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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
Scene XI.—Ecbatana.
Phylax and his Page.The Page.
I heard all. The king made a gladsome
speech, and showed that now at last his fortune
had topped the summit, and sailed away among the
stars. There shall be wars no more; but here he
will abide in glory and feasting for ever and ever.
Hephestion is sick in the lesser palace; and this
missive commandeth that thou shalt raise him up,
and make him a sound man by eleven o'clock tomorrow;
for he must exhort the council at noon.
speech, and showed that now at last his fortune
had topped the summit, and sailed away among the
stars. There shall be wars no more; but here he
will abide in glory and feasting for ever and ever.
Hephestion is sick in the lesser palace; and this
missive commandeth that thou shalt raise him up,
and make him a sound man by eleven o'clock tomorrow;
for he must exhort the council at noon.
Phy.
It is well: depart!
[The Page retires.]
The gods are turned cynic, and will have Jest to
rule! My master, Diogenes, is dead, and is carried
to Olympus: his sign is the Constellation of the
Tub, and he raineth influence upon earth. Many a
month have I lain in wait for Hephestion, and now
the king putteth him into my hand! Now also the
Alexandrian star is at its highest! Philotas! I
were an infidel if I recognized not the omen. A
fresh wind bloweth in from the garden. Red rose,
thou blushest unto me! White lily, thou curtsiest
unto me! Thais of the Feast and Phryne of the
Bath, I scorn you alike! These sealed packets hold
minerals more mastering than ever built up womanbones.
Here is “courage by the ounce,” and there
is “needful flight.” This is “jealousy;” and here
is—I have found it at last—“long silence.” I could
label these heart-quellers with heavenly names; but
it sufficeth. Hephestion, if thou meetest Philotas in
the shades, salute him from me!
rule! My master, Diogenes, is dead, and is carried
to Olympus: his sign is the Constellation of the
Tub, and he raineth influence upon earth. Many a
month have I lain in wait for Hephestion, and now
the king putteth him into my hand! Now also the
126
were an infidel if I recognized not the omen. A
fresh wind bloweth in from the garden. Red rose,
thou blushest unto me! White lily, thou curtsiest
unto me! Thais of the Feast and Phryne of the
Bath, I scorn you alike! These sealed packets hold
minerals more mastering than ever built up womanbones.
Here is “courage by the ounce,” and there
is “needful flight.” This is “jealousy;” and here
is—I have found it at last—“long silence.” I could
label these heart-quellers with heavenly names; but
it sufficeth. Hephestion, if thou meetest Philotas in
the shades, salute him from me!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |