University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

THAMYRIS, ARTABANES.
THAMYRIS.
Ye powers of heaven! where sleeps your aweful thunder?
My child is doom'd!

ARTABANES.
Be patient, gracious princess.

THAMYRIS.
Am I not patient? Patient as the victim
That pants beneath the knife of sacrifice?
Have they not, unresisted, torn him from me,
From a fond mother's arms?—Hark! Heard'st thou not
That sound confus'd!—No,—'Twas th' ideal voice
Of pensive fancy, sick with anxious care.

ARTABANES.
The sound was real: from the king's apartment,
Some one approaches—Is it possible?
O extacy! beyond the soaring reach
Of bright-ey'd hope, or fancy's fond creation!
Behold! our monarch comes—

THAMYRIS.
It is Pharnaces!
And sorrow from this heart is chac'd for ever.