Go seek her, guide her where Cleanthes bled;
When she surveys her lover pale and dead,
Tell her, that since she fled my hateful sight,
Without remorse I sought the realms of night.
Methinks I see her view these poor remains,
And on her cheek indecent gladness reigns!
Full in her presence cold Cleanthes lies,
And not one tear stands trembling in her eyes!
O let a sigh my hapless fate deplore!
Cleanthes now controuls thy love no more.

Dione.
How shall my lids confine these rising woes?

[Aside.
Cleanthes.
O might I see her, ere death's finger close
These eyes for ever! might her soften'd breast
Forgive my love with too much ardour prest!
Then I with peace could yield my latest breath.

Dione.
Shall I not calm the sable hour of death,
And show myself before him!—hah! he dies.
See from his trembling lip the spirit flies!
[Aside.
Stay yet a-while. Dione stands confest.
He knows me not. He faints, he sinks to rest.

Cleanthes.
Tell her, since all my hopes in her were lost,
That death was welcome—

[Dies.
Dione.
What sudden gusts of grief my bosom rend?
A parent's curses o'er my head impend
For disobedient vows; O wretched maid,
Those very vows Evander hath betray'd.
See, at thy feet Cleanthes bath'd in blood!
For love of thee he trod this lonely wood;
Thou art the cruel authress of his fate!
He falls by thine, thou by Evander's hate.
When shall my soul know rest? Cleanthes slain
No longer sighs and weeps for thy disdain.
Thou still art curst with love. Bleed, virgin, bleed.
How shall a wretch from anxious life be freed!
My troubled brain with sudden frenzy burns,
And shatter'd thought now this now that way turns.
What do I see thus glitt'ring on the plains?
Hah! the dread sword yet warm with crimson stains!

[Takes up the dagger.