University of Virginia Library

Scene X.—Susa. The Cypress Cemetery.

Arsinoe, Amastris.
Ama.
Return ere long, my gentle litter-bearers—
How cool this cypress shade! how fair this spot
So soon to be my grave! Chide not, Arsinoe;
I would not die; I would not be unhappy:
I would live blest, and making blest. Ah me!
I think, I think that I was gathering strength
Till came those tidings from Arbela's field
Of my brave brothers dead. Others I loved:
I loved but these in hope.

Ars.
Hope still, my cousin:
Hope more! The day that lifts you from these arms
Will give you back your brothers!

Ama.
I have hope,
Though scarce like yours. Oh for a strong-winged hope,
Swan-like to soar, lighting that dim domain
Eclipsed by death's cold shade! I loved the Songs:
Am I ungrateful if at times I feel
Like one that trusts and has not found?

Ars.
Beloved,
Things greater than the things we loved and found not
One day shall find us. Let me see your book:
'Tis that you read in Tyre's old palace garden—

Ama.
The day we saw him last.

Ars.
Hephestion?

Ama.
Him:
Your eyes grow large.

Ars.
That day you scarce were near us.

Ama.
His love wasfor the child and not the maiden:
I left him with you then and many a time
Before that morning. Cousin, here's a song:
Read it; my eyes grow dim.

Ars.
It is of Cyrus.

Ama.
We'll not read that. Assyrians wept that day
As we weep now: the Babylonian air
Was thick with sobs: above Chaldæa's plain
Like a great wind the orphans' cry rang out:
The bards are less than generous.

Ars.
[Reads.

Ama.
If Love indeed begins upon the heights,
'Twere well he ended there. His starry feet
Would thus their splendour best retain. It may be
Maidens that, loving well, unwedded die,
In this are happier yet than those who find
Love's loveliest human home.

Ars.
I would not wed;
And you have turned from many a suit—scarce gently.

Ama.
Arsinoe! you will wed, who would not wed;
I die, who would not die. Our life's amiss!
I must not say it:—no, our life is gentle:
You'd rather live ill-matched than fail in duty;
I'd rather die than prove to friendship false,
Of love unworthy. Each will have her best.

Ars.
O friend, my earliest friend, my best! how much
I owe to you! how hard had been without you!
In the deep bosom of your boundless love
I breathed a generous and a healing clime:
In all our sorrows you, yourself an orphan,
Out of your poverty for me had wealth,
And pitied me so sweetly that perforce
Self-pity left me, and I smiled through tears.
You only lived in others. The Songs you loved
Served you full well: they clothed your spirit with light:
In them you bathed as in some wood-girt stream
Crystalline ever. I, upon the bank,
But felt the dew upon its breath, the drops
Showered from your hand:—they cooled an aching forehead.

Ama.
Ah! ere we clothe us with that water-light,
We drop the warm, protecting garb of earth!
Who feigned the nymphs feigned them invulnerable
By bitter north-wind, or the hunter's dart.
My mother said the Songs would teach me sorrow—
They taught me sorrow and joy; would leave me weak—
They left me weak and strong. I lived in others;
But you for others lived. Arsinoe,
Should he return you'll lead him to this spot;
You'll give him here this book of songs:—he knew it—
Read him some few—not this, for he is blithesome,
This song as plaintive as the voice of child
Heard lonely from the harvest field afar
When twilight wraps the land. Bordering the scroll
Are golden stars, and little pictured fancies:
Here is the mother-bird that feeds her brood
From her own bleeding breast; and here's a young one
That bends above the on-rushing stream, athirst,
And yet afraid to drink:—the spray is bending:—
Most are the work of others: one was mine,
Ere yet this hand had learned its trick of shaking.
If you should name my name, mark well his face
So bright that day, and note if he remembers.
Say that we spake of him—that I was happy
In life—in death. You'll say not that I loved him.
Give me one kiss. You're welcome, merry maidens,
Albeit so soon returned. Set down my litter.