Poems, chiefly dramatic and lyric by the Revd. H. Boyd ... containing the following dramatic poems: The Helots, a tragedy, The Temple of Vesta, The Rivals, The Royal Message. Prize Poems, &c. &c |
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 | Poems, chiefly dramatic and lyric |  |
266
SCENE II.
AMAZIAH, PHANUEL, ACHAN,Ama.
Too true thy sad conjecture! I alone
Survive to bring the news! of all thy band
Not one is left besides! the hand of heaven
Or chance, or fate, with cruel scrutiny
Call'd them from every rank! they fell the first
Then oh! what slaughter follow'd!
Ach.
How didst thou
Thyself escape?
Ama.
I bear my death along!—
One of gigantic bulk, unseen before
In all Perizzim's armies, fell'd our van
With oft repeated blows, and rushing in
With gory lance, like some commission'd fiend
Twice twelve, the boldest of thy friends dispatch'd
To other worlds, I would have shunn'd the pest
And wheel'd amid the scattering war in vain—
He reach'd me, and his flying spear transfixt
My shoulder as thou seest, “yet live,” he cry'd
“Live till thou findst thy friends disperst, and tell
“What thou hast seen,” whate'er his words might mean
267
Of life I here resign!—
[Dies.
Ach.
Where will this fearful judgment stop at last?
Phan.
Again this aguish sit! come! be a man
Why stand you thus amaz'd? now is the time
Or never, to impell the tardy fates,
And bid them favour thee, or dash thy hopes
For ever! Fortune sends a second chance
To shake the faith of yon desponding train
That guard the quarter where the lovely maid
Resides: This double overthrow will turn
The scale for us!—our tongue-ty'd eloquence
May now speak boldly, and before the sun
Bid them consult their safety, quit the camp
The Heaven-detested camp, and seek by flight
Their safety, ere the thunderbolt descends,
Already forg'd in yonder sanguine gloom
That frowns above!—
Ach.
Would Heaven! before those lips
Were clos'd I had enquir'd if Zalmon lives.—
Phan.
No matter, if he lives, he lives to us
His life, or death, are equal to our views!
Let us retire!—I see a hated foe
Approach! and see the General! his rent robes
And reverend locks besprent with dust, declare
The conflict of his soul!
[Exeunt
| Poems, chiefly dramatic and lyric | |