University of Virginia Library

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS OF MOIRA, BARONESS HASTINGS, &c. &c

A MUSE, long versant in ideal things,
That us'd to feel her youthful fancy glow,
With scenes, unreal as the gaudy bow,
Wild dreams of glorious deeds which fancy flings
Across her woodland range, with weary wings
Forsakes the fairy world, and loves to gaze
Where virtue charms the view, with genuine grace
Nor, tho' allied to heroes and to kings
Needs the superfluous boon, with borrowed rays
To gain respect, O would she deign to view
These wild-wood flowrets, with a fav'ring eye
Her smile would stamp renown, and wake anew
My feeble voice a loftier pitch to try.

TO THE REV. EDWARD BERWICK,

ON HIS GOING TO RESIDE IN THE COUNTRY.

Berwick! we little thought, when first we drew
The social lot from Alma's fostering hand
That you were chos'n to lead the youthful crew
A fearless pilot, to the lonely strand
Where honour dwells: while by the muse trepan'd
And o'er the wild by beck'ning phantoms led
I'm doom'd to wander still in fairy land
By visions tended, and in visions fed!
And thou art sent an humble crook to sway
Thy virtues all eclipsed in rural shade!
Yet heaven retains the glow of parting day
Even when the sun in Thetis lap is laid
So thy example lives! Nor thou disdain
The lowly duties of the quiet fold
The sun, whose glories float along the main
When Adrias dawning towers are ting'd with gold
With more effect the winding slope illumes
Where, flush'd with genial life the future vintage blooms.

THE HELOTS. A TRAGEDY.

THE HELOTS. A TRAGEDY.

PERSONS.

• High Priest of Apollo.
• Aristodemus Chief Helot
• Alcander Chief Helot
• Philemon Chief Helot
• Amphidamas Chief Helot
• Phorbas Chief Helot
• Memnon , a supposed Persian captive, overseer of the Helots.
• Phæbidas , a Spartan.
• Alcebiades , an Athenian Ambassador.
• Helots.
• Semanthe , daughter to Aristodemus, the chief of the Helots.

ACT I.

SCENE I

Scene—A Wood near Amyclæ in Laconia.
AMPHIDAMAS and DYMAS—two Helots.
Amph.
What! Memnon told you!—Memnon! Sparta's spy!
Messenia's scourge! and will you trust to him?
A fabler! a barbarian! Slave of slaves!
Long galled by Persian bondage, and in scorn
Set over us, to aggravate our wrongs,
With the last insult to the Grecian name?
He told you that a casual quarrel caus'd
This cruel stroke that lops our strength away!
What was the circumstance? Repeat the tale!
And then, observe my comment!

Dym.
What I heard
Carries its own conviction on its face;
Nor would our magistrates at such a time,
Like gray-hair'd ideots, break in wanton sport
The laws themselves had made. Alcander's doom
(Ever lamented by Messenia's sons)
Rose from a casual quarrel, in the fane
Of Jove's immortal daughters. There, at noon,
When midst ascending fumes, the swelling hymn
Roll'd in long plaudits round the awful dome,
The fierce Androcles saw Alcander nigh,
Listning the chorus; and inflam'd with rage
At the intrusion of a branded slave
Amid the rites of freemen, in a tone
Of mingled rage and scorn, address'd the youth;
Who, too incautious, or inflam'd by wrongs,
Retorted with like scorn. The brother, then,
Of proud Androcles interpos'd to soothe
His rising rancour, and a transient calm
Promis'd fallacious peace, but night beheld
His smother'd passions kindle like the fires
That promise future tempest. By the moon
The savage trac'd his noble prey along,
Even to his native woods, and struck the blow.

Amph.
Time will detect the falsehood, or confirm
Its truth. If our proud masters meant to shew
Respect to their own laws, the legal sword
Had punish'd the assassin.

Dym.
This is certain,
Androcles has absconded; or (at least,
As Fame reports,) he has not since appear'd.—

Amph.
I trust no rumours; what I clearly know,
That I'll believe. But Rumour is suborn'd
(I fear) to soothe us in deceitful calm.
Spite of surrounding foes, and rude alarms;
Some dreadful machination is on foot
Some baneful damp, to quench the rising flame
Of Liberty, that kindles thro' our bands.
Else why, with all this semblance of regard,
This sanctimonious face of sympathy,
Why, when the council met to change the law
For our relief, was midnight nam'd the hour
Of dark decision? Why did they select
The Temple of the Furies for the seat
Of counsel? Did Humanity's soft laws
E'er take their birth from these detested walls?
Why were the Helot's try'd and constant friends
Excluded from the dark divan? And why
Are all Messenia's friends, where'er they rul'd,
In Lacedeamon's martial bands, cashier'd,
Despoil'd, at once, of all their crested pride,
And, in their room, our most inveterate foes,
The gloomiest bigots of their cruel code
Promoted? Say, my friend, are these the signs
Of lasting league, of amity, and peace?

Dym.
Be calm—methought I heard a rustling noise
At hand—I would not wish your words were heard.
My ear was not deceiv'd—'tis Memnon's self—
He must not find us here!

Amph.
I wish it not.
Of all the proud surveyors of our toils,
Tho' some are more imperious, none I dread
Nor hate so much as him, yet know not why.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Scene continues.
Enter ASPASIA in the Character of MEMNON.
Asp.
Ye kindred spirits! oft within those groves
Your tears of old for our repeated wrongs,
Perhaps, have fallen. But fate, with iron hand,
Long since has dry'd those tears, and laid the sigh
That in those glades rose frequent! still indeed
Perhaps, even in the blest Elysian plains
Ye mourn the fair occasion, ever lost,
When to the tomb ye sunk without a name!
I too could mourn like you, could wander on
Inglorious thro' those groves, and wail my lot.
—But I disdain this lot.—I too must fall
Like you; but whether lapse of lingering years
Shall lay me low, or some auspicious hour
Devote me for a people, on myself
Depends! I was not born to die a slave.—
And now the deed is done which lifts my name
Conspicuous to the nations. Hence—away
Vile habit! Stern Androcles' bloody steel
That laid the blooming Helot low, denies
Concealment! Like the flash that fires the dome
Of some proud temple, and discloses wide
The solemn shrine that holds the guardian god,
This blow detects me to their wond'ring tribes.
This is no common fate, like those who fell
Ignobly doom'd beneath the conscious night
To try the temper of a stripling's steel!
No Bacchanalian chorus wakes the groves,
No festal dance, no rural song! 'Tis rage,
Revenge, and loud rebellion! Let it come.
This arm shall point the lightning on the heads
Of our proud despots! This is near the spot,
Where, nightly, their divan the seniors hold;
There, in the moment, when their passions mount
In due ferment, my skilful hand shall throw
The last ingredient in, that bids them blaze,
Till in the billowy conflagration caught,
Yon haughty walls subside. What I have told
Has rais'd their wonder at my skill, that seems
Far, far above the sublunary range
Of human comprehension. Could I see
The afflicted father, ere the assembly meets
The train were surer laid. And lo! he comes;
See! where he wanders like a stricken deer,
The barbed shaft deep rankling in his side!
Yet thro' the cloud of sorrow that o'er-hangs
His brow, vindictive rage, with transient gleam
Illumes his reverend visage. Here I'll shrowd;
Still somewhat, even from him, may yet be learn'd

[Retires.
Enter ARISTODEMUS.
Arist.
Then all my vigilance, my cares were vain,
To check thy daring soul. Poor youth! I ought,
(If I had priz'd thy life) with double seal
The secret to have kept within my breast,
Untold even by a look. But that pure flame,
Deriv'd from him whose ashes slumber here,
Had mark'd thee out some prowling Spartan's prey,
And thou had'st fallen as now. In other realms,
When partial Heaven awakes the patriot fire,
It leads the blest possessor on to fame,
And kindles in the course! But here, alas!
It blasts the owner, as a bolt from Heaven,
And sets in blood! But let the vengeance come,
I have deserv'd it well! In every chance
And change of sad disaster, which befell
Our toiling tribes, when every night was mark'd
With blood, each day with violence and wrong,
I scap'd till now! I never felt at home
Till now! Oh, injur'd people! I, your lord,
For whom your dearest blood, if I requir'd,
Had stream'd, was too, too timid, too remiss,
Too patient, selfish, cold! Or if I felt,
'Twas not for you I felt, but for my son!—
I fear'd, I strove to ward his doom in vain,
But Fate has reach'd him now! O had his blood,
From gallant Aristomenes deriv'd,
Bedew'd some glorious field, I then had smil'd
Upon my boy's distinguish'd tomb! But now
He falls in blooming youth, yet falls in vain,
Like some unwarlike savage to his den,
Trac'd by the pack that snuff the tainted gale,
And hunt him to his covert. But shall I—
—Shame to the blood of Aristomenes!—
Shall I, thus like a woman, wail his loss,
And say, he fell in vain? No—not in vain
While I survive! What tho' the frost of age
Congeal my blood, my tongue that us'd to preach
Patience, shall trumpet now revenge and slaughter;
I have a son to tremble for no more!
Then rouse, ye quiet groves! Rebellion! come.
Awake! Sedition! Haste! ye gathering storms,
I'll point you to your prey! Alcander's blood
Has wash'd away my fears! Why should I linger
Thus on the trembling verge of life, while rage—
Athens—Messenia—and immortal fame,
Marshall me on to glory!—

[To him. Enter Memnon in a Persian habit.
Arist.
What art thou?
Art thou the soul of my brave ancestor
That comes to check my rage, or fan the flame?
Aerial visitant! Thou seest a man
Who dares to hear, whate'er thou dar'st to tell,
And execute whate'er thou bidst.

Memn.
Aside.
He thinks me
A spirit or a god, the midnight gloom
Favours the thought. He shall not know me yet. [To Aristodemus.

Whate'er I am, it is not mine to tell.—
But persevere! the gods are on thy side,
And favour freedom! I am sent to warm
Your bands with new desires, and give the glow
That lifts the slave to manhood; think not then,
That mangled form, which soon, with pious rites,
Thy slaves shall carry to the funeral pile,
Thy son! His better part survives, and walks
From soul to soul, with unseen steps, but not
Unfelt. Observe his motions, and adore
His holy footsteps! He will lead you on
To certain conquest! Fare thee well, and prosper.

[Exit.
Arist.
Is it even so!—Why, then, lamented youth!
Those eyes no more, with weak, effeminate drops,
Mean to profane thy glorious fall! Thou setst
And setst in blood! But, like the lamp of day,
That rises on the vernal morn, and brings
The zephyrs in his train for the rude blast
That swept the summer buds away, thou livest,
As ere few suns decline, the world shall know!

To him MEMNON again—PHILEMON and other Chiefs of the Helots.
Phil.
to Mem.
Thou hast astonish'd us! Where couldst thou learn
That Dorian dialect of perfect phrase.
Thou seem'st a native here! Could'st thou have gain'd
In Asia's melting climes among the hordes
Of willing slaves, such hardihood of thought,
Such glowing sentiments, as seem to shame
Athens, in all her independent pride?
Forgive us, if we doubt.

Arist.
Aside.
Is this the form
So lately seen by me?

Phil.
Thou seest us to the verge of ruin led,
Our recent hope of independence quench'd,
When brave Alcander fell. On Sparta's lords
Thou art dependant. Thou, perhaps, suborn'd
By them, the ready minion of their will,
Employ'st thy supple arts, thy fair pretext
Of generous sentiments to probe our hearts,
To try, if yet we feel; if aught remains,
Aught, not to be extinguish'd by our tears,
Aught yet unquell'd beneath the weight of woe,
Ready once more to catch the falling spark
And flame for liberty. We are not now
So lost to prudence, as to fall a prey
To such low machinations.

Mem.
That you doubt
My own assertions, till my proofs are given
To clear my conduct, no resentment breeds
In me, Philemon! nor suppose I scorn
To choose thee umpire of the test I bring,
When to this reverend sire I now appeal,
With grief deprest; yet still in him survives
Messenia's latest most endearing hope,
Scorning the frowns of Fate.

Arist.
O mock us not
With hopes! But why encroach upon the hour
Of sympathizing sorrow? Can you raise
The dead? Can you restore my gallant son?
Why didst thou, like a vision, come even now,
(For well I know 'twas thou, whom late I saw)
With mystic words to raise fallacious hope?
Say, Persian! do your native plains produce
Balm to the bleeding heart? You rather came,
I fear, with poison to foment the wound!
Yet pay some reverence to paternal woes!
Retire, and ye, my friends! let me entreat
Your absence, till the funeral rites begin!

Mem.
Be sorrow sacred. But, remember, sire,
To sorrow like a man! This woman's dew
But ill becomes the old, imperial stem
Of fallen Messenia!

Arist.
Who informed thee! say!

[Surprized.
Mem.
The same who told
Of things unknown to human ears, but mine,
Yet known in other worlds, where those, whose dust
In this long consecrated mold repose,
This instant are consulting on the doom
Of old Messenia.

Arist.
Ha! thou startst a thought
Might wake the dead! Who slumbers here? Unfold!
Some know the secret, but to alien ears
It is a secret still.

Mem.
Beneath this mold
Slumbers the last of your imperial line,
Who follow'd down Eurotas plaintive stream
With desolation, fell revenge, and blood,
For Sparta's wrongs! I need not add his name!—

Arist.
Here sleeps the dust of Aristomenes!
Amazement. Who informed thee?

Mem.
First declare
Whether I guess the number of the kings
That rest around their great progenitor
On everlasting guard, like yonder stars
That circle round the pole!

Arist.
What number, say!

Mem.
The number equals the celestial choir
Of Jove's harmonious daughters!

Arist.
Heaven and earth!—
Some god or demon told thee!

Mem.
Now recall
From memory's dormant stores, if e'er thou heardst
An uncouth saw, by antient prophet's sung
What should befall the tenth, if still he kept
His ancient regal honours unprofan'd
By Hope, by Interest, or by Fear!

Arist.
To him
Was the revival of Messenia's hopes
Assur'd; and hence, alas! my sad despair,
Since my Alcander's loss! To him I gave
My right!

Mem.
Despair not yet, there still remains
The tenth—thou liv'st for vengeance! Others still
Of the Herculean line survive, by thee
To be adopted. Rouse to vengeance! Rouse!
The frozen snake at Spring's reviving breath
Feels the return of life!

Phil.
Unequall'd man!
Heaven's favourite! Yet vouchsafe another glimpse
Of heaven's eternal counsels (if 'tis given
To mortal minds to know), why did the powers
Above, permit the spirit of the state
So long to dream away the rolling years
And why that mystic number chosen, that seems
A ninefold charm?

Mem.
Young man, you aim aright!
It is a ninefold charm: The holy choir
Of Pindus Fount, the lovely guardians still
Of Sparta's throne, with everlasting prayer
Long wearied their immortal sire, to grant
Each one, thy thrones depression, till the Fates
Had nine times spun the long empurpled thread
For nine of thine imperial ancestry,
From Aristomenes to thee deriv'd—
Each gain'd a royal sacrifice, a life
Of old Messenia's line, so long to save
Their favour'd Lacedæmon. Pheron fell
The last, thy royal sire!

Arist.
By all the gods
Then there are hopes! had not Alcander fallen!

Mem.
Mistaken man! thy son's lamented fall
Is life to old Messenia's cause!

Arist.
Explain,
Thou more than prophet! even the beating storm
Much more the tempest of the mind would calm
To hear thee ope the mysteries of heaven!—
How is the state advantag'd by the blood
Of fallen Alcander?

Mem.
Much afflicted sire!
Be it thy consolation to be told
Thy son was summon'd by the awful call
Of providence, to fire the general breast
With keen vindictive rage, to add revenge
To public spirit, to cement with blood
Messenia's combination: Have I given
A test of more than mortal reach?

Phil.
Thou hast!

Mem.
Then let the hopes of more than mortal aid
Expell despondence from your sinking hearts!
And, to assure you more, this instant hour
Rites, to your climes unknown, shall ope the gates
Of yon Empyrean, on this gloomy scene
To let in more than day. Then shall ye know
With due precision, what the gods require
And what they promise. Haste ye slaves, erect [To some of his own slaves.

The altar of the Magi. Light the flame
And meet the coming dirge with holy songs!—
—Break the deep gloom of yon funereal cloud
With heavenly splendours, like created light
With Hades old contending.

[The slaves prepare the altar, the holy fire, &c. the Helot chiefs with Aristodemus go to meet the funeral procession.
MEMNON
—ALONE.
Thanks to the knowlege from my sire deriv'd
Of old Messenia's story! To those swains
I seem a delegate from heaven! They take
My flowery fictions, my poetic tales
For dictates of the gods, immortal themes!
Yet of such prophecies I have been told
Or true or false. If true, why should not I
Avail me of that energy they breathe
To second my own views? Alcander's life
(Had he surviv'd,) had serv'd me as a base
To build my claims; on one congenial stem
Our titles might have grown to after times
In everlasting bloom. But he is gone!—
His sister still remains; her claims to mine
Are hostile; tho' alike. I must contrive
To break this bar, or move it from my way!
I would not dip my hands in regal blood!
It only then remains, by artifice
To spirit her away, or fright her hence
By fear of some impending ill,—they come!

[The funeral procession approaches, attended by Aristodemus, Philemon, and the rest of the Helot chiefs.
Phil.
There fell Messenia's glories! Thou art fled
Brave spirit! Who amidst the bellowing storm
(When prying curiosity, appall'd,
Dreaded to walk our vales, and murther slunk
Into her wolvish den, with blood embath'd)
Came like the spirit of the tempest forth
When, riding on the clouds, he calls to arms
His fiery factions in the angry air,
Then, when the loud revolt of nature seem'd
In Ithome's aspiring sons to rouse
Each independent passion, dormant long.
When to the waving woods and sobbing storm
Eurotas, swoln to rage, by watry moons
His solemn cadence join'd,—then—how he stood
Like some sage master of a powerful spell
Thro' the fermenting multitude around
Erecting their fallen hopes, and teaching slaves
To think and feel like men. But oh, ye shades
Of old Amyclæ! you, ye conscious groves!
The fatal secret was not kept! Ye storms!
Ye winds proclaim'd it! Every partial god
That favour'd Sparta, watch'd the gloomy hour
Pale Hecat watch'd, and mixt her midnight bane
To dash our sacred counsels—else, how dar'd
Those wolves of Sparta, crouching to their dens
Before the Attic hunter, they, who long
Have seem'd afraid to stain our peaceful cots
With moon-light massacre, or lust, again,
Thus to insult a people? Thus to shed
Our dearest blood?

Amph.
Alas! my friend, too sure
The mystic secret of his birth, so long
Our best palladium, and the charm, that kept
Whate'er of ancient manhood yet remain'd
Or loyalty alive, tho' known to few
Was certainly divulged—else why on him
(After a long deceitful pause) should Fate
Fasten at once, and bear our hopes away?

Phil.
Behold the slaughter'd son, and mourning sire.

[Enter Helots, bearing the body of Alcander, Aristodemus, &c.
Arist.
Here rest the lov'd Alcander's last remains!
That daring and intrepid soul, so late
Who might have rais'd Alcides' falling race
Now ranges in Elysian liberty,
No longer manacled to earth, compell'd
In painful post to combat with the tide
Of this bad world!—Thy virtues—noble youth!
Were splendid signs that led the venom'd shaft
With surer level to its mortal mark!—
Thy worth undid thee!—hadst thou been content
To slumber out the live-long, thoughtless night
Amongst thy fellow hinds without a dream
Of what thy ancestors once were,—I now
Like other sires had own'd a living son!—
But, oft when others slept, thy soaring soul
Took wing from this ignoble nook, and sped
Her way to other worlds, congenial climes
To hold high converse with thy mighty sires
And breathe that pure Ethereal flame, that lifts
The man to godhead! Why those splendid boons
This prodigality of heaven, and waste
Of worth, like some vile hind, to fall obscure
By a Laconian ruffian's hand, unless
To mock the hopes of Man?

Mem.
I thought, old sire.
Those earthly vapours had no longer power
To trouble thy clear intellect, so late
Admitted to the counsel of the gods
An earthly guest!—must I again repeat
The need of some uncommon sacrifice
Some deed of direst import, whose deep guilt
Devotes the bloody city to the power
Of him, who is the source of every ill?—
—To those lethargic spirits, long disus'd
To flame at common wrongs, some flagrant act
Was requisite, to fire plebeian souls
To thoughts of vengeance! Know, the heav'nly powers
Work not by human means, else man might think
All things the regular effect of Fate
Or rul'd by yon revolving orbs above
And quite forget their being! But full oft
Dreadful and devious, as the comet's course
By signal and astounding steps they move
To call us back, when wand'ring. Know besides
The two contending powers, who sway below
Great Orosmades, and the dreaded name
Of Arimanius, source of every ill
(Your Jove, and Pluto) oft in council dread
Meet on their frontiers, and with league unknown
Dispense the fortunes of this nether world
The scene of their alternate sway), like Sol
And his fair nightly sister, silver-thron'd.—
Oft, when the power beneficent is pleased
To raise some state, or bid a people breathe
Th'ambrosial air of dear bought liberty
He gives his dark competitor the power
To arm his red right hand with every plague
That humbles mortals, famine, fire and sword,
Inclement seasons, and the dreadful band
Of pestilential armies in mid air
Encamping on the settled gloom. By them
He wreaks his horrible intent, and deems
The subject world his own, but deems in vain
The friendly power permits his fell carreer
And over rules his rage. The dire extreme
Sharpens the human intellect, and calls
The manly virtues forth, calm Vigilance,
Devotion, Fortitude, the social tyes
That fasten man to man with links of love
And lists a band of heroes, fit to brave
The mortal menace of oppressive power.

Phil.
Interpreter of heaven! thou well hast prov'd
Thy mighty Mission by no vulgar signs!—
—Thy words might chear despondence, but, alas!
Had Jove design'd our freedom, he had left
The heir of Aristomenes to lead
Her loyal armies!—I am chill'd with years!
Without a son!

Mem.
But not without a child!
Thou hast a daughter, lovely as the morn
She has a lover, bold, aspiring, brave,
And one who shares the honour of thy blood
Adopt him to your line!

Arist.
His worth is witness'd
By the attachment of his fellow slaves
O be their love less perilous to him
Than to Alcander! heaven benights our views!

Mem.
To clear your doubts, (if any doubts remain)
An awful revelation, yet behind
Ripe for disclosure, labours to a birth!—

Amph.
Where will this end? I feel a sacred awe
As if some god in human shape, were near!

Phil.
A god or man he seems, the sent of heaven
Attend! he opes her lips to speak again.

Mem.
Know then! desponding men! on Persia's bounds
My youth, observant of the will of heaven
Was fixt to watch the never dying flame
To which th'imperial heirs of Cyrus bend.
Thence, when reliev'd at last, at early day
As, overwatch'd, I laid me down to rest
Where thro' the purple gates of morn ascend
Visions of true presage, methought I saw
The blush of early day, ascending still—
I seem'd to watch the mists that roll away
From fair Gedrosia's western hills, before
The coming god, to spy the first, faint beam
That gilds their lofty brows, and hail the power
With wonted hymns adoring:—Soon aslant
The misty curtain mov'd away in folds
Of gorgeous tissue, by the orient beam
Enrich'd with all heaven's drapery, that seem'd
To match the labour of cælestial looms—
The piny mounts umbrageous sides appear'd
In pomp of light and shade, disclosing full
His giant lineaments, as the light clouds
Mov'd over his majestic front, now hid
Now manifest, in morns resplendent vest.
Deep echo from the vales return'd the voice
Of morning flocks and herds, the ruffling groves
Swell'd with aerial minstrelsie and all
Was vernal life and joy! but, westward far
An hovering cloud, upon the mountain brow
Seem'd settling long, and oft was seen to poise
His grey extended wings to fleet away
And often seem'd, with light, fantastic toe
To spurn the heath-crown'd height, like the blue flame
That hovers o'er the dying taper's point.—
—At last, from every glade and thicket near
Each gulphy stream, and sedgy glen, it seem'd
Its kindred fogs to call—the kindred bands
In dim detachments up the channel'd sides
Of that steep wilderness ascend, and mount
Blotting the pure æthereal bounds.—Anon
The bands of ancient night, disperst so late
Seem'd rallying fast from their Tartarean caves
And wide encroaching on the golden edge
Of day, which, circumscrib'd, but lovely still
Skirted the rosy orient. Like the powers
Of Ariman they seem'd, when his proud hand
Unfurls the flag of darkness in the face
Of Orosmades, lord of life and love.—
But with the west wind soon the stormy south
His potent breath combin'd, and swept along
The rallying fogs, wide verging to the poles
In broad circumference around. The day
Seem'd to retire, and call its orient beams
Back to the fount of light. The fount of light
Was seen no more. But in its stead, forth lanc'd
The lurid lightning; in those peaceful bounds
Where fair tranquillity for ever smiles
The delegate of darkness seem'd to take
His gloomy post and sadden all the sky:
Then hurl'd his spells around; the last faint beam
Soon sicken'd into night. I saw with dread
The fearful portent, nor the portent long
Was unexplain'd, for soon a faded form
Desponding stood before my mental eye—
It bore th'undoubted ensigns of the god
Whose presence gilds our temples. But his looks
Were all eclips'd, his dazzling crown was lost
Shorn of his beams he stood, like one depos'd
From his celestial honours, and at length
In sighs began. “Those signs which late you saw
“Are ominous to Persia. From the west
“The hand of Ariman conducts a foe
“Portentous to her glory, as yon clouds
“That blot my beams—from fair Ionias isles
“The Doric bounds and Macedon they came
“Like night and darken all Choaspes shore!
“The heir of Cyrus from his noontide height
“Falls like proud Clymene's presumptuous son
“His safety is the discord of the foe
“His hope is Sparta's fall.”

Arist.
Mysterious heaven!
Her hope is Sparta's fall, and what is ours?

Mem.
After a solemn pause, he thus proceeds
“Even now great Orosmades lends the means.
“The Athenian squadrons, like the raging north
“Lay the proud honours of her forests low
“And in Amyclæ's groves a secret fire
“Kindles amain, and soon will lift its head
“O'er their devoted shades—the guardian god
“Of Thebes , who led his conquering squadrons on
“To Ganges from Ismenos; will not scorn
“To aid me, for of old my potent help
“Confirm'd his victories, my temper'd beam
“Foster'd his vines on India's palmy shore;
“Held in suspense the periodic rains
“Or gave the timely shower, with milky flow
“To call the power of vegetation forth.
“And, when the Naiad train, whose viewless bands
“Supply the springs of Ganges, and dispense
“To their calm votaries the limpid bowl
“(Deem'd sacred as the noctar of the Gods)
“To all the tribes of that religious land)
“Dreading the vines inspiring juice, of power
“To spread revolt among the sober swains
“With deep nocturnal orisons implor'd
“My sister goddess of the watry star
“With her cold influence, and malignant power
“To chill th'inverted year; to brew the rains
“With deep'ning inundations from the hills
“To sweep their summer glories all away
“To Ethiopia's main.—I soon perceiv'd
“The close confederacy, tho' wrapt in night—
“Then when the congregated vapours spread
“Dispensing wide their chill Tartarean steam
“To the deep cavern, where the sisters sate
“Prisoning the infant moons, I pointed full
“My burning beam—the scatter'd vapours fled
“And left the mountain's brow, the Naiad's band
“Felt my full glories scorch their sea-green hair
“And drop'd their tinkling urns, and fled away
“To hide them in the mines, among the stores
“Of unsunn'd silver, and forbid the fount
“Above the flowery bank to swell the stream
“Or drench, with ceaseless rain, the viny plant,
“In favour to the god who gave the boon—
“Go thou! I here divest thee of thy robes
“As priest of Mithras! Go! and seek the shore
“Where first he saw the light, approach the fane
“On Daulias lofty summit, and declare
“(After due Orisons) my urgent claims
“For his alliance, bought with friendship old.
“Bid him inspire his Thebans to the field
“Against the Spartans haughty race, who threat
“Even now, the throne of Cyrus! thence depart
“And seek in fair Amyclæs groves, the tribes
“Who boast the blood of old Messenia's line
“(Tho' now the name be gone, disgrac'd and sunk
“In that of Helot). If the swains receive
“Thy mission gladly, rouse the bolder youths
“To turn upon their lords, and nobly wrench
“From their slack hands, the old, paternal spear
“And face their cruel hunters.” Here he soar'd
Amid the gathering gloom. Suspense I stood,
Now wrapt in wonder, now in doubt involv'd
How best to win my way to Daulias bounds
Thro' warring nations. To Miletus thence
Many a long league, in many a quaint disguise
I shap'd my course at last, and thence embark'd
Aboard a ship of Samos for the strand
Of old Cithæron. Soon the black north west
Arose, and drove our fated barque along
To Malea's hostile bay, when soon we met
Lysander's martial brigandine, and struck
To his superior flag—the crew in chains
Were doom'd to various toils, but I was sent
(Thanks to the gods, who led my fated steps)
To join my lot with you.

Arist.
Propitious gods!
Could he, who sills his clay-cold bed, again
Arise, how would he soar above all dread
And coward doubt! How would he grasp the bolt
Of thund'ring Jove, in fancy, and disperse
His foes, with heaven's own lightning?

Mem.
Better thus!—
Perhaps, were he alive, his eager spirit
Burning for premature exploits, would lead
His Helots on to ruin, where the way
Seem'd to conduct to glory.—Let that thought
Be now thy solace! our revenge, tho' slow.
Is certain.

Arist.
Then! Laconian tygers! then!
I yet may live to thank you! not content
With simple murther, on his godlike form
Of matchless mold your savage malice stamp'd
A thousand wounds—ye meant it his disgrace.
It is his glory, that his worth provok'd
Such wolves as you, that bay the radiant moon
For shining on your fell misdeeds—ye marr'd
That beauteous face with wounds—the sovereign feat
Of manly beauty, where revenge and malice
Might look their rage away!—

Mem.
Old man! no more!
The time prohibits weak complaint—let all
Loud passions cease! and in this quiet grove
No accent of impatience taint the time
Due to religion.—You, the ministers
(Selected for the purpose,) light the lamp
The symbol of that radiant power, who leads
The golden day, whom Persia's tribes adore
At dead of night, and at the blushing dawn,
He led them on to glory—from the east
Inspiring godlike Cyrus to pursue
The flaming track of his diurnal car
Till Asia's western climes confest their lord
And Egypt sunk before him!—Call around
Your Helots to partake the solemn rite
And from the splendid shrine, with beating heart
Inhale the present god, while breathing high
Poetic rapture swells the solemn strain
Such as from Sparta's flute yet never flow'd:
Devoting Lacedæmon to the powers
Of Ariman and everlasting night
Others prepare Alcander's funeral pile.

[The sacred lamp is lighted and set on the urn over the tomb of Aristomenes.
Mem.
Chaos, and ancient night! Ye nameless powers
Who share the throne of darkness, and preside
Over the moonless realms, forgive the strain
That hails your luminous rivals, far remote!
Nor deem us rebels to your ancient sway
That thus we sing the god, whose orient beam
Pierc'd your primæval shadows, and expell'd
From half your bounds Oblivion's torpid reign.
Ye swarthy Satraps! from your ancient claims
We mean not to detract! But (if our vows
Merit acceptance in your gloomy realms,
Dishonour'd by creation) to send down
New colonies from these devoted plains,
Whose deeds of genuine darkness well have earn'd
The dire distinction. Now begin the hymn.

Mem.
Break off—break off—the bright symbolic sign
Burns ominous and dim, like Persia's god,
When Night's fair empress comes, with envy pale,
To intercept his glory. We must try
Some other charms. I shudder but to think
On those that still remain! For, what remains
But that, which cleaves the mundane shell, and calls
The weary ghost (new reconcil'd to night,
And all her solemn charms) to hated day
Again?—And one portentous bribe alone
Has weight to gain the gloomy Ariman,
To render back his purchase!

Arist.
What is that?
Say, Persian! thou, that hold'st with either world,
Thy dread communication, is it needful
That more of old Messenia's royal race
Should bleed? My gallant ancestor (whose name
Is now, alas! my only boast) when Sparta,
(Detested Sparta!) girt with direful siege
His capital; when thy resplendent god
(Our Delphian oracle) with sad response,
Demanded from the Herculean line
A spotless maid (to please the powers below,
And with her immolated blood atone
For thousands) soon o'ercame paternal fear.—
I have a daughter. Does that stern regard,
Say, I must also quell paternal fear?

Mem.
Aside.
Such is my aim, old man!—You guess aright,
But know not yet my motive nor my claim
To old Messenia's throne, were she remov'd,
Her fears, if nothing else, shall chace her hence.

Arist.
My child is dear as life—nay, dearer far.
Slavery had long ere now sunk this grey head
To seek a welcome grave. But love prolong'd
My days, in thraldom, and in shame. Yet say not
That she shall bleed! I have no hopes but her,
Nor other hope does now Messenia boast.—
—Some, it is true, of great Alcides line,
In bondage, or in exile, may survive,
But she alone is known the lineal heir
Of our Messenian stem! And, should she fall,
The bond, that holds our wretched tribes together,
Sinks with her to the ground, and what am I
To fill a nation's trust?

Mem.
Aside.
[To Aristodemus.
Aside.

Enter PHORBAS.
Arist.
Come, without preface,
Deliver what you bring! The time precludes
All ceremonious prelude!—

Phor.
Then I fear
We are betray'd. At least, that our proud lords
Suspect our purpose!

Mem.
On what grounds dost thou
Imagine this?

Phor.
When first I reach'd the fane,
At morn, I met Pausanias in the porch,
He spoke not; but with dark suspicious look
Survey'd me round, as if to read my soul,
And strait departed.

Arist.
We, alas! have felt
His fear, by marks more deadly. Oh! my son!
Thy fall too plainly spoke the Spartan dread!

Phor.
seeing the body.
Ha!—is Alcander fallen—Oh! mortal wound
To all our hopes!—Ye Helicean bands,
Ye now may stray, like flocks without a guide!
That youthful leader, whom your hopes pourtray'd,
Your dearest hopes beguiles!

Arist.
Enough of him.—
But say!—You nam'd the Helicean bands.
What bands of Helice?

Phor.
That unseen power,
Which bids alternate waves of night and day
Roll o'er this nether globe (while here ye mourn
In double depth of woe and midnight gloom)
Leads on the day-spring from Naupactus height,
In bright procession!

Arist.
From Naupactus coast?
Has Athens seiz'd the strait; and, from the shore
Of Pisa, pour'd her legions? Then her sword,
From either quarter lops the giant limbs
Of this new Typhon! Pylos, Pisa now
Confess th'Athenian sway!

Phor.
From Athens nought
I learn'd, but from the Delphian porch I saw
A noble youth, with looks of chearful haste
Returning.

Mem.
But those Helicean bands,
What are they, and from whence?

Phor.
Lament no more.
Forget your bonds! For oh! thou happy sire!
Thou yet mayst see Messenia lift her head,
Her crested head, proud as yon waving pines,
Proud as the sons of old Ithome, led
By godlike Aristomenes, to sweep
The haughty files of Sparta from the field,
Or send them trembling to their wolfish dens!
For know, my friends, on the Crissean shores,
Your nation still survives, that seem'd extinct,
For ever sunk on sandy Pylos coast.
It lives again, like that sulphureous mine,
That sinks, they say, in Etna's flaming gorge,
Then from Vesuvius, lances to the stars,
And frights fair Italy. These poor remains
Of Ithome, long hid, and foster'd long
Obscurely in Ætolia; have burst forth
Like yonder Pleiads from the wintry storm,
That takes a surly leave! But late they crost
In many a proud bark o'er the wond'ring wave
Of Crissa, clad in arms, and settle now
Round Helice and Bura, to the strand
Of western Elis. Like a band they come,
Of hornets, from our fields to drive away
Those monsters fed with gore! Their pæans loud
Peal to the sounding main. The sounding main
Sends them provisions, arms, and warlike stores
From rich Naupactus, and the ports around,
That skirt the long Crissean, and obey
Athenian influence, or Athenian power.

Arist.
This from report we learn'd before, but fear'd
It was some hostile stratagem, to lure
Our hopes to blossom, like untimely spring,
Check'd by the nipping North's invidious breath.

Phor.
Those eyes beheld them.

Mem.
Where?

Phor.
Even now—But now
That sun, whose steeds a few short hours ago
Plung'd in the broad Ionian, saw the scene,
Saw his red splendours as they rose, return'd
By old Messenia's far reflecting files
Doubling the day;—the purple main afar,
In hoarse applause, remurmur'd to the voice
Of early vows to the associate gods,
Latona's son, and Neptune. Either god,
From the blue empire and the burning throne,
Each other seem'd with mutual smiles to hail,
Mingling their glories!

Mem.
He that rules the day
From his bright station deals impartial light,
Both to the proud oppressor and the slave
Who drags the clanking chain. The tyrant scorns
Th'ætherial blessing, and the weary wretch
But wakes to curse his rising beam, that shows
A long variety of woe and pain.
But in the nightly visions of the just,
(After his radiant eyes have view'd the world,
Its miseries and wrongs) he deals around
That awful verdict oft, that seals the doom
Of thoughtless tyrants, tho' they bask secure
Beneath his blessed beam.

Phor.

Arist.
By all our wrongs
Thou bring'st an answer, worthy of a god!
And may the tide of time for ever bear
Our generations to oblivion's deep
If now we miss the fair occasion given
At once to seize, that lifts us to the view
On this wide theatre of gods and men
Applauding!

Phorb.
Hear the sequel, for the maid
Forsook not yet the tripod “Sons of Ithome”
In calmest mood she thus began “The means
“How to commence the dread carreer of fame
“Are yet to learn: the goal is in your view
“The first step gains the race, the conscious moon
“Must see you turn against the savage foe
“Who marks your tracks with blood! the coming night
“Soon in her shadowy retinue shall bring
“The wonted ruffian to your peaceful plains
“With wolvish spirit, prowling for his prey
“Him seize, and to the subterranean gods
“Pour his devoted blood! The manly deed
“By all partaken, will to all dispense
“Unshaken fortitude and firm resolve.
“Kindled by taste of hostile blood, despair
“Of pardon from their dire vindictive lords
“And settled purpose to succeed, or dye.”

Mem.
Aside.
Then I must haste to wake my rival's fears
And from th'imagin'd danger speed her flight.

[Exit privately.
Phil.
'Twas then that ruffian's shadow which obscur'd
The lamp of Mithras, when it burn'd so dim!
The prescient gods have sent the dark eclipse
To warn us of the prey, which now, perhaps
On this dread verge with blind unconscious tread
Is entring on our snares.—Begin the search.

Arist.
Then this alone remains.—Oh! had I learn'd
The secret sooner! had Apollo deign'd
To wake our fears before Alcander fell
And mark'd the ruffian as he walk'd our woods
Alcander yet had liv'd, or we, at worst,
Had seen the murth'rer pour his hated blood
To the dread queen of Vengeance!

Phorb.
Yet, perhaps
Flush'd with success, the ruffian of the night
Again may visit these sad groves; the blame
If then he scapes, will light on us. The gods
Have free'd themselves.

Arist.
Go Mardon! Cephatus!
Terpander! Pheron! Pyramus! and Dymas!
Each in your several districts, wake your friends
And bid their busy footsteps trace the dews
Till dawn—no common prey shall crown their toil.—
—Fair daughter of Latona, whose bright lamp
So oft has led the robber to his prey—
O thou, whose virgin ear was oft profan'd
With cries of violation. Thou whose shafts
On Tityus and Orion, veng'd of old
Their brutal purpose—pierce those envious clouds
Remove the veil of night, and give to view
The secret foe, that comes, with fell intent
To stain thy virgin walks with recent blood!

ACT II.

Scene—The Same.
MEMNON
—SOLUS.
The billet did its business well—it woke
Her fears, and chac'd her from her father's house.—
But why return'd, and whence this wond'rous tale
Of violence and rescue? Is it feign'd
Or true?—It is no time to question now!
I still am unsuspected, and some means
Of more effect this working brain must find
To spirit her away, and leave no space
To lay the basis of my fortunes deep
But here the rangers, and their captive come,
I hasten to resume my priestly garb!

[Exit.
[Aristodemus, and Helots, bring in a captive.
Arist.
[The captive is led forward.

1st Hel.
No sign of guilt he show'd,
No mark of terror his demeanor wore,
More than you see at present; nay, he ask'd
To be conducted hither.

Arist.
to the Cap.
Tell me—say
Why that impassion'd gate? that scornful smile!

Cap.
From no contempt. I smile at your mistake.
Yourselves will smile, when you forget your rage
Against your firmest friends!

Arist.
What! art thou not
A Spartan, and a ruffian, sent to spy,
And single from our tribes the choicest prey
To dye your maiden sword in Helot's gore?

Cap.
From no Laconian veins my birth I draw,
As well my dialect may show. My country
Is that distinguish'd land, where Theseus rul'd,
Now the proud arbitress of Greece. To you,
(If you command those Helot tribes) I bear
My orders.

Arist.
Tell thy business! Falter not!
It must be bloody, deep, important, secret,
Well suited to the past; but no disguise
Will here avail. Messenia's tottering state
(To be cemented by thy Spartan blood)
Must not be baffled by a soothing tale!

Cap.
Mistaken men! Would Heaven the time allow'd
To send to Athens, (if you doubt my faith)
Your fears would soon disperse!

Arist.
An artful scheme!
But futile as the former! You would gain
Time to elude our vengeance, and to leave us
To wonder at our folly!

Cap.
Send this instant.—
Be I your hostage till your messenger
Returns. Then will you find me not a spy,
But delegated from th'Athenian state,
To proffer aid; nay more, to raise you high
From this inglorious state, akin to beasts,
To cope with men.

Arist.
You think us beasts, indeed,
Devoid of all sagacity!—Whate'er
Thy purpose, thou and thy confederate friends
Can best disclose. But now thy thin pretext
Is all transparent as the air. Thy words—
Yes—thine own words condemn thee! We ourselves
A messenger already have dismiss'd
To Athens and to Delphi, both at once,
And were there aught of moment, not by thee,
But them, the answer had been sent. But thou
Prepare to meet thy doom!

[As they are going to seize him.
Cop.
Hold! On your lives
Presume not thou to touch me, or thy slaves!
Approach not, or by all th'Athenian gods,
An horrible revenge awaits the deed.
Let me but send to Athens! Let me wait
In bonds, till my credentials may arrive!

Amph.
Could it be done!—But think, Aristodemus,
How often wild temerity has rued
The violence of direful deeds too late.

Arist.
He only wants to profit by delay,
And what from thence might grow. He bears no stamp
Of Athens in his dialect, or garb!—
Have we not seen Athenians? And from whence
Can he then be, but from our deadliest foes,
Our masters of Laconia! Call the priest, [Exit Helot.

And bid the altars fume. Propitious gods
Accept our offering!

Cap.
Am I then to fall
Obscure, inglorious, by a curst mistake?
Nay, then, whatever hostile power, whose hate
Has lur'd me to the snare, shall never see me
Thus tamely, like a steer, to slaughter led!

[Struggles and overthrows several of the Helots, but is at last overpowered and muffled for sacrifice.
Enter MEMNON, as Priest.—The Altar lighted and surrounded with preparations for Necromancy.
Mem.
Ye nameless powers! who in the dark profound,
Despise the common sacrifice, and joy
To see the voluntary victim throw
The load of life aside! Ye who inspire
The Gentian widow with the dire resolve
To plunge amid the slaming bounds, that part
Both worlds, and seek the partner of her soul
In other elements than ours—command
The dull, reluctant, lingering wish away.
That ties the sullen captive to the world!
Give him to taste of immortality.
That his exalted sentiment may scorn
The vapid pleasures of this nether clime,
That sicken in enjoyment! Imp his wings,
That droop like some young eaglet's, on the verge
Of dread vacuity, yet unexplored,
Till his undaunted parent heaves him off,
To poise his pinions in the wide expanse
Of the sustaining air. If ye accept
The offering, by thy dread response, we soon
Shall learn! The gods, who rule our changing spheres
Remand us back to you, who know no change
In purpose or in fortune. They will melt
At human woe, and turn at human prayer,
Like their own clouds and sunshine. Ye are stern,
Immoveable, and scorn the wav'ring breeze
That causes chance and change below! Prepare
The rites! And now produce the captive youth,
Unmask him—let him look upon his fate.

[The mask is taken off and discovers Alcibiades.
Mem.
Aside.
Ha!—Who is here! Oh Nemesis and Jove!
What dreadful vision bursts upon my sight!
My deadliest foe within my power! The man
That caus'd my exile, forc'd me to renounce
My native clime—and oh—but I must save him,
Else my revenge were short of half its ends.—
It must be full, complete!

Arist.
What new delay?
Some sudden ecstasy has seiz'd our priest,
Mark his disorder'd mein, his kindling eyes
Like glaring orbs, that threat revenge and war!—
And now they melt to pity—say what means
This strange convulsion?—

Mem.
Aside.
To Arist.

Arist.
We will not be deluded!—say, what means
Your mystic rapture?—Name the wondrous man
So late our captive for intended crimes
On bloody purpose bent, and seiz'd within
Our groves; now suddenly transform'd and claim'd
The favourite of the gods!—

Mem.
The gods demand
A Spartan life, but should your hasty hand
Shed this youth's blood (no Spartan blood perhaps)
Messenia still might mourn.

[To them, enter Semanthe in haste.
Sem.
Immortal gods!
I am not yet, I hope, too late to save
My saviour—to return him life for life!

Arist.
What profanation's this!—Semanthe! Why
Forgetful of your sex, will you intrude
Where yet no female is allowed to spy
Our interdicted rites?

Sem.
Forgive me, father!
Forgive the transports of a grateful mind
I heard the rumour of a captive's fate—
My heart presag'd it might be he, whose arm
Guarded my life—I ran, I flew to save him
Oh my prophetic heart! this! this is he
Who snatch'd me from the ruffians!

Arist.
Gracious heaven!
From what a dreadful plunge of fate I rise
How every hour with strange discoveries teems
Forgive, whoe'er thou art, the dark intent.—
What horrour had surrounded me! What guilt
Of black ingratitude, tho' undesign'd
Tho' sanction'd by religion! Yet disclose
Why thus involv'd in night, and dark disguise
You chose to hide your worth!

Alcib.
Thy son could tell
Whom oft I met in secret—but I spare
Your heart the keen remembrance of your loss.—
I did not wish that more than one (and he
Of highest trust) should know the deep intent
That led me hither—tho' my lucky hand
Rescu'd the fair Semanthe, when I learn'd
Alcander's fate, I deem'd Messenia's hope
For ever sunk, and deep desponding trac'd
My backward steps, irresolute to go
Or stay. To warm your Helots to revenge
Or leave them tamely in their turns to fall
Deliberating long I stood—Till fate
Drew these night rangers on my lonely track.—
But those strange rites, this midnight sacrifice,
Those awful preparations shew, that still
The spirit of my slaughter'd friend survives.
Even from below, the powers that love revenge
Seem to call on us. Even the fates proclaim
Some mighty birth at hand!

Arist.
Twas then to thee
We owe my son's too sanguine hopes. Alas!
Too long it seem'd the birth of youthful fancy
And generous ardour! Too intense it flam'd,
Too, too conspicuous! Like the lambent blaze
That hovers o'er Eurotas' banks by night,
It led the midnight murtherer to his mark,
Whose fatal dagger struck my noblest hopes
To earth!

Alcib.
If consolation yet can touch
Thy heart, be it thy comfort, reverend sire,
That now, with better caution we pursue
Our plan, which else the ardour of thy son,
(Generous and bold, but to the perilous times
Ill suited) had undone. He, by his birth
And merit, mark'd our pilot, in a sea,
Full of quick sands, and shoals, and sudden flaws,
And dangerous currents, had o'erset our bark,
Which needs more steady hands (like yours) to steer.

Arist.
Alas, I am too old! My nerves are slack
With grief and age! Tho' vengeance well might brace
Limbs more decrepid and relax'd than mine.

Alcib.
Your son is fallen, but still the line survives
In your fair daughter. On her choice, by you
Confirm'd, the fortunes of your line depend.
A race, that underneath the patron power
Of Athens, yet may climb its antient throne.
—But let us leave this dark, ill-omen'd spot,
This scene, design'd for massacre and blood;
Its omen suits not with our better hopes.
Come—I have something further to propose,
Beyond your boldest aims.

[Exit Alcib. Arist. Seman. and Helots.
Mem.
Alone.

[Walks apart.
Enter SEMANTHE.
[SEMANTHE]
Shall I that secret to the gods disclose
I scarce can tell myself? O thought profane,
Will they, too partial, aid my fond pursuits,
And with the mist of passion blind, release
From right's eternal bonds, the heedless wretch,
A willing captive of the wand'ring heart?
I dare not think it. Syren! cease your strain,
For from that urn there comes a solemn voice
That checks the passions in their wild career,
And pales the rosy hue of Hope. It says,
“Oh think, Semanthe! on my fate!—no more,
“Thy brother's hand the helm of Reason sways,
“Or aids thee with his counsels! Thou, perhaps,
“Sole heiress of Messenia's line, canst boast
“That awful verdict lodged within thy lips,
“On which thy country's weal depends! thy choice
“Sows discord thro' our plains, or gently sooths
“Our patriotic bands to peace! Thy choice,
“Or Hymen, with the Graces shall attend,
“Or the pale Furies light the nuptial flame.”
And how shall I resolve, when either choice
Frowns with alternate danger! On each hand
I see the deep fermenting storm, that wrecks
My peace—but with mute eloquence, my heart
Presses decision. Friendly monitor!
Dumb guide to wisdom! Thy successful vote
At last I find will turn the fatal scale!

Mem.
Aside.
Then it is time, misguided maid, to foil
The Stygian charm that brews eternal feuds
Against the coming peace! The public cause
And mine are now combin'd: with confidence
I go to thwart her hopes.

[Comes forward.
Sem.
Kneels
Immortal gods!
Who art thou? Of this earth, or from above?
It was not fancy then! The voice was thine
Which even but now I heard, or seem'd to hear!
Whence and what art thou? Let not feeble mortals
Dissolve with terror at this awful hour,
When the dread barriers of the meeting worlds
Are broke!—When heaven converses oft with earth,
And to the charm'd soul, of her kindred skies,
The rapturous hint conveys!

Mem.
That humble posture
Befits not fellow mortals. Know'st thou not
My voice, my garb?

Sem.
Ha! Memnon! Why this time,
This place? I sink with terror! Why delay
Behind! Doth it become a man, like thee,
To listen to my orisons? But here
It suits me ill to be observ'd with thee,
If any eye beheld us!

Mem.
From thy slave,
Dread not a deed or word, but such as Virtue
Might hear and see! Thou shalt not need thy friend,
Thy hardy champion in those awful shades,
To virtue sacred, and to public love,
To vengeance, and to fame!

Sem.
My champion! mean'st thou
An insult by this word?

Mem.
Thy pardon, fair one!
I did not mean to call the burning blush
Over thy cheek! He, whom thy father's voice,
Destin'd to that blest union, were he nam'd,
Had scarcely wak'd a warmer tinge.

Sem.
Thy words,
And sly, officious observation, veil'd
Beneath the covert of the night, to spy,
(Like some dark fiend, who waits the witching hour
To shed infection) the disclosing soul;
But ill becomes my father's seeming friend,
A person delegated by the gods
To offices more dignified!

Mem.
I pardon
This error—'tis the time's mistake—nor thine.
So far your first conjecture was well founded.
—I am not what I seem.—

Sem.
Aside.
To Mem.

Mem.
Your indignation
Becomes you well. But it is needless now.
Our meeting was to me the work of chance.
But what I heard, nor time, nor chance, nor change
Shall from this bosom wring. Tho' much, perhaps,
(More than you yet surmise) your secret words,
(When none, you thought, was near) alarm'd my soul,
And wak'd a grief which years had lull'd to rest.
—Wonder not that it flows—and for a time
Denies you the discovery.

Sem.
Tears! Amazement!
How could the casual breathing of a prayer
In calm deliberation, heard or not
Concern your peace.—A sojourner, an Asian
A few short moons with us! A foreigner
Born in a climate half the world from us
Remote?

Mem.
Fair maid! No drop of Persian blood
Flows in those veins! Full sixteen summers past
O'er this devoted head before I crost
The swelling main, and lost the Grecian name,
(My birthright,) by the doom of cruel Fate
And yet more cruel man, torn from me!—

Sem.
Still
Your words bewilder,—but excuse me, stranger,
If other proofs, besides your bare assertion
Are needed!—were it my concern.—

Mem.
Full proof
I could disclose, and will.—The fraud itself
Bears witness to my truth.—

Sem.
You speak in riddles
Yourself, your dress, your words, are mystic all.

Mem.
A single word dispells the mournful cloud
That hangs upon my fate! This Persian garb
(A dress, to either sex adapted well)
Conceals—a woman.

Sem.
Gracious Heaven! A woman!
From whence thy origin. What country claims
Thy birth!

Asph.
[Opening her bosom.

Sem.
Aside.
To her.

Asp.
To that city
Whose fleets now ride triumphant round your coasts,
The seat of arts, of eloquence, and arms
I owe my birth. Yet not of Attic stem.
—My parents were by race Athenian exiles.
Oft have I heard, and wept the mournful tale
Of Ithomes sad fate.

Sem.
More wonders still!
Where will this end? Thou of Messenian race!

Asp.
And of no vulgar one. To Euphaes
Nearly allied. Oh! had my lofty birth
Inspir'd me with the spirit which belong'd
To that high rank, I ne'er had worn disguise,
Nor past for a plebeian slave, the spy
Of sunburnt swains!

Sem.
Say, what disastrous chance
Sent you to Athens?

Asp.
Ask the young Athenian,
Your captive, and your champion, on whose word
Perhaps your country's weal depends, and guess
The rest!

Sem.
It is then as I fear'd.

[Aside.
Asp.
His vows
Upon my fond belief impos'd, the sooner,
As all our meetings were by night conceal'd,
My hapless father had a tincture still
Of regal pride, and would have scorn'd the son
Of Clinias for his heir!

Sem.
Aside.
And so, perhaps,
Would mine! But my poor father's royal blood
Is tainted with vile slavery; and the son
Of Clinias, in his turn, might scorn me too!

Asp.
His vows impos'd upon my virgin heart—
My shame was known— my father doom'd me dead.—
—A faithful slave, partaker of my guilt,
Attended my escape. In man's disguise
We stole by moonlight thro' the neighbouring port,
Where stood a brigantine for Samos bound.—
Our gold obtain'd our passage, and the bark,
With easy sail, divided the blue wave,
That sparkled to the moon beam, as she plow'd
Her foamy course. But, oh! thou conscious moon!
Pale witness of my guilt, and of my flight,
Thy radiant light serene, the cloudless sky
Caus'd our unhappy doom! Oh had the clouds
From either end of Heaven roll'd o'er our heads,
And hid our shining sails! Our shining sails
By a Milesian corsair was descry'd,
The splendid bucklers, rang'd along her side,
By fits, thick flashing to the lunar beam
Glar'd fate upon us, like the comet's blaze,
As he advanc'd amain;—we yielded soon,
For his force trebled ours—in Persia's pay.
To Pharnabazus he his captive sold,
The noblest far of our barbarian foes.
A languishing disease had long confin'd
This Persian lord. Some little skill I learn'd
In herbs and simples from an hoary sire
Who dwelt on fair Hymettus, (oft at morn
My charming walk) was now of sovereign use,
To the great satrap. I found out the means
That rais'd him. With his health, his gratitude,
To me, commenc'd: he gave me to the king.
There Æsculapius still (to whom my pray'rs
With unabating fervour flow'd) return'd
My vows with every wish'd success; full thrice
The circling sun had cloth'd Gedrosia's hills
In summer pride, since next to regal state
Was mine in Sufa's haughty court: I scorn'd
These honours, when I felt each languid hour,
(Tho' rich with many a gift,) the galling chain
Of slavery, to the warm, ingenuous mind,
More galling for its splendour. Some dark scheme,
Some secret preparation 'gainst the weal
Of my lov'd Athens urg'd me on to speed
My wish'd return.
I found—wouldst thou believe it?—In the hills
Of Margiana , the detested source
Of all the civil feuds that waste our states
There, from the mines, near to the Stygian realm
The pale fiend rises on the day, whose hand
Sows discord thro' our nations, and dissolves
That harmony of Greece, which Asia dreads
Worse than the red-wing'd pestilence which rides
The burning sky.—With steel and banded fleets
Bold Xerxes sought our shores. His subtler heir—
Directs his engines not against our walls
Our forts, or navies—but against our minds
And bears down all before him!—

Sem.
Why then here
Delays thy mighty Mission? Why to Athens
Returnst thou not, to Thebes, to Argos, Corinth,
And show, what fatal spell, unknown to them
Brews the dark storm that wrecks them?

Asp.
No design,
No wish of mine to the Laconian shore
Led my devoted steps, but wayward fate
Or some kind god that wept Messenia's doom.
I burn'd for liberty; and long'd, once more
To see my native country, and expose
The fatal arts of Persia.—From the court
Veil'd in the humble habit of a slave
Feigning a message to the Sardian court
Where Tissaphernes rules Ionia's court.
I journey'd on, and reach'd the Carian shore,
There in a Rhodian vessel I embark'd
Bound for the port of Sunium. Adverse gales
Drove us to Malea southward, and again
Doom'd me to cruel bonds a wretched prey.—
The rest were mingled with the Helot band
Except a few, whom their more wealthy friends
Thought fit to ransom, as for me, thou seest
My fate and knowst my fortune since!—

Sem.
Thy tale
Would call attention from the dead, yet still
Seems it not strange that here you waste away
The precious hours of action, when a voice
Like thunder, calls thee to forsake those woods
And save desponding Greece!

Asp.
Yet wonder not!
My fate, has fixt me here.—You know my birth.—
Deep interest in your fortunes, and your wrongs
A sympathizing pang to see your woes,
Rooted me to this soil like yonder oaks
That wave so awful to the midnight gale.
I saw a manly spirit far diffus'd
Among your tribes.—With transport I perceiv'd
That nothing but religion's mighty charm
Was wanting to enflame the nascent spark
And form that influence, whose potent spell
Gives the due energy. A short exertion
In old Messenia's tribes, to free their hands
I knew, would turn the balance, and incline
Laconia's lords to think on moderate terms
As yet too haughty far.—

Sem.
Great are thy views
And laudable! Already Athens sends
To warm us with the hope of present aid
And present freedom!

Asp.
Would to all the gods
Another Envoy had been chosen! I then
Had not been led to this disast'rous tale.—

Sem.
I sought it not.

Asp.
Yet thou alone compell'st
The sad recital.—

Sem.
I compell! I know not
The purport of thy words!—

Asp.
Mistake me not—
I saw thee on a precipice—I knew
The dangers of that honey'd tongue, that flows
With Aspics deadly venom,—tho' disguis'd
Beneath the sweets of Hybla!—

Sem.
What to me
The venom, or its sweets? Dost thou presume
Upon my weakness, measur'd by thine own
Or a few whispers, by the dubious ear,
Heard indistinctly in the midnight hour?
The business of a list'ner ill accords
With all thy pomp, and high pretext of office?
From an ignobler passion, low surmise,
Thy seeming friendly caution came!

Asp.
Semanthe,
I can forgive thee—but thou wrong'st me much.
Time long has heal'd the deep corrosive wound,
And I have too much pride to court a man,
Who now, perhaps, contemns me. No.—Those groves,
That tomb shall be my witness, that, for me,
The secret of my birth and sex shall rest
Unknown. Unless it be, perhaps, thy choice
To give this Greek the means to triumph o'er
A maid, who once had not disgrac'd his hand
—Even in her fall. But tho' to me, my love
Was death, my wand'rings may to Greece procure
The glorious means of harmony and peace
Thro' her unequall'd states.

Sem.
I scorn the office,
And for Messenia's state my zeal would glow,
Perhaps, as warm as yours!

Asp.
Then lay your hand
Upon your heart; for, on that pulse that moves
Your snowy bosom, now, even now, perhaps,
Thy father's, and his people's weal depends—
A worthy youth, Philemon, is his choice
For thee, already to the royal stem
Ally'd, and powerful in his vote, among
The tribes of old Messenia. Let thy voice
Confirm thy father's will! Like balmy Peace,
When first she harmoniz'd the new-made world,
Thou breath'st sweet concord thro' the loyal bands,
That, on thy brother's doom, look up to thee,
And on thy choice, to fix a nation's weal!
—Philemon is thy father's choice. To thee,
Perhaps our envoy may pretend, elate
With his Athenian birth, and offer'd aid.
He has a specious person, and the means
To gain the coldest heart. Apollo's grace,
The lip of Hermes, and the port of Mars.
But trust not to his vows!—
Philemon's spirit soars above the pitch
Of his obscure and servile doom. The swains
Revere him as their leader to the field
After Alcander's fall. His name is dear,
Even as the life-blood to their heart. Should he,
Admit the bane of dark surmise, his pride
Might make him raise a faction in the tribes,
Merely to thwart his rival, and undo
All that the gods and Athens have perform'd
For freedom and Messenia. Thus the fate
Of a whole people were perhaps involv'd
In his dread efforts of revenge;

Sem.
From thee
Those precepts? I accountable to thee
For aught I do? And thou, dost thou pretend
To read my heart?—Alas! thou only show'st
Thine own too plain. Beneath the friendly mask
Of patriotic zeal! shalt thou, a stranger,
Feel for my country more than I? Should fate,
Ordain by me, in closer league to join
Ascending Athens, and our sinking state,
Shall I oppose it? But it is not mine,
Nor thine, alas! but the Messenian cause.
It is a father's fiat shall determine
For me! To thee and thine officious zeal
I give its due of gratitude! No more—
But, heed this friendly caution: When a friend
Taxes thy wisdom for advice, employ
Thy choicest stores of prudence in her cause,
And all th'experience of thy wand'rings gain'd.—
—But should his modesty or pride deny
The expedience—proffer not too rashly thou
Thy service, lest he spurn it, and deny
Belief to thy romantic tale of love,
Of exile, and of Asiatic honours!

Asp.
Be it as thou and they decide. For me,
I might have err'd thro' zeal. Even Honesty
Is oft misguided, and some bitter dregs,
Tho' wholesome, mingle in the needful cup
Of counsel!

Seman.
As for me, 'tis not of import
What thy designs may be; at thy best leisure
Frame thy apology! But other cares
Demand my absence hence.

[Exit.
Asp.
Alone.
Go where thou wilt.
Go! where thy passions hurry thee along.
Perhaps, where Ruin lurks. Ha!—Is it thus,
That poor Messenia's public friends avow'd,
Consult her safety; to ferment the storm,
That slumbers yet in peace; and to confound
The firm confederacy, (just at the point
To close) with new convulsions? Be it so!
—But I am not in apathy so school'd,
So chill'd with stoic maxims, as to see
Another reap the harvest of my toil,
And triumph in my tears, perhaps with pity,
Insulting pity, to deride my wrong!—
—Ere she possesses him, first perish all
Messenia, Sparta, with their hopes and claims
In one wide ruin, sinking to the fiends!—
The raging flame that in my bosom glows
Shall burn down every obstacle, to find him!—
—But let me yet be calm, and temper well
My plans with cautious prudence, so to guard
Public and private ends at once! For her,
I know she dare not yet disclose my trust,
For that would tell her love, enflame the rage
Of wrong'd Philemon, and incense her sire
To rouse the storm I mean to lay. But see,
Her lover comes to seek her.

To her PHILEMON.
Asp.
Hail, Philemon!
You come not, if I read your looks aright,
To water with desponding tears, the urn
Of him that slumbers here! What, tho' his fall
Seem'd, like an earthquake, to disjoint the frame
Of new-cemented freedom; yet you stood,
And, like Alcides, plac'd your mighty hand
Against th'impending ruin! Now on thee
Our tribes rely; on thee, thy godlike sire,
The father of thy race, Alcides, bends
A parent's eye! and with the scrutiny
Of heavenly minds, observes thy rising thought—
Applauds the bright ideas, as they form
In glorious schemes of freedom like his own!—
And marks thy soaring soul, the progeny
Of his great mind, as this majestic port,
That marks the fam'd Herculean race!

Phil.
Such praise
From such cælestial lips, (tho' yet by me
Unearn'd,) I look on as a stimulant
In that illustrious course, which heaven's behest
Calls on me now to enter!—

Asp.
True, brave youth.—
I had not so addrest thee, but I know
That thou hast much to do—and much to suffer.

Phil.
Talk'st thou of suffering to a slave.—Alas!
We smile at sufferings—we have suffer'd long!
What, but the keenest sufferings could impell
A multitude, to wish their plagues exchanged
For the worst fiends that iron-handed war
Brings in her hideous train? To wish the foe
Already in our fields, our vineyards all
Our harvests and our hamlets wrapt in flames
That, in the conflagration we might 'scape
Woes more intolerable? The whips, the scorns
The contumelious, wanton injuries
Of proud unfeeling Sparta?—I have seen
And felt too much of this to be appall'd
With dread of suffering violence! Besides
We now have little to suspect of harm.—
Even danger smiles upon us!—The Athenians
By their late envoy, send most flattering terms,
If true.

Asp.
To him your debt of gratitude
Is ample, and demands a due return.

Phil.
As how.—

Asp
The fair Semanthe to his arm.—

Phil.
'Tis true, my friend, and while the life-blood springs
Thro' this warm heart, I live to thank him.

Asp.
She
Already has repaid him life for life!
But for her intervention, now perhaps
His blood had stain'd our Altars, and her prayers
Were offer'd up with fervour! Had they rose
For thee, I think she had not breath'd the vow
With deeper energy! and, when they met
Their due return.—Say, didst thou mark her eyes?
What transport there! but thou, I think, wast absent.

Phil.
disturbed.
She has a feeling heart.

Asp.
And now my friend,
Think what thy country claims from thee, thy birth
Demands no common proof of public love!
Even should it cross thy dearest hopes, and blast
The joy most native to thy heart.

Phil.
My heart
Is all my country's.—Is there ought she claims
But to stand foremost in the day of peril
And sill the fallen Alcander's place?

Asp.
For that
A common warriour might suffice!—but he
Whose energy of soul aspires to lead
A people in the arduous paths of fame
Must lead them first in virtue: his example
Must foster those bright sparks of public love
And fan them to a flame, instruct them how
To quell their petty, selfish views, and feel
For all. Else let them never hope to form
A state conspicuous in the list of nations!
'Tis this, and this alone, that breathes around
That sacred ardour whose felt influence
Wakes in the general breast no common sense
Of public good, that emulative glow
By which the Spartans and Athenians rose
Conspicuous rivals in the lists of fame
Like two bright suns, in one resplendent sphere!

Phil.
Why this harangue to me? does Athens claim
More than a just alliance?

Asp.
What she claims
I know not.—But, if aught of heaven descend;
To this once favour'd bosom.—Even from thee
That sacrifice the gods expect, which gives
Concord and safety to Messenia's tribes!—

Phil.
Is there a rival chief that claims my post?
—Let him produce his claims!—And judge me then
If public love, or selfish ends inspire
Philemon's views!—

Asp.
There is—but arm thy soul
With patience—one, whose wishes interfere
With thine.—

Phil.
Mean'st thou the young Athenian?

Asp.
Yes.—
He claims no post of honour, but aspires
To more.

Phil.
Semanthe's love?

Asp.
Think not of love.
Think, should'st thou plead thy prior claim, the links
Of new alliance with the Attic state,
He may dissolve. His faction governs there
Once every moon.

Phil.
Is Athens then a tyrant?
Claims she from us, what Sparta durst not claim,
With our own hands to pierce our bleeding hearts,
And rend them from our bosoms? Then, for us,
'Tis better far to cherish, as our lives,
Our antient vassalage, than court new lords!
Our-masters hid their guilt in conscious night,
And came, like prowling wolves, beneath the moon,
To waste our hamlets, and profane our woods
With secret murthers! But our new allies
Resolve to hunt us in the face of day,
If this be true!

Asp.
Think what your country claims.

Phil.
My country! Does she then command to yield
Our dearest rights, for which alone we live,
The priceless boon of heaven, domestic bliss?
Is this the bright example I am called
To shew our swains? to teach our trampled slaves
New lessons of subjection, meaner proofs
Of low submission? This our haughty lords,
In all their hey-day of prosperity
Yet never dar'd! Nay, take my hated life!
For what is life when every comfort flies?
Why should I crawl on earth, contemn'd and scorn'd,
An impotent example of the pride
And pity of my foe? O thou, stern god,
From whom I draw my being, with contempt
Repay my fervent prayer, when I disgrace
Thy name, by such debasement of thy blood!
I am not yet so friendless. Her old sire,
The good Aristodemus, will support
My claim, tho' all the legions, all the fleets
Of Athens leave us naked to the foe!
Our friends of Helice are on their march.

Asp.
My friend, be calm! nor with ungovern'd passion
Disturb the new-form'd league. The haughty lover
May yet relent!

Phil.
And shall I owe to him
The favour of her hand? Thou seem'st to doubt—
But I am fixt for certainty or death!—

Asp.
Yet—yet be cautious. Let us sound the flood
Before we take the fatal plunge. Be calm—
It may be yet we dread too much!

Phil.
From her!—
From her I go to learn my doom, and spy,
If in her cold, averted look I read
A changing heart.

Asp.
Meantime, be mine the care
To sound her lover. Here we meet again
To sit in judgment on our country's fate.

ACT III.

[Scene I.]

Scene.—An open space in Sparta, before a prison.
EUDEMON—PHÆBIDAS.
Eud.
'Tis now, oh Phæbidas! we feel the loss
Of brave Androcles! By th'eternal gods
Some fiend with folly and pernicious-rage
Dashes our counsels! Both our kings at once
You know, are absent, on the frontier bounds
Watching at every pass the coming foe
Like some pale shepherd, on a rock, forlorn
With stunn'd ear list'ning to the land-floods roar
That threats to desolate the plenteous year!—
Our Ephori in mute despondence sit
Or with vile brawls disturb the deep debate—
By heaven! to abject Helots all are turn'd!—
Some god has robb'd us of our better minds
And given them to our slaves!—In yonder woods
Like nobler savages they growl for freedom
And Athens listens to their awful voice
Delighted! Nay, they say, her envoys there
Manage, with skill refin'd, the dreadful strain
And pitch the horrid note so loud and shrill
That nations tremble at the din!—O thou
Great lion-tamer! teach thy torpid sons
How to subdue this monster of the groves
That yells for carnage!

Phæb.
From the northern hills
Messenia's exiles on the sounding shore
Of Helice and Bura, boldly spread
Their Ensigns to the wind, and, but some omens
Withhold them, it is fear'd, that, long ere now
By fatal instinct they had found their friends
Who spurn their chains in old Amyclæs vale!
O thou, that o'er the unseen world of horrors
Rulest paramount, and hurl'st thy dreadful spells
Thro' the scar'd soul, which, like the spreading plague
Catches from man to man, till armies fly
Before embattled nothings.—grant thine aid
Transfer thy terrours from the Spartan mind
And send them (like yon fogs that roll away
Over the dawning hills) upon our foes
Or all is lost!—

Eud.
By Jove it must not be!
Was it for this the Spartan glory rose
So formidable to the nations round
Like a red comet o'er the trembling world
That the vile hand of a revolted slave
Should pluck it from the stars, and tread it out
Like an extinguish'd lamp whose oil is spent?
—And now, I know, some cold-blood compromise
Is our dull subject of debate!—for me
I always blamed the stern and rigid laws
Which, not content with unremitting toil
Prest from our groaning slaves the vital flood
Mixt with their tears,—but, to submit, to sue
For league with them, what is it; but to blend
The name of Lacedemon with the dregs
Of mankind, who along our fruitful fields
Clank the vile chain of bondage?—If we fall—
Why—let us fall like Spartans, like the lion
Which our brave father slew, and not like dogs
That crouch beneath the blow, and let their lords
Twist the suspending cord around their necks
And drag them to their doom—if by their aid
We face the war, oh! never let us hope
Again to bend them to their ancient state
Of tame fervility! for settled peace
And unassuming, calm timidity
That scarcely seem'd to writhe beneath the scourge
Expect the brow of bold rebellion rais'd
At every fancy'd wrong! our quiet groves
Profan'd with midnight meetings, when they deem
Some privilege infring'd, or right withheld—
—And shall we teach their sacrilegious eyes
To pry into the mystic things of state
To peep behind the scene, and find, that we
(Whom, with implicit reverence, like the gods,
For ages they have worship'd) are but men
Subject like them to fear, the common prey
Of every mutinous passion?

Phæb.
Is there aught
In kindness, love, and mutual offices
Of friendship, and of favour, to command
Their mutual confidence and love? If not
Society is but a rope of sand
To be untwisted by the coming breeze!
Had we, by nobler maxims, rul'd our slaves
They now had wall'd us, like a mound of brass
Or measur'd equal steps with you to meet
Th'insulting foe! But we, alas! forgetting
That we ourselves are men, and own'd, with them
A common nature, have deprav'd ourselves,
And them to savages, by uncouth deeds
Of cruelty, of wrong, and violence!

Eud.
Had these more friendly maxims been adopted
In other times! But now, what would they seem
But the result of abject fear? The state
Seems to prefer thy reasoning. Fare thee well.
We meet no more, till this important crisis
Is past, for on the winged moments ride
The doom of Lacedæmon!

[Exit,
Phæb.
Alone.
Now, may heaven
Second my purpose! If I reason right,
The means are yet my own, (if duly us'd)
To reconcile those fell domestic foes.
—God of Cyllene! teach my lips the art
Of soothing rage to harmony! Apollo!
With thine own magic numbers tune my voice,
Like thine own son's, who charm'd the silent woods
To listen and obey. O bid me touch
The sacred spring of sympathy, the source
Of every noble sentiment, and warm
To glorious growth, the full expanding mind
Like the blest touch of thy benignant beam!

[Exit.

SCENE II.

The inside of a Prison.
ALCANDER
—ALONE.
I wonder what delays my doom so long?
This terrible suspence is worse than death.
Were I, in any other's power but his
Whose brother fell by me, I should incline
To hope they meant remission. But they now
Spend their invention in new kinds of torture.
—Perhaps they have found out my birth, and here
Detain me, as an hostage for the faith
Of our oppressed helots. Or, they mean,
By menaces to me, of torments new,
Unheard of pains, and terrible as those
Inflicted on the Titans by the rage
Of angry Jove, to bend the Helots down
To tame submission! This, if this they mean,
Would double every pang! Shall I, the heir
Of great Alcides, in ignoble bonds,
Pine here in hopeless gloom, while on my breath,
(Precarious tenure!) hangs the destiny
Of poor Messenia, like the gossamer,
That trembles at the breeze! Will not my foes
Thus hold me, till extremity of age?—
Till with my slow, declining spirit, sinks
The languid flame of liberty, subdued
By this rare spell of despotism refin'd,
This fraudful policy? or, like the forms
(Fashion'd in wax by wizard's plastic power
Of those alive) by slow consuming fires,
In secret waste, while those, whose shapes they wear
Confess the horrible decay, nor know
The cause! I cannot—cannot bear the thought
With patience! I shall find some means to send
My last, my dearest testament to those
Who mourn for me! I'll bid them look to him,
Who weds the last of the Herculean race,
Their leader now! For me, let tortures rend,
Or slow consuming sorrow waste my frame.—
—Let them look on me as a sacrifice
Devoted for my people! Could I think
They meant to make me a degraded tool,
A living instrument, a mere machine,
To play upon a people's hopes and fears,
And tame a gallant nation on the verge
Of freedom, to the galling scourge again,
This hand would soon decide my doom! But hark,
Perhaps this instant moment turns the scale!

Enter a MAN masqued.
Alc.
I thank thee. Thou art come, I hope, to speed
A wretche's doom, who trembles not to see
The welcome steel, that sends his soaring soul
To mingle with his fathers! He exults
At instant fate, but dreads the dungeon's gloom,
And the slow wasting chain! Be quick and merciful,
And he will thank you!

Spar.
Follow me! I come
To give thee all thy wish; but in this cell
Thy fall were too obscure—thou must be made
A fearful warning to thy fellow-slaves,
And teach a wholesome lesson of obedience.

Alc.
Then I were short of half my hopes! Art thou
More than a man, to force me hence? I see not
Who comes to aid thee, and a wretch can die
Even here! I will not leave this penal spot,
(Unless the rigorous hand of force compell me)
A spectacle to Sparta's haughty sons,
And poor Messenia's suffering tribes! Thou seem'st
Irresolute. But dread me not—my bosom
Is open to the blow, and I shall bless
The hand that lays me here, unseen, unknown!
For well proud Sparta knows, how I'm belov'd
By the afflicted Helots, and they bear
Enough already, not to have their woes
Enhanc'd by mine!

Spar.
I'll try a stronger charm
To lure thee hence. [Unmasks.]
Say, art thou now convinc'd
That there's no hopes for thee, and that my power
Can call a speedy guard to force you hence?

Alc.
Ha! Phæbidas! I would not lift my hand
Against thy life; nor had thy brother fallen
By me, but in my own defence!

Phæb.
I know it—
And, probably, my knowledge even of thee
Exceeds thy thoughts! Before this period, long
Thy slaughter had aton'd a brother's blood.
—But, let me not be thought to want the touch
Of kindred feeling, when I own his rage
Deserv'd, and drew his fate upon himself.
He lov'd his country—but his fiery zeal
Was indiscreet; he scorn'd to try the means
Of generous policy, but thought to sweep,
By the strong current of resistless power,
All that oppos'd his favourite views, away;
He thought, by terror, to obtain, what love,
Humanity, and mercy had ensured!

Alc.
Oh had such generous sentiments been his,
He now, perhaps, had liv'd, and thousands more,
(Whose life-blood, shed in wanton sport, distain'd
Our moonlight vales) had now enjoy'd the day.
But other policy prevail'd, and Sparta
Learns, in her turn, to weep!

Phæb.
Stern Justice claims
Blood, for his blood!

Alc.
I know it, and I stand
Prepar'd to meet my doom! Let it be sudden,
And leave all retribution to the gods!
Perhaps, even they may think a people's wrongs
A full atonement for their sins of old,
And turn the scale of vengeance!

Phæd.
What canst thou
Expect from me in justice, call'd by heaven
And earth, the avenger of a brother's blood?

Alc.
It matters not what Justice claims:—to Justice
Sparta has long been deaf! But for my fate,
I well have earn'd it, and I count it fame!
I might have led my Helots with an arm
Of flesh! but now my disembodied soul,
With all the Manes of th'immortal line!
Shall fire the van, and marshal them to vengeance!

Phæb.
Canst thou, deprest with bondage and with blows,
An abject Helot, burn with patriot love;
And canst thou glory in thy fall, to soothe
An empty hope of raising servile souls
To cherish liberty? And what from me,
A Spartan born, will honour claim to match
Our haughty boasts of yet unequall'd virtue?

Alc.
It calls on blood for blood, a nobler policy,
Than midnight murthers, unprovok'd and cool,
Weeding the noblest of our youth away,
Thro' base, unmanly dread: the men, whose spears
In this dread crisis, in the battles' edge
Had stood the shock of Athens! But, alas!
Why need I argue with a son of Sparta,
On justice, and on virtue?

Phæb.
All, perhaps,
Are not the advocates of cruelty
As thou presumest. There are, who scorn to wield
The scourge; there are who would disdain to hunt
Their slaves in midnight walks, with ruffian blade;
There are, who wish to raise their country's glory
On the broad basis of humanity,
And mutual deeds of love!

Alc.
Where do they hide
When the stern mandate goes abroad to lay
Our fields in blood, and bid our matrons weep?

Phæb.
Alas! amid the cry of savage fury
Their milder voice is lost! Their reason reels
Amid the gusts of prejudice and passion,
One only godlike privilege remains,
By private influence to serve the state.
Unseen benevolence, like the blest gods,
Who, tho' to us invisible, dispense
Their benefits around us. That to me,
(Mean as I am) this boon is not deny'd,
I count my greatest glory!

Alc.
Say, canst thou
Change the determin'd purpose of yon wolves?
Expell the savage lust for blood? Command
The tyger to grow tame, and in his paw
Dandle the kid? Say, canst thou purge away
The wrongs, deep-character'd, that glow for years
In the dark memory, till fermenting long,
They burst their way in rage? Canst thou do this?
—Then say thou art a god, and tell yon star
Of morn to rise no more, and bid the dawn
Forget her hour to shine!

Phæb.
I can do more!
I can at will command the world within,
Can bid my passions in their full career
Obey the check of Reason! when the blood
Of a fallen brother loud for vengeance calls,
And raises every holy sentiment
Of kindred sympathy, within my breast,
I can attend my country's deeper call
(A sound more solemn to the purged ear
Of Reason) and can bid his murtherer—go,
Free as the winds, to bless a weeping father,
And turn a people's tears to joy!

Alc.
To me!—
To me this unexpected boon! I dream.
From Phæbidas! A Spartan! Can it be?—

Phæb
Doubt not thy sense, or my fidelity,
In what I promise. Thou, (at my request)
Wast given to me in custody, as one
Whom all our Ephori, with justice deem'd
The most concern'd to see a brother's blood
Aton'd at full:—thou'rt number'd with the dead.
For Rumour, (so suborn'd by me) proclaims it.—
—I see the conflict of thy soul! I know
Thy power among thy friends!

Alc.
Tell me at once
On what conditions must I purchase life!
—Are they not hostile to my people's cause?
If I must buy a few short hours to breathe
A momentary privilege to view
The blessed sun (if I dare lift my eyes
To that prime orb) at the detested price
Of using my hereditary sway
To rob Messenia of her lofty claims,
If this devoted voice, to slavery tun'd
Must lure the slaves to thraldom down again
From that exalted height to which they soar'd,
Take my devoted blood—'tis freely given,
Ere I seduce them to their bonds again!—
Such life I scorn—altho' with generous views,
With pure, abstracted, public love bestow'd,
I must reject it! rather give me death,
Than life on terms like these! Thou lovest thy country,
Already have I seen you sacrifice
Thy feelings for a brother's fate. Of me
And of my feeling, judge, as of thine own
And sooner give me death than life, if life
Be branded with the shame of base revolt
From poor Messenia's cause, the cause of man!

Phæb.
Could you confide in Sparta, if my prayers
Prevail'd, even to relax your bondage?

Alc.
Never!—
Never! her inborn persidy and pride
Would ne'er relent to those she trode so low!
Nor will I ever give my voice for less
Than equal liberty, unqualified
Alliance!—less were dangerous, for this spirit
Of mutiny has so provok'd our lords
They'll take their time for vengeance, if we swerve
A single moment, from the manly bent—
Then reconcile my fighting duties all
And take my forfeit life!

Phæb.
Then every hope
Were lost at once—thou bear'st a charmed life—
Thy very hairs are sacred—all the gods
Shed round thy favour'd form an hallow'd awe!
Curst be the hand that wounds thee, when thou art
The solitary spell that holds our tribes
In short, precarious concord! When you fall
Then, then perdition with alternate rage
Swallows her double prey! The sires that glow
At Sparta's crimes would blaze to swift revenge
Break down the barriers of our trembling state
And Athens and Messenia soon would sweep
Our very name away!
Already they believe you dead—your fall
(So far from damping their resolves) sublimes
The flame to tenfold fury—there is left
No hope, but from thy influence!

Alc.
Just gods
What shall I think! on what resolve.

Phæb.
Relent!

Alc.
Honour, my country, and my name forbids!

Phæb.
One only method then for me remains—
Dreadful—but glorious—to retract my words
Given for thy liberty my soul disdains!—
I here dismiss thee to thy native woods
To join thy friends—no bonds—no tyes—but those
That fasten mind to mind, the links of honour,
Of virtue, friendship,—shall I say—of gratitude?
No—I remit the debt. Thou owest me nought.—
—Go and relume the flame of liberty
Go—triumph in my country's fall—the light
Of Greece, and glory of those latter times!—
For oh! her fall is certain!

Alc.
Let me seek
The Spartan lords, and give my forfeit life!

Phæb.
No—there is one way left,—no more but this—
Proud Athens—you, her allies, press our state
On every hand around—thy single death
But added to the rising beam, would turn
The scale to our destruction! To the field
Your kindred armies from the northern bounds
Already bend their march, and burn to join
The war.—Two thousand Helots of thy tribe
Burst from our bleeding bowels, (like the train
That hunt their scaly mother in the seas,
Of Sicily,) and spread destruction round
Answering the havoc of external war
With threats of desolation.—What is left
For me? Shall I survive to bear the blame
Of letting loose a man, sworn to destroy
My country?—No! Since all my eloquence
Is vain, to teach you mercy, here I stand
Prepar'd, in the devouring chasm, to meet
The anger of the hostile gods for all.
That moment then that sees you head your bands
In glittering steel, once more we meet in arms!

Alc.
Deem'st thou me such a monster as to lift
A spear, against that generous breast, which gave
Life, liberty, and all to him, who slew
His brother?

Phæb.
No.—I would not stain thy sword
With blood of mine, nor taint thy better mind,
Nor bid one conscious pang thy bosom wring
For me! The gods, and Fate will find a lance
To finish a devoted life!

Alc.
Devoted!

Phæb.
Last night, with solemn sacrifice and prayer
To all th'infernal gods, that claim the soul
Of those, that for their country fall, my doom
Was fixt beyond recall! I know not then
Whether my prayers had power with you or not
To gain thee to the common good. I yet
Would try the means; as they have fail'd, I stand
Devoted for my country, at the sound,
At the first trump, at the first flight of spears
That sing along the sky, expect to see
The incense of my smoking blood ascend
Pure to the ambient skies, thence to draw down
Accumulated plagues upon our foes,
In this dread rite devoted all with me.—
Yet I forgive my blood to thee, as freely
As I forgave my brother's. And, by heavens!
I triumph in the glorious chance that gives
My happy name, to after times, enroll'd
With Iphigene and Hæmon.

Alc.
Yet, oh yet
Spare me this conflict, let my blood atone!

Phæb.
By heaven, I would not to my king forego
The glorious privilege. Farewell, at once!
—Nay go!—
Longer should I detain you. Danger waits,
Perhaps, to intercept your flight! The star
Of morning sparkles o'er yon piny hill,
And on Eurotas' banks, the morning bird
Laments her antient loss. Away! away
Before Suspicion's eagle-eye awakes.—
When next we meet—how shall that meeting be?—
Death will be there, and Discord, civil rage
And the dire conflict of contending nations!
—Thou then, perhaps, may'st triumph to behold
Red Vengeance, with th'accumulated wrongs
Of many a summer arm'd, ride thro' our ranks,
Scattering confusion, havoc, and dismay
Where'er she goes. But then—memember me—
For ere the battle's whirlwind sweeps along
The line, I am no more! If conquest then
Attend your arms. And if my vows should fail
To gain the gods.—indulge not thou the sword
Too far! Reflect on Sparta, and revere
Those rites, and that far-celebrated soil
Which bred Leonidas! when thou beholdst
The mighty mother prostrate, gently raise her
Respect her reverend hairs, and think of peace!
Cherish her then remains, and join your power
With her sad bands in one cemented league
To check th'Athenians overweening pride!

Alc.
Yet hear me Phæbidas! I cannot go
On such conditions.

Phæb.
Stay then, and be lost!
No more—but think on me—begone, begone,
The day will overtake us, hence—avaunt
I hear the tread of early passengers.

[Exeunt severally.

ACT IV.

ASPASIA
—SOLUS.
Ha—Empire! glory! well! the time has been
That love had charms for this Athenian youth!
But now, a prey to wild, ambitious thoughts
He dreams of founding kingdoms on the ruins
Of old Messenia, dreams of future kings
From his Semanthe to descend! O fall
How low! to court a slave! but he, alas
Vain of his splendid talents, holds in scorn
The voice of reason! Little does he think
What means are ours to cross him, when he soars
An eagle-flight to glory! Shall it be
That I must tamely see my ancient right
Seiz'd by another? No—whoever scorns
My prayer, shall feel my power! What! to retire
And, like a votarist, weep in secret cell
My ruin'd fortunes, and my blasted hopes,
Blasted by him! while, with contemptuous pity
To his young bride he tells the hapless tale
Of my disastrous love. What tye, what claim
Compells me to forget such wrongs?—Not Athens
Proud Athens, from whose sanguinary laws
I hardly 'scap'd with life! Nor this new realm
This rising state , beneath the guardian wing
Of Athens to be form'd, can claim from me
Regard or reverence! Shall I stoop to build
A rivals throne, and mourn my abject lot
In low obscurity? Had he adopted
My safe proposal, he, with me had sway'd
Messenia's sceptre.—But I still can shew him
A sample of my power—then if he dare
To thwart me further, if he still persists
In causeless infidelity, and scorns
Those gods that heard his oft repeated vows
Then, Discord, Rage, and Tumult at their heels
Shall mingle with that syren minstrelsie
Which sooths his mind to short, fallacious peace!
Soon shall he hear an unexpected call
To start his soul to madness! This fair slave,
Believ'd the fabling message in the name
Of this young, cruel false one! fraud with fraud
Dissimulation meets her sister fiend
With a like gorgon mask—her passion leads
Semanthe to the snare, and she absconds.—
Her sudden flight awakes Philemon's rage;
By jealousy inspir'd, he turns the blame
On his proud rival, of the seeming rape.
Then, then the buffled lover, in his turn
Might call to memory his forgotten vows!
And—should Semanthe ne'er return, the right
Of old Messenia's royalty reverts
To me, and Athens would afford her aid,
I have th'ascendant o'er this people's minds
Already—then Ambition, Love, Revenge
Were satisfied—but see! Philemon comes
The father—and a stranger! Now my charms
Begin to work.—

[Retires.
Scene Continues.
ARISTODEMUS, ALCIBIADES, PHILEMON, SPARTAN AMBASSADOR, AMPHIDAMAS, and HELOTS.
ARISTODEMUS
—TO THE AMBASSADOR.
We doubt thee not. Thou bear'st the proper ensigns
Of thine authority—our fears extend
Far beyond thee.—Of Lacedemon's faith
We now dispute not, nor their solemn oaths
Nor leagues, pretend to question—their demeanour
To others, nought imports to us. We know
(Fallen as we are beneath the rank of men)
That we are far too mean to hope or trust
To peace on equal terms. Do shepherds deign
To make alliance with the curs that tend
Their flocks? or bind themselves in solemn league
To mend their offals, or remit their stripes?—
They do not think us worthy that respect
Due to their fellow creatures, had not fear
Taught them another lesson! and shall we
Trust to their solemn oaths, tho' doubly bound
By all the burning thrones beneath the deep?

Spar.
Helot, you have your choice! it ill becomes
A Spartan, like a fuppliant slave, to bend
To any power on earth, much less to thine
Come thou, or Athens to our gates at once
With new conditions, on the lances point
We give an answer!

Arist.
Tarry yet awhile—
The crisis calls not such resolves—to me
Now bending to the tomb, my passions cool'd
By age's wintry hand, it scarce belongs
To undertake, at such a time, the charge
Of a high-spirited nation, yet my counsels
May serve to mitigate the headlong haste
Of thoughtless youth. Thy reasons have been heard
And now our friend of Athens claims his time
To speak—our Helots then shall arbitrate
The question for themselves—their liberty
(If ever independence be their lot)
Must be no fleeting shadow, no proud name
No glittering phantom to beguile their grasp!
It must be palpable, well known, secure
Founded on the broad base of full consent
Not to be shaken by the potent breath
Of foreign tyrants or domestic pride—
Now speak, Athenian!

Alcib.
Well didst thou conclude
Thy charge, old man! the spirit of our state,
That liberal energy that warms our counsels
Already glows in each Messenian breast,
A people, in deliberation join'd
With their elected king! What more remains
Than—let them boldly speak their thoughts and tell
If they will longer crouch beneath the scourge
Of their proud lords, and bear the cumbrous load
Of insults, wounds, and death; or strike at once
At the tall fabric of Laconian pride,
Nor wait the tardy and deliberate hand
Of time, to sweep the mighty columns down
—The very moment warns—if now they lose
The golden opportunity, let sleep
Oblivious, ever seize them! Now the tide
Returning with full sway, beneath the rule
Of time and stern necessity, invites
The spreading sail! nor let the louring threat
Of gathering storms, deter the daring keel
From this distinguish'd voyage! now the flag
Of Athens leads to freedom, and to fame!
The man, who trembles at the summer, cloud
That wanders o'er the main, nor dares to loose
His cautious anchor, ne'er will reach the coast
Where glory calls him to her opening fane!
—Then why delay? Will yon diurnal lamp
Arrest his burning wheels, till you resolve
To seize the precious moment? Will the seasons
Obey your call in their perennial dance?
Does rain or sunshine bless your waving fields
At your request? or do your harvests bend
Whene'er you chuse to reap the golden grain?
No—in continual revolution still
The stormy and serene in turn succeed.
And all our earnest supplications fail
To check the stern approach of rugged winter
With all his furious flaws!—'Tis so with you!
Your glorious harvest now is ripe, and calls
For the keen sickle. But, if torpid sloth
Or smooth persuasion slack the nerve of steel
Or ease delude, perhaps to-morrow's sun
Brings the contagious mildew, or the storm
That lays your hopes all waste!—Oh—if a thought
Worthy of men, has ever warm'd your breasts!
If ye are aught above the herds that graze—
Employ the moment!—nay, the beasts that range
The woods, despise the yoke, and, on the man
Who madly ventures on their gloomy walks
Glare independence and disdain! they know
How, on the foreseen danger, to prepare
The means to guard their young: they want the power
Of combination, and of mutual aid
Yet they preserve their liberty! they claim
The forest, and the den their own! they spurn
The chain, and when they fall, in open fight
They breathe away their generous souls! But ye
Possess the means they want, by mutual signs
Each others thoughts to know, to calculate
Each others strength, and brood for years before
On the great scheme of vengeance and of glory;
These are prerogatives of men, they're yours
If ye be men!

Amph.
We are,—but give us arms
And you shall find us in the bloody fields
No mean allies,—we do not boast the blood
Of Hercules in vain!—

Alcib.
Ye shall not want them—
Brave men! ye shall not want the means to meet
Your haughty foes,—our fleet that rides at hand
Waits but the signal to disbark her stores
And furbish all your files, that your own groves
Shall wonder at your glory, when ye run
In full career along your gloomy glades
And glitter to the day, like the young snake
That casts her old disguise in early spring
And o'er the green sward rolls in spiry pride
A rival to the sun! The fearful swain
Flies his approach, and runs to shelter near.
So will the Spartans tremble at the view
When first your glittering files become the field!

Spar.
The Spartans never tremble; they may fall—
But dreadful is their fall, even to their foes.

Alcib.
That will be seen, when Athens to the field
Sends your revolted subjects!

Phil.
to Alcib.
Yes—to fight
Your battles—think not, proud Republican,
With all your fire-new gloss of eloquence
To varnish o'er our shame! Low as we are
Better to be the thralls of Sparta still
Than tools of haughty Athens! we, 'tis true
Too deeply feel the cruel, galling chain,
And many years have bent us to the yoke!
But fate, and ill success in arms, impos'd
The hard conditions! we, before we feel
Try'd the decision of the spear, but now
You bid us change our master, by the name
Of liberty, beguil'd! Such is our change!
For our hereditary lords, a crowd
Of proud Athenian artizans: the sport
Of every faction, whose imperious vote
Might plunge us in the mines beyond the hope
Of day? And now what glorious privilege
Is ours? ye give us arms, ye nobly grant
The post of danger—on the fearful edge
Of battle you dispose us first, to blunt
The keen Laconian blade, and labour down
The first dread onset of the Spartan spear!
They waste their fury on their slaves, and come
Like a spent tyger on your level'd pikes
An easy conquest. What does Sparta grant?
The privilege of kinsmen, all the dues
Of the Heraclidæ!—Her choicest bands
Wait our enrollment in the files—from you
We gain an empty title of allies
To gild our chains!—but let the nations tell—
Go—summons from the isles their envoys here
They once were crown'd with liberty—let them
Proclaim the blessed fruits of your alliance
Taxation, robbery, violence and chains,
Whate'er the ruffian in his rage inflicts!
—Oh gracious heaven! are we reduc'd so low
As to renounce the whip and madly chuse
The chastisement of scorpions in its stead?

Alcib.
Who is this talker?—is it thus, Messenians?
Ye suffer your sound reason to be warped
By words without a meaning? your resolves
Turn'd to the lane of children, by the breath
Of a proud demagogue?

Phil.
Is that your plea?—
Now see, as in a mirrour, how your state
Is sway'd by factious breath! perhaps to day
You vote us allies, and to-morrow, slaves,
Just as the sky is louring or serene
And a debauch, or surfeit sours your speakers.
Or bribes allure them!

Alcib.
Heavens! what demons rule
Our counsels now! O that the gods awhile
Would stop the wheel of fate, whose mighty sway
Bears down with it the Spartan state! We then
From all the broad Ionian! and the isles
From this to Asia, could produce such witness
As soon would send the falsehood to the source
That bred it!

Phil.
Yes,—we know the means too well—
Nor make a question of your will, to bring
False witnesses to sanction with their oaths
Whatever you suggest. But say, thou traitor
To public faith! What specimens already
Have you not given us of your perfidy?
You, an Ambassador, the public guardian
Of a whole people's honour, thus, to lure
A virgin from her home!—It calls aloud
For vengeance! vengeance!

Arist.
Why this rage, my son!
What has provoked such language! quickly tell
What meanst thou!

Phil.
Too, too well my bursting tears
Proclaim my meaning, and thy deep disgrace—
Bid him,—yet ere he sends for delegates
From the confederate isles to vouch his truth—
—Bid him produce thy daughter!

Arist.
He—my daughter!
Is she not safe within my lodge?

Phil.
That, time
Will tell!—send to thy home, and seek her there
Where I have sought in vain and—if she's found
Call me a felon! an Athenian! one
Who underneath the consecrated mask
Of hospitality, with worse than sacrilege
Plunders his host of his most valued gem!

Alcib.
By all the gods—by Nemesis and Jove
Whoe'er thou art, thou wrong'st me, but I go—
The terms, which you contemn, our conquering state
Needs not to force on any! Tell thy tribes
She needs not Helots aid!

[Going.
Arist.
Yet stay, Athenian!
You move not hence—but, as an hostage here
We keep thee till my daughter's found

[Seizing him.
Alcib.
To thee:—
Hostage to thee! instant unhand me, slave!
Or I will crush thee into dust!

Arist.
Indeed
We yet are slaves, but soon, without the help
Of Athens, we are called to lift our names
With Spartans, and with men! If Sparta oft
Wrong'd us, her wrongs were mixt with conscious night;
Imperious, haughty as she was, she durst not
Show the bold brow of injury by day
Which thou, a delegate from Athens sent,
Hast dar'd to do!

Alcib.
When thro' your gloomy groves
Rages the hostile flame, when you behold
Your hamlets smoaking, and your slaughter'd sons,
Remember this!—your masters then in vain
Will battle for their servants! These proud Spartans
Already for fidelity and truth
So fam'd! you thought not so, when in contempt
Of their late edict, brave Alcander fell,
Fell, by a midnight ruffian!

Phil
He, perhaps!
By his precipitation earn'd his fate!—
Had he but seen this day, thou hadst not now
Presum'd as thou hast done! thy boiling blood
Had paid for poor Semanthe's wrongs! Semanthe!
Produce her! Traitor! Where hast thou conceal'd
Thy theft? produce her! or this dagger drinks
Thy gore!

Alcib.
Some demon sure, the friend of Sparta
Confounds your minds!

Phil.
Think not with smooth address
To baulk our just resentment!—or produce
The virgin, or thou diest!—Why do I rave?—
Perhaps her voluntary flight attends
Thy faithful envoy to the Attic coast—
And shall I waste my life in sighs for her?
O father, pardon me!

Arist.
Afflicted youth!
Be patient! she, perhaps, may still be found,
She is not missing long.

Phil.
Too plain I saw
Her alienated mind! Too soon I mark'd
The signs of soft, seductive art! smooth villain!
This dagger soon shall thank you for the deed!

[Going to stab him.
Arist.
interfering.
Yet hold! rash man! is this your vow'd respect
For me, to violate this pledge, to me
Committed? yet perhaps you know not all

[As the struggle continues, enter Alcander, they all stand amazed.
Arist.
Alcander! dost thou live? or art thou sent
From the blest realms to save our hands from blood?
Oh! do not mock us with unreal hope—
But say thou art my son!

Alc.
I am, I am,
Father, Philemon! my assembled friends!
All wondrous as it seems to see me here
You do not bend your eyes upon a shape
Form'd of the passing air. Behold, and feel
It is Alcander's self!

Arist.
[Embracing him.]
Mysterious powers!
We saw thee dead! we saw thee stretch'd along
The flaming funeral pile! how cam'st thou here?
How shall we trust our eyes, that saw your corse
All mangled o'er with wounds! yet view thee now
Exulting in proud youth and health! Say, is it
A dream! explain the miracle?

Alc.
Most easy!—
A proud, vindictive man, Androcles nam'd,
(Whom you may well remember, my free words
At old Amyclæ's fane incenst,) pursued
My homeward steps beneath the rising moon.—
I was beforehand—for I fear'd his purpose
And soon a trusty few in ambush laid
Who gave him death, for me design'd! our hands
In my known vesture soon disguised the dead
And scar'd his face, to keep him long unknown
And pass him for an Helot, (as his friends
Were potent, proud, vindictive as the fiends)
While in his Spartan garb I meant to 'scape,
His brother Phæbidas, along the lawns
With purpose to prevent him, had pursued
His steps, but came too late, a chosen band
Of Spartans follow'd him, their eager search
Soon found me, with the recent marks of blood.
Soon was I known—expecting instant death
I stood collected. But, when pious grief
For his fallen brother had given way, he spoke
In milder mood “I know my brother's rage
“Rose high, and nought but blood could quench the flame.
“Helot, I doubt not, in thine own defence
“You struck the blow. But shew me where his corse
“Is now dispos'd.” My friends had borne him thence
Nor could he, by our strictest search, be found.

Arist.
Not on Alcander, but Androcles then
Our honours were bestow'd! Mysterious heaven.
A slaughter'd Spartan fills the regal urn!—
His ashes slumber with our Kings! but who
Was conscious to the deed? will none reveal
The secret? would our Helots see me spend
Our sacred, incommunicable rites
On the fallen carcase of a foe?

Amph.
To me
The blame is due. 'Twas I the counsel gave.
'Twas I that led the party; hear my plea,
Condemn then if you can! I knew Alcander
Was led a captive, and my public love
Led me to fear, lest, were his bondage known
'Twould quash our high resolves and make us pause
Even on the spur of onset, much I fear'd
His precious life might buy ignoble peace—
I gave the counsel. I, by threats and prayers
Bound the important secret on the souls
Of that nocturnal party, till some blow
Were struck, for freedom, and for fame.

Alc.
By heavens
My generous friend! I thank thee! may my deeds
Answer your lofty expectations!

Arist.
Tell
O tell, how could you 'scape immediate death?

Alc.
He thought me stubborn, and, in harsher tone
“Thou must with me, to answer as thou may'st
“A deed so daring, else a brother's ghost
“Would wander unaveng'd!” It nought avail'd
For me to struggle with my fate. Confin'd
In dungeon gloom, I long expected death—
At last the moment came, that gave me life
And liberty at once.

Amph.
To Phil.

Phil.
Rancorous slave!
Did not this presence awe me, soon thy tongue
Tho' agonizing in the pangs of death
Should own thy hireling eloquence procur'd
By Attic gold or promises!

Arist.
Be calm
I charge you both—your frenzy interrupts
A tale might claim attention from the grave.

Alc.
Something, the grave alone shall know, remains—
Meantime, behold me here, free as the winds!—
Without condition, bond, or oath, releas'd
From death, to glad my friends, to lead, them on
To conquest, if they dare the glorious toil!

Alcib.
Dare they? with Athens at their head, the gods
Alone, shall point the limits of their claims.

Alc.
They best can tell their limits and their claims!
Their prowess and their aids! but there are limits
The checks of mind, which, like a magic spell
Confine the warriours arm, and bind it fast
As yonder trees, long wedded to the soil!
Such are the links that drag me back to Sparta,
Free as I seem; Free as the birds that sport
In yonder boughs! But there are bonds, my friend,
(Strong as the linked adamant) that chain
The stern, relentless spirit to its purpose.

Arist.
What means my son? what tyes?

Alc.
Justice and honour.
Honour, the sole possession, which is left
Thy ruin'd house. I prize it though, beyond
The mines of Asia!

Arist.
What a strain is this,
That soars so high above the sober tenor
Of mortal things! Explain yourself, my son!

Alc.
I have a friend in bonds—I will not live
To have a father blush to see his son
Breathe out his life, a forfeit to the laws
Of honour, with a vile deserter's name!

Arist.
Must I then loose thee! late so lost, so found
O spare thy father's aged locks! Too much
Already have I borne! But this were death,
Distraction!

Alc.
Oh! my father! can I live
And see the man that sav'd me, fall a victim!
Sav'd me, from worse than death, from torture! shame,
And vile exposure after death, deny'd
The rites of funeral?—No! Amphidamas!
Thou never shalt reproach me with the name
Of traitor to my fame. Even thou thyself
Mayst take Philemon's place and mine, if fate
Forbids him to be trusted!

Arist.
Say, what friend?—
How grew the strange dilemma? are no means
In heaven or earth allow'd us yet to solve
This gordian knot, and save you?

Alc.
None, but such
As you would spurn!—my generous friend is doom'd,
Doom'd, in my stead, to drain the bitter bowl
Which I expected.

Arist.
Curst alternative!—
How could thy friend deserve it? did he give
A volunteer, his life for thine?

Alc.
Enflam'd
By patriot love, be, self-devoted, falls.
For Sparta, if her tutelary gods
Protect her not, and spare his valued life!

Alcib.
Aside.
Devoted men! I see your headlong fall
To ruin, and the moment seize, while doubt
And perturbation hold your senses bound
To steal from the approaching storm.

[Exit.
Arist.
Is nought
In possibility's wide range, to save
His precious life, and yours? O tell me who
And what he is?

Alc.
The brother of the man
Who sought my life! he had me in his power
And tho' both Piety and Vengeance call'd
For retribution, yet he would not strike
(Such his regard to Justice) as he knew
His brother rush'd upon his fate, and call'd
The deadly blow. He must not, shall not dye
I will not breath on such conditions—no—
Farewell my father, ye, my friends, farewell!
And thou! Amphidamas! with constant care
Cherish the vestal flame, and bid it burn
Conspicuous, bright, as that which fires the souls
Of your confederate Athens!

Alc.
Oh, my son,
Did you not say, but now, that, should you fall,
His life could not be sav'd? And must you perish
In vain? Must poor Messenia's royal blood
Be sold for nought?

Alc.
Alas! my hapless father!
He falls a victim to th'infernal gods,
With solemn rites devoted for the weal
Of Sparta! If the powers below receive
The sacrifice, with omens good; our fall
Is the dire consequence, unless a life
For you devoted, stop the fearful chasm
That opens to receive us! Can I fall
More glorious than for you, for liberty,
For glory? Judge for me, Amphidamas,
Plead with my father! Bid him throw aside
The timid feelings of a partial sire,
And glow, the patriot, and the upright judge,
Unprejudic'd, unpassion'd! I, like him,
Devote me for my country! Be my fame,
My deathless fame, your new-adopted heir,
And cherish it for me!

Arist.
Oh! yet my friends!
Amphidamas! assist me to detain him!—
Will ye permit your hero to return
To certain fate?

Helots.
No—no—Our lives shall answer
For his!

Alc.
Retire! my inconsiderate friends!
Your kindness pains me. I must not be held,
You may detain my body, but my soul
Shall force its way!

Phil.
Is there no means allow'd?

Amph.
Alcander's self
Mention'd but now, some other means!

Alc.
Yes—means
Which you would be the first, Amphidamas,
To spurn!

2 Hel.
Amphidamas! and what is he,
That he should sway our fixt resolves? We own
No other but Alcander for our lord,
After Aristodemus! We request
With one assent, Alcander to declare
What he proposes!

Alc.
It requires no sage
To guess the means! Oh father! Oh ye Helots!
Could ye forget your wrongs, could ye but know
The deep distress of Sparta, hem'd around
By foes at every pass, ye would relent,
And join your bands to her's!

Amph.
Is it then so?—
But fate has seal'd my lips.

Alc.
Let reason weigh
Our merits, and our wrongs! the blest effects
Of unexpected love, where Discord rag'd;
And Gratitude's strong tyes, should we relent!

Amph.
I'll speak, altho' I perish.—Say, Alcander,
What reason have we to confide in them,
The ruling passion of whose lives has been
But the continuance of unvary'd wrong,
Oppression, murther, persidy, and lust?

Alc.
Send them a bold defiance! let my life
Victim for victim, please the nether gods
And gain conspicuous omens for the cause
Of liberty and Athens!

Helots.
No—no—no
No royal blood shall fall to please the powers
Beneath—a meaner victim must suffice.

Arist.
What hostage do they give to prove their faith?

Alc.
They set me free, when in their power!

Arist
What oath?
Have they appeal'd to any of the gods
The founders of our common race?

Alc.
They have—
Their Ephori before th'infernal gods
With dreadful imprecations bound their souls
To give us freedom, to inroll our youth
( Rais'd to the rank of Sparta's men at arms)
In fam'd Laconia's bands—if you refuse
This offer, nought remains, but I return
To pay that forfeit life which honour claims!

Arist.
The people never will permit such proof
Of your high spirit—but what document
What public bond and signature confirm'd
By due authority will you produce
Of this alliance?

Alc.
Be th'alliance void
Unless they give the solemn witness'd bond!

Amph.
Can reconcilement dwell with countless wrongs?

Alc.
And what would be th'effect of vengeance, say—
But propagated vengeance, blood and death
From sire to son deriv'd; if they could 'scape
Impending ruin now? Should Sparta fall
Would our condition be improv'd? our All
Would then depend on Athens! say, could we
Hope for a better station in her favour
Than the subjected isles that mourn her yoke
All o'er the wide Ægean? Nay, our state
Were worse! We have no boistrous waves to guard
Our trembling shores, but, hem'd with hostile tribes,
Must live in trepidation, or subside
To the dead level of our fellow slaves
To slavery worse than now! But should we chuse
The nobler province, to return, for wrongs,
For violence, for treachery, and blood.
Protection, friendship, in the dreadful hour
When Sparta, trembling, looks to us for succour
The genial seed of virtue would produce
Immortal fruit! the tide of gratitude
Would flow for ever, like Eurotas stream!
The glorious deed would melt their stubborn souls
Like fire to steel, and mould them into men,
Else they were monsters, savages, unfit
To live in harmony with men! The ills
That, with close siege have hem'd them long around
Ere now, have low'r'd their haughty crests, and taught
The lessons of humanity—if not,
They have less feeling than those aged trunks
That own the touch of heaven's ætherial ray
And spread their lofty honours to the gale!

Amph.
Must we confide in this precarious test?
On this uncertain plank embark our all?
Where does this worth, this gratitude reside
On which we must rely?

Alc.
In Phæbidas!

2 Helot.
Enough—enough—proceed, we all attend.

Alc.
Let us then, in the presence of the gods
That smile on virtue, try upon our friends
Nobly, the great experiment! do we
Wish to subdue them?—Let us aim the blow
Not at their bodies, but their minds—if still
They feel not in their souls the generous deed
They would defy the thunder—nay, the powers
Of heaven, in dreadful synod met above
Would muster all the enginry of heaven
And in one general explosion, send
Such miscreants from the world!

Amph.
Shouldst thou prevail
And they for our beneficence, return
Their usual contumely, how could you
'Midst Helots, lift your head, or dare to plead
For Sparta, or yourself?

Alc.
This life should pay
The forfeit to this hand!—remember, friend!
I am devoted still, if sad reverse
Demands the sacrifice!

Phil.
And why mistrust
So much Alcides', mighty line yet place
Such confidence in Athens? they, be sure
Would still regard with no benignant eye
Revolted slaves, that might revolt again
Slaves, long devoted to their Dorian foes
By blood, and inclination. Virtue still To Alc.

Survives in Sparta, while thy saviour lives
Else, how dost thou survive? The dark attempt
Against thy life, was but a private wrong
Unsanction'd by the state. To milder thoughts,
Misfortunes and the numerous ills that wait
On life, have tam'd them. Let us, then confirm
Their faltering steps in virtue! lead them on
Like the paternal eagle who divides
The fleeting air before her callow young
And bids them ride the clouds! Thus we shall gain
The proud ascendant in the lists of fame;
And after times, with long applause shall tell
How the Laconians, in the lists of blood
Distinguish'd long above a warring world
Rais'd their proud heads, while in her sanguine car
Bellona led them on, and chanted loud
The song of desolation. But their slaves
Taught them a nobler lesson, open'd wide
A brighter track to glory, bade them cast
Those ruffian virtues to the midnight wolves
And learn humanity.

Arist.
It is a perilous venture—if we fail
Ruin attends on both!

Alc.
And be our fall
Illustrious, rather by a noble daring
(Tho' unsuccessful) for the Dorian name
Than here to live for ever stigmatiz'd
As traitors, as deserters to the cause
Of our old enemies of Ion's race
Union abhorr'd! but, if we still remain
True to this fostering soil, that fed us long
Our native walks, true to ourselves, our fame
We must defend, (even with our dearest blood)
This remnant of the great Herculean name
A suppliant now for succour! Shall we stand
Insensate, while a new Deucalion's flood
For ever whelms the better light of Greece?
Forbid it, Honour! and forbid it, Fame!
Forbid it Thou! whose heavenly guidance here
Planted the Spartan, and Messenian race
Fraternal branches, in those happy fields
Till discord rose between them!

Amph.
Shall we then
Fawn, like the beaten spaniel, on the hand
Rais'd for correction? Say, would this become
The race of Hercules? He suffer'd woes
'Tis true, but woes inflicted by the gods
He did not labour for the cruel king
That slew his children! Mention not the gods—
The gods have planted vengeance in our hands
Arm'd us with their consuming bolts, and we
Shall we, like children, fly with terrour back
From the celestial shaft, as if we fear'd
To wield heaven's enginry, and boldly hurl
Her vengeance on their heads? 'Tis vengeance; vengeance!
That sets the man above the grazing herd
And show his native energy of soul!
For what was memory given, but to record
Our wrong? or reason, but to guard against
Such wrongs in future? What, the powers of fancy.
But, in their proper colours to display them?

Alc.
A noble sentiment! but here misplac'd
It shows the man, I show the greater means
That bids him rank with gods. Forgiveness, friend,
That marks true magnanimity of soul
Above the lion, and the lynx; for they
Have spirits for revenge; and, rankling deep
Wrongs in the glowing fancy oft survive
For many a sullen year, but we are men!
Let us a nobler vengeance seize! a deed
To tinge their haughty fronts with honest shame!
Let us subdue their souls, more glorious far
Than mere subjection of the shackled limbs
Now may we to such heights of virtue rise
To such an awful pitch, as Sparta's sons
Shall never dare to wrong their benefactors
And deem it equal sacrilege to strike
At us, as if they meant to wound the gods!

3 Helot.
I doubt their faith—and yet I still confide
In Athens for her aid, if Sparta dare
Her insults to renew!

Amph.
How, Athens aid us!
When we renounce her league! futile and false!

Arist.
Cease—for behold the delegate of heaven
Apollo's priest himself in suppliant garb,
Comes, with the ensigns of his god—revere
The holy man! ye Helots!—with respect
Receive him.

Enter the PRIEST of APOLLO—the HELOTS make obeisance.
Priest.
Be these the signs of your obedient souls
To the great name of the far-darting god
That god, who clad in humble weeds, like you
Erst kept Admetus flock, a simple swain;
Who toil'd beneath Laomedon, to build
The walls of Troy, and met a foul return,
Who knew th'indignity and scorn of men.
Tho' rob'd in flame, he walks the ætherial road!
Yet he, that felt such wrongs, and feels them still
By me requires you to relent and save
The state of Sparta—Great Alcides sues
To guard the reliques of his race, else all
Must, with the sons of old Laconia, perish—
For what are you, and that Crissæan band
(Should Lacedæmon sink in night) to keep
The Dorian name alive? When yonder god
(Whose glorious presence o'er your eastern hills
Awoke the woodland choiristers); at eve
Beyond the broad Ionian dips his wheels.
Say, can a little twinkling lamp of heaven
A pensionary planet, on the verge
Of day, with dim and ineffectual fire
Repell the slow-wing'd dragons of the night
That drag her curtain'd car? even such were ye
When Sparta sets in blood, to rise no more!—
Oh! then, obedient to the will of heaven
Unite your fate to hers! I see your strength
Assembled here. O let it be to aid us!

Arist.
Chosen from our tribes, two thousand valiant youths
Not inexpert in martial exercise
But wait the word to arm: their delegates
Shall answer for themselves!

Phil.
May yonder gods
Forbid, that Dorians, tho' opprest with wrongs
Should part from Dorians, and with impious hand
Destroy themselves and us!

Amph.
Flamen! before
We answer, name your terms!

Priest.
Your leader has them
And that they shall be granted, be yon god
The witness!
Ye shall this instant be enroll'd among
The martial, free-born sons of Sparta's state
Vested with every privilege that lifts
The slave to match his lord! The man that claims
His rank in battle, from that hour is free,
A slave no more! the rest is outward form
But needful, with lustration pure to purge
The servile stain away!

Phil.
Then, what remains
But, give us arms, and try if we can wield
A Dorian lance?

Priest.
In yon deep vale below
Where, 'mongst embowring woods, with unseen lapse
Eurotas echoes thro' th'opposing rocks
And fills with reverential awe profound
The musing votarist, in the rustic fane
Of him , (who deals involuntary fears
Along the nerves, and sees the demon band
Of griesly terrours dancing to his pipe
In soul-astounding gambola), pil'd there lies
A magazine of arms, to mighty Pan—
From Argos won when erst our arms repell'd
The Thyrean's wild invasion. There you'll find
Selected, holy hands, to deal around
The dazzling spoils among your willing bands
And send you glittering thro' your native woods
Startling your Dryads with the glorious change
They scarce will know their shepherds!

Phil.
But, behold!
What stranger's that, who comes with looks of haste
And draws our chief aside?

Amph.
Whate'er it be
Our common danger, and our common claims
Forbid all secrecy—divulge your message
To all, or none!

Arist.
Stranger! my private ear
Hears no proposal to my friends unknown!
Their cause and mine are one, the crisis now
All secrecy forbids, and even excludes
Deliberation! on the common voice
Of those brave youths, for instant action leagu'd
Our fame, our fortune, and our all depends!

Mess.
Is there no man, whose sovereign voice compells
The multitude? and must I hazard all
In giving breath to that which brings along
(When known) the fate of nations?

2 Helot.
To that youth [Pointing to Alcander.

Apply! his influence o'er our sylvan tribes
Is uncontroll'd! whatever he decides
Messenia follows.

[Messenger whispers Alcander.
Alc.
Never! Helot! never!
What! must we court perdition! fling away
Our scheme of reconcilement, like a toy
Of little value, to preserve a band
By folly led to ruin?

Mess.
Led by you!
Led by your promise! since I must divulge
Your shame, before your Helots!—lur'd by leagues
And oaths, now violated, we forsook
Our homes, to fight your battles! now we stand
Perhaps on ruin's verge, for you, unless
You instant thro' yon forest force your way
And mount the steep (where, in the yawning pass
Laconia's sons oppose us) and hurl down
Perdition on their heads? Ye need no weapons
But those loose rocks, that, with tremendous frown
Threaten the vale!

Alc.
We must not risque for them
Our dawning hopes—they fail'd us in our need!

Amph.
Will you forget your leagues? ye Helots! say!
Speak for yourselves!

Priest.
Aside.
All, all, I fear, is lost.
Event accurst!

Alc.
The Helots may decide!—
For me—my doom's determin'd! If they join
The band of Helice, my fate is fixt!—
I will not live to see my best friend's life
Given, a devoted sacrifice for me!—
Messenia has her victim too, to buy
Prosperity for blood!

Helots.
No—never—never.
Thou shalt not die for us. We go—where'er
You point the way.

Mess.
And dare you baffle thus
Your friends? Ungrateful men! No single victim
Atones for this! If Lacedæmon fall
Athens and we with terrible revenge
Will sweep your confines. Now, even now, perhaps,
The dread chastisement of a broken league,
In yonder clouds awaits you. Mark your doom!

[Exit
Amph.
Aside.
Then, ye devoted men! to ruin go!
It is not mine to check you! Why should I
Draw premature destruction on myself.
Vain ruin! Fate is now in full career,
For yonder, see! where Demaratus comes;
What mean his wild looks, and his breathless signs? To them a HELOT.

Ye are betray'd! Around yon woods I saw
The banded Spartans march in complete steel;
Even now they line the grove!

Arist.
Send, and observe!
Now, surely now, at this important crisis,
They would not venture to infringe their faith,
And on themselves accumulate the plagues
To treason due!

[Helots in confusion.
Priest.
Stay a single moment
Till rumour yields to truth!

2 Hel.
Lead to the fane,
The Argive trophies there will arm our hands,
Or to repel the persidy of friends,
Or front the public foe!

Priest.
Stay but a moment!

Amph.
What counsel's this? Thou canst not surely mean
They should be found defenceless, when the hour
May prove their last!

Priest.
Say, Helot, am I here
Your hostage? Is my life within your power,
And dare I utter falsehood? I that own
The power of him whose piercing eye pervades
The secrets of the darkest soul? Yet wait.—
—A moment may determine.

Enter a SPARTAN.
Phil.
Oh, in haste,
Ye Helots! fly to arms! the foes advance,
We spy their dust afar!
Yon little remnant of despairing Spartans
Take their last farewell of the golden day,
Last of the Dorian name, if ye refuse
To join their band!

Phil.
That is the train, whose march
Inspir'd the panic terror.

Alc.
to the Helots.
Join the foe!
And they will thank you; but will never trust
Revolting slaves! That proud and popular state,
So free at home, with servile bonds abroad,
Her partizans repays.

Helots.
Lead on! Lead on!
We go where'er you call! We are not savages,
But men!

[Amph. and some Helots consult apart.
Arist.
[March to music—Some stay behind.

Amph.
I want not arms
From Pan! No causeless terrors are my dread!
Tho' here I mean to stay. My friends suspect
The presents of an enemy. The foe,
Perhaps, is there already.

Arist.
Oh! thou dastard,
When they return, besure thou shalt abide
A dreadful censure.

Amph.
Better from my friends
Than foes. For, what could be my hopes if there
I join'd our lords, but jealousy or hate,
(For well they know I hate them) or a post
Perhaps, of certain death? But, if I stay,
And—if my fears be true—a remnant still
Is left to keep Messenia's name alive!
If I have wrong'd our masters, this grey head
Alone shall pay the forfeit! Heaven forefend
The ills I augur! Be thou witness, Heaven!
Whatever woes invade our rising state,
They are not mine to answer. Wait th'event.

[Exeunt severally.

ACT V.

Scene Continues.
ARISTODEMUS, AMPHIDAMUS, HELOTS.
Arist.
Yet all is still and quiet, nought is seen
Save o'er the tranquil groves the birds of prey
That tend the falling victim! But behold
When the young Asian comes, with changed dress
More flowing and majestic! Like the queen
Of night he seems, sailing in spotless veil
between the parting clouds! A prophet's wreath
Adorns his brow. He looks not of this earth
Yet seems his ecstacy disturb'd and wild!
His fine eyes roll, as if vacuity
Contain'd some horrid vision. Here he comes!

Enter ASPASIA.
Arist.
Whence this wild strain—the Asian seems possest!

Asp.
Sound, Clarions, sound! Let images of war
Possess your souls! for see! beyond your hopes
The god of bloody trophies leads you on!
—But soon the conflict ends—too soon it ends—
Yet, tho' tranquillity along your fields
Flits, like a dove, on solitary wing
Tho' envy's self forbid, your name shall live
To after ages, while Eurotas flows
In triumph to the main!

Arist.
This had been well
After some victory, but now it seems
A pitch of exultation, premature
As strange!

Asp.
Nay it is strange, and passing strange
To see the humble swain forsake the shore
And, like th'amphibious scaly brood, that swim
The broad Nile, take the flood!—our wars at land
Are ended—see!—we triumph on the main!
Even on the proud Palladian element!—
Our Helots!—mark them, how they brave the foe
And dye the waves with blood—Eurotas wonders
At his unusual freight! the water-nymphs
Welcome their bridegrooms from the shore. The Dryads
Astonish'd stand upon the woody verge
In wondering pause!

Arist.
And I in awful pause
No less, to hear thee like the Pythian maid!—
O sport no longer with our hopes and fears!

Asp.
I see the chambers of the deep disclose
And all the blue-hair'd deities advance
To meet their new compeers! O hoary Neptune!
For whom ascends that pearly-studded car
With many a gem from Ormus, and from Ind!
Who guides the reins? It seems Alcander's self
Purg'd from mortality, august and large,
Like young Palemon, rising from the wave!
And see our Helots all with coral crowns
Sport thro' the wat'ry element! Arion
To his sea-harp attunes, in deathless strains
Their triumphs! old Eurotas wafts them down
To the wide world of waters, See! they sail
Thro' the applauding isles; but why, oh why
Forbid them on our shores to lift the spear
And try their fortune on the stable soil?
They might have triumph'd on the land—let Tyre
And Carthage brave the flood!
Let them explore the treasures of the deep
But let us combat on the dusty plain
It best befits the Dorian name—full soon
Their old Athenian friends at Pylos moor'd
Will view the floating triumph, and admire
The new alliance of the Dorian name!

Arist.
Go some, and learn, what tidings! I am fixt
And every pulse is check'd by cold dismay!

[Exit Helots.
Asp.
The blue main tells it to the wond'ring stars
In tempest tells it to the hostile fleet
By Malea moor'd! I see another fleet
Waiting to waft you o'er an unknown wave
Where delegated hands the wreaths prepare
Soon to adorn your brows! but other palms
Must first be worn!—The sacrifice begins
The offerings due to Neptune are prepar'd—
Stern god of arms! why that unwonted mask
That hides thy martial terrours? Why prefer
That holy vizor to thy genuine frown?
Why moves thy car so slow? Thy proud steeds champ
And struggle with the rein! but, why conceal
The ruffian's blade beneath the saintly pall?
Thou bloody hypocrite! that holy leer
But ill becomes the leader of debate
And master of misrule!

Arist.
What dost thou mean?
Thou seem'st to labour with some horrid theme
Too big for utterance!

Asp.
May it ne'er be known!
Conceal it night! in everlasting gloom!—
Soon shall the raven's note your ears profane!
One, to whose voice my soul suspending strains
Are music!

2 Helot.
Yonder, see! the tidings come.

To them—Enter third HELOT.
Arist.
But this is one whose chearful looks declare
How empty are thy visions—tell at once
Have our Messenians reach'd the rustic fane
And met a kind reception from the lords?

3 Helot.
As kind as heart could wish—I saw them march
I saw them pass in pairs between the ranks
Of Spartan warriors!

Arist.
Ha! that looks not well!

3 Helot.
Withhold thy dark surmises—Sparta's faith
Is pure—the power of solemn bonds protects
Our friends! I saw them from the postern gate
Glancing in radiant files along the grove
Now half eclips'd, now glittering on the day
Like these long dormant tribes they seem, that sleep
The winter o'er in low, degraded forms
Till having past the mystic change, they wake
At summer's breezy call, and wing the winds
In gay embroidery, purple, gems, and gold,
Exulting in the warm, paternal ray.—
To soothe the new recruits, the rural pipe
That call'd them oft to toil, at blush of morn
Warbles respondent to the shrill ton'd fife
That fires our martial bands.

Asp.
Soft is thy pipe
O Pan! Its gentle breathings, heard afar
Inviting to the fold the peaceful flock,
Seems to console our sorrows!—but no strain
Of clangorous trump, that wakes the battle's rage!
Is half so dreadful! Oh! resign that pipe—
Its music leads the poor misguided flock
To the dark precipice.—Ye cruel swains!
Say, is it thus ye wash your harmless flocks
And send them, with their costly spoils at once
At random, down the stream? their costly spoils
Had blest you many a year!

Arist.
No more—no more
Hence with thy prophecies, thy noon-day dreams
Ill-boding Maniac!

Asp.
If it be a dream
Yon walls, yon waters, yonder conscious grove
Can witness!

Arist.
Thou, be sure, shalt feel the wrath
Of Sparta.

Asp.
Could I singly fall! my doom
Were welcome! But alas! by gloomy Styx
I meet the grim accusing band, whose fate
(Due partly to my influence,) hurl me down
Among the doubly damn'd!

Arist.
Immortal powers!
Is he distracted or inspir'd? my blood
Runs cold to hear him!

Asp.
No—ye Helots! no!
My inspiration's gone.—'Tis now despair,
Shame, horrour, and repentance that awoke
Those wailings—Fly,—Oh fly—and save at least
A remnant of Messenia.

Arist.
Where's the danger?

Asp.
Could my confession but atone my crime
Or stop the raging sword, already stain'd
In Ithome's best blood! I could enlarge
Upon my deeds, dilate the dreadful tale
Till ye would start with horrour—but escape!—
Fly! that alone is left you!

Arist.
Why escape?
Suppose the peril certain,—must we call
The murtherers to pursue us? We, alas!
The refuse of our tribes, are hardly worth
Extermination, our imperious lords
Must still have slaves, in cruelty to train
Their savage brood!

Asp.
To thee, unhappy sire!
Yet flight were safety! tho' the vulgar tribe
Were overlook'd, or spar'd to till the ground
They water'd with their blood, Alcander's sire
Yet could not hope to 'scape!

Arist.
Alcander's sire!
What of himself? already lost and found
In one revolving sun? Say, what of him
If he be seiz'd, or fallen, I would not bear
The load of life for kingdoms!

Asp.
Rest you still
In your suspence!—I cannot bear to tell
What heaven reveals! On thee alas! and all
That share the blood of Aristomenes.
The sentence is pronounc'd! I would not bear
The pressure of my guilt a moment more
But that the fell exterminating sword
Already red with murther, will dispense
To me, a stroke of justice!

Arist.
What's thy guilt?

Asp.
Too great to bear! Beneath the holy mask
Of inspiration, with unhallow'd voice
I dar'd to mock the mysteries of heaven
And utter lying oracles! but that
Had led to independence, freedom, fame.
Had that been all! but, with insidious arts
I scatter'd discord, sow'd dissension's bane
Among your leaders, for low, selfish ends
Too tedious to recount—my hatred sprung
From rival love, (for I bely'd my sex,)
I lov'd the Attic youth, he hated, spurn'd me
He scorn'd me for Semanthe.—In revenge
Philemon's mind with jealous rage I fir'd
To thwart his measures! I with artful wiles
Allur'd Semanthe from her native woods.—
This was the fair pretext; that, she remov'd
The rivals would support the general cause
And emulation cease. My arts inspir'd
New rancour 'twixt the rivals. Soon the flame
Of discord blaz'd around. If you desire
Atonement in my blood (tho' poor revenge
For what you soon must suffer) take my blood!
'Tis yours!—

2 Helot.
Thy tale, I fear, is true, for Dymas comes!
What horrid vision has disturb'd his brain
And bristled up his locks?

Enter DYMAS.
Dym.
Helots! away!
Treason and murther lurk within those groves!

Arist.
What murther, say! what signs?

2 Helot.
Eurotas runs
With blood!

Arist
Perhaps, the blood of slaughter'd steers
Or immolated flocks! why thus disturb
Our yet precarious peace with causeless fears?

3 Helot.
Saw'st thou the bodies of these murther'd men?
Or thou, or I must dream! the radiant files
I saw parading thro' yon plausive groves
Were gaudy visions of unreal bands,
The day-dreams of a boy, who in the clouds
Figures unreal armies!

4 Helot.
Be thy sight
However clear, the Spartan fraud might post
This moving pomp, this spectacle of war
Behind the fane, to favour the deceit
To personate those bands, whose bodies now
Perhaps are floating down the plaintive stream!

To them—Enter Fifth HELOT.
5 Helot.
They come! they come! O fathers! haste and see
The triumphs of your sons! Oh blasting view
I saw them rolling down the sanguine flood!

Arist.
Saw whom?

5 Helot.
The victims of your impious foes!
Oh Alcibiades! had we believ'd
Thy words, we had not thus ignobly stood
To see the slaughter'd victims borne along
Nor one is found to drag the freight to land.—
—Alas! behold the wretched father falls
Bear him away.

[Aristodemus borne out.
Amph.
Yonder the brother comes
Of fallen Androcles, to pronounce our doom!

To them—PHÆBIDAS.
Phæb.
No—to pronounce his own—behold the man
Who led your friends to slaughter! if my blood
Content you, bid it flow—for I must fall
By your hands or my own! I bear a life
Long, long devoted to th'infernal gods
For cruel Sparta's weal—for Sparta's weal
Unknowingly, I led your guiltless friends
To ruin—The warm confidence I felt
In Sparta's faith, I bade Alcander feel!—
For his reliance on my vain surmise
My fruitless hopes, already has he paid
With life, and all his basely-murther'd friends
Atone our follies or our faults with blood!
Alas! to save my self-devoted life
Alcander fell, in vain, lamented youth
You fell—my blood must flow!

Amph.
Philemon too!

Phæb.
Philemon, all!

Amph.
Yet say, unhappy man
How did your counsels sway Alcander's mind?

Phæb.
Ah ye curst Ephori! your dark designs
(While in the smooth and smiling surface still
We plac'd our trust) with deep destruction flow'd
With seeming clemency they lur'd you on
Relax'd their laws, to draw a larger prey
Within the meshes of their bloody toils!
—When seeming ruin over Sparta hung
My country's love impell'd me to devote
Myself a victim to the angry gods.
If so, perhaps, I might have sooth'd their rage
And make them force the Helots from their league
With our stern foes! Alcander, in my charge
And freed from bonds by me, with grateful heart
Resolv'd to use his influence with his friends
To save our state, to break the menac'd league
To save his friend, or perish by his side.
—Behold the consequence!—

Amph
Thy boldness thus
To rush among thy foes, and tell our fate
So dreadful to thyself; at least approves
Thy truth—but let the gods, and Athens find
The guilty in their wrath—for thee to bleed
Were useless now.—

Phæb.
O never, never more
Was such a victim wanted! deeper guilt
In Sparta for a new atonement calls
And I embrace my doom with joy! For Sparta
If thro' all hearts the universal taint
Of Persidy and Vice had spread abroad
Their gangrene? not by all the breathing fumes
Of Saba, nor by immolated hosts
Were heaven's acceptance gain'd.—But I have laid
A train to bring the guilty to their doom
Those perjur'd Ephori, whose curst advice
Caus'd this foul treason to humanity
And poison'd half our troops! To Sparta's king
And his untainted bands: (who still uphold
My country's name;) a trusty friend dispatch'd
Shall tell the traitors names, disclose their guilt
And shew the proofs. Their office soon expires
And to the people's dread tribunal call'd
They too shall expiate this disastrous day.

Amph.
Live to avenge us!

Phæb.
Your revenge is sure
Whether I live or dye!

Amph.
Oh yet proclaim
In justice to mankind, the dreadful steps
Which led us to our fate.

Phæb.
I know not all—
Me they suspected, and dispatch'd me thence
To save the bands of Helice—my fears
And doubts were waken'd by the troops delay
Meant to support my onset. I began
To dread, that Athens with Messenia join'd
Had stop'd the march of my auxiliar bands;
Then, leaving to my second in command
My post, I hurried homeward to prevent
The spreading ruin, and to close the breach
With my devoted life. Ah how unlike
Those imag'd terrours was the direful truth
I found at home! 'Twas one vast solitude
Dreary and silent, from the city's bounds
To fair Amyclæ! Rumour's self had lost
Her voice, or faintly told a dubious tale
That all Laconia's military bands
Were must'ring by Eurotas—then the truth—
The dreadful truth came flashing on my mind
At once.—I hasted—but arrived too late.—
Where o'er the dark flood hangs the rustic fane
A shelving passage, arch'd beneath the walls
Admits the murmurs of the passing stream
Where, dark and gulphy, under bow'ring shades
It rolls in gloomy whirlpools,—clos'd within
A troop of bold assassins took their stand;
Another cohort lin'd the sacred gate;
And, as by pairs the Helots came, assign'd
The victims to their fellows, far within
Who gave the deadly stroke, and hurl'd them down
To welter in the waves.—Meantime, without
A band of seeming Helots, all in arms
March'd from the postern, in long siles, and lin'd
The parting shades, or mixt in sportive war;
Those, to the candidates for arms, abroad,
Seem'd their exulting fellows, clad in steel
And prompt for action, All around was heard
The trump, the timbrel, and the martial sife
In warlike symphony to drown the groans
Of slaughter—while abroad, in cheerful din
According clamours, pealing to the stars
The baffled ear beguil'd. The sylvan screen
Flinging her canopy athwart the flood
Deceiv'd the sight, and hid the frequent fall
Of many a corse thick-plunging in the wave;
From an exulting Spartan this I learn'd
Who triumph'd in the tale.

2 Helot.
Are all—all—slaughter'd? can we snatch from fate
No remnant of our bands? To arms! to arms
Ye Helots who survive! let us revenge
Or join our slaughter'd brethren!

Phæb.
All in vain!
Are these becoming ardours! deep around
The grove is lin'd by a determin'd band
Who menace ruin on the coming foe
With level'd spears,—Ye hasten to your doom
For ye may live to soothe your ceaseless toil
With bitter tears, and mourn the hateful boon
Of life, more wretched than your fellows fall!
Their fall was glorious.—To the dreaded flame
Of liberty, that in their bosom burn'd
Victims they fell untimely! Ye may live
For Sparta's cruel policy requires
A nursery of patient slaves, to till
With doubled labour, their detested soil.—
For me, I wish'd to fall in glorious fight
And tinge the point of some Athenian spear
With my devoted gore!—That is deny'd
—Yet have I hope that Sparta may revenge
My fall, and bring these monsters of the state
To bloody justice.—Honour yet survives
In some distinguish'd breasts, by freedom warm'd;
The gale of public spirit yet will rise
And sweep away the thick-ensanguin'd cloud
Which hides us from the skies.—Oh! Sparta—yes—
Thou yet art worth atonement, else this stroke
Were vain, and impious folly to the gods! [Stabs himself.

Oh my Alcander! if we meet again
Thine awful council of departed heroes
Will grant admission to my gory shade!—
Our cause was one, a glorious, public cause
We fell to save our country!

[Dies.
Amph.
And with him
Messenia fell at once! her long career
Is closed at length by Fate's relentless hand!
There lies the man who could have sav'd our tribes
From insult and from ruin, had his power
Been equal to his mild humanity.—
Let us forget our upright form—our name
Of men! let memory die! let hope expire!
Nor hope have we, nor claim, nor country now!
But—if we had, Alcander's hapless fall
And poor Philemon's might afford a theme
To lesson future ages! One, misled
By private friendship, sold that public faith
That awful duty, which he owed his people
To syren sympathy.—Philemon, sir'd
To rage, because a woman frown'd, forgot
He was a man, and basely flung away
In a mad fit of jealousy, the means
Of endless glory. Had they nobly stood
True to the dictates of their reason, firm
Against th'assaults of passion. They had led
Those bands to freedom, whom in death they led
Down the lamenting stream, whose Naiads mourn
The man, whom every muse perhaps had crown'd
With endless glory to succeeding times.—
But now the work is o'er—the bloody band
All reeking from the horrid task return! [Martial music heard at a distance.

I hear the deadly fife's triumphant tones!—
May all the furies speed them on their way
And hell resound their dirge, whene'er they fall.—
They must not find us here—hence let us haste
Where no fell despot checks our falling tears.

[Exit Omnes.

INTRODUCTION,

TO THE TWO FOLLOWING DRAMATIC POEMS.

The dissipation of the day is gone,
With all her trivial scenes, her trivial sounds
Discordant, various, as the themes that fill
Her ear, still open to the novelties
Of every moment! they are fled far west
After Hyperion's gaudy wheels; the cares,
The pleasures frivolous, and anxious toils
As frivolous, awake in other lands
And bustle in his beam, where yet his beam
Dispenses light. They flourish in his smile
And they have charms for others, who delight
To turmoil in the varied chace, for me
I better love, at the still, midnight hour
Amid the pause of nature and of life
To hear the solemn pipe of him, who rules
The rude winds, call his levies to the war
Nocturnal! Better far I like to hear
The cataract of Clodio where it fills
The concert of the gales in cadence deep,
Æolian harmony! or seems to pause
Respondent to their pause! they lift the mind
Like the full organ from the minstrelsie
Of idleness and youth to graver themes!
Ye lovers' hopes, farewell: ye pictur'd scenes
Of jealousy farewell! ye sanguine fields
Ye flows and ebbs of states in former times
Farewell! I sing the flow and ebb of souls!
I sing Presumption, dashing on the rocks
Of that eternal barrier (fixt by heaven
To guard from violence the bounds of right)
And her gay fragments, scatter'd on the wave,
I sing Despondence , in a baleful calm
With compass broke, upon the stagnant flood
With monsters teeming to her frighted eye
Portentous births, beneath the muffled noon
Of brazen skies!—Ye martial scenes, farewell
In Siloams' brook I wash your stains away!—
Charge not the muse with fiction, while she sings
Of old judicial blindness, mental sleep
Lethean, tho' the clamouring elements
Nay tho' the height of their proud masonry
Down thund'ring with stupendous din, untouch'd)
By dread Bellona's forceful strokes) proclaim'd
Their sleep a sleep of death, nor deem his tale
An insult to your reason, who, unwarn'd
By heaven's dread interdict, by heaven, whose hand
He saw in daily wonders, dar'd the deed
Illicit, which the sons of Israel mourn'd
In blood, thrice conquer'd by a feeble foe.
The first were victims to their proud contempt
Of heavenly justice, to destruction brought
By the dire sophistry of Vice matur'd;
Self-adulation, self-abuse! the last
By earthly love (a fatal passion) led
Of heavenly mercy to despond, renounc'd
His reason and his god. When now the cup
Of blessing, sent by gracious heaven, almost
Had reach'd his lips, his wild precipitance
Dash'd the celestial boon away: is this
A character, the coinage of the muse?—
Would heaven it were! then would the foulest fiend
That rides the night, and deepens all her glooms
The deadliest incubus, no more infest
Our isles! no more his visionary gall
Would dash the bowl, his visionary dread
Of want or infamy, or slighted love
Or slighted pride would arm the hand no more
Against the throbbing heart! O scorn of life!—
Oft in the generous bosom hast thou fixt
Thy unrelenting fangs! Despondence! Hail
I know thee by thy fixt and beamless eye
Thy hollow woe-worn cheek and stealthy pace!
Yet, all unlovely as thou art thou charm'st
The hapless soul who quits her hold on heav'n
And oft to lawless, oft to ruthless deeds
Conduct'st him thro' the gloom! Ah! who can aid
With counsel, that ungovernable man
Whose moon-struck madness, on the friendly tower
Quenches the flaming beacon, flings away
His anchor, and presumes to ride the waves
When all the tempests are abroad? like him
Is he, who thinks to stem the storms of life
Without religion's aid! and what deprives
The wretched pilgrim of religious aid,
And flings him to Despondence for a cure
Of all his ills? Sad cure! what brings to birth
That sullen fiend, who quaffs the balmy tide
Of Hope, and pours in poison in its stead?
It is another fiend, Presumption nam'd,
Proud mother of a wayward child! 'Tis she
Who (still more frantic than old Canaan's race,
Who trusted in their rampires, and their stores,
And in their copious springs perennial wealth,
To bear them thro' the siege, tho' Israel storm'd
Their walls, for slattery woke while conscience slept
Presume upon a tenement of clay,
The brittle strength of bones, the nervous net,
(Curious, but flimsey as the Gossamer
Against the breath of Heaven) the ceaseless dance
Of youthful spirits, and the sanguine maze,
Forgetful of the hand that rolls the tide,
Thro' all her blue meanders, to the fount
Of life, and still renews the still consum'd
With plastic progress; yet forgetful they
Of hourly admonition from without,
And from within, pursue their revels on,
Waste the bland stores of Nature in debauch,
And when the means are spent, they go to sale,
They sell their birthright oft, without a blush,
They sell the birthright of their country, lost
To shame! and by the venal vote procure
Fresh plunder for the harpies of the mind,
Which plague them into constant vigilance,
Vivacious still, and craving!—Yet for less.
Poor Belgia is baptiz'd with blood, and Gaul
Her blasted vineyards mourns, and yet we sleep
Secure, as Jericho, when Israel came
And shook her walls! O sleep! ye Orient gales,
Sleep on, nor bring the raging pest of Gaul
Across the surge! O chain the fellest fiend
Of all the fell, unbridled anarchy,
Nor let her hither point her deadly rage,
Tho' we deserve the visitant! we hear
The fall of empire, louder than the fall
Of Jericho! We see the dreadful march
Of Magog , polar king, predicted long.
We hear below the subterranean voice
Of that stern delegate of God, who mines
His way in central horror, from the sea
Calabrian, to the broad Ionian surge,
Perhaps, to measure conquering step by step
With him who leads the northern legions on,
And match the music of his enginry
With hideous noise, beneath the rooted hills.
While, as the Hyperborean flag unfurls
Over proud Rhodope, the crescent pale
Of Othman fades, with more than wizard charms;
And, as the mighty spirit of the deep
Repeats his giant warnings, Tyber shrinks,
And hourly tells his terrors, lest he lose
His being and his name, or exil'd thence,
Be doom'd to wander by another shore!—
Such are the warnings of the moment, ye
That bear, attend—and ye that scorn, beware.

THE TEMPLE OF VESTA, A DRAMATIC POEM.

THE TEMPLE OF VESTA.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Ramiel , Spirit of the Earth and Air.
• Asmodia , Spirit of the Earth and Air.
• Nergal , Spirit of the Earth and Air.
• King of Jericho , Canaanites.
• Priest of Vesta , or the Earth , Canaanite.
• Senators , Canaanite.
• Adriel , father to Rahab, Canaanite.
• Abdon , betrothed to Rahab, Canaanite.
• Eliezer , his friend, Canaanite.
• Achan , Hebrew Spy.
• Zalmon , Hebrew Spy.
• Travellers , guests of Adriel.
• Canaanites.
• Rahab.

Scene—Jericho.

ACT I.

[Scene I.]

Scene—The Temple of Vesta , or the Earth at Jericho. Time—The Evening.
RAMIEL, ASMODIA, NERGAL, and other Spirits of the Earth, Air, Water and Fire.
Rami.
With luckiest policy, Demonian powers!
In seeming resignation we have left
Our old distinguished, throne where long the world
Ador'd us, by the name of heroes old
And stellar virtues; this confirms our sway
Thro' all the limits of our old domain
Under proud appellations new bestow'd
By seeming sapient man: a general name
On us our slaves impose, of nature, power
(Never beginning, never doom'd to end)
Of this great mundane mass, upholding all
Itself upheld by nothing. Still the crowd
('Tis true) beneath our old heroic names
Our deities adore; but wiser men
Whose grey-hair'd prudence wield the state at will,
Tho' they support our worship and pretend
A reverence for our vulgar names, renown'd
Among the people, yet, by reasoning pride
Misled, but more by vice, have found a Power
Irrational prolific, which sustains
The varying forms of this prodigious mass
With eyeless bounty, undistinguished love
To merit or demerit, good or ill.
Hence are they freed from every anxious dread
Of coming retribution, and indulge
In lust and hard oppression, at their ease,
As youth or age the varying gust inspires.—
This bounteous mother here, with secret rites
The nobles worship, rites to none disclos'd,
But to th'initiate; Night shall soon behold
Some youths of noblest name admitted here
To share the knowledge of these mystic things
The vulgar must not know. The herd, which tills
The soil, and sweats beneath the noonday load
(Hewn from the quarry, and with labour borne
To lift yon bulwarks high against the foe)
These slaves have lost their freedom and their worth,
Bondmen alike in body and in mind,
They bear no mark of their great origin
Celestial, but the upright form, unless
Some bitter tears, when bondage wrings their souls
Forgotten soon, when in the sacred fane
The festive noise of jocund minstrelsie
Proclaims nocturnal orgies, when the powers
Of music, love and wine patrol our groves.
Then every tie of kindred, and of law
Dissolve beneath the musky hand, unfelt
Of midnight and her hell-born hags, who spy
With horrid glee, such sights as blast the morn
And check almost the sempiternal wheel
Of mundane things. Thus tho' our names be lost
Our old imperial names, among the great,
Our Empire o'er the minds of these proud peers
Under the favourite name of Nature, holds
With links more durable than adamant,
By the smooth sophistry of vice confirm'd.—
But these invaders from the banks of Nile
Must be provided for, therefore your aid
Ye spirits of the mingling elements!
Earth, air and water, and the rage of fire
I claim, how best your subjects to confirm
In their allegiance, by what charms to lift
Their ductile minds above the slavish dread
Of these fell rovers of the burning waste
To whose strange minstrelsie the rivers dance
In uncouth measures to the wond'ring clouds
And seem to dash the moon!

Ner.
More need have we
To keep the crowd from wild revolt, enflam'd
By their oppression, and bent down, like beasts,
Prone to their mother earth!

Asm.
The self same skill
Will serve to manage both, if any skill
Be needful, where themselves (if to themselves
Resign'd) will still hold out, if not against
The warriours steel, against the rigid law
That combates with their vices. On our power
We build too much, and with a fruitless care
(Which this occasion calls not) labour on
Still to deprave the self-deprav'd.—The powers
Of habit who denies? It gives to vice
Or virtue, as it chances each to aid
A nerve of steel, insuperably strong!
The mind, by heaven illumin'd, and confirm'd
In virtuous habits, tho' the welkin frown
Tho' friends forsake him, tho' yon elements
Conspire against him, yet, elated high
Above the small annoyance, wafts aside
The pigmy war, with calm, unruffled brow
And easy effort, like the shepherd swain
Whose gentle slumbers by an evening cloud
Of buzzing flies, is broke.—Nor less the soul
Whom deeds of darkness keep in thraldom sure,
Tho' nature, all alarm'd, with thund'ring peal
Clamours at every port of sense, which gives
An inlet to the mind, tho' clouds distil
Ambrosial food, tho' Neptune's surge invades
The rampires of the sky, and lifts their waves
In proud defiance to the fighting winds
Tho' Jordan's waters fly before the foot
Of heaven's proud favourites to the parent spring
In hoarse retreat, and send from hill to hill
The solemn warning to the nations round
To leave their crimes, the soul by habit fixt
In vice, her whole attention draws within
And lets the civil war of elements
In all their wond'rous transmutations, rage
Without, unheeded.—Hence the glimmering lamp
Of conscience at the last goes out, unfed
By this external nourishment, bereft
By tyrant vice, of that immaculate oil
Which reason breeds within—then leave the sons
Of Canaan to themselves, while lust survives
To rule the young, while selfishness and love
Of gold, inveterate grown, by thirst of sway
Enslaves the old, ye have no need to fear
A partner in your reign.

Ner.
But then, at last
What have we to expect, but to behold
(All impotent to save), our vassals, made
Public examples of cælestial wrath?

Asm.
Let them!—for such the strange variety
Of human character, that, tho' a few
May take the warning, and renounce their crimes
A greater number still will brave the hand
Uplifted to destroy, for, such was still
The consequence, even when the sentenc'd walls
Of Sodom flam'd, and such will ever be
While man is man, the sport of every breeze
The slave of habit, tho' his will be free
To chuse or to refuse his weal or woe.—
Meantime, tho' our great foe invades our bounds
With partial inroade, and alarms our states
Here on the frontier, yet our central hold
Of darkness, still his utmost power defies.—

Ner.
Who, at the last result, will gain the palm,
To what those various-fortun'd tribes of men
Are yet reserv'd, who knows?

Asm.
And how are we
Concern'd? our empire still survives and grows
With still advancing bounds, except alone
Those desart wanderers from the banks of Nile.

Rami.
And we must be provided to receive
These wanderers from the Nile, altho' heaven's hand
Fights for them, and our elemental walk
On their account, is hem'd in narrower bounds—
Yet we have room within the cavern'd world
Below, to range at pleasure, to explore
Her secret hoards, and thence, for our avail
No despicable aid may be procur'd.
Be it your province, Asmodai! to range
The subterranean world, with your compeers
And all the fragrant families that drink
In those green vales, and winding borders long
Or on the lofty hill's aerial brow
The salutary lymph, quintessence pure
Of health, which, mingling their ambrosial stores
Bid the eye sparkle, and the spirits dance
New brace the fine, corporeal chords, whose tone
Respondent to the movements of the mind
Chimes in glad unison, till all within
And all without is harmony and health,
High confidence, heroic energy
Of mind and body. Hence collect with care
The steaming soul of all the verdant tribes
Salubrious, that adorn th'enamel'd sod,
Or from the hill perfume the morning gale,
With them, commingle, sever, and distill
Each hidden virtue, each quintessence pure
Chalybeate, or saline, gem or stone,
With those exhal'd, sublim'd, or mixt with care
Or single (as requir'd) be the pure breath
Of morn impregnate, and this evening breeze
That whispers thro' yon palms, and bend their boughs
In gentle salutation; Thence the Peers
Of Canaan, as they bend before the shrine
Of the prime mother Vesta, nature's queen
Will think these emanations pure ascend
By her benignant order, to inspire
Elated thought, that spurns the mundane stage
And soaring, leaves behind the feeble dread
Of chance or change, of conquest or of death!—
Then shall they hymn the bounteous Power that gives
The transitory boon of sensual joy,
And short dominion, with a louder lay
Of triumph o'er their wand'ring foes, who camp
Among the rocks of Gilgal. Should the sons
Of vagrant Israel send their proud demand
With choice of conquest or submission, soon
With high contempt the message will be hurl'd
In proud defiance back.

[Exeunt Asmodai and other Spirits.

SCENE II.

RAMIEL, NERGAL.
Ner.
So far thy matchless wisdom and thy care
For the reception of our Hebrew foes
Have well provided, Asmodai can forge
The viewless chain, which draws the willing mind
Already lur'd by vice, but say, what drug
What mineral charm, or vegetable spell
Can levy the wild passions to engage
In black revolt, where reason, awful queen
Reigns paramount, and pure religion guards
Against surprize, an heavenly centinel
That laughs a siege to scorn?—Thou know'st, the foe
Has gain'd a party even within our walls
A formidable party, tho' its power
Be to a solitary breast confin'd
But that, a match for legions!

Rami.
Far too high
Thou ratest this hindrance, for thou mean'st none else
But Adriel's daughter, by her sire betroth'd
To Abdon! oft with mingled grief and rage
I mourn'd my baffled arts, employ'd in vain
On her,—confusion blast that ancient swain
(If man he was) who her allegiance first
From us withdrew! I saw him, when he came
To Adriel's hospitable dome; with him
The numerous caravans of Elam came
Over the burning waste, secure of harm—
Yet in his garb and dialect was found
The genuine stamp of distant Ind; his cheek
Bore the deep tincture of that fervid clime,
His presence struck, with reverential awe
Of something more than man;—within the bounds
Hallowed by his approach, I durst not shew
My visage tho' disguis'd; The virgin seem'd
With filial duty, mixt with love, to hear
His powerful documents, whate'er they were.—
And since that time, tho' oft in heavenly form
I try'd to touch her heart, and lure aside
Her mind from heaven to her allegiance old,
My charms were all in vain, my arts were lost,—
Had that old pilgrim still attended near
Unseen, with ceaseless vigilance, her heart
Could scarce have been more hostile to the gods
Of her forefathers!

Ner.
At this important crisis, why on her
Employ your thoughts; a maid of humble name
And humbler fortunes? does it aught import
The fate of nations, whether she retract
Her fealty to Israel's god or join
Her country's foes?

Rami.
If old experience try'd
In this dark scene (that long has mark'd the range
Of human fates, and how the ruling hand
Disposes things, as best to suit his scheme
Of spreading o'er the world his hated sway)
May be believ'd, she lives to blast our views.—
Still as the wasteful plague, at his behest
Walks forth to scourge his foes, a welcome beam
Of bright encouragement to those who pay
His laws their homage due, dispells the gloom
Of penal darkness.—Witness Goshen's plains
Sun-clad, while Nile with melancholy roar
Explor'd his passage thro' the mourning lands
Beneath a starless sky, and Sodom's gates
Spontaneous opening to the good man's flight
And closing on his foes with sullen sound,
Reserv'd in durance till th'avenging flame
Descending swept them thence.— And Terah's son
Tho' fugitive, and exil'd in the cause
Of injur'd deity, yet largely blest
With rural wealth. Of his posterity
Joseph, the great support of Egypt's throne
Who o'er his cruel brethren, pin'd with want
The noblest triumph of the mind enjoy'd
The triumph of benevelence and love
From those examples, cull'd in ancient times
This sad conclusion flows, that she perhaps
Who baffles thus our wiles, and singly dares
To boast allegiance to our mighty foe
Among our fanes, is conjur'd up to prove
A bright example of those high rewards
And honours due to those illustrious names
Who singularly good, dare stem the tide
Of vice and folly;—those who dauntless stand
Against the current of a giddy world—
This merits pause.

Ner.
But is there time to pause?
It calls for swift prevention, for this night
As Hesper twinkled in the west, I spy'd
Two strangers, in the garb of rural swains
Approach the gate; their garments, dust-besprent
And parched lips seem'd to tell what length of leagues
Their feet had travers'd, yet they scarce have past
The gate, (and if I guess aright) are come
Spies from the Hebrew camp, in foreign mask
Disguis'd!

Rami.
Oh! let them pass! forbid them not!
—Thou know'st, at this unseasonable hour
None pass the gate, unless the royal sign
Obtain admittance—thou, in herald's guise
Unbar the portal, and to Adriel's house
Instant conduct them!—there the way-worn man
From distant Nilus, with the merchant meets
Who brings the bales of Asia cross the sands
Of sunny Tadmor to the Menphian shore,—
On Rahab there I mean my arts to try
Of various enginry, to threat, to soothe—
Hard, if a female heart can stand the siege
Of such confederates!—

Ner
Why to Rahab's doors
Conduct the strangers? is it meet to bring
Such fuel to her proud rebellious flame
Already blazing far beyond its bounds?—

Rami.
Leave the result to me, on this I build
A scheme for all their ruins, or at least
To bring this virgin, from the ambitious pitch
Of pride and singularity, to find
An humbler portion—and take thou good heed
To guide the strangers hither,—haste away.

[Exeunt severally.

ACT II.

[Scene I.]

Scene—An Hall in the House of Adriel.
[The noise of music and dancing heard at a distance.
ABDON
—ALONE.

[Retires.

SCENE II.

The guests enter, their heads crown'd with wreaths of flowers, they form a circle and sing the following Hymn, Zalmon and Achan, the two Hebrews, at a distance.
[They all pour Libation in their order, one offers the cup to Zalmon, and next to Achan, who both refuse it.
1 Guest.
And who are ye, ungrateful men! who dare
Thus to renounce that loyalty ye owe
To your benignant mother? do ye live
Her pensioners, upon her bounty fed
Each moment of your lives? does every pulse
Bear witness to our Queens maternal love
And can ye still presume to thwart her rites
To check the hallowed harmony that reigns
Thro' this vast city in full unison
Of grateful adoration join'd? declare
Your names and whence you came, that we may learn
In what strange climate of the foodful earth
Our patroness maintains the thankless race
That spurn her bounty, and defy her power!

Zal.
We thank the hand that feeds us; nor deny
Superior goodness and superior power,
Nor are religious rites to us unknown,
Nor are our bosoms so obdur'd by crimes
As to forget to whom we owe ourselves,
And what is ours, but to declare our names
And country, we are yet forbid; our laws
Forbid us also to adore the gods
Of strangers!

1 Guest.
And is Vesta's name unknown
To any people, or to any clime
Is not her bounty felt by all?

Zal.
And much
By some abus'd! but we acknowledge one
No weak dispenser of his gifts to all
Promiscuous, undistinguish'd, as blind chance
Or blinder bounty (without justice) bids.
But one, who in the cause of virtue still
And for her sole encouragement, bestows
His various dispensations, if not here,
At least, hereafter.

1 Guest.
Came you here
To taste our bounty, and insult our ears
With fables of futurity, day-dreams
Implying censure on our conduct? then
'Tis like ye are not what ye seem! perhaps
Wanderers, or spies from yonder Hebrew camp
Egyptian vagabonds, or Arab thieves—
The state shall know you better, haste ye! come!
Seize those profaners of our holy rites
And bear them to the senate.

Zal.
Touch us not—
Our lives are not the playthings of a crowd
Zealots of a dumb idol, or a name
They know not what!

2 Guest.
Why stand ye thus aloof!

Ach.
Because a greater power than yet they know
Restrains them!

1 Guest.
That shall be determin'd soon
To your confusion.

[As they are going to seize them, four young Patricians come in (supposed of the party newly initiated in the secret rites of Vesta) all the guests disperse, except Zalmon and Achan.
Zal.
to Achan.
How the dastards fly!—
Great God! who bade their haughty tyrants shew
Their formidable aspects here, to chace
The trembling cowards hence! thy name we hail
And blest in thy protection stand our ground!

Enter ABDON.
[Exit.
1 Pat.
[Entering and looking around.]
Here late we heard
The voice of Revelry. Now all is hush'd,
And still. The crowd is all dispers'd, but two,
And who are they? They wear a foreign garb! To them.

Say, strangers! where is all the crew who join'd
So late in jovial clamour? hence the noise
Seem'd to proceed, but interrupted soon
By strains, unseemly on this festive night!

Zal.
We know not, we are strangers to your rites,
As to the tenor of your questions.

2 Pat.
Whence,
And who are ye?

Ach.
It boots not to declare
Our name or nation: in this public haunt
Of strangers, and promiscuous guests, from climes
And nations far remote, it were a task
Irksome and endless to enquire their names!

2 Pat.
Do ye presume to dally with your fate,
By dark evasion, and to wear that look
Of proud defiance too? Do ye not know
That in our bosoms rests the dread award
Of life and death?

Zal.
Your hand you cannot stretch
But by permission of an higher power,
And he, besure, will take a strict account
Whene'er against the hospitable law
Ye dare to lift it, or employ its force
To violate the stranger.

1 Pat.
Brother, come—
This is some vender of dry proverbs; fed
By wondering rustics with precarious meals
For selling wisdom by penurious scraps,
In pompous phrase, thro' cots and hamlets poor,
And now, his overweening pride conducts
This pedant to the capital, inspir'd
With empty hope a better mart to find
For his insipid ware.

3 Pat.
Avaunt!

2 Pat.
Begone!
Go hunt for hearers in the sordid haunts
Of rustic wonderment! we have in view
A nobler game!

[Exeunt Patricians.
Zal.
What mean the brain-sick boys,
Is it with native insolence, or wine,
Or the hot sallies of impetuous youth,
Their pride is lifted up so high?—

Ach.
Whate'er
The cause, they seem (all boastful as they are)
Devoid of native courage: did you mark
When you put on that lion-look, which marks
The race of Judah. how the colour fled
From the flush'd check, and Terror took her turn
To dim the sparkling insolence, that flam'd
In every glance?

Zal.
I did.—But all the guests,
Methinks, are fled!—What must the treatment be
That thus has crush'd the manly spirit down,
(And spite of the angelic form) depress'd
To the low level of the trodden worm
That darts into the cover, when he sees
The majesty of man approach! Those slaves
Are hardly worth a conquest, and their blood
Would but disgrace our swords, but that the will
Of heaven ordains to hold the miscreants up,
To after ages, an example dread
Of what they may expect, who float along
In the strong tide of tyranny and vice.—
But hark—a noise within!—We soon shall learn
The glorious cause, which brought those patriots forth,
For what redress of wrongs, what splendid acts
Of charity or valour they forsook,
At this dark hour, the orgies of their gods!

Rahab
within.
Help all ye pitying powers on high! Defend
My weakness, or I'm lost! Oh Abdon, Abdon,
Where at this sad, disastrous hour art thou?
Oh father, father!—But why call in vain
Father or friend, to rush on certain fate?

1 Pat.
within.
No, no—not here—another temple waits
A victim so illustrious! Heavens!—what charms, [She is dragged out by two of the patricians.

What dignity of scorn, what loveliness,
O'er all her form! My struggling fair-one! come,
It grieves us much, that to our lot it falls
To seize you as a criminal of state,
An open scorner of your country's gods!
And you, at this late hour, must come before
Th'assembled states, and answer to your charge.

3 Pat.
Or if your virgin modesty refuse
To grace the senate with your presence now,
Our order is to lead you to a place
Of safety, and attend you there till morn!

Rah.
O thou! who bad'st the Red Sea part before
Thy chosen armies! grant a way for me
To 'scape this shame, or send deliverance down,
From those!—

4 Pat.
Stop her audacious mouth! She speaks
Nothing but blasphemy!

[Zalmon and Achan appear.
Zal.
Thy prayers are heard,
Forsaken maid! but not o'erlook'd by heaven!

Ach.
Heavens! what a form! and is it thus you treat
The stamp of Heaven's own hand, when it appears
Amongst you?

1 Pat.
Who are you? Confusion—Here
Again! Plebeians! go! and find your cells.
What make you here at this dark hour? Avaunt,
Hide your obscurities in kindred gloom,
Or this right hand shall mix you with the dust
From whence you sprung!

Zal.
Unhand your trembling prey
And go in peace! proclaim your glorious deeds
Your piety and justice in the fanes
Of your great deities, with all their priests
Around!—What! has amazement ty'd your tongues?

2 Pat.
[Drawing a sword.
It has not bound our hands, as ye shall find
Audacious ruffians!

Rah.
Oh! in pity, heaven!
Prevent a scene of bloodshed, or let me
Be the first victim!—

3 Pat.
Seeming modesty!
Are these thy favour'd guards? but they full soon
Their proud temerity shall mourn.

[Zalmon and Achan each draw a concealed sword.
Zal.
Fall on!
We are not us'd to tremble at the frown
Of proud nobility!

2 Pat.
Is it even so?

[They engage: Zalmon and Achan beat them off.
Zal.
[To the Patricians going out.]
Nay more—ye violators! learn from us
(And think by us heaven thunders in your ears
The dreadful warning) that your crimes are full
And here your chastisement begins!

[Ex. Patricians.
Ach.
Tongue-valiant heroes! is it thus your hands
Maintain the mischief of your hearts? would heaven
That vice would always vindicate her cause
By such effeminate bravoes, silken sons
Of Luxury and Sloth! They roam the street
At the wild voice of Riot, and appall
With empty threat, the reptile race who chance
To crawl across their way, but shrink before
The warrior's frown, and to their covert fly,
Like timorous deer!

Zal.
To Rah.

Rah.
Nor trust in vain, for lo! benignant heaven
Has deign'd us other aid. Oh Abdon! friend. Enter ABDON and CANAANITES.

Behold and thank my saviours! sent by him
Whose piercing look pervades the deepest gloom,
And smites the ruffian's hand (uprais'd to strike)
With nameless terrors!

Abd.
To that God be praise,
God of the stranger and forlorn! To him
My orisons shall ever rise, his laws
My life shall still obey! Oh take my thanks,
Accept my heart, my life, 'tis yours, 'tis his,
Who nerv'd your arms to combat for a life
So dear to me, and dearer far than life!— To Rahab.

Her honour! In my dread for thee, I flew
To rouse those faithful friends to the defence
Of this asylum of my dearest hopes!
I met the violators in their flight,
But, oh! what signs of horror mark'd their looks,
Distinguish'd thro' the gloom! They were not worth
Revenge! we let them pass, to spread around
The panic where they flew; I thence dispatch'd
A faithful friend, to dog them at the heels,
And give the signal, lest their coward fears
Should yield at last to Reason's calmer sway,
And urge them on to try their fate again
With new confederates, and augmented rage.
Lest this should happen, thou, my love! retire,
And we, assisted by those generous friends,
(But most by that benignant power who led
Their blessed footsteps hither) shall protect
Thy life and honour both!

[Exit Rahab.
Zal.
But, who is he
Who comes with such important looks of haste!—
His eye speaks wonder; but we know not yet
Whether his coming bodes alarm or joy.

Enter ELIEZER.
Abd.
Ha—Eliezer—tell at once what cause
Brings you so soon with such unusual looks
Of terror and surprize? Are we to fly,
Or is our flight restrain'd? Thou wast not wont
To tremble with a woman's palsy thus,
At every rumour!

Eli.
'Tis no trivial cause,
Nor fear, that sent me on such breathless haste.
Let no unfounded terror slack your hands,
There is no cause of dread! The panic cloud
Which lately hover'd o'er this trembling roof,
Invades your foes, and o'er the city spreads
With the contagion of a pestilence,
That walks the streets at noon, and sweeps along
A people with their king!

Abd.
What wondrous cause
Has sent this terror in a moment round?

Eli.
The young patricians, from those doors expell'd,
And baffled in their foul attempt, by powers
Above all mortal prowess (as they deem)
Have found an ebb of insolence, and now
Fanatic frenzy, in full tide, comes in—
Her heady current sweeps away the bound
Of vanquish'd reason. Even the senate reels
('Tis said) beneath her influence, inspir'd
By those intrepid warriors; and the night
Confounding, mingling, magnifying all,
Dilates the deadly phantoms of the mind
To giant size!

Abd.
Oh! righteous Heaven! your names
(More potent than the dreadful syllables
Which call'd the cloud-born pestilence) possess
The force of armies, and unhinge the strength
Of Canaan's noblest state! Say, who are ye,
Angels or men?

Zal.
Whate'er we are, to you
We promise safety, in the awful name
Of him, who scatters armies, with a word,
Potent as whirlwinds, (whose infuriate breath
Levels the woods tall files,) if ye observe
What we direct, and gather all your friends
To this heaven-favour'd roof.

Abd.
I go—I fly.
Haste, Eliezer, help me to collect
The partners of our heart, and of our hope,
Who long have groan'd beneath the lifted scourge
Of our unfeeling lords! yes tyrants! yes
I see, I feel—your doom, at last is near—
The dreadful harvest of your crimes is ripe,
It reaches to the clouds, its root in hell,
Sown by the fiends! but soon the deadly scythe
Of Desolation comes to lay you low
In common ruin, yet I mourn your fall,
And would prevent it if I could!

[Exeunt Abdon and friends.
ACHAN—ZALMON.
Ach.
Now, Zalmon!
Why stand you thus in calm tranquillity,
As if confiding in your strength, you held
The dreadful bolt of heaven yourself?—but think
One moment, think, upon what slippery ground
We stand; our names, our phantoms rather spread
Confusion's panic thro' the streets—afar
We seem terrific shadows thro' the gloom
Of double night, that for a moment lasts,
(This mental darkness, with a starless sky
In horrour blended,) but the springing dawn
Of reason, (which a moment may produce)
A single spark, by accident or chance
Lightning the dusk, will shew us what we are
Detected to the eye of sober sense,
And to mere mortals dwindled down at last,
We that now wear the garb of gods!—what then
Remains, but by a secret embassy
To rouse the slumb'ring host, and lead them on
To take the 'vantage of the dreadful hour
And scale the walls, or force the guardless gates
Ere yet the tumult to a calm subsides
And reason re-assumes her throne?—

Zal.
Shall I
Or thou presume to mix, with daring hand
The little views of human policy
With heaven's tremendous counsels? art thou sure
That these nocturnal stratagems and thefts
Of war, will best fulfil the great designs
Of Providence? Her judgments she displays
Conspicuous in the presence of the sun
Conspicuous, as her mercies!—martial slights
And frauds, she deigns not to adopt, for man
And man's short-sighted wisdom, are forbid
Among the glories of th'Almighty's plan
To mix its earthly, and unhallow'd dregs:
The worldly warriour all advantage takes
To sate his lust of fame, or lust of gold
But we, Heaven's delegates, for nobler ends
Brandish the consecrated steel.—For heaven,
And to assert her violated laws:
Not in vain brass or monumental stone
To rank with demigods, we take the field!—
Not with accumulated plunder gain'd
From burning hamlets, and dismantled towns
To purchase from the mercenary bard
The pomp of adulation.—Nightly frauds!—
Would they not seem as if omnipotence
Wanted the aid of stratagem? would this
Become the dreadful name, or tend to aid
The glorious cause for which he clove the deep
And walk'd the troubled ooze in flames! the cause
Of virtue, of humanity, the cause
Of moral excellence, each heavenly gift,
That lifts us from the dust to tread the stars!—
Leave the result to heaven! the cause is his
And let the means be his!

Ach.
Yet you forget
That in the fervour of mistaken zeal
That errour, which in others you accuse
Becomes your own adoption!—

Zal.
Friend! you speak
In riddles—but explain.

Ach.
You justly blame
That man's presumption, who aspires to mix
His counsels with the deep, mysterious scheme
Of him, whose will determines all below;
Yet you yourself (nay hear me out my friend
With patience!) tho' in piety and zeal
For heaven, to none inferior, yet seduc'd
Even by your boasted piety, presume
Heaven's movements to constrain, to guide the hand
Omnipotent, with dictatoiral voice
Which seems to say, Those are your proper bounds;
This line and this alone, thou shalt pursue;
No star shall gaze on thy nocturnal march!
Night still must slumber on her ebon throne
And ne'er behold thy majesty, amaz'd.—
Thy glories rising with the rising sun
With him shall climb the sleep ascent of noon
And dazzle his meridian beams—is this
The genuine language of thy heart, or no?
Would'st thou prescribe to heaven? wilt thou deny
That this deep frenzy of the soul, that raves
Around those battlements, whose voice even now
We hear,—was sent by heaven, to chace away
The shadow of resistance, and to call
The slumb'ring host, with no unmeaning voice
To seize the instant moment? shall we lose
The crisis by your sloth, or causeless fear?

Zal.
Achan! you know, that heaven, not man—commands
My reverence, and my dread, I fear the taint
Of wrong, and that alone!

Ach.
I know your courage;
I know thou feel'st the honourable dread
Of leaving thy appointed post; but think
What strictest duty claims, nay what our Chief
Himself expects at this important hour!
Say! ought he not to know this sudden change
At this conjuncture, and in judgment sit
Upon the sum of things himself? To him
And not to us, the mighty privilege
Belongs, of judging what is right and fit,
Whether to take advantage of their fears
And pour on his already frighted foes
Treble confusion, or to wait the hour,
When this dread hurricane subsides, and seize
The smiling moment of fallacious calm
With unexpected rage to strike the blow
Like thunder, bursting from a cloudless sky—
Consider this—lest your too rigid sense
Of duty, turn to blame, when Joshua hears
That golden opportunities were lost
By our rash confidence, or coward fear—
For so the world will construe our delay
If we should linger here.

Zal.
But who shall go?
Shall one, or both?

Ach.
Our sudden flight would cause
New panics to the crowd, to find us now
Confronting their patrician pride, and now
Vanish'd they know not how, would make us thought
Somewhat above humanity, and rouse
Their fears to frenzy!

Zal.
But, to leave the maid
In jeopardy!

Ach.
aside.
Ha! is it so! my friend
I fear'd as much!— [To Zalmon.]
and is it here
The zeal of Zalmon points? In Abdon's guard
The maid, I think is safe!—

Zal.
And wouldst thou cast
On me the foul suspicion, that my feet
Are fetter'd by the myrtle bands of love?
That low degenerate passions quench my zeal
For Israel's glory! Tho' to go or stay
Is in my option, and my will mine own
Yet to convine you, and the world, how much
Zalmon the imputation scorns, that love
Should warp him from his duty, (love, by heaven
Unsanctioned) where the voice of glory calls
And Israel's cause, I go, and leave the field
To thee! do thou my friend, respect thyself!
And that ensures thy duty to thy God
To Israel, and thy friend!—I leave to thee
This lovely maid! revere her plighted vows,
Protect her virtues, and regard her love!
Think that her lover is our best ally
And heaven will still protect thee, as before!
I soon will come, before their fear subsides
With a selected band to rescue thee.

Exit.
ACHAN
—SOLUS.
He too suspects my love! yet leaves me here
In full possession of the lovely prize!—
What does this mean? my utmost wish is given—
And why this dread? the vital tide recoils
In hurrying tumult to my labouring heart,
As if I trode a precipice, and saw
Destruction from below! my rivals now
Are both departed, Abdon to select
His friends, and Zalmon, in a few short hours
Will shake these trembling and devoted walls
With Israel's chosen legions in his train—
Golden Occasion smiles and points the prize
Already in my reach, if I but dare
To stretch my vent'rous hand and seize the boon!
But should my pleaded passion touch her heart
And should her plighted faith dissolve away
Before the fervour of my vows, will heaven
Sanction the bold attempt? will heaven permit
Alliance with a gentile?—Yes—our God
Tho' just, is too indulgent to inspire
This fever of the blood, that fires my brain,
That burns in every nerve, and yet refuse
The remedy within my grasp! to pine
To languish thus, and not to try the means
Of cure, were low despondence! but in vain
I now deliberate—good and evil now
And right and wrong, upon a moments point
Revolve in giddy whirl, for Abdon soon
Will come, and with him comes despair and death.—
What noise is that? O lingering fool! behold!
Confusion to my hopes! my rival comes.
Already!

Enter ABDON and CANAANITES.
Abd.
Can we hope, illustrious friend!
Your pardon for our stay? but is thy friend
Our noble guardian, summon'd hence away?

Ach.
He goes
To rouse the bands of Israel; while your fears
Render resistance vain, a few short hours
Will see your boasted bulwarks hemm'd around
By Heaven's own legions!

Abd.
Should they force our gates
Say what ensues?

Ach.
The wasteful rage of fire
And undistinguished slaughter!

Abd.
Can our doom
Be yet delay'd or shunn'd—my country! oh!
Ye palaces! ye heaven-aspiring towers
Ye solemn temples, must ye fall?

Ach.
One way
And only one remains, to save the name
Of Jericho!

Abd.
Give it a name—I fly
To try—if yet within th'extremest verge
Of possibility, it lies.

Ach.
Their doom
By prompt submission to Jehovah's laws
Given without limit, may preserve your lives
And walls.

Abd.
Alas! the haughty senate still
Oppose the general wish, the giddy throng
Of young patricians overbear the vote
Of the pacific few; the priests, inspir'd
With all the bitterness of holy zeal
Oppose the popular tide; even those, who late
Shrunk from your looks with terrour, and repell'd
By you, began to propagate around
Their panics, by the holy Flamen fir'd
Resume their pride, deny their former fears
And put on looks of manhood!

Ach.
Does it seem
To them so easy, with the Syren art
Of courtly sycophants, to turn and sway
The multitude, whose fermentation seem'd
Th'immediate act of heaven?

Abd.
Incens'd by wrongs
They scorn their master's lore, and yet deride
Their menaces and prayers, the lifted scourge
And supple knee imploring!—Priestly arts
And lordly threats alike have lost their power.

Ach.
What, have the masters of the state resolv'd
Submission or defiance?

Abd.
They prepare
To seize the citadel.

Ach.
What influence
Is yours among the people?

Abd.
Till this crisis
I never made th'experiment.

1 Can.
His power
And influence are great, tho' ne'er till now
Even by himself suspected, such the force
Of inborn merit, tho' in humble life!

Ach.
Does the proud senate know his power?

1 Can.
They do,
Or soon at last, shall know.

Achan
to Abdon.
Dost thou affect
Thy country? would'st thou heal her civil wounds,
And ward the certain and tremendous blow
That threatens from abroad? Go—point their danger,
Address the Senate! ask them, if their walls
Can stand before the power, whose lifted arm
Sever'd the main sea for his people's march
And gave their feet to press the unsunn'd sands!
Go tell them how the rolling waves retir'd
Pushed from their poise by the careering winds!
Tell how old Ocean woke, and roll'd his robe
His undulating robe of azure dye
Round his gigantic limbs in haste, and fled
To shun the dread invasion. How aghast
His pale eye from the congregated clouds
Look'd down upon the moving pomp below,
Where o'er his pearly bed, thick trampling march'd
The fugitives of Memphis. In their van
No ensign wav'd, the pride of Tyrian looms
With mimic blazonry, but high above
Streaming long radiance o'er the thick-wore night
Empyreal glory led them! Tell how loud
The billowy pile, that seem'd to quench the stars
Impending hideous ruin o'er their heads
Threaten'd with ineffectual roar, withheld
With strict aereal rein by him who rides
The winds! describe, how unresolv'd, aghast
They stood, till the august orb mov'd along
Like the glad progress of the morn!—exalt
With heaven's own energy thy pompous style
To match the long majestic colonnade!
How their pale fronts the watry mirrours smooth'd
And as the lamp ethereal pass'd, return'd
With interchangeable, broad glance, from each
To each, the polish'd helms, the figur'd shields
And horrent spears, thick-twinkling as they pac'd
In measur'd march along. How Miriam's voice
Led the respondent choirs, as thus they sung
Deep charming the nocturnal march, “Ye sons
“Of Seth! be not afraid!—yon frowning pile
“Of waves, which longs its brother wave to meet
“In loud fraternal ruin, threatens death—
“But not to you!—below yon gloomy arch
“Securely tread, as if the marble gates
“Of Memphis, threw their solemn canopy
“Over your heads, nor tremble when you hear
“The thunder of Busirian cavalry
“Careering thro' the deep.—Their way is dark,
“Presumption leads them on, and she is blind!
“Not so your holy guide? hark how they plunge
“Darkling amidst the hostile brine! and now
“The noise is heard no more, for ever lost
“In that tremendous burst, and loud salute
“Of kindred waves, long sever'd; now combin'd
“That shake the regions round,” such was the scene
My father told, who pass'd the wond'rous vale
With Israel's squadrons, such were then the deeds
That scatter'd terrour thro' the nations round
And shook Arabia's hundred thrones, from Nile
To Jordan! Go! and try its full effect
On Jericho's proud King and Senate stern.—
Bid them observe the thunder as it rolls
Before the bolt descends!—

Abd.
To thee I leave
And heaven, the guard of this beloved roof
And my soul's treasure, the heaven-ransom'd maid
For heaven, when thou art present, hems thee round
With her own legions!

[Exit Abdon.
ACHAN
—SOLOS.
Go—and when those walls
See thee again, may'st thou possess thy love!
But I'll provide for thy security
And teach thee such a lesson as shall lay
Thy stormy passions, all thy hopes and fears
Thy love and, all thy anxious cares to rest.
If thou attend'st to the philosophy
By thy new masters taught! I go to find
The unsuspected means, and then, the fair
(If Zalmon come not with his prouder claim
To thwart my wishes) will reward my vows—
If he delay, the grateful King bestows
The blooming maid; as my discovery's price—
Should Zalmon come, and conquer, yet perhaps
The pious warriour's heart is free! and then—
O, transport! O felicity! he brings
The conquering troops of Judah, and for me
Scales those imperious battlements and gives
The treasure to my arms! It must be so—
I soon will visit this proud fair, and try
Whether (if Abdon were removed,) my suit
Could touch her breast, for, while he lives, he reigns
O'er her soft bosom in full sovereignty
And Zalmon may arrive, the storm of war
May thunder round our gates; her enginry
May shake our turrets, ere a moment's given
To shake her firm resolve!—dead silence reigns
Thro' every room! the place is all my own—
First, I'll secure the lover! then I'll try
If I can fill his room.
The time is fit to touch a virgin's heart
When her nice scruples, and her virgin fears
Are laid to rest, and softer thoughts begin
To spread their downy plumage o'er the mind.

Exit.

ACT III.

Scene First

—A Street in Jericho.
Officers leading two Criminals, (with their faces covered) to Execution, a crowd following.—A fire seen at a distance.
1 Offi.
Now try your spells. ye magians of the Nile!
Try your Egyptian charms! implore your Gods
To loose your chains! evoke the water nymphs
To waft their liquid treasures on the winds
From Jordan's sacred flood, to quench yon flames!
Forbid the rising zephyrs to disperse
Your ashes thro' the sky, for they will hear
That voice which wields these elements at will,
Bid the firm centre yawn, and cast abroad
Her baleful damp, to quench the rising blaze
And deaden with cold touch the vital lamp
In every bosom! ye are dumb, methinks!—
The thunder of your eloquence is mute!
The light'ning of your eyes, that sent around
Pale terrour thro' the trembling state, is gone!
Where are your factions now, that lin'd the streets
And roar'd defiance to their gracious lords
Your shouting crowd?—they follow you along
In abject silence! they who seem'd to doubt
The power of Vesta, they who scorn'd her laws,
With vile ingratitude her gifts receiv'd
Blaspheming the kind donor, learn at last
The impotence of those fallacious Gods
Who late (they hop'd) would loose their galling chains
And sweep away the majesty of state
Down the swoln tide of anarchy!

1 Can.
Great Vesta!
Are these the Hebrew spies? are these the men
From whose terrific eye the warriour fled
Amaz'd, and scatter'd thro' th'assembled state
Their panic fears?—And is it thus at last
The God of Israel vindicates his slaves?

1 Offi.
Learn thou obedience to thy country Gods;
Nor, tho' they seem to slumber, think their wrongs
Forgot! for thee, for all th'offending crew
Who lately seem'd to waver in their faith
They only claim these victims, tho' no less
Than them ye have deserv'd the penal fire!
Go home! be thankful, and adore the power
Who spares the guilty crowd, and gives them space
For penitence,—lead on!—the rising flame
Rebukes our stay! Amasa! let thy care
Disperse the crowd.

[Exit with the Captives and Guards.
2 Offi.
Ye who expect to see
Their God descend to quench the flaming pile
And snatch his servants in a humid cloud
Away,—attend the spectacle! your presence
Will shew your want of faith in Vesta's power
And by your doubts, the seniors of the state
Will judge your loyalty, but ye, whose minds
Submissive to the Gods, repose your faith
On what ye have already seen, the bonds
And sentence of those formidable men
Disperse, and bless the Gods at home.

[Exit Canaanites—one remains with the Officer.
2 Can.
By thee
Amasa! let me not be rashly deem'd
Too idly curious, if I long to know
How the strange revolution found effect
So soon? what unknown energy has turn'd
The popular tide from clamorous mutiny
To speechless fear? In social confidence
We still have liv'd! thy secret thoughts to me
And mine to thee, were manifest as light,
Since the first sacred flame of friendship glow'd
In our congenial minds, in early youth:
I know, and I approve the seniors arts
To keep the vulgar herd in tramels due
Of reverential awe to them. To this
Perhaps the seeming miracle we owe
For I have watch'd the doors of Adriel still
Since the Patricians fled; the doors are clos'd
And all is silent, those Egyptian youths
Could not without the witness of those eyes
Have 'scap'd, nor do they wish to 'scape!

2 Offi.
Art thou
An infidel to Vesta's boundless power?
Could not her potent breath condense the air
Or check the visual ray, and wrap the forms
Of these bold Israelites in tenfold night?
Could she not send from her creative womb
Th'illusive image of applauding crowds
Shouting revolt, and anarchy, to lead
Those Hebrews, in the simulated pomp
Of triumph to the snare, till in the grasp
Of sovereign power, they found their feelings pay
The forfeit of their cheated sight?—

2 Can.
To me
(Who know the arts of Priests) dost thou harangue
On demon-fraud, and spectres, sent to lead
The wildred wretch astray? come, come my friend!
This will not pass with me; the crowd, you know
Is fled, now all is safe, and silent round—
Unfold your stratagem, nor doubt my prudence
I owe the state too much to blast her views
By letting this important secret 'scape!

2 Offi.
I know thee and can trust thee: these who past
And who, by this, have felt the penal fire
Are not of Hebrew race!

Can.
Must then the pile
Of this important state, by guiltless blood
Be thus cemented, while the guilty spies
Escape?

2 Offi.
They were not guiltless, tho' their guilt
Was venial; they were Idumean slaves
The captives of the war. Necessity
Of state oft opes the door to wider wrongs,
The measure had its full effect; you find
How soon it chac'd the giddy crowd away:
Nought else could have assur'd their loyalty
One hour!

Can.
And what becomes of Abdon now
The factious demagogue? the Partizan
Of Israel? he who lately seem'd to look
Contemptuous down on Senates and on Kings
From his gigantic pitch of factious power,
Like him who rides the winds, and bids them range
O'er land and sea, at pleasure? does he feel
His cloudy throne sink from him?

2 Offi.
Yet he knows not
His loss, but (like a man, whose limbs are lopt
In battle, in the fond illusive dream
Still seems to stretch the mutilated arm
And lanch in air the visionary spear
Or bend the shadowy bow,) so he elate
With democratic pride, harangues the lords
In all the extacy of holy zeal
Nor knows what victims in the rising flames
Mock the fine music of his labour'd style
With dying groans! But let us haste and learn
With what respect the masters of the state
Receive his insolent message.

[Exeunt.
Scene—The Senate House.
King of Jericho, and Senators seated.
ELIEL PRIEST of VESTA—ABDON.
Eliel
to Abdon.
[Exit Abdon.

1 Sen.
Sedition seems
To sleep at present, or if yet awake
It dares not own its name, or seems at least
Calmly to wait his answer!

2 Sen.
Let him perish!—
Scatter his blood among the trembling crowd
The shower will lay the tempest, and assuage
Their pamper'd fury! they have neither head
Nor heart, if he be gone!

King.
Another time
Will serve for that, but, fathers, what avails
Our care at home, while with collected rage
Fermenting long, while twice four hundred moons
Have chang'd the face of night, with all the charms
Of Nile, deep freighted, and the plagues that haunt
The burning waste of Araby, the foe
Subdues the mind within, and hangs his spells
Over our trembling heads! must we renounce
The boons of Nature? drink the running stream
And live on pulse? with frozen apathy
Turn from the glance of beauty, and resign
The thrilling transport, if it costs a groan
Or transient pang, to husbands, brothers, sires?—
Must we do this, because a figur'd stone
Deep mark'd with dread and sanguinary laws
(Beyond the power of mortal to observe)
Dropt from a cloud at Sinai? Shall desire
Die in our bosoms, like the withering flower
'Cause some unfeeling demon has proclaim'd
Thou shalt not covet? If the vagrants liv'd
(As they pretend) like grashoppers, on dew
Is that a reason we should spare the flocks
And lusty droves, that roam a thousand hills
Or share them with our slaves?

2 Sen.
We must preserve
The joys for which we live, or life itself
Is scarcely worth the purchase!—Nature made us
For nobler purpose than to sit and pine
For joys beyond our reach, and feast our souls
On Virtue's visionary bliss, on joys
Beyond the tomb! the heartless multitude
('Tis true,) are taught a lesson which befits
Their station, and their views! to them their priests
Must dwell on themes of duty and of right
And bind their souls in shadowy chains at will,
Unbroken till of late. But now some foe
To our repose has sow'd sedition's seed
Among us; even the crowd pretend to see
And feel.

4 Sen.
These tumults are almost compos'd
Thanks to the terrours of the penal flame!
Their habits of allegiance soon will reach
Their old predominance!

1 Sen.
Would we could soothe
Those angry powers, that seem to rule the winds
And waves!

Eliel.
And let them rule the winds and waves!
What! must we dash the overflowing bowl
Of blessing from our lips, because some fiends
Ride the rude winds in wanton merriment
To shake the coral groves below the deep,
And bids the huge and cumbrous wave recede
Before the wild aereal cavalry?—
What if the blue stol'd nymphs of Jordan's flood
By the seductive demon of the air
With Zephyrean pipe allur'd, command
Their fickle urns at will to ebb and flow?
'Tis all Egyptian charms, collusive spells!
Between the demons of the elements
And Moses, their great archimage, contriv'd!
Or his successor! would they cause our dread,
Let them unhinge the world, misplace the poles.
Bid them unroot old Lebanon, and hurl
The hills, with all their load, thro' endless space
Crumble the centre, and dissolve the globe
To its original atoms! can their spells
Do this?
Let them produce a sample of their art
And shake old Vesta's time-establish'd throne!
Till then our faith will stand secure and firm
As Tabor or as Carmel, while the breast
Of our great mother can support the weight!

King.
Speak your opinion, fathers! is your vote
Defiance, or submission? will ye die
Free as ye liv'd, or bend the servile neck
To Pharoah's bondmen?

Senators.
We submit? we cringe
To Pharoah's bondmen! we detest the thought!
Let them dispatch their embassy! display
Their false credentials! we despise them both
While those proud rampires stand!

Enter a MESSENGER, who whispers ELIEL.
Eliel.
Be Abdon call'd.

King.
What message brings your envoy?

Eliel.
All's compos'd—
Let us to Vesta's Fane, and there return
Thanks for the great deliverance!

King.
Lead the way!

[Ex. Omn.

ACT IV.

Scene—An Hall in the House of Adriel.
Enter ACHAN.
ACHAN
Repuls'd! contemn'd! and by a Gentile maid!
And with such dignity of look and mein
As ill befits her humble birth! Oh Fate!
Oh! thou fallacious Power!—whate'er thy name
Who seem'd with ready hand to smooth my way
To transport! thou who led'st my rival hence
And left an open field to Love and me—
Whence these new obstacles? manhood, and pride
And love will tell, they're meant to stimulate
And they shall stimulate!—for oh! her charms
In our last interview, her sparkling eyes
In all their pride of scorn, have waken'd here
A conflagration!—Love and Vengeance calls
And both shall soon be satisfied! The rage
Of Faction slumbers in the streets at last—
Even panic finds a pause, the guests and slaves
Who left the house to mingle with the crowd
Impell'd by curiosity or dread
Will soon return, this moment then is mine!

[Going
Enter ZALMON.
Achan
Aside.
To him.

Zal.
The gates are all beset,
The rampires mann'd, let that apology
Suffice for me! But—or my guess is wrong
Or, if no vision of the night deceiv'd
My sight, I saw you on the point to pass
The bounds of right, and violate the hour
Of virgin privacy, now, what pretext
What artful gloss can palliate this attempt?

Ach.
And who gives thee the privilege to sit
In judgment on my deeds?

Zal.
Thou own'st it then!
That was not needed, for thy looks declare
Too plain, the purpose of thy heart,—and thou
A delegate from Israel, chosen by lot
Mark'd and distinguished by the hand of Heaven
Among those unbelievers, to display
A specimen of sanctity, of truth
And all the dignity of self-command,
To gain their veneration for the laws
Of them, whom Heaven for their forefathers worth
So highly favours!—Thou, at such a time
On such a business sent, to loose the rein
From the wild passions, to profane the flame
Of plighted love, and burst the sacred bar
Of hospitality, and social faith!—
Repent, my friend! and bless that providence
That cross'd th'unrighteous purpose!

Ach.
I deny
The charge!

Zal.
O trifle not with him, whose eye
Pervades the soul! nor aggravate thy guilt
By bold presumption!

Ach.
Who commissioned thee
(If limits are so sacred) to assume
The Levites office? Go! proud moralist!
Go to the camp of Israel, and proclaim
My guilt! But other cares possess thy soul—
—That public love which lately flam'd so high
Has spent its fury, and a gentler spark
Of lambent radiance takes its turn to reign!—
This bids you shun the wide nocturnal range
Thro' perils and thro' foes, to Joshua's camp,
And rather linger round these favourite walks
For some blest opportunity to soothe
The fair one's fears!

Zal.
'Tis well—retort the charge
And spend the precious moments (while we stand
Perhaps, on the tremendous verge of fate)
In fierce recrimination! but thy mind
Acquits me, or if not, when Zalmon's soul
Is better known, perhaps, it may deserve
Thy approbation,—no sinister views
But strong necessity forbade my flight
And sent me here—to save thee from thy self
At present thy worst foe.—Reflect on this!
And learn to know thy friend!

Ach.
Thy words I fear
Are too prophetic!—Pardon my rash tongue
And thoughtless folly!—we already stand
Upon the verge of fate—for hark—the crowd
Returns, as from the gale that hither wafts
Their mingled voices, we may learn!

Enter RAHAB, in great disorder.
Rah.
Oh my protectors! oh my gallant friends
Would Heaven! the life which you so lately sav'd
Could ransom yours! I fear you are beset
And nought your valour will avail if true
The tidings I have heard—and Abdon too
Is absent, who perhaps, could sway his friends
To save you.

Achan
Aside.
Thank my plots! by them a friend
Is lost, who now might shield us!

Zal.
Say, fair maid,
Whence thy intelligence?

Rah.
'Tis needless now
To tell!—but ere these now forsaken walls
Admit their wonted guests, if ye obey
My counsel, and to me intrust your safety,
(Which, as the precious jewel of my soul!
I'll guard, to my best power) I yet may pay
Some part of that vast debt of gratitude
Which, while remembrance lives, I still must owe.

Zal.
Our lives are in the hand of Heaven! to that
We trust! But, it were madness to reject
Thy counsel, beauteous maid! for Heaven perhaps
May to thy pure and guiltless mind, suggest
The means of safety, which, with gratitude
To thee, and to that power, who rais'd our hands
To guard thee, and inspir'd thy spotless mind
With magnanimity to pay the debt
We gladly chuse, and in thy faith confide.—
Yet still, in one essential point, thy will
Must yield to ours—we must not leave these walls—
Heaven's hand can find and guards us here—even here.—
Where we experienc'd late its signal aid—
But to forsake thee here—to leave thy life
Thy precious life, perhaps a pledge for ours—
To fly ignobly, and to gain the camp
Whilst thou, surrounded by thy foes and ours
Art doom'd to pay the forfeit,—this would blot
Our names with endless infamy, the name
Of Israel too must suffer, even the cause
Of God, the cause of virtue, public love
(For which we bear the delegated sword)
Would catch the foul contagion, and become
An object of abhorrence, meant by Heaven
For ends far different.

Achan
Aside.
Then my fears are true
(Were this a time for lesser fears) his heart
Is touch'd, as well as mine!

Rah.
This is no time
For nice punctilio—did I mean to thwart
Your generous purpose, you must wait an hour
Yet more propitious to your flight,, and deign
To take th'asylum, which those walls afford
Till Heaven permits escape. There is a place
As secret as the grave, which even the eye
Of Malice and Revenge's eagle glance
Might scrutinize in vain.

Zal.
But generous maid!
This must be stipulated first—we live
Conceal'd, whilst thou art safe—when danger threats,
Give thou the signal, and we fly to save thee
Not on ourselves presuming, but inspir'd
By confidence in him, who nerves the hands
Of infants, at his pleasure, to subdue
The warriour, clad in steel!

Rah.
What Heaven suggests
I'll do!—but you with resignation wait
The great event, and let no sudden start
Of thoughtless courage—no suggested fear
For me, entice you to forsake your post
Till first you hear the signal; all your hopes
The very crisis of your fate depends
Upon your silence! let not even your breath
Be heard, if possible.

Zal.
Whence has this maid
Such more than manly piety, such faith
And fortitude? O virgin! in thy voice
I hear and I obey the call of Heaven!
But whence this dignity of mind? this sense
Of heavenly interference far beyond
Their faith, who live within the glorious dawn
Of Heaven's illumination?

Rah.
Stay not now
To question, for the time forbids delay.

[Exeunt.
Scene Continues.
Enter ELIEZER.
Enter RAHAB.
Rah.
What mean your dreadful words?
My Abdon lost! Oh Eliezer! say
I have mistook your meaning?

Eliez.
Would to Heaven
You had!—It is a night of dire mistakes
And this had been a blest one! I could wish
That thou would'st guess my errand, without words.

Rah.
What of my Abdon?

Eliez.
Perish he, who first
To his too dauntless mind suggested late
That luckless embassy; some demon told
The jealous Peers, that he was join'd in league
With those audacious strangers, deem'd the spies
Of Israel, whose bold rescue in the face
Of open outrage, fill'd our streets with dread
And turn'd this tide of mutiny against
Our haughty rulers, they, as fame reports
At first were struck with fear, when Abdon's zeal
Display'd their danger in such dreadful forms
As made the boldest quake; but soon 'tis said
On a dark message to Eliel sent
The gallant youth was seiz'd, and waits in chains
His sentence!

Rah.
Oh unhappy youth! what crime
What charge can Malice or Revenge invent
Against him?

Eliez.
Well his innocence is known
Even to his bitterest foes, but other captives
Groan in the self-same danger!

Roh.
Who are they?
Concerns it me to know? can there be grief
Beyond what I have suffered?

Eliez.
I were cruel
To aggravate your woes! but on the verge
Of fate your safety stands, and it depends
On you perhaps, to turn the dubious scale—
Reflect on that, let that support your mind
Under a second blow!

Rah.
I stand prepar'd—
Whate'er the dreadful certainty, suspence
Is worse.

Eliez.
Thy reverend father too is join'd
In equal doom!

Rah.
And why do I remain
Exempt from bonds, when all I held most dear
Are in the grasp of fate!—

Eliez.
Thy hands, perhaps
Are by the bounteous gods at freedom left
To loose their chains, else I had never come
Th'unwelcome messenger of ill to thee—
Those strangers, who are deem'd the lurking spies
Of Joshua, yet perhaps, within the walls
Remain—for all retreat is closely barr'd,
'Tis true, they have protected thee from worse
Than death, and thou might'st seem by every tie
Of gratitude and friendship bound to aid
Their flight, but Piety's superior laws
Thy country's claims; thy faith to Abdon vow'd
Silence the claims of pity! at this hour
The scrutiny begins, and in those bounds
They cannot rest secure; but let thy zeal
Prevent the search! explore their secret haunts!
(If yet these walls contain them) and resign
Thy captives to the king, thy promptitude
And filial piety may calm their rage,
Prevent undue suspicions, which prevail
Of thy apostacy from Canaan's Gods,
And gain the captives freedom, else their lives
Perhaps may pay the forfeit! I decline
The sight of strangers—mark my last advice
And use the precious moments as becomes
The daughter and the spouse! I must begone!
For some are entering whom I must not see!

Rah.
O let thy presence aid me!

Eliez.
While I'm free
I can assist you still! I might be deem'd
Abdon's accomplice, as I'm known his friend
If I should be observ'd, adieu, adieu!

Exit.
Rah.
O dreadful turn of fate! O test severe
Of filial duty! what shall I resolve
At this tremendous moment? but no time
Is left me to resolve!—perhaps the flame
The penal flame, so lately fed with gore
Waits for another victim! Righteous Heaven
Why this sad interruption? but 'tis sent
Perhaps in mercy! for it saves my mind
From instant desperation!

[Goes apart.
Enter GUESTS, CANAANITES, Slaves of ADRIEL, &c.
1 Guest.
A dreadful inquisition is begun,
Even now, (it seems;) by order of the state
For other spies, suspected from the camp
Of Israel, and perhaps, those walls may feel
The scrutiny!

2 Guest.
The search is now afoot!

1 Can.
Thou tell'st the fact, as if it nought concern'd
The inmates of this house; but thou, and I,
And all, have cause to tremble at the tale.

2 Guest.
Are we concern'd? are we of Israel's stock
Or Canaan's? does the mark of treason glow
Upon this front? if strangers suffer here
Rude violation, then adieu to all
Your commerce and your hospitable fame
From Nile to Ganges spread!

1 Can.
Hear and reflect!
The danger is but transient, yet the wise
Seek the next shelter even when summer brews
The short-liv'd hurricane; a few dark hours
Are past, since here those fugitives or spies
(Whate'er they were,) reign'd paramount, and chac'd
The proud patricians, (sons of violence)
In terrour from their meditated prey—
Hither, be sure, this dreadful scrutiny
Led by the Flamens, and vindictive Peers
Will soon arrive, and who will stand the brunt
Of this dire inquest? say will you, or you
Natives or strangers? nought will then avail
The protestations of our innocence,
And zeal for Canaan's Gods! we will be deem'd
Part of the factious crowd, the partizans
Of Israel and abettors of the flight
Of those suspected spies.—If none are found—
What tortures then will be our doom; what pangs
To force confession of our fancied guilt?—
Safer for us to tread the rocking soil,
When minerals boil below, than dare the storm
Whose gathering gloom already darkens round
This destin'd spot! but if my counsel weighs
With any, let us leave this dangerous ground—
—Strangers and natives, Canaanites and guests
All share one general peril!—Adriel's head
Will pay the bloody forfeit for the spot—
—A deadly spot, accurst by all the Gods,
On which his habitation rests! the search
Will instantly begin, and can we stand
Thus lingering?—are you bent to meet the rage
Of arbitrary power and priestly zeal?
Are you ambitious on yon flaming pile
To mark again the watches of the night
With dying shrieks for Moloch?—will ye stay
And perish, or escape and shun the doom?

2 Can.
We take your counsel, brother!

1 Can.
What say ye
Ye strangers; will ye share your fate with us—
Ye will be deem'd associates with the spies
And may expect a more relentless doom
If here you stay!

1 Guest.
'Twere madness to neglect
Your sage advice, we go,—conduct the way.

Ex. Omnes.

ACT V.

Scene Continues.
RAHAB
—ALONE.
And am I left alone to face the storm
Of priestly rancour, and of kingly rage?
Shall I pursue their flight! and leave my guests
To certain death? my guests, whose confidence
In me have kept them here! my guests whose lives
For me, were first expos'd? By generous care
Of me, those gallant strangers have become
Obnoxious to the state! they might have 'scap'd
All observation, and have pass'd the gates
Unnotic'd as the vulgar herd, that crowd
This mansion daily, had they brook'd the sight
Of violation, with unkindling hearts,
And unavenging hands; and they must die,—
And I must be their murderess!—so the fates
And cruel duty bid, yes—I must be
A traitress, or a parricide!—Oh Heavens
How shall I bear the thought! a bleeding father
A mangled lover; and shall I—shall I
Endure such weight of horror and preserve
My intellects!—But let me pause awhile
And at the stillness of this solemn hour
When not a friend is near, with mental beam
To guide my fault'ring feet, let me address
My fervent sorrows to the fount of light
To dispossess the darkness of the soul
And shew me what is best; to him the day
And darkness are alike, the mental eye
Contemplates him, when outward things are hid
Behind the deep nocturnal veil! A guide
Like him, altho' he points a painful path
Must lead me right—O thou great origin
Of rectitude and truth, do thou preside
O'er my deliberations, whilst I weigh
Duty with duty in th'unbyast scale!
Be still ye stormy passions! leave my soul
Blest with that sacred calm, where Reason's light
And favouring conscience, with unruffled beam
Enlightens, like twin stars, the tranquil mind!
While I pursue the solemn scrutiny
With all my mental powers, as best becomes
One, early nurtur'd on the sacred lore
Of truth! Oh that my old and reverend guide
Were present now!—but he to all effect
Is ever present, while his precepts live
Within this bosom! Let me then suppose
His exhortation in this strain to run:
“Those towers are doom'd to ruin, and the state
“To swift perdition, like the flaming walls
“Of old Gomorrah; of this awful truth
“Thy heart is well convinc'd—the Hebrew spies
“(By their commander sent to mark how far
“Destruction's line must range,) amid the storm
“Of faction, and Patrician rage, enforc'd
“With priestly vengeance, yet have brav'd the blast
“And still must brave the malice of their foes
“(Their foes with hell combin'd) for all their hairs
“Are numbered!—and would'st thou, defying Heaven
“Desponding in her aid, to human threats
“Or all the rancour of the fiends, betray
“Thy sacred trust? What tho' thy sire is bound
“And Abdon; thy mistaken piety
“Might fail to free them,—should thy female fears
“Resign the great deposit, art thou sure
“Thy resignation would redeem their blood?
“And wilt thou, to secure a dubious good
“Risque an undoubted crime? suppose it true
“(As yet 'tis doubtful) that thy friends are held
“In durance, does it follow they must fall
“Unrespited and unrepriev'd? some time
“At worst will be allow'd, and Israel's host
“May interpose to save them if the spies
“Escape to expedite their march.—Already
“As if secure of conquest, have they told
“The means, to save thy few remaining friends
“Amid the general ruin, when the sons
“Of Jacob with commission'd sword and flame
“Purge the pollutions of the land!—this roof
“Must then be their asylum, as the ark
“Of Noah, sacred, and secure from harm,
“When nought but desolation reigns abroad
“In solitary pomp, with horrour crown'd.—
“Then like that sacred Germ of nations sav'd
“From the great world of waters, dark and deep,
“These walls, the refuge of the righteous few
“Shall be the cradle of the nascent state,
“From piety deriving manners pure
“Their love of God, express'd by love of man.”
Shall I the pupil of ignoble Fear
Renounce this elevated hope? Shall I
Renounce the glorious privilege, to hear
My name among the godlike train enroll'd
Restorers of the nations?—shall I plunge
Myself, and the sad remnant of my friends
My father, and my lover too, as seems
Most like, by these prophetic strangers words,
In general ruin, from my faith's first vows
Led by a fleeting shade of hope?—perhaps
(And surely, Heaven suggests the glowing thought
For it expands my soul) this tryal comes
Like that to Israel's parent, when the voice
Of Heaven demanded his beloved son!
A victim on his altars, soon his faith
His piety, his resignation met
An heavenly meed; and I, inferior far
May also save a parent and a spouse
Without the odious taint of perfidy.
When every human hope expires, that hand
Which with aereal bridle held the wave
From its long menac'd fall, can shake those tow'rs
And whelm their impious fanes upon the heads
Of their blind worshippers!—But oh! my heart
Recoils—down, down the lofty fabric falls
Built by presumptuous hope! my reverend sire
My Abdon! must I risque your precious lives
On such precarious venture Oh! thou Power
That rul'st the world within, compose my thoughts!
Teach me the heavenly art to reconcile
My warring duties! But I hear th'approach
Of trampling feet: prepare thee O my soul
For this great tryal! and thou God unknown
(Whate'er thy name) thou judge of right and wrong
Whom from my infant years I worshipp'd still
With purest zeal! Oh deign this gracious sign
To point my duty, and thy will to show
Whether thou meanest thy servants should escape
Or sigh the slow revolving hours away
In cruel bondage! when the guards arrive,
With seeming boldness I shall dare the search
And shew no sign of dread, if they, deceiv'd
By the tranquillity that marks my look,
Retire, without a scrutiny, O then
To thy protection, Israel's God! to thee
Who sav'd young Joseph; and the infant son
Of Amram from the bloodhounds of the Nile
I leave the precious pair in charge, assur'd
That what thou will'st is best—if they persist,
In their inhuman purpose, and explore
With curious eye, each dark recess, my heart
(Tho' with reluctance) to their doom resign'd
Will deem that thy eternal wisdom means
By other hands to save the chosen pair
And then, in calm expectance shall I rest
Of some new revelation of thy will!—
But I can never, never, bring my voice
To form those hateful and perfidious sounds
Which give my benefactors up to fate—
And ere my trembling hand has power to point
Their dark asylum out—may palsies blast
Its future motion!—now I am resolv'd—
Ye demons! send your ministers of wrath!
Assemble all your terrours, try your wiles!
I feel that heaven-sent energy within
That baffles all your stratagems, and here
The contest opens, but th'event is Heav'ns!

Retires.
Enter GUARDS.
1 Gua.
Ha, this is wonderful! where are the crowds
Who fill'd those rooms with barb'rous harmony
Hymning the bounteous mother of the tribes
Of life and vegetation? all is dark
Silent and lonely! not a voice is heard
Nor face appears! either the Hebrew spies
Have chosen a lucky moment to escape
Or some new wonder by their God display'd
In their protection, has expell'd their foes.

2 Gua.
Enter RAHAB.

Rah.
Oh may it not affect the precious lives
For which I will implore the King, the state,
That they are now beyond your reach and mine!

1 Gua.
How did they 'scape?

Rah.
Let not the censure fall
On me, if female terrour tied my tongue
From giving the alarm, when even our guests
And slaves (as you behold) are fled!

1 Gua.
But tell
Did they, confiding in your fears, depart
In bold defiance of opposing powers
In public, unmolested?

Rah
What I know
My duty bids me tell! I did not see
Their flight, I was not station'd here their guard;
But is it probable, that strangers, guests
That menials, void of manhood, as of worth
Could stand the terrour of their deadly looks
When warriours fled amaz'd! But oh my father
My Abdon! where are they, what dungeon's gloom
Contains them? can you tell, what sentence waits
Their guiltless heads?

2 Gua.
Unless the spies are found
(With whom thy friends are held accomplices)
I would not have their fears for all the wealth
From Ganges to the Nile!

1 Gua.
Hard of belief
By nature, I am apt to doubt report—
How could they pass our loftiness of wall
Which but the winged vagrants of the sky
Nought can surmount? did that aereal siend
(Whom as 'tis said, they serve) with some new spells
Fledge them with pinions to ascend the clouds
And mock our vengeance, or conduct them down
A subterranean pass, like eyeless moles?
The bounteous mother would not see profan'd
The awful boundaries of her unsunn'd realms
By visitors so hated: hence, I deem
They still are here conceal'd!

Rah.
Pursue your search!—
If aught you find to taint my innocence
Let me be doom'd with Abdon [aside] their design
Is to enforce discovery, by these threats,—
Not meant to be accomplished; and kind heaven
At last will save my friends—

2 Gua.
to the first.
Her confidence
And unembarrass'd air amaze my soul!
The spies are 'scap'd—or soon her piety
Her love of Abdon, and her female fears
Had mark'd the secret, were they here conceal'd.

1 Gua.
Yet were they gone, her fears for Abdon's life
And for her aged sire, had shown their power
By stronger symptoms!—

2 Gua.
to Rah.
Young dissembler! say
What mean you thus to dally with the fate
Of all that's dear, at such a time as this?

1 Gua.
This is no time to trifle; our return
Ere this is look'd for; wilt thou lead the way
And shew the dark recesses of thy house?—
(They may be here conceal'd unknown to thee)
Let us complete the search?

Rah.
It suits not me
A virgin and alone, at this dark hour
To take a part in such a scene, but go—
No bolt nor bar prevents you! every door
Is open, as you see!

3 Gua.
An easier call
(If here they lurk) may bring them to our lure,
And save our time and toil?

2 Gua.
What dost thou mean?

3 Gua.
You know how fierce their Hebrew spirits flam'd
Contemning all disguise, when late the Lords
Meant to have borne this lovely prize away!—
She too is charg'd with treason to the state
And to the Gods: if we should bear her hence
The slightest shew of violence to her
Her struggles and her cries, (if she resist)
Would have th'effect of lightning, and soon rouse
The lions from their dens.

1 Gua.
This is no time
For such experiments!

3 Gua.
I serve the state,
And scruple not to use whatever means
Can to her service best conduce!

[Seizes Rahab.
Rah.
Ye powers
Of Heaven! look down and succour, since no friend
On earth is left me.

[Thunder and lightning—the guards stand aghast.
1 Gua.
Oh Ashtaroth! what may these terrours mean?

Rah.
Thanks to th'eternal powers, which, twice this night
Have listn'd to a trembling virgin's prayer.

1 Gua.
to third
I knew your violence would wake the wrath
Of some offended God—pursue the search!
Tho' that I fear is vain!—

2 Gua.
Pursue the search!
Bid me to meet the anger of our lords!
They are but men, and bounded in their power
But to defy the lifted bolt of Heaven
To rush on sure destruction, is above
My daring!

4 Gua.
What if now the sulph'rous stores
Of Heaven are opening, and our doom begun,
Like ancient Sodom?

5 Gua.
Whether here or hence
Those terrible divinities, who sav'd
Their lives, so oft in jeopardy this night,
Protects them still!

Rah.
aside.
Oh heavenly truth! compell'd
From impious lips! even the profane confess
The hand of Heaven!

1 Gua.
Then what detains us here
When our destruction, like a whirlwind, soon
May overwhelm us! let us hence and tell
Our success to the state!

2 Gua.
If they should doubt
Our truth, let these undaunted lords who know
The spot, who lately show'd their prowess here,
Let them, who know the persons of the spies,
And from a legion, by their guilty looks
Could easily select them—let them come,
And try their fate on this distinguish'd field.
I war not with the fates, remain who will!

[Exit Guards.
Rah.
Author of Nature! thou hast heard my prayers,
Thy answer came in thunder—but to me
More welcome than the shepherd's pipe at morn!
I pray'd, that if you meant your servants 'scape,
These ruffians, eager in the scent of blood,
Who snuff the coming slaughter like the breeze
From Sharon's vale, should faulter in the chace,
Thou spok'st the word, they trembled and they paus'd!—
—So ought not I to pause, the thunder's voice [Thunder again.

Again, and louder, warns me hence to aid
The Hebrews' flight, while terrour chains their foes.

[Exit, and returns with Zalmon and Achan.
Rah.
Your trust in heaven is not in vain, behold
Its terrours march before you, and prepare
Your way! Deliverance comes in lightning clad,
And arm'd with thunder, where it leads, pursue
With boldness! I have seen the guards retire
Aghast, before the winged flame that sweeps
Yon battlements which overlook the roof
And every pass command! the midnight storm
Has left an awful solitude around.—
Where on the city walls our rafters lean
There is a window unobserv'd, but full
In view, if any watch'd; thro' this a cord
Provided by my care, shall bear your weight
Safe down the dizzy height, till on the ground
You fix your feet, then speed you to the plain.

Ach.
But you are still in danger!

Rah.
Let no thought
Of me, delay your flight—the guards but now
Were here, intent to search with rigid care
Where'er suspicion pointed, but the voice
Of Heaven no sooner thunder'd in their ears,
Than all aghast they fled. No doubt remains
But long ere this the panic has begun
To seize their Lords, and each vindictive thought
Is swallowed up in fear, they have no time
At this dread crisis to enquire of me
Or punish misdemeanours; on your faith
And not on them, my future hope depends
And on your God!—They are below my dread.

Zal.
And God so deal with us as we preserve
This house of refuge!—this asylum pure!
And all, who share your blood, or by the ties
Of nobler friendship join'd, (the ties of soul)
Claim your protection—Now adieu! may Heaven
Continue still to guard you, and display
The merits of thy boundless trust in Him
Which draws the wonder of applauding saints
Even thro' this midnight gloom! it soon shall vye
With the meridian splendours of the sun
A bright example to the nations round!

[Ex. Spies.
Enter ELIEZER.
Rah.
They are escap'd, and all is safe!
But what again brings Eliezer here
So soon, and with such signs of deep despair
Stampt on his visage! Oh, I fear the worst!

Eliez.
Aside.
My mercies must be cruelties! To find
Her guilt, or innocence, I must at once
Divulge the fatal news.

Rah.
What hopes, my friend,
Of Abdon's pardon or escape?

Eliez.
Thy sire
And Abdon soon will 'scape, and soon defy
The proud Patricians utmost rage!

Rah.
I like
Thy message, better than thy looks!

Eliez.
My looks
Bely not my intent! Thy Hebrew spies
Are 'scap'd, however, if their happy flight
Can recompense the loss!

Rah.
Of what! oh speak!

Eliez.
I have no heart to tell thee! thou wilt know
Too soon! Conceal thee quickly. Vengeance calls
Upon thy name, and brands thee with the stain
Of parricide. I would not have thy blood!
And must not here be found.

[Exit.
Rah.
And let them come, I will not once attempt
To hide me from their rage! A parricide!
Adriel! it cannot be! and Abdon too,
Fall'n in the cause of Israel, fall'n to save
These spies' devoted heads! and I to screen
My country's foes! and let a father's hairs
His few grey hairs, sink to the grave in blood!
Is this the way that heaven rewards its friends
In Israel's cause! itself the cause of heaven!
No matter! soon a teacher will arrive
Whose bloody steel will cut the gordian knot
Of those dark topics, and I'll rest in peace.—
Make haste, ye ruffians, seize the parricide!
I would not live had I a thousand worlds
Giv'n me to live beneath the horrid sense
Of such an imputation! Ought I not
(If I must die) to try if yet my blood
Can save my sire's? the blow may not be given.
It cannot be! I go, I fly to save him,
And crown my fall with glory! But again [Thunder.

The awful noise of heaven is heard—again
Its lightning darts around—oh no, this blaze
Of glory comes not from contending clouds!—
What heavenly visitant is this! O spare,
Spare me if I have sinn'd! ANGEL.

Be not dismay'd!
Thou more than conqueress in the cause of truth!
Know thine own merit and the just applause
Thy faith, thy conflicts, and thy strength of mind
(The glorious harvest from the heavenly seeds
So early sown) have won; they are the themes
Of more than mortal minstrelsie;

Rah.
O thou
The messenger of other worlds, that tellest
Of things beyond the stars! hast thou beheld
The secrets of the dungeon? Hast thou heard
A father's murder, calling for revenge
Against an impious daughter?

Angel.
Check thy tears,
And tell thy anxious heart thy father lives!
He lives in bonds, but soon a viewless hand
Shall shake his prison walls without a blast
To ruin, and the reverend captive free.—
Thy Abdon martyr'd in the glorious cause
Has seal'd his testimony with his blood.
This was conceal'd from thee! Thy love, perhaps,
Had led thee to have shar'd his fate, thy zeal
Could not have sav'd him, tho' it sunk thyself
In ruin! But be comforted, he lives
Who can supply his loss—an Hebrew chief,
Matchless in worth, and terrible in war,
Soon shall awake the deep-mouth'd storm that lays
These rampires low! his kind protecting hand
Shall guard thee thro' the hurricane, and raise
Thy humble fortunes from their lowly state
To match with kings, a name above all kings
Shall grace thy lineage and extend his sway
O'er nations yet unborn, and climes unknown.

THE RIVALS,

A SACRED DRAMA.

THE RIVALS,

A SACRED DRAMA.

PERSONS.

• Joshua , General of the Israelites.
• Phineas , the High Priest.
• Zabdi , a noble Israelite of the house of Judah.
• Zalmon , representative of the eldest branch of Judah.
• Achan , son to Zabdi.
• Aboliah , an herald.
• Phanuel , a Zidonian proselyte.
• Israelites.

[ACT I.]

Scene.—A Camp: the Ruins of Jericho, seen at a distance.
JOSHUA, PHINEAS, ABOLIAH, the Leaders of the ISRAELITES—The Army drawn up in Battalia.
Military Music.
Joshua.
Cease your vain minstrelsie! nor raise the wrath
Of Heaven with sounds profane!—for, if I judge
Aright, all is not harmony within!— [Music ceases.

Can it be so, ye Israelites! that you,
For whom th'eternal laws that rule the globe
Suffer tremendous change, that you for whom
The waters rose in chrystal pride, yon walls
In all their pomp of loftiest masonry
Sunk to the level of the stagnant pool
That you, in heavenly favour rank'd so high,
Cloth'd in such dreadful dignity, should dare,
In proud defiance of Heaven's late commands,
To long for tinsel toys, for glittering gems
That shed below a pale fantastic day
Thro' subterranean worlds, in dubious gleam?
You that were born to gaze on yonder sun
And lift your glory to the wondering stars!
Degenerate warriours, can you thus forget
Already the Almighty hand which laid
Yon rampires low! if ye provoke him far
Your secret prayers may draw his vengeance down
By granting what you wish, the yawning earth
May send you down, with living eyes, to see
The sunless scenes, where Mammon sits in gold
Amidst his mineral glories high enthron'd
In the mock splendours of malignant light,—
Dread this, ye rebels!—Are the cohorts gone
To summon Ai's proud sons?

Abol.
They are, my Lord!

Jos.
We dread the consequence, unless your tears
And penitence appease the Power incenst
Who led us here! Yet still he condescends
By me to warn you, nay, more humble still,
He means to your own reason to submit
The motives of your mission, and his wrath,
Against the nations round! He chuses no:
By regal interdict your hands to bind,
Nor deign to tell you why. He now repeats
By me his motives, tho' vouchsaf'd before,
To bend your stubborn minds (if aught can bend)
Or leave you nought to plead. 'Twas not for spoils,
'Twas not to fight amid the raging flames
For molten ore. 'Twas not to strip the dead,
And load our groaning waggons with the stores
Of sacrilege—from Baalim's shrines to rend
The offering of pollution, silver, gold,
And gems, (by vice and idol rites profan'd)
For which from trembling Nile, the hand of Heaven
Led us thro' high suspended seas, that flank'd
Our passing files with horrours all their own!—
'Twas not for this the sovereign voice of heaven
Summon'd the sounding waters from our way—
Upon th'eternal turbulence of floods
Imposing solemn pause. 'Twas not for this
Yon well-compacted masonry, that slept
For many a slow-revolving moon unmov'd,
In rigorous repose, at the dread sound
Of Aaron's hallowed trumps forget to sleep,
And left their limy beds in dreadful dance
Like Nature's last convulsion! Had the will
Of Heaven design'd to give us splendid seats;
In silken luxury to lap our limbs,
To bid us court the gales in groves of palm,
Or citron shades beside meand'ring rills,
To form our beds of down, to bind our brows
With gemmy lustre, and to load our board
With all the luxuries of sea and air,
With all that haunt the streamlet and the grove:
For this, he might have led us to the springs
Of Nile, or sent us west to fix our seats
On Tingitana's fair Atlantic shore,
Where still th'indefatigable soil
Teems with her annual bounty, unimpair'd,
Her plains with harvests deep, her jocund hill
With viny chaplets crown'd, and olives gay.
—But it was not for this that Israel's god
Selected us among the numerous tribes
That roam the face of earth; his favouring care,
Not always by such blessings is dispens'd—
They often snare the soul! It was to keep
His sacred law inviolate, and pure,
Which figures scenes more splendid yet to come.
—It was, by our high-fortun'd state to shew
The nations round what glories crown the heads
Of the obedient, we his instruments
Of equitable wrath and vengeance just
Were sent to scourge his foes, to seize the soil
Which thro' their crimes, (if they persist in crimes)
They forfeit to their founder: should we seize
The glittering spoils selected from the war
The price of blood and tears, oblations meet
For these fell spirits, whose polluted fanes
Their treasures deck'd (fit bribes to conjure down
Their demon favours on the future deeds
Of violence and outrage) should the tribes
Of God, with such vile dross profane their hands.
Soon the contamination from the palm
Would reach the deep-infected mind, and taint
The chosen people with the sin that drew
Perdition on our foes. Then obloquy
Would hunt along our execrated names
From age to age, with this well-earn'd reproach
“These are the hypocrites, that scourg'd the world,
“Pretending Heaven's commission, to destroy
“His foes, and thro' the nations to dispense
“Heaven's vengeance at their will: but lust of gold
“Not love of right, nor piety impell'd
“Their furious expedition, else their care
“Had shunn'd the taint of crimes which they themselves
“Were sent to punish, not to patronize.
“Thus Heaven is partial, or they too had felt
“For their foul deeds, her vengeance in their turn,
“Or all is by the hand of Chance dispens'd!”—
Thus were Heavens' name blasphem'd, her holy law
Brought into foul reproach by us, whom Heaven
Had like a flaming beacon on a hill,
Sent, as a warning to the nations round
Of kindling wrath!—
Beware then—lest your waning light be lost
In dim eclipse, and Stygian fogs obscure
Your luminary, till it sets in night,
Primæval night, and Heaven's impartial hand,
Select another lamp to shed around
The mental beam unsullied—would you shun
This foul reproach and ruin;—would you wish
To keep th'unutterable name unblam'd?—
Teach your hands continence! instruct your eyes
To view the pride of Tyrian looms, the stores
Of Babylon, of Ormus, and of Ind,
Without a languishing unsated gaze,
So shall Jehovah lead your armies forth,
So shall your heaven-commission'd sabres wear
An unabated edge, and Canaan's tribes
Sink at the growing terrours of your name!

Phin.
Joshua! Your dread remonstrance has expell'd
(If I conjecture right) the lurking pest,
If any yet remains,—the signs of awe
And penitence pervade the mighty host!

Josh.
'Tis well! it were a shame, that Gentile breasts
Should own a sense of duty, far beyond
Our feebler feelings! think on Rahab's worth!
Think on what bribes she scorn'd, her parent's life,
Her lover's (not to speak of meaner things,
Riches and honours) had she broke the laws
Of hospitality, and given our spies
To Canaan's rage!—Her piety to heaven
Preferr'd the sacred voice of sovereign truth,
Of pure unbias'd reason! Be it thine,
Aboliah, to take care, that with respect
Worthy her merit, the distinguish'd fair
May be receiv'd!

Abol.
Your orders are obey'd.
The gratitude of Achan for a life
Redeem'd by her, has tax'd his diligence
To match the maid's reception to her worth.
—His cohorts form her guard, in all the pomp
Of eastern majesty, as if some queen
From distant Aram, or from Elam's plains,
Had deign'd to visit us!

Josh.
Some future time, we will consult the means
Her merit and her suffering to reward.
—Meantime the evening sacrifice awaits
Our presence, let the general host attend!

[Military Music. Exeunt.
Scene.—Another part of the Camp.—Same prospect.
PHANUEL, ACHAN.
Phan.
Despise his menace! what concerns it thee,
Who, when the awful interdict was given,
Wast absent? What was done, thou well may'st plead,
Was done before the mandate met your ear!
You were employ'd on an important charge
Apart, the care of Rahab! that may calm
Your fears, if any terrours yet remain.

Ach.
My former doubts are nearly all dispell'd,
Whether celestial vengeance min'd yon towers,
Or if they fell by chance, seems dubious yet.—
For grant the first, that unremitting hand
That checks the torrents roar, and whelms the mound
Before our dreadful march, benignant, seems
My secret views to favour: All my hopes
Seem ripening fast—my eldest rival fell
In yon proud city's ruin; at my word
The snares of death enclos'd him, nor was I
To blame! I only gave his frenzy way,
And he himself, with voluntary hand
Drew down perdition, by his country's love
(Vain meteor) led to fling his life away!—
But when I weigh my merit with the worth
Of Rahab; when I think on Zalmon's love
I feel despair with chilling hand arrest
My heart, and blast the spring of all my joys!

Phan.
Your humbleness of mind has had its use.
Even your desponding thoughts have urg'd you on,
To lay your basis firm and deep, beyond
The storm of Fortune, or the sapp of Fate.—
Nor yet indulge these fears! when they prevail
They check the active powers! attend to Hope,
And hear what she suggests! Could Heaven dispose
The chain of things, that since have come to pass,
More prosperous to thy view? The priestly hand
(As if the plunder'd gold had touch'd his palm)
Has cast the lot on Zalmon, to conduct
Our chosen legions to the fields of Ai,
Your second rival leaves the lists to thee.
The lovely maid is left within thy guard,
But thou, as if with him thy better mind
Were fled, in ling'ring doubt mispend'st the hours
That courts thee to thy hopes! Address the fair
With all the fervency of love, assail
Her yielding heart; you own she has not yet
Repell'd your vows, nor shewn the least surmise
That she suspects thee for her lover's fate.

Ach.
She does not. But the time is adverse yet,
To amorous parly, while the recent loss
Of that lov'd youth, with all the tyranny
Of grief, usurps her soul: a day will come
To dry her tears!

Phan.
And Zalmon may return.
—Thus to the negligent, or fearful man,
Fresh obstacles spring up, like noxious weeds
That choke the sluggard's field!

Ach.
I dread his worth,
'Tis true; and his is not a heart that scorns
The softer passion! But my hopes arise
From this reflection, that his bosom burns
With fiercer flame for glory, which he calls
A godlike zeal. In him the mighty minds
Of all his great progenitors survive,
And oft the splendid prospects of our tribe
Mount his aspiring soul above the moon.
His is the elder branch, the regal rod
By Jacob promis'd to great Judah's line,
He deems will grace his progeny at last!

Phan.
His pride may here deceive him! To the line
At large the promise is bestow'd, and thou
Claim'st equal right with him, for in thy veins
Flows the pure blood of Phares, as in his.—
In Israel oft the younger has usurp'd
His elder's birthright, by his merits won—
Witness your great progenitor himself,
Who won the blessing, by old Isaac meant
For his degenerate brother.

Ach.
This when time
Accords. But, meantime, be it far from me
To thwart his princely pride with any claims
Of mine, ambitious to transmit the line
To after ages pure! Be mine the task
With recent fuel still to feed his pride;
On this I'll build, with cautious vigilance.—
To be prepar'd for all emergencies
Becomes th'attentive mind that means to rise.—
Should Zalmon from the fields of Ai return
In triumph; by success his native pride
Would only flame the higher; he suspects
Not yet my love for Rahab, and to me
His kinsman, late his fellow envoy, deigns
Familiar audience; then my ready art
Will paint his purpose to debase the blood
With gentile Canaan's, in so foul a shape
As soon must turn his passion to disgust!—

Phan.
And will you miss the fair occasion given
To bear her hence beneath the friendly veil
Of night that favours amorous thefts? thy stores
Snatch'd from the ruins of yon smoaking walls
Might bribe a legion! from the multitude
Who at our General's interdict repine
Which robs them of their spoils! the soldiers due
Our toil has form'd a small but faithful band—
Those, tir'd to bear the double discipline
Of poverty and war, resolve to win
And wear the glittering spoil: Thy secret hoard
Of wealth, affords enough to cloy the wish
Of Avarice, and leave enough besides
To give you rank, where'er you fix your seat
And dignity, above your utmost hopes—
—Before the full moon wanes, my friends shall bear
The lovely fugitive to Gaza's shore—
—Thy care, I hope, has chosen for her guard
A man to thee devoted!

Ach.
None are there
But what have tasted, or expect to taste
My bounty: for the pruning hook and spade
Their future portion here, they long to share
A less laborious lot.

Phan.
Then why delay?
In Gaza's friendly port, the brigandine
Mann'd by Sidonians, waits her welcome freight.

Ach.
The winds are adverse still!

Phan.
But on yon heights
That front the rising sun, the vapours tell
That the deep current of the air, which flow'd
Eastward, begins to ebb, and soon will turn
Towards the West, and sweep with sounding wing
The sands: for so the balance of the sky
Requires, still changing with alternate sway.

Ach.
Our voyage thence to Sidon by the shores
Is long and dangerous!

Phan.
But on Sidon's shore
A splendid settlement awaits the man
Who carries riches thither, they are poor
But like the frugal bee, that ceaseless roves
From flower to flower, industrious. So they roam
From isle to isle, thro' all the sea-girt bounds
Of Javan, with an ever-changing freight
Where'er necessity impells their fails.—
—Thy riches there would raise thee to a height
Above the poor and limitary Kings
Whose little realms in those umbrageous vales
Are lost, or on the cliff-crown'd hills afar
Their frontier castles meet with hostile frown
And parcel out the rock: But there, the power
That rules the main, shall see thy vessels plow
Her foamy bosom to the distant shores
Of Gades and Atlantis, thee the winds
Shall all obey, and smooth their ruffian plumes
To bring thy precious bales to Sidon's coast.
Thy hostile keels, on this devoted land
May pour thy well paid legions, and subdue
Their rude militia, at thy splendid files
Amaz'd: thy scythed cars may sweep their plains
Thy skilful mercenaries from the bounds
Of Chettim brought, (for deeds of arms renown'd)
Will teach to force the gate, the mound to scale
To point the column, and with wheel reverse.
To flank the Hebrew's trembling host, and pour
Confusion on the rear,—was not the rod
Of royalty to Judah's line decreed?
And art thou not of Judah's line? perhaps
Thy victor files, from Sidon's border led
May give the promis'd crown, and Lebanon
From his imperial brow beholds his groves
His tributary groves, already wait
Thy destin'd steel his glory to extend
And bid his stately timbers plow their way
Thro yon proud surge, to visit other worlds
Beyond the seeming boundless deep, and then
Say, wilt thou linger here, and trust your hopes
To Passions veering gale, to the poor chance
That Zalmon's lordly mind may scorn the maid
Of alien and of humble race? away!
Trust not the fickle balance of the soul
Dependent on a breeze! the steady breath
Of Fortune or of Fate distends thy sail!—
The fair occasion smiles, like yonder moon!
But envious clouds may soon eclipse her light
And envious fiends may cross thy favour'd way
If thou shouldst faulter now!—

Ach.
Thy friendly zeal
Demands my thanks: yet Phanuel! Oh my friend
Great is the hazard, unappriz'd! unwarn'd,
To bear her hence, unconscious as I am
If I possess such interest in her heart
As may assure my pardon!

Phan.
Thou a man
A soldier, and dismay'd? forget thy fear!
And tell thy flattering heart, the sex forgive
All ills their beauties cause!—

Ach.
Yet truest love
Is mixt with awe: But fate commands—I go
To spring the mine that ruins or exalts
My hopes for ever.

[Exit Achan.
Phan.
Go! believing fool!
Clear sighted to the specious arts of priests
And scorning superstition, but involv'd
In double darkness by thy easy faith
In man—thou knowest not yet, but soon shalt learn
When the deep surge o'erwhelms thee, that thou art
No more but Phanuel's tool—but go and bear
Thy treasures and thy future bride on board!—
—What means this phantom? or I dream, or night
Deceives me with her soul-appalling shapes
Or he again is here, and Zalmon too
Mysterious Fate!—or Chance!—or are there Gods
That thwart our purpose? But be calm! my soul!—

PHANUEL, ZALMON, ACHAN.
Phan.
Zalmon return'd so soon? is Ai subdued?

Zal.
Go ask the dead, which lie around her gates!
The flower of Israel fallen! I met my friend
And brought him back, for he and thou art call'd
This instant to the General's tent to see
A second levy by the sacred lots!

Phan.
Then be it so!—and have the sacred lots
Decided thus already?—But—for thee
They managed well—thy 'scape declares their truth
Tho' still the hostile troops exulting threat!
Was it the part of Zalmon to return
And leave his gallant troops without a head
Or heart?

Zal.
How much I scorn to clear my fame
To thee, my silence soon could shew! but thou
My friend in danger, who hast seen my deeds
Shalt know, that here, in the inglorious lap
Of Safety, Zalmon ne'er shall waste his prime
When glory calls! I only hither came
To tell of our disaster and return
With our new levies, ere to-morrow's dawn.—
But thou, as thou reverest thy noble race
Thy safety or thy dignity, avoid
Evil communication, for it leads
To misery, shame and ruin!—

Phan.
Who art thou
That dar'st prescribe to him?—art thou the head
Of all the name? is he not fit to chase
His friendships and his enmities?

Ach.
No more!
Zalmon! lead on, we'll instantly return

[To Phanuel.
[Exit Achan and Zalmon.
Phan.
I was too warm!—'twere better I had sooth'd
This Zalmon's pride of blood, for I have means
To strike a deadly blow, without a threat—
—An injury is easier to be borne
Than broad avow'd contempt, scorn and desiance
Of us, weak, reptile slaves to do our worst!—
And this shall Zalmon feel! and Achan too
His kinsman, will I make my tool, my drudge
The missive thunder in this prompt right hand
To bear my vengeance home, if by his means
I am detained here. I will not trust
To the precarious fortunes of the field
Alone,—proud Lord! altho' thy pulse beats high
With Judah's richest blood, I'll find the means
To lower its tone a pitch, and on thy cheek
Produce another tint.—But why so soon
Returns my brave compeer?

Enter ACHAN.
Ach.
Death to my hopes!—
This other blow, like lightning's nimble stroke
That withers the strong hand, in act to strike
And mocks the threat'ning of the lifted spear
Has laid our labour'd plans for ever low!

Phan.
What can have happen'd since to shake thee thus?

Ach.
The lot is cast,—and I that lately stood
Like a fair tree on Tabor's flowring side
With all my boughs full summ'd, and spreading wide
Am left a blasted trunk!

Phan.
Be more thyself,—this passion may betray
Thy secret purpose,—in this dreadful eve
Each ear is open, and each ghastly eye
Is on the watch, to scrutinize the Fates
Attendant on to-morrow's dawn!

Ach.
Alas!
Before to-morrow's dawn, my gallant friends
Devoted to my service, even but now
So prompt for me to tread the savage waste
Or hoist the dubious sail on unknown seas
(Where never Israelite embark'd), are doom'd
Without remission, or reprieve, to try
The fatal pass, where late our brethren fell!
There all the Gods that seem'd but now subdued
Rally in gloomy legions and return
That panic thro' our files, which Canaan's sons
Thro' all their trembling borders felt so late!—

Phan.
Was it the General's order? did he seem
To wear the changing look of dark surmise?
Did he select them for the dangerous post
With lurking malice, hid in seeming praise?

Ach.
No—on my soul! the noble veteran seem'd
So wrapt in holy fear, and bent with grief
For public honour lost, and heavenly wrath,
(Altho' the cause was hid) that I'm assur'd
He nothing doubts of me! the sacred lots
Before my faltering foot the entrance crost
Had mark'd them for the tomb!

Phan.
Be not dismay'd
Again, your superstitious fear, so late
With labour overcome, and argued down
With pain, begins to cloud the sovereign light
Of Reason, and of nature! this defeat
Shows the great power (if any power there be
That rules those Israelites) or feeble grown
Or fickle; why should else those favour'd bands
Who late, (like tygers, o'er the ruin'd fold)
Sprung o'er yon city's prostrate walls and slew
Matrons, and babes, and warriours, all confus'd,
Now fly, like driven deer, before a foe
Less numerous and less warlike? is it thus
They take possession of the promis'd land
Is it with their dead bodies? what they gain'd
By magic, or by chance, is lost! no more
The elements, or Nature's secret powers
Seem to fight for them! Ponder this, my friend!
And be thine own right hand thy God, thy bands
May yet return in triumph, or if not,
The secret means are thine, and thine alone
To levy others in their room; thy name
Is not enroll'd, and Jericho has spoils
Which none besides presume to touch!—

Ach.
My name
Is not enroll'd, and does not that involve
The semblance of some mystic meaning?—

Phan.
What?—
Now I that boast not of supernal light
No heavenly-gifted prophet, can perceive
The workings of thy mind! thou thinkest the doom
Of Heaven is pointed full at thee! that first
It strikes thy friend with monitory blow
To thee: Thus many, by their conscience rid
And gull'd by priestly art, are led to tell
The secrets of their souls, which else had slept
In peace, and: Hence, bold resolution's hue
“Is sicklied o'er by the pale cast of thought.”—
Those sudden, strange vicissitudes are calls
On manly perseverance!

Ach.
Be it so!
But manly perseverance, without means.
Will find it hard, if not impossible
To gain her ends by solitary strength!

Phan.
The star of evening to the deeper shade
Of night has scarcely yet resign'd the sky;
Behind yon palms she sets: the warning trump
Proclaims the second watch, the silent hour
Of gloom is often known to usher in
Desponding thoughts, without the needless aid
Of dark suggestion: Try this other band
They too belong to Judah's tribe, to thee
In blood ally'd, they too could aid thy flight
And aid thy love: Our late misfortune throws
Ominous conjecture on the sacred cause—
Your machinations sooner will prevail
Usher'd by gloomy discontent: it gives
An instant entrance to the dangerous thought.

Ach.
Besides what Mammon's glittering bribe may gain
And what the restless love of change, among
Those fiery spirits, who disdain the lot
Of present things: tho' Eden showr'd around
Her vegetable gold, with manna mixt,
Still would they pant to climb the tow'ring hills
That bound their view, to trace the burning sands
Or plow, with ventrous keel, the wave unknown—
Be these thy province, thy prompt eloquence
That speaks a daring soul, unsated still
With things possest, by instant alchymy
Of mind, transmutes them to that essence pure
That suits our purpose, while less ductile souls
Touch'd by the gleaming rays of unsunn'd ore
Shall find their metal flow: away! away!—
Our centries are reliev'd! see! how they march
Reluctant to the dangerous post!—their look
Frowns mutiny, and shews, in dark presage
Revolt, at least desertion! either chance
To us is most propitious! part we here
And to our different charge! our post we know
Remember, midnight finds us at my tent!

ACT II.

[Scene I.]

Scene.—Another part of the Camp near the Tabernacle.
Enter PHANUEL.
Phanuel
Oh that I were some God, to form anew
Those sons of earth, and in their lifeless frames
Some spirit to infuse! those new come guards
That sled before the feeble sons of Ai
Fled, tho' they thought that some supernal power
Marshall'd their troops to battle, now refuse
To leave their post, tho' mild persuasion sooth'd
Their souls, and more persuasive gold allur'd!—
What recent charm has fix'd the cowards feet
So nimble in the flight, but now, when fast
They fled before Perizzim's scythed cars!—
It cannot be religious dread, for that:
Had fixt their phalanx, firmer than the walls
Of Jericho against the tide of war:
Whate'er it be, I leave them to their fate
Till earth to earth they grow, or turn'd to stone
Stand like the monumental matron, chang'd
To rock, by sad Gomorrah's fumy lake
As fable tells! Altho' in distant hints
Of dubious import I explor'd their souls
(To keep from danger clear, lest any dar'd
Accuse me) still, I found them cold, quite cold!—
Be they accurst! but Achan must be steel'd
To suit my purpose, lest he also swerve,
Yet I have nearly from his bosom chac'd
The pious leaven, from his nurse imbib'd
And by the crafty Levite fed.—He now
Is the sole anchor of my sinking hopes
By love and strong ambition sway'd by turns
He plies with easy bend to either breeze—
Yet he and Zalmon are alike my foes
Hated alike, alike they thwart my views
Zalmon may fall in fight! if he returns
Achan and he are seeming friends. But soon
The brittle bond of amity shall melt
Before Suspicion's breath! that task be mine—
But see the lover comes! what says my friend?

Phan.
to Ach.
Hast thou prevail'd?

Ach.
I durst not press my suit,
But with due caution, and with solemn oaths
Enjoining secrecy: some to my views
Gave prompt admittance, some are doubtful still—
The bond of blood among their families
Gave easy entrance, but I dreaded yet
To try their Chief, altho' by blood ally'd
He's a fanatic, full of holy zeal!—

Phan.
We can subsist without him, could we gain
But half his band to second our attempt
And bear your double treasure, where the name
Of Israel ne'er was heard!

Ach.
This day's defeat
Would fix a party ours, nor need we doubt
But flush'd with victory, the Canaanite
Will follow his first blow, and heap the field
With larger slaughter, Zalmon too may fall!—

Phan.
If not, I have a charm for this hot youth
That soon will come like winter's frory breath
And lay his blooming honours low: But see
Where young Amaziah comes with looks of dread.

Ach.
O my presaging soul! my friends are fall'n!

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
My message is deliver'd, and the load
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

SCENE IV.

JOSHUA, PHINEAS,
Josh.
'Tis all in vain—the spirit of revolt
Is spread so wide, our efforts to subdue
The monster, but inflames its deadly rage
The more! Oh!—had it pleas'd our gracious Lord
Yet e'er I past yon self-dividing flood
To call me hence!

Phin.
Think what the mighty son
Of Amram suffer'd by their senseless broils
Before he reach'd our borders!

Josh.
Amram's son?
Oh my beloved master! lost, alas
To me and Israel, soft, persuasive, mild
Thou, only thou couldst bid the storm subside!
Thy word like oil, could lay the turbid wave!
But thou wastnever hemm'd, (as I am now)
By hostile nations, and domestic rage
At once!

Phin.
Say, does this poor, desponding plaint
Become the soldier of his God? the King
Of yonder hostile walls, who bends before
The shrine of Baalim, to a chizeled stone
(By each imperial lust, in turn enchain'd)
Could tell, that stern Adversity's dark hour
Distinguishes the man, from him that wears
Only the semblance! yet the spreading plague
Is partial only!

Josh.
In our chosen bands
It rages uncontroll'd, ev'n Judah's sons
Forget their sovereign hopes!

Phin.
To question Heaven
And his mysterious ways, becomes us not.—

Josh.
True, generous Levite! thy example shews
That action, not complaint, at such an hour
As this, becomes the man whose fervent zeal
Flames in the cause of Heaven! Let but thy word
Sanction our daring, and we draw the sword,
Lay waste yon seminary of revolt
And hew away yon gangren'd limb, which spreads
Infection to our vitals!

Phin.
Let it spread!—
The moment calls not for the sword, nor lance
The rampart, nor the palisaded mound
To fence our threat'ned lives! but holy calm
And resignation to whate'er the will
Of heaven awards!

Josh.
And shall we idly stand
And see our foes o'erwhelm us?

Phin.
Heaven best knows
How to protect his own, whome'er he dooms
To join the general ruin!—leave to heaven
The method and the means! the loudest wind
That shakes proud Lebanon, and bids his groves
Bow their aerial heads, and kiss the soil
Tho' seemingly without a rein it scours
The fields of Æther, and by sea and land
Ravages uncontroll'd, yet knows its bounds!—

Josh.
And am not I the minister of Heaven
And can I dread discomsiture? I go—
I cannot tamely bear to wield a sword
And see those rebels to their God, at large
Revel unchastis'd!—

Phin.
Go!—but if you do
You perish in your rashness!—yet be calm!—
Perhaps a few short moments may produce
The crisis; then if heaven commands thine arm
To lift the sure-destroying sword! obey!—
If not—presume not thou to snatch the rod
And balance from his hand, who best can turn
The course of things to punish or reward
As he decrees: our weapons now are prayers
To Heaven preferr'd, with unpolluted hands!

Josh.
Thy pardon, reverend Phineas! thou and Heaven
Forgive my rash and hasty zeal!

Phin.
May Heaven
Forgive thee, and prepare thee yet to bear
New insults still with calmness! let thy blood
Preserve its temper'd pulse, thine eye forget
To flame resentment, when thou seest the foe
Even in this holy ground, invade our right
And claim the execution of our laws
From you, from us, the delegates of Heaven!
Even at those sacred doors—The contest then
(Remember this)—is Heaven's, and Heaven's alone!
—The wonted sacrifice our presence calls
Dread not the insulting Gentiles! nearer cares
Claim our attention now, to guard at home.—

[Exeunt.
Re-enter ACHAN and PHANUEL.
Phan.
The General and the Priest are gone at last!—
Methought the veteran seem'd to menace high
But crafty Phineas sooth'd him!—This portends
Bright hopes to us, the factious spirit spreads
Beyond our utmost hopes, my friend!—couldst thou
Have thought, our cautious arts, essay'd with fear
So soon would spring to such a noble head
As makes the delegate of Moses fear
And to the tabernacles holy fence
Retire for safety? But to other thoughts
The crisis calls us!—the suspended war
Sleeps, till the cause of our defeat be found!—
Zalmon returns, and to the charge succeeds
Perhaps, of those prepared bands, which thou
Hadst led to different triumphs—but for him
We have provided!—

Achan.
[Seemingly disturbed.]
In another spot
Than this, I rather would complete my schemes!

Phan.
Falter not now! but think, the bounds are past,
And it is much too late to dream of flight!—
Steel thy weak spirit! think of Zalmon's fate
And thine, this moment is the balance weigh'd!—
—To-morrow, if thou fail'st to-night, arrives
With tardy disappointment in its train
Perhaps detection. Think, thy secret now
Rests in too many hands, to be conceal'd
Much longer! think of love, of Zidon think
Of empire and of glory!—spread around
The fault on others, if thou meanst thyself
To 'scape!—the shrine discloses! haste and pay
Thy adorations, nor neglect the time
Thine own petitions to prefer—adieu!
I must not here be seen, a proselyte
Claims not admittance to your holy rites
Till the due season!

[Exit. Achan.
Phan.
Now is my time, let me escape away
And shun the tempest, gathering at my heels!—

Scene opens, and discovers the outer Court of the Tabernacle.
JOSHUA, ACHAN, crowd of ISRAELITES at Prayer.
Achan
aside.
To them PHINEAS.

Josh.
Is there aught
Committed, or neglected, to incense
Our sovereign ruler?

Phin.
That is only known
To Israel's God, but yonder fields of Ai
Drench'd by the noblest blood of Jacob, tell
Too plain, his kindled wrath!

Josh.
Is there no means
To deprecate his rage?

Phin.
Contagion lurks
Somewhere among us, or our prayers were heard,
But in this vast assembly, is there one
Whose eye sagacious, or whose guiding hand
Can teach us how to trace the lurking pest
And drag it into day? On him we call
Let him stand boldly forth and save the tribes
From the infliction of another blow
More dreadful than the past.—

Achan.
[Aside.]
Be firm, my soul!

Phin.
Nay, if the guilty man be here, I dare
Pronounce in Heaven's dread name, his pardon seal'd
If by confession he atones his crimes.

Achan
aside.
Vengeance and Love assist me! or I'm lost
—Ye soul-subduing powers of eloquence
My flattering organs aid! To them.

Behold the man
Who, unpresuming on the sacred gift
Of prophecy or prescience, but impell'd
By public love alone, with suppliant voice
Prays your indulgence, while his lips disclose
Things he can prove, and to your wisdom leaves
The just conclusion thence to be inferr'd!

Phin.
Speak out, and boldly!

Josh.
Thou hast nought to fear
I know thee sage and noble! Achan's name
Forbids us to expect a futile charge
Or feebly grounded!

Ach.
Joshua! thy support
Is kind, and comes in season, for my voice
(Never till now in such unwelcome task
Employ'd) must publish names—ah much endear'd
To me, to all, by deeds of genuine worth,
And more, by lineal honours!—Would to Heaven
Beneath yon fatal rampires my pale corse
Had fall'n, before to my sad lot it fell
To trumpet forth a friend's disgrace, before
This presence, but your late tremendous charge
And this august assembly conjure down
All selfish passions, every partial thought,
(Tho' for my friend), and I am Israel's all!—
Avaunt! ye private sympathies! ye charms
Ye social ties of single soul to soul!—
Avaunt! there is no pulse in this sad frame
But for the public beats.

Josh.
He speaks, as Heaven
Had now inspir'd him! Phineas! now, at last,
Expect an answer to your prayers! O now
No more the haughty Canaanite shall line
The pass, and intercept with double death
Our sinking legions!

Phin.
Yet suppress thy zeal!—
See his lips labour, and his frame, convuls'd
Beneath the deadly secret seem to sink!—
I fear some much belov'd, much honour'd name
Will pass those lips, and some great chieftain's doom
Will send the loud lament along your lines
In oft repeated sorrow!

Ach.
Thou hast guess'd
O reverend Priest! aright! but be no blame
To his accuser! would my lips were clos'd
In Death's eternal trance, e'er I were forc'd
To name the name of Zalmon, but in terms
Due to my friendship, and his matchless worth
For matchless worth is his! But oh! I fear
His partial passion for a lovely maid
Among our captives, whom his thoughtless love
Designs to wed, and mix his sacred line
With Gentiles, and with slaves, draws down this plague.

Phin.
Before this tribunal none is condemn'd
Unheard, let Zalmon strait be call'd, and thou
Achan! prepare thee to support thy charge
With clearest circumstance, before the face
Of Israel and her God, assembled here!

Josh.
Go, heralds! and assemble here in haste
By sound of trump the universal name
Of Israel by their tribes and families
To tend this awful trial and to learn
By terrible example how to keep
With stricter care, their theocratic law!

Phin.
Woe to the guilty, for behold! above,
The clouds, in gloomy files, around the point
Of noon, diverge, and yonder deep serene
Shews the descending pomp of them, who tend
The sovereign lamp of truth! her piercing beam
Shall soon dispel the dim Tartarean fogs
Of falsehood from the mind! her holy dawn.
Shall lay the secret regions of the soul
In empyrean lights unwelcome day!
Touch'd by that beam, the lurking pest, tho' now
It 'scape the keenest sight, shall soon disclose
Its horrible dimensions!—Sound the trump!—
Raise the broad ensign of Jehovah high!
Let every soul appear, who draws his life
From Jacob's hallowed stem, for all must pass
In long review before the judging eye
And clear their innocence, or shew the cause
Why Israel's sons, whom nature's subject powers
Obey, are baffled by their Gentile foes!

[Exeunt, Phineas and Joshua go into the Temple.
Scene.—Another part of the Camp.
Zal.
And can this visitation point at me?
My love, unsanction'd by the seal of Heaven
Perhaps, has laid the pride of Israel low!—
I love thee, Rahab! in this faithful breast
Thy matchless form, thy matchless merit stamps
Thy image, never by the hand of Time
Or Fortune, to be spoil'd! Thy chosen youth
Thy Abdon, thou beheld'st to death devote,
And hadst the power to change our blood for his!—
But oh! thy nobleness of mind, thy faith
In Heaven, disdain'd the purchase of his life
By persidy, by breach of sacred trust—
Our lives were in thy hands! upon thy word
Our breath depended! thou! unequall'd maid!
Couldst have redeem'd a husband and a sire
By giving us to Fate!—thy nuptial hand
Would dignify the most ennobled name
Among our most distinguished tribes—and I—
Shall I resign the treasure?—who besides
Can urge a claim so powerful? To secure
The blessing mine, from Judah's regal tribe
(To whom the sceptre is by promise given)
I draw my lineal blood, and justly claim
Her eldest honours.—Let me muse a while!—
Is there no other duty to oppose
The calls of Passion?—yes—these very ties
Of blood—and all the honours of my race
All! all united, urge their general plea
And tell me that I live not to myself
But to my country, to my lineal claims
And to the honours of my regal stem!
High are the promises to Judah given
Of mystic import: from his root shall rise
A name by prophets, and by priest proclaim'd
The first on earth, the favour'd of the skies!
Perhaps to spring from me!—and shall I take
An alien to my bed? tho' eminent
In beauty, and with mental charms endow'd
Above the daughters of our tribes?—perhaps
Heaven favours not this union! Heaven forbid!
That I should match against thy sovereign will!
That my example should encourage more
To cull their spouses from the race accurst
Whom Heaven pursues with vengeance! tho' this maid
Be faultless, and beholds her people's crimes
With just abhorrence, others less reserv'd
Who chuse their loves, at random, by the look
Allur'd, might think their impious choice, by mine
Amply excus'd; and 'mongst our martial tribes
Disseminate the vile contagion round
Of idol worship, and her odious train
Of vile pollutions from their spouses learn'd—
—Israel might mourn, for many a luckless day
The bane of my alliance! this deserves
My serious thoughts: the general interdict
Forbade our tribes to touch the spoils accurst
Of conquer'd Jericho! perhaps that word
Included all, the captives and the stores
Alike! and shall I dare, with impious step
To rush beyond the bounds prescrib'd by Heaven
With awful prohibition? what transferr'd
Those forfeit regions, from their ancient Lords
To us, but Canaan's crimes? they stood subdued
By Vice, before the delegated sword
Of Israel, thinn'd their legions, and if we
Their victors, learn not first to rule at home
Learn not self-conquest, and to square our wills
To Heavens' behest; the very land, incenst
Will sink beneath us, and o'erwhelm our hopes
As yon fall'n towers can witness! Heaven be prais'd
I never yet my passion to the fair
Explain'd in words, she well indeed could guess
By my demeanour, that my heart was her's:
But—lately when a secret hour I stole
To visit the fair Canaanite, I found
The lustre of her eye was lost, her look
Bore symptoms of dejection, deeper far
Than for her country, even for Abdon's fate
She shew'd before!
That Achan loves her, by undoubted signs
To me is clear, and Achan has a form,—
—Has merit to secure the coyest heart
And kindle sires beneath the coldest ice
Of saintly chastity. If he has wak'd
A mutual flame, perhaps, th'enamour'd pair
Fear to confess their passion, left I urge
My prouder claim, and bid the general voice
Swell the demand with popular applause
And lineal honours, to devote the maid
To me!—I scorn the thought—yet must I lose
Sotamely this distinguished prize?—resign
My heart, to heal a lovesick warriour's sighs!
—It is a dreadful conflict—but the more
Becoming Zalmon!—then, this instant hour
While my resolves are warm, while Glory calls
To her I dedicate! and if my prayers
Can learn that Achan rules her heart, this voice
—May it be never tun'd to sing thy praise
Glory of Israel! may this recreant hand
No longer wield thy delegated sword
Against thy rebels! If I fail to cure
Her sorrows and my friend's—that friend shall find
In me a zealous advocate, beyond
His hope, for less would misbecome the name
And more than this, becomes the man, whose race
Is deem'd to bless our tribes in years to come!

[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Court of the Tabernacle, the Glory descending over it.
JOSHUA, PHINEAS, ZALMON, ACHAN, ISRAELITES, Assembled by their Tribes.
Phin.
A moment yet by Providence is given
(Before the fount of mercy, closing fast
Bids kindling Vengeanee walk her dreadful round)
For penitence to urge her latest plea
And bathe her crimes in no successless tears!—
—Arrest the moment, e'er it fleets away
Ye who are conscious of a crime!—to you
Achan! I first apply! It much concerns
Him, who presumes to taint a brother's fame
Before this dread tribunal, to explore
With cautious eye, the structure of his charge
Its basis and its strength, for, if a flaw
Be found, tho' previous to a single ray
Of scrutiny, the swift pervading flame
Shall crumble it to nothing Zalmon! thou
'Gainst whom his allegation is gone forth
Must think that no permission yet is given
For Israel's sons, to tye the nuptial bond
With Gentiles, and with strangers, and if aught
Of worldly views, or passion prompts your mind
On Heaven's dread silence to presume, and frame
Laws for your conduct, let the present hour
(If thine own soul arraigns thee) be employ'd
As suits thy former character and worth.—

Ach.
If I be deem'd.—

Phin.
—No vindication now!—
The time allows not that!—I must retire—
And find what means the awful name appoints
Whether by lot, or oracle to shew
The secret pest that sapps our holy strength
And lay our glories low!

[Exit into the Tabernacle.
Zal.
Achan! my friends!—
Say why is this? is Zalmon to be call'd
Hither without accuser?

Josh.
No impatience
In look or thought this sacred presence taint!—
The accuser stands before thee!—thou prepare
For thy defence, but be all passion far
And all complaint! tho' much, I must confess,
Thy fervour shews like innocence, and well
I know thy worth, it yet becomes not me
Thus to prejudge thy cause! In other hands
Thy doom or absolution rests!

Zal.
To me
All this is wonderful!—and Achan too
My bosom friend! who shar'd my inmost soul
He my accuser! He!—Oh sacred Faith!—
But I am more than calm, I'm confident
That yon dread scrutinizing eye will shew
What I have been to him, and what to Heaven!

To them from the TABERNACLE.
Phin.
[The lots are cast.

Abol.
—The tribe of Judah—

Ach.
[Aside.]
Yet be firm my heart.—

Josh.
Aside.
O Zalmon! Zalmon! have I liv'd to see
Thy blooming honours, matchless in the field
So tainted? Oh my fall'n, degenerate friend!
Thy lapse has loos'd the strictest tyes that bind
Society! for who will trust the man
Who bears the most conspicuous signs of worth!—
—Pronounce him hypocrite!—and him whose faith
Depends upon his merit, simple, weak,
And credulous as infancy!—

Phin.
to him.
No more!—
This passion well befits thee!—but the rites
Are interrupted!—fling the counted lots
Into the urn, and be the sacred sum
Equal in number to the reverend heads
Of families in Judah!—

[The lots again are cast.
Abol.
The name of Zerah.

Zal.
Now to Heaven be praise!
The stem of Phares and his sons are free!

Josh.
Zalmon! I joy to see thee thus absolv'd!—
But mourn to think thy tribe must still supply
The guilty head!

Ach.
[In great agitation]
One word before the lots
Proceed!

Phin.
The time of recollection's past!
The scrutiny must now proceed!

Ach.
I must
And will be heard!—If you would shun the blame
Of management! of fraud! of partial care
For Zalmon's safety, bid your slave of state
Your ready implement, whose dext'rous hands
Obsequious to your eye, the lots dispose
By the dark intimations of your will—
Bid him resign to more impartial care
To some unbyas'd sage, by all the tribes
In general vote elected, else the blood
Of him who falls be on your head!

Phin.
Be it as you demand! assembled tribes
If ye object not, Achan's reverend sire
Shall match the lots to Zerah's families,
A lot for every household, who derive
Their blood from Judah's younger line. But ye
Speak your denial or assent at once!

All.
Let Zabdi be the man!—our choice is Zabdi!

Phin.
Achan, we wait alone for thy assent!
Dost thou object to him?

Ach.
I own, with joy
Thy justice and submit [aside]
if Phanuel's care
Have mov'd the treasures, yet I may escape
Detection and pursue his flight!

Phin.
Thy faith
And zeal, O reverend Zabdi! all the tribes
Acknowledge, thou dispose the sacred lots
By Zerah's families, and shake the urn!

[Lots cast.
Phin.
Joshua looking at the Lots.
Whose lot emerges?
The searching eye of Heaven!—'tis Zabdi's name!
O spare the reverend sire a further test!—
Behold his agony!

Phin.
He must proceed!
No retractation now!—he must proceed—
And, with a soldier's fortitude, sustain
The final tryal!

Josh.
[Lots cast again.
[Joshua examines the Lots.

Phin
To the God of Abraham
Be praise! who kindly sav'd his servant's lips
The painful and invidious task to name
The criminal!—Joshua! his guilt was known
Before, and in my hands the clearest proofs
Were lodg'd: nor wonder thou that I conceal'd
My knowledge! you beheld what arrogance
Was his! how he defy'd the scrutiny!
And, when he found the noble Zalmon freed
By heavenly sentence, dar'd to six on us
The taint of prejudice, and partial views
Unmerited as vile! Had we accus'd
This man by usual process, had we call'd
The witness to his guilt, his frontless pride
Had tax'd the spotless tribunal of Heaven
With foul injustice, or presum'd to sind
In the detector's hand, th'unseemly stain
Of bribes, suborning perjury! But now
His pleas are spent, he scorn'd the soothing voice
Of mercy when it call'd, he madly dar'd
To hurl defiance 'gainst the lifted hand
Of boundless wrath incenst, he deem'd the eye
Of dread Omniscience clos'd, his justice warp'd
By favour, and the sanction of his laws
His truth, and his unchangeable decrees
The sport of fickle chance, absorb'd and lost
In the blind waste of chaos and old night!—
Heaven, to confute his impious pleas at once
Made the sad father's hand, (as you have seen)
The instrument to doom the son! the sire
Deserves our pity, but the son has clos'd
The gates of mercy on himself!

Josh.
Yet say
Unhappy youth! hast thou presum'd to touch
The interdicted spoils?—confess your crimes
Make that atonement to the injur'd state!
And as your sin disgrac'd our holy cause
Let your unfeign'd acknowledgment declare
High Heaven's omniscience, and his justice prov'd
On thee! so shall thy fault, thus far aton'd
Contribute to his glory, and our good
By thy example!

Ach.
Deep within my tent
The treasures lie!

Josh.
Aboliah! go and search!

Zab.
Oh Joshua! may this fault'ring tongue presume
To plead for pity! see these hoary hairs!
Think on the battles we have fought together!
The weary leagues of yonder burning wild
We travel'd o'er, and spare the main support
Of my declining age! He has confess'd!—
—The glory of our God by him remains
Unsullied! his omniscience unimpeach'd!—
Let him survive, altho' he live with shame!

Phin.
Patience old man! he has not yet confess'd
The motives to his crime!—say hapless youth
What led thee to this errour?

Ach.
Spare my pain!—
'Twas love of your fair captive!

Josh.
How could love
(A generous passion) to ignoble deeds
Impell a son of Judah?

Ach.
Tho' I lov'd
I yet despair'd of favour! then the sense
Of my demerit and my rival's worth
Led me to try what riches might avail.
I meant (and I had brib'd a trusty band
To aid my purpose) to have borne her hence.

Josh.
Whither?

Ach.
To Zidon.

Josh.
How didst thou expect
For her or thee, a refuge with the race
Who live in darkness and the shades of death
To every lust enslav'd? Hadst thou resolv'd
The God of Israel to renounce, and live
A Gentile! an apostate! say was this
Thy final hope?

Ach.
I know not where my crimes
Had led me! Phanuel too with soothing art
Fed high my hopes of honours from his state
And dignities at Zidon, by my wealth
Procur'd, but far beyond my merit!

Josh.
Call
That Phanuel hither!—

Enter ABOLIAH.
Abol.
He is fled, my Lord!—
This as I came, I learn'd; some slaves with him
Were seen departing. In the tent we found
The cavern open'd, and the stores purloin'd
All but these talents, and this sumptuous bale
Of Babylonian texture, as it seems!—

Achan
starts.
Then Phanuel has betray'd me!—oh the pangs
Of falsehood found beneath a friendly form!

Zal.
I would not pain thee!—yet with deep regret
I mourn to think of Passion's boundless power,
That love which led thee to suspicions foul
Of me, thy natural friend! Hadst thou but known
And trusted me, this hour of guilt and shame
Had never been your lot!

Ach.
Didst thou not love
The beauteous Rahab? did I not behold
Thy passion sparkle in thine eyes, when first
Their beams met her's? Oh Zalmon! could I stand
(I know myself and thee) say could I stand
A moment's competition? wouldst thou give.
Such treasure to thy friend? and should the friend
Subdue the lover, could I be the man
That had deserv'd her of thee, could the maid
Who once had lifted her aspiring mind
To be ally'd to Zalmon, look on me?—

Zal.
To Phineas and Joshua.

Zab.
Now may that heaven whom thou aspirst
In deeds of mercy and long-suffering love
Thus to resemble, be thy great reward
Thou noble youth!—

Phin.
Young man! it cannot be!
Zabdi! I pity thee! but Heaven requires
A dread example in this crisis given
To keep your loyalty to Heaven's high power
Unflaw'd and stedfast, and to steel our troops
For the ensuing conflict! if that God
We reverence, deigns to take in full account
For all his crimes, the transitory pangs
Of death, be satisfied!—

Ach.
I do not wish
For life!—for what is life, with lasting shame?
I hate to view the light, the brand of theft
Stampt by each eye and burning in my front
As I should walk the camp! I but implore
One moment of indulgence, while I ask
My noble friend, (alas too lately known)
A single question!—Zalmon! from your words
(Tho' dark of import) on my soul there seem'd
To dawn a prospect, of a deed of friendship
Which from your innate modesty you meant
To bury in oblivion!

Zal.
Ask to know
No more, the knowledge would but pain thee now!

Ach.
Oh! no! my friend! whate'er would cheapen life
Would be most welcome now! whate'er would serve
To wean me from the world, which as I gaze
Seems fleeting from me, whatsoe'er would make
My penitence more poignant and severe,
Whate'er would point the salutary pang
That stings the torpid mind to better life
A life of virtue—were most welcome now!—
Nor Zalmon! be a niggard of the boon!—
Give the sharp medicine! tho' it pierce the heart!
It yet may cure the soul, and endless time
May thank thee, in the worlds beyond the sun!

Zal.
Thy eloquence has mov'd me—hapless youth!
Sad victim of temerity! and lost
By thy despondence lost!—by diffidence
In me! thou mightest have better known thy friend!—
But 'tis too late to blame!—thou wouldst not own
Thy love to me; I doubted first, and soon
By accident I found it! Tho' my flame
For Rahab, burn'd with tenfold fervour, still
I doubted Heaven's concurrence, and withheld
My passion with strong rein, I saw her sad
And thee desponding, I suspected thence
A secret, hopeless flame had touch'd your hearts
With mutual fervour, and I meant (just Heaven!
Would I had made my purpose known to thee!)
I meant, with all my care to scrutinize
The lovely strangers heart, and, if I found
Thy image there, the influence I had us'd
To draw the secret thence, had made her own
Her passion! then to thee had I disclos'd
The glad discovery, and resign'd my claim,
Nay I have reason (but alas—why tell
The cruel secret now) to think her heart
Was thine! But I have said too much! forgive
Thy thoughtless friend—thy colour comes and goes!
O Achan, how thine eyeballs glare! thy limbs
Speak thy mind's torture!—they are all convuls'd
What shakes thee thus? what speechless agony?

Achan,
after a long pause.
No—I have found my speech! and would to Heaven
My sight were gone! eternal darkness, hide
Oh hide me from his sight! an injur'd friend!
His eyes are blasting!—cover me ye hills!
Pile rocks on rocks upon me! hurl me down
To central darkness, where no dawning star
May wake my pangs, nor light upbraid me more!
I plann'd his ruin, while he meant me life
And happiness! yet do I live to look
Upon him?—

Zal.
Why this agony? thy friend
Forgives thee, and may Heaven forgive thee too!

Ach.
Still deeper torment of remorse! begone!
Avaunt! thy sight is wounding! that mild look
Harrows my soul like scorpions stings!—away!
Ye walls of Jericho! would I had fall'n
Beneath thy thund'ring ruins! lead me hence
Conduct me to my fate!—
Lest this right hand, the direful instrument
Of black despair, another lesson learn
From her dire lips, and with determin'd rage
Cut short my being!

Phin.
Lead him to my tent
Till we assuage this tumult of his soul
Now far,—oh far unfit to meet his God
(In this wild frenzy)! as a victim due
To justice, he must fall, but potent prayers
And Heaven's blest influence must expel the fiend
That labours for his ruin! lead him hence!

[Ex. Omn.

THE ROYAL MESSAGE,

A DRAMATIC POEM.

THE ROYAL MESSAGE.

PERSONS.

• David.
• Absalom.
• Achitophel.
• Hushai.
• Benaiah.
• Joab.
• Uriah.
• Adriel.
• Eliezer.
• Jonadab.
• Shimei.
• Abdon.
• Oniah.
• Queen.
• Tirzah.
• Bathsheba.

Scene—Jerusalem.

ACT I.

[SCENE I.]

SCENE.—A street in Jerusalem—A mournful procession seen at a distance.
BENAIAH and HUSHAI meeting.
Ben.
Welcome from Rabbah's camp!—your stay was short—
I trust your mission prosper'd?

Hush.
Friend—all hail
The success of my mission lies in clouds
Till time shall draw aside the mystic veil,
But, say, what means this solemn pomp? It seems
Attended by half Judah! some disaster
Has blank'd the face of Salem, do they bend
Their march to Israel's holy shrine, to seek
For aid or counsel?

Ben.
Nought of holy import
Conducts the pomp, but sacrilege and guilt
To one indeed confin'd: the crowd, are free
Tho' touch'd with honest and indignant grief
To find so foul a taint infect their name.

Hush.
Is it such guilt, as justice cannot reach?

Ben.
It can!

Hush.
What hinders then the needful stroke
That lops the foul infected limb away?

Ben.
Now they come near!—say, canst thou recognize
That reverend from that leads the mourning train?

Hush.
Can I believe my sight! 'Tis Nathan's self
The holy man! Heavens!—how serene he looks
Amid the general woe!

Ben.
Yet in his looks
Seest thou what kindling indignation gleams
At times? and how his rapid eye-beam darts
Into futurity, and what a glance
Of anger mixt with sorrow oft he throws.

Hush.
What can it mean
In such a saintly bosom, long estrang'd
From human passions, such disorder'd starts
Such flaws, as seem to shake his aged frame,
Such agony, such hear-tfelt grief, as paints
His visage, seem of some mysterious themes
With more than human organ to discourse!

Ben.
You saw him calm, but now,—he sooth'd the crowd
In the most dreadful hurricane of rage
That ever threaten'd change.

Hush.
What mov'd their wrath?

Ben.
The strange and frontless guilt
Of Nathan's son, to whom th'indulgent sire
Had given his all, and that inhuman wretch
(Spite of his double sanctity, compos'd
Of prophet and of father) forc'd him thence
(With insult, next to outrage,) in the eye
Of noon and Judah's sons, assembled round
Who gaz'd with horrour on this impious deed.

Hush.
Why, all things seem revers'd—how bore the crowd
Th'abominable fact?

Ben.
Their fury swell'd,
And seem'd beyond the power of aught, but Heaven
To sooth—when, with authoritative tone
That seem'd to palsy every lifted hand
And quench the sire in every sparkling eye
The sire commanded, and they spar'd the son—
“Go! take my farewell to the King” he said
(To a young friend, that stood dejected by)
“And tell him what you saw” then past along
Self-sentenc'd, self-exil'd. The mourning crowd
That for a benediction press around
Have thus delay'd his exit.

[Procession passes by,—some Israelites remain behind.
Hush.
This vile son
Had never dar'd this outrage, but he knew
The King's aversion to his reverend sire!

Ben.
In days of old, a prophet's mystic deeds
Were often (like the nightly waving sign
That leads the vaward of the coming storm)
An awful harbinger of Heavenly wrath
That figur'd forth disastrous days to come:
Their actions speak, when words are found to fail
Thus may it be once more!
To any ears, but thine, I should not trust
My thoughts, but this late coldness in the King
To his best friends in general, make his hate
To Nathan less prodigious.—How he sinks
From the fraternity of angels, down
To mingle with the common mass of men!—
Oh what a change! since with yon reverend sage
He us'd to mount beneath the morning star
To Olivets calm brow, like Amram's heir
There half the journey of the summer sun
Beneath her hallow'd bowers abstracted sate
With the rapt prophet, and with kindling eye
And attitude of wonder, catch afar
The strong delineations of that hand
Which trac'd the pageants of the times unborn
Thick rising to Imagination's glance
Like atoms in the sun's unfolding beam!
Oft would they traverse all the sacred hill
As if that lofty range, in time to come
Were meant the scene of some heroic deed
Or second revelation of the law
Of Heaven, like Horeb's summit: but since then
Late, in the gleam of twilight, mute and sad
The prophet of the alienated King
Has oft been seen to wander there alone
There, oft he seem'd in fixt and leaden pause
To muse awhile, then, on a sudden, rapt
With strong emotion and irregular glance
He scann'd the green lawns, and the shady bowers
As if they all seem'd conscious of the change—
The very dregs of Israel feel the change
And like foul vapours, by the sun exhal'd
They mount in mutinous revolt, and hide
The orb of majesty in dim eclipse.

Ben.
They feel the weight of glory, and bow down
By trophies and by taxes doubly prest.
Our anarchy at home, and fame abroad
Are like the spasms of an expiring man
Who seems to grapple with a nerve of steel
Tho' Death's cold siege his lab'ring heart assails.

[Shout.
Hush.
Now, like the fiery fever's rising rage,
The people's fury threat the public weal
With wild delirium and misrule.—Behold
How the wide tumult fluctuates! now they shout
As if some demon, in the seemly mask
Of popularity had fir'd their souls.

Ben.
You guess aright—it is that artful fiend
That, in the shape of Absalom, purloins
The people's loyalty, and, in its stead
With unfelt skill infuses in their veins
Sedition's deadly bane.—Let us retire
And mark the demagogue's perfidious art.

[Retire to one side.

SCENE II.

ABSALOM—ISRAELITES.
Abs.
It must not be, my friends! my loyalty
So combates with my feelings for your woes
That I must fly the strong seducing charm
Or deviate from the strict and narrow path
That filial duty points! The royal wrath
Already burns, because I dar'd to ask
Some relaxation of your bonds! alas!
My voice is discord in my father's ear
It sounds a raven's note! some other strain
More tuneable may reach the regal sense
And touch the nerve of pity! They, whose spells
Build up the high, invisible mound, that bars
All access from the people to their King,
Can seal his eyes, when the inhuman son
Expells his father, and let Piety
Be chac'd with scorn from Salem's sacred streets.
Yet should I lift my voice at Israel's wrong
How would they conjure up the deadly forms
Of foul revolt, and charge me with the crime
Of most unnatural treason? Let this plead
Your friend's excuse, who must in silence mourn
But dare not vent his grief in aught but tears
Farewell my friends! be patient, and resign'd.

[Exeunt severally Absalom and Israelites.
Manent HUSHAI and BENAIAH.
Ben.
Such is the oil that subtle Arlist pours
Upon the flame, and bids it blaze the more;
His secret machinations cannot still
Be hid, as now; the conflagration soon
(I fear) will blaze his practice to the world
And show the danger, when beyond a cure.

Bush.
O for a man to cross the deadly spell!
A friend to King and people both at once
Whose worth might add a dignity, and give
His words due aim and weight to reach the ear
Of monarchs with effect; and touch the soul!
Not like those random and uncertain shafts
Of declamation, wing'd by every wind
That fluttering fly, and fall without a scope.—

Ben.
Unless the mandate be already given
To the destroying angel not to spare,
I know the man could stand within the breach,
Could stop th'invading pest and teach the King
To ward the danger off, a man beloved
By Israel, and his monarch's chosen friend!

Hush.
Name him!

Ben.
Your eyes were witness to his worth
Not many days ago!

Hush.
Uriah!

Ben.
He
Or none, could heal the growing malady
Which else might turn a gangrene!

Hush.
Hope suggests
That the late message of the King portends
Immediate exaltation, and high trust
To him—some powerful reasons could be given.

Ben.
True—friend!—and so I thought, when I perceiv'd
No common messenger employ'd, but one
Whose searching eye thro' courts and camps pervades
And like a sun-beam spies the latent ill.

Hush.
To me such courtly language—from a friend—

Ben.
Pardon me—but I guess'd (tho' little skill'd
Or studious in the mystic things of state
To pry) that, not alone to call the friend
Of David, you were sent, but to explore
Whether, with fervent zeal, or lukewarm love
In Israel's camp the General's name is breath'd.

Hush.
You know the humours of a camp, my friend!
How liberal of reproach against their chief
Even him that all would bleed for—but in Joab
I fear that jealous and malignant spirit
Still lives, that cost the friend of Saul so dear.

Ben.
What reason have you to suspect so deep?

Hush.
The mandate of his monarch he receiv'd
With martial dignity, but, when he learn'd
The message for Uriah, o'er his cheek
Past, in a twinkling, all the varying hues
Of close conflicting passion, till his art
Seren'd the ruffling storm; that night I stay'd,
Next morn I sought the General! but I found
Admittance was deny'd.

Ben.
To David's envoy?—
This was a strain of insolence indeed!

Hush.
This sturdy opposition will be found
Perhaps, the child of fear, a conscience gall'd
With guilt, for if to rumour we may trust
Under the shadow of a moonless night
This great commander, like a felon, stole
From his pavilion, and the trenches past.—

Ben.
What proof of this, besides malignant fame?

Hush.
His brother's doubled vigilance and care,
His trumpet singly call'd the host to arms
The absent General's part he well sustain'd
From wing to wing he travers'd all the host
And kindled up the slumb'ring war anew.

Ben.
Nor yet appear'd the Chief? and was it fear
Or sullen indignation that withheld
The General?

Hush.
Time his purpose may disclose;
Meanwhile, conjecture dogs his lonely steps
Over the burning waste to Tadmor's bounds
Where those, whom late his lifted vengeance spar'd
On the dry skirts of Midian, wait the sign
To leave those wilds, where parching thirst abides
And settle on Samaria's water'd vales
Like locusts.—Others think his course is turn'd
Among the tribes of Israel to foment
Revolt and war.

Ben.
To me, this enterprize
Seems foreign to his bent: is he a man
On bare suspicion to forsake his post?
Would he the rebels daring flag unfurl
And fling his fortune in the dubious scale
Of wild domestic rage, because her lord
Sent for a faithful servant from the camp?
It bears no semblance of his ancient art
He would not plunge himself in Jordan's flood
Because, in thought, he heard a lion roar?

Hush.
Yes—he will plunge,—but like a water snake
Close vigilance must watch the passing stream
For none can tell to what unhappy shore
The monster first will point his crested head.
—All yet is dubious, but his flight!

Ben.
And we,
Shall we conceal those tidings from the King?
'Tis fit he knew the dangers full extent!

Hush.
Far, far beyond the limits of the camp
(If I conjecture right) the danger spreads
And much more near, than Tadmor's burning sands
Or even than Jordan's bounds!

Ben.
Too true: alas!
The democratic spirit spreads abroad,
Like a proud overpeering flood it sweeps,
And levels all distinction, scorns all rule,
As if the waves should lift their foamy heads
To dash their empress from her throne of light
Whose silver wand their mighty motion sways
Uriah's popularity and skill
Might fix the helm of empire in his hand,
And bid the menac'd barque out-ride the storm.

Hush.
Or, to surprize him with unwonted honours
Or profit by his counsel; David brings
At such a time, the soldier from his post—
But it were well if some experienc'd friend
Would meet the warriour, ere he sees the King
And hint some useful topics for the times
Such as the smooth-tongued courtier dreads to use
But which a soldier's candour might enforce
And amplify with fearless eloquence.

Ben.
Is he arriv'd?

Hush.
A few short hours will see
The warriour here.

Ben.
These moments must be us'd
To counsel your brave friend, how best to serve
His country and his King.—I go to find
That friend who in his inmost bosom lives
Who best can sire his zeal, or suage his flame.

[Ex. severally.

SCENE III.

An apartment in the Palace of the Queen.
The QUEEN, TIRZAH.
Tirz.
O Princess! yet reflect! a husband's love
By arts like those was never yet regain'd!
Vengeance may quench the flame, if any spark
Should yet survive, but ne'er can wake the fire
In such a heart as his—recall thy words
And bid thy messenger return! this hour,
Perhaps this moment sees the spell begun
That calls the fiends of discord from the deep
And poisons homebred joy.

Queen.
Were I a slave
Call'd by th'inconstant smile of royalty
For a few April days of transient love
Like a fond flower to bask beneath the beam,
Then hang my patient head, surcharg'd with dew
And patient weep the sun's departing ray
Thy lessons might have weight! But I was born
Of one, whose voice, by him that lords it now,
Was dreaded worse than thunder! when thou seest
An eagle's aiery breed the patient dove
Then preach forbearance! when thou seest the drops
Of autumn wash away yon lofty frame
That lifts its brow to Heaven, expect my tears
Will melt a stubborn heart!

Tirz.
Nor prayers nor tears
Would I advise, but patience, and the calm
Of resignation, unassuming worth,
Virtues, that speak by action, and confess
That more than mortal guest that dwells within
That soul-subduing grace, whose cherub smiles
Can reach the heart, and bid revolting love
Obsequious, own your sway,—forgive my zeal
If my too liberal tongue offend! but late
You thought more calmly, and confess'd these arts
Were not below your care, by arts like these
(So well conceal'd, they seem'd no longer art)
Not many moons ago you thought you saw
His love returning.

Queen.
This augments my grief
That then, from bloody wars but new return'd
When calm reflection brooded o'er the past,
And brought again forgotten times to view
My faithfulness and zeal, when for his life
(Threaten'd by angry Saul, who sent his slaves
With bloody purpose) I expos'd my own,
Sav'd him from slaughter, and a crown bestow'd—
This he remember'd, and methought, I saw
The tender lover o'er the king prevail,
And halcyon days return! when, like a blast
That withers all the genial blooms of spring,
This syren came, a suppliant, as it seem'd,
Drest for persuasion, tho' in weeds of woe,
In all the winning eloquence of tears
Adorn'd. And with a pious charge, to gain
A brother's pardon. So the rumour past,
But all was fraudful practice, all design'd
To ruin my projected schemes, and lay
My tow'ring edifice of hope in dust.—
I will not bear it.—By the awful name
Of him, whose blood I share, his ghost shall see
Ample revenge for his insulted line!

Tirz.
Oh yet reflect! you draw a scene of guilt
With Rumour's pencil, from imagin'd wrong!—
Must Israel's sacred monarch be aspers'd
Because Uriah left his blooming bride,
And to th'inviting couch of love, preferr'd
The warrior's lonely bed. He might have stay'd—
No voice imperial call'd him to the field,
Till the revolving moons had brought again
His nuptial day . His fellow-bridegrooms all
Pleaded the law, nor for the martial trump
Would change the hymeneal lyre. But he
Disdain'd the flowery chaplet, and put on,
With pride, the warrior's plume. His spouse's prayers,
Her adjurations, and her trickling tears,
That heighten'd every charm, unmov'd he bore,
When honour call'd. And must we then conclude
That fixt aversion in her bosom grew,
Because her lord preferr'd his country's call
Before ignoble ease? Such merit claim'd
Encrease of love. And must Bathsheba stray
Down that alluring path where pleasure leads,
Because Uriah chose the rigid path
Where honour marshalls on her hermit train?
—Not such effects from such examples flow!—

Queen.
The blessed sun that bids the flower expand,
Matures the poisonous weed. And scorn with scorn,
And hate with hate the female heart repays
Oftner than tame servility, inspir'd
By contumelious negligence and pride.
Would heaven I could forget—but thy defence
Brings to my mind the hateful circumstance
Of their first meeting. Then how David's heart
Glow'd at her opening beauties, when he sought
Her father's house, a refuge from the rage
Of his pursuers! Hope inspir'd his vows—
But when he learn'd Eliam's solemn vow
Had given her to Uriah, he resign'd
His love to friendship: with dissembled virtue
He gave her—but to make her more his own!

Tirz.
Thus still suspicion clouds the noblest deeds,
With her Tartarean shades! Let Reason speak,
Reason will tell, that if she scorn'd her spouse,
Who sought, at Honour's call, the bloody field.—
She too must scorn that lover, who resign'd,
At Friendship's voice her blooming virgin charms.—
Reason will tell, that he, whose strenuous hand
Could shut the pleasing image from his heart,
At Friendship's call, would never wound the peace
Of one, for whom he sacrificed his feelings!—
O then my sovereign, hear thy servant's plea,
Recall your mandate! trust not vague report,
Nor be it ever said that she, who draws
Her blood from Israel's first and mightiest king,
Should seek the level of the slave, and mine
Domestic peace! 'Tis nobler far to look
Above such injuries! and leave to time
To cure such casual wand'rings of the heart.
If he have stray'd!

Queen.
Thinkst thou I would proceed such dreadful lengths,
Without the clearest proof?
Were it but casual, there indeed were hopes
Of speedy reformation. But I fear,
I fear! nay, I am certain. Years on years
Have seen their passion grow! It ne'er can be,
It gives the lie to reason, that a glance,
A casual look, tho' arm'd by Heaven or Hell,
With all their enginry, should fire the heart
At once. Of spells and magic I have heard,
But not believed. And there are men whose hearts
Yield at first onset. But, 'mongst such, the name
Of David numbers not.

Tirz.
There must be charms
Of mind, as well as person, to secure
Lasting esteem; unhappy is that fair,
Who, trusting to th'enchantment of the eyes
Alone for conquest, when th'artillery fails,
Has no supply of mental charms within.
Hers is a short dominion!

Queen.
To her charms
The fair adult'ress trusts not! There are powers
Whose strong assemblage keeps her in the throne
Of royal favour. And, should she be cast
Aside, the busy panders soon would find
Another in her room! By her, they rule;
She is their instrument to wind at will
This royal engine to their sordid ends.
And, does it not become my birth, my place,
To scatter that obnoxious cloud, that damps
The royal virtues? Long the sacred lamp
Of Judah has burn'd dim beneath the gloom,
But soon it shall revive, and justice reach
The trembling victim, tho' behind the throne.
A loyal few, who lov'd my father's name
(Trusty and bold, all friends of antique stamp,
Who mourn my degradation feel the fall
Of her, that added lustre to the name
Of Bethlehem's haughty lord,) shall aid my views.
To David's counsels they shall find their way,
And force attention to the people's prayers.
The house of Saul again shall lift its head
In ancient splendour, on the blasted hopes
Of those, who scoff her faded fortunes now.—
But, see! my faithful messenger returns;
His chearful looks proclaim the deed is done,
And I shall rest in peace! But thou retire.
His message needs no witness.

Tirz.
Heaven forefend
Those evils, which my sad presaging soul
Sees in approach, perhaps before the sun
Descends; for council now is all in vain.

[Exit Tirzah.

SCENE IV

The QUEEN—SHIMEI.
Queen.
Thy countenance declares, before thy speech,
The success of thy message.

Shim.
Yes, my queen!
The deadly vapours of illicit love
Have reign'd too long. But soon the wholesome gale
Of great revenge shall lift its awful voice,
And sweep from yon polluted palace walls
The noxious brood, that long in swarms besieg'd
Each avenue, and banish'd from its bounds
The sons of modest merit, ancient worth,
And lineal honour! Soon that upstart race,
With that perfidious, bloody man, who slew
Thy father's friend, shall lower their haughty crests.

Queen.
Follow me to my chamber—there disclose
Thy tidings at full leisure, the loose tribe
Of profligates and panders soon shall find
Their empire at an end—convene your friends
But one by one, left over-curious eyes
Should mark their movements.

Shim.
I but stay to meet
One of my confidential friends who waits
My coming at this instant, and the next
Shall see me, with the rest, attend thy will.

[Exit Queen.
Shim.
alone.
O sacred house of Benjamin! again
Thou shalt resume the sceptre, or at least
Its lineal honours share.—Alas! with them
The old renown of Jacob sinks in night
Our glory is departed! Freedom fell
With thee, or what of freedom still remain'd
And bloody conquest now, and martial law
And costly pomp, by parasites ador'd
Succeed the rustic majesty of Saul
Who mingled with the people, nor disdain'd
To lead their legions, or in peace partake
Their humble joys—but see! my trusty friend
Approaches to my wish—Abdon—all hail.

SHIMEI—ABDON.
Shim.
The moment comes, when they, who shed the blood
Of Abner, thy lamented friend shall pay
The fine of festal treason, and prepare
A banquet of revenge, that fiends might smile
To view!
Uriah comes, and in himself an host
Arm'd with his wrongs, he soon shall shake the walls
Of parasitic power! the kindred hosts
Of Ammon and of Tadmor thro' the tribes
That line yon courts, would scatter less dismay
If our designs succeed!

Abd.
Too well I know
Uriah's spirit—still untractable
And stern, he moulds his manners on the code
Of our republic: and her name adores
With true devotion: our neglected laws
He so reveres, that neither power, nor wealth
(Tho' next to regal honours on his brow
Were plac'd, with liberal hand) could bend his soul
To smother his revenge or let his wrath
Be satisfied with gentler penalty
Than what the law requires.

Shim.
And that is death
With propagated shame!

Abd.
And wouldst thou wish
That shame should reach to David? could'st thou bear
To find the name of that heaven favour'd man
Tainted with scandal's vile ignoble blot
An imputation, made by factious hands
Perhaps the fuel of the people's rage?—

Shim.
aside.
Then is it as I fear'd—this interview
Was timely—but I must dissemble now
And wear the mask of loyalty!

To Abd.
My soul
Is seiz'd with horrour at the thought!—But still
Some moderate method may be found, to steer
Between the wild extremes, the Sanhedrim
And popular delegates at Salem now
Conven'd, thy art may sound—they all revere
The patriot's name, and hate the haughty man
Who leads our armies—and, for selfish ends
Fires, with incessant schemes of foreign wars
The royal mind, that he may hold the sword.—
His is the power—the shadow here remains
Behind at Salem—should the general vote
Prefer Uriah, (ere the husband knows
His bed's abuse,) his wrongs perhaps might rest
In long oblivion.—Bathsheba's return
To welcome home her warriour, with the spell
Of loyalty and wedded love at once,
Might lull the whirlwind to a lasting calm.

Abd.
Be it my business then to sound the tribes
Perhaps the monarch, struck with deep remorse
Nor less by merit won (by chance, or heaven
Combin'd, at this fair crisis) may consent
To crown the warriour, tho' he wrong'd the man
And all at last be amity and peace.

[Exit Abdon.
Shim.
Go! loyal fool! and, like the sightless mole
Mine for me! while the rude materials rais'd
By thy blind industry, shall raise a pile
Of finer masonry, exalted far
Above the present fabric, which thy love
So idolizes! this Jessean stem
If Fate's mysterious volume right I read
Shall know no second spring! He little dreams
I hate Uriah too! vain-glorious man!
He scorns the courtier, prizes honesty,
And looks contemptuous on the lazy herd
That bask at ease, beneath the royal beam
At home, while he sustains the sultry noon
And reaps an iron harvest—not aware
That, bought and sold, the single-hearted slave
Toils out his weary youth to feed our pride
But we are grateful—witness he, who walks
Thro' yonder shades in contemplation deep
Fain would I listen—but his friend is near
Achitophel, the partner of our hopes—
He will discover all in proper time
Nor at this crisis would I here be found!

[Exit Shimei.
DAVID, (ACHITOPHEL—at a distance.)
[Seeing Achitophel.
Ach.
My sovereign lord,
My faithful counsels—

David.
—Fed my passions high.
'Twas thou inflam'd my pride, and woke the war
With Ammon , for a slight affront, a wrong
Which wisdom would have smil'd at. Thou advis'd
To leave the toils and hazard of the war
To Joab, and rest at home, lull'd by the sound
And distant din of arms. A stripling's scorn
Must be repaid with blood, while sloth at home
Fosters worse passions. Had I brav'd the field,
And cop'd alone with unbelieving foes,
Cas'd in bright arms, beneath the beam of noon,
My worst foe had not found me!

Ach.
Witness Heaven!
Witness my honour unimpeach'd! no views
But for thy sacred safety sway'd my voice
To counsel thy delay!

David.
O blessed times,
Tho' deem'd afflictive, when, from hill to hill
I fled the royal blood-hounds! Them I thought
My only foes, my only trust was Heaven!
His favour to obtain, my vigilance
And caution still with keen, observant eye,
Guarded against the taint of every vice,
I saw but one protector, but one way
To gain his favour. Every morning shone
On some new miracle. Some wond'rous scene
Of prompt deliverance.

Ach.
Let my sovereign lord
Not forfeit his dependance. On despair
Heaven frowns, and hates the soul that doubts his love.

David.
His love!—Too much I trusted in his love!
Abus'd his mercy and his power defy'd,
But now, alas, I dread the eye of man.
My heart is bare and bleeding—every glance
Sends a shaft thro' it—tho' but late it seem'd
Enclos'd in steel. Say, is Uriah come?
And is there hope to veil the glaring shame
From every eye, but Heaven's—for man to man
Is an inhuman judge, and I have foes
That soon would dog my name, and hunt it down
Thro' every maze of endless infamy!

Ach.
Uriah is return'd.

David.
And wherefore yet
Has he not claim'd an audience? Tho' I dread
To see him, yet his absence wounds me more.
I know not what to wish, or to enquire
Has he vouchsaf'd a visit yet at home?—
Or has allegiance vanquish'd love, and sent
The gallant, injur'd warrior, first to pay
His duty to his king?

Ach.
At your command
His motions all are spy'd.

David.
And what result?
Torture me not with doubt; nor, on your life
Dare to conceal the worst!

Ach.
Compell'd, adjur'd,
My loyalty commands, what love would hide.
Ere those you sent had met him on the way,
Who meant, beneath some seeming fair pretext
To tend his footsteps till they lodg'd him safe
Lest any foul report, or dark surmise
Should taint his eyes, or ears—he was observ'd
In close and serious conference with Shimei.—

David.
Then all is public—that curst Benjamite
(Sworn foe to me and mine) has told the tale
Whate'er he knew, and what he knew not, feign'd
Disloyal, tardy slaves! whose task it was
To meet him first, and keep his mind serene
From each contagious rumour! all is lost!
Has he yet reach'd his home, or have you learn'd
Of his reception there?

Ach.
I had not means.—

David.
How seem'd he on his coming to the palace?
I know his open nature, far above
Dissembling, or the usual craft of courts
Whate'er he feels, his feelings he proclaims,
Each look and gesture shows his inmost soul—
Oh! could I read his looks!—but mine would show
What most I want to hide!

Ach.
He will not brook
(Proud, and a soldier as he is) to tell
Whate'er he knows to all, if aught he knows—

David.
If aught he knows!—where'er the serpents sang
Was fixt, the poison rankles in the wound—
And Shimei's love to me I long have known!—
That Benjamite by every art has try'd
To taint my purest actions with the stain
Of some malignant view, and put the mask
Of malice, even on innocence—oh then
What horrid vizors for deformity?—
It needs none, for the slightest hint of truth
Is foul enough!

Ach.
Yet Shimei scarce would dare
To give his venom breath—for, well I know
The coward tongue would falter in his fears
He is not one whom noble Natures soon
Would condescend to trust!—there is between
His nature, and Uriah's such repulse
Such fierce antipathy as ne'er would blend
Their jarring natures in one common view
Or common trust.—

David.
Go find him, and explore
His spirit, while I study to receive him.

[Ex. severally.
End of the First Act.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

An open Space before the Palace of David.
URIAH.
To him, ADRIEL.
Uri.
Welcome, my friend! But what dost thou behold
In me, to touch your features with concern
So ill disguis'd, and deep, as what I see
In every line of that once chearful face?
Before we met you seem'd to turn away
And hide a burning blush! Was it for me,
You blush'd, my friend? Was it for me that tear
Stole down your glowing cheek? Have I behav'd
Or, as a soldier, or a friend, to bring
Shame on my friends? Uriah knows no guilt,
No soldier's stain, nor will he hang the head
For others folly. Come, my friend, I know
My wife is false!

Adr.
The tongue of calumny
That oft envenoms virtue, here, perhaps,
Has stain'd the stainless!

Uri.
Be it so, my friend;
Then I will search the slander to the source,
And be it distant, as the springs of Nile,
Or high as Sinai's thund'ring tops; the power
That spoke his mandates thence, shall see this arm
Assert his sacred law, by Israel heard,
Thou shalt not bear false witness.

Adr.
Well resolv'd!

Uri.
Ah, were that all, my friend! But much I fear,
The foul contagious air of courts has breath'd
Infection thro' my dwelling; how, or whence
It came, I know not. But the plague has spread!
It has possess'd her blood! Her mantling cheek
And trembling eyes confess'd it; too serene
Was once that heavenly aspect, not to show
The smallest vapour which disturbs the peace
That dwelt within, for many a tranquil day,
In better times! Now, all is dark and deep,
Tho' dress'd in borrow'd smiles! She scarce had breath
To speak my welcome—cold to my embrace,
I felt not there that throbbing heart that us'd
To beat in unison with mine!

Adr.
Perhaps,
The sland'rous tale has reach'd her ears, and she
Is apprehensive that thine ear has drunk
The deadly poison, and thy rage believ'd
The foul, calumnious tale. This thought might wound
The purest bosom, and induce a tinge
On the most innocent cheek, to look like guilt.—
Your visit was but short! Suspend your judgment
'Till but to-morrow's dawn arrive. This night
May bring conviction!

Uri.
What! this night! this night
Am I to sleep, and will some angel come
To tell me in a dream my spouse is true?—
Or must I, lull'd by charms to soft repose,
Perhaps, within a practis'd harlot's lap,
Help out her soft assertion of her truth
With all a husband's fond credulity?
No—by my father's shade! By all the tombs
Of all that line, whose honourable dust
No stain like this has tarnish'd, I will tear
The mantle from this mystery, ere I sleep,
Or never sleep again!

Adr.
Say, wouldst thou watch
Her door, or lie in ambuscade at home?
This wild demeanour, if she still is pure,
She soon would know, then hate, and deadly scorn
Would pay your ill-starr'd pains!

Uri.
And must I doubt
For ever? Have I neither friend nor foe
To end my vain suspence at once?

Adr.
This night,
If thou regardst my counsel. Shun thy house,
And lodge with me!

Uri.
I know thou art my friend,
And yet thy softest implication sounds
Like thunder! What sad change, or deadly form
Of danger, lurks at home? Or must I give
My room to others! Say, what blasting power
Of earth or hell shall cross a husband's steps
That goes to visit home?

Adr.
Mistake me not.
You torture every word to guilty meaning,
To images of shame and turpitude,
Which on the canvass of the passing clouds,
Your sick'ning fancy draws! I meant no guilt,
Or danger in thy parting or thy stay!

Uri.
Long since, we have exchang'd our souls! our love
Surpass'd a female's fondness: can I think
You treat me like a froward child! to lull
My sense of honour by a drowsy charm
To bid me sit down calmly with my wrongs
And wink at broad detection? Tell me, friend,
Does this become a soldier and a man
Not lowest in esteem?

Adr.
To that high point
I wish to raise thee, which thy merit claims
Where worth like thine will meet its due reward;
Thy country calls thee!—To Uriah's name
The public chorus chants her sweetest praise,
Mixt with indignant murmurs; when it sees
Thy merit sunk, beneath its pitch so far
Subordinate to fawning slaves, whose tongues
By licking up imperial dust, have cleans'd
Their way to wreaths for which they never bled!—

Uri.
Where wouldst thou lead me? thro' what mighty breach
Of loyalty and law conduct my steps
In vanity's broad mirrour to behold
My puny shadow stretch'd to giant size,
And menacing the moon—I am not craz'd
Nor (tho afflicted deep) can yet mistake
The moody madness of a moon-struck brain
For sober reason.—Adriel! I perceive
Your friendly purpose, in my private wounds
To pour the soothing balm of public love—
And lead me gently from the precipice
Where reason's self grows giddy!—but once more
Why leave my home to-night?—

Adr.
Because a prize
Worthy a soldier may this night be won
A game, to save a kingdom! far beyond
The chace of idle rumours! meanwhile, tell
Does your proud general keep his old esteem
Among his bands? Say, has he learn'd of late
To triumph over hearts, no more content
With humble looks alone?—

Uri.
Neither time
Nor place accords with such a question now;—
This, of my general ask'd—my ready sword
Had to another's inquisition given
A suitable reply!

Adr.
Reply to me
Not as a soldier, but a trusty friend
That knows to whom he speaks, and therefore dares
No calumny exists in private words
No faithful bosoms trusted.

Uri.
True, if nought
Invidious, or detracting, from my words,
Calumnious art, against the great in name
Or office, may derive: that vapour draws
Her poison, from the most innoxious flowers
That e'er perfum'd the gale!

Adr.
Art thou become
That honest, loyal bigot of the camp
That does his duty boldly, and winks hard,
(Whene'er his general bids him face the foe)
And sees no danger?—Hast thou sunk so far
The citizen of Israel in the soldier
As not to see and feel th'enormous load
Our martial honours lay upon our necks?—
How gaudy does the cause of glory seem
Like meteors, streaming thro' the waste of night!
Like them, it waves sublime, to witch the world
With gaudy draperies; but, like them, portends
The sounding hurricane, that sweeps away
At once, the ripen'd harvest and the swain.—
'Twas thus you thought, ere war became a trade
When the bold peasant flung away his goad
And seiz'd his javelin at his country's call—
Then hung his shield aloft and join'd the plough.
But, now, in endless wars on wars engag'd
Where veterans, grown beneath their helmets gray
Forget they have a country you have learn'd
The dialect in vogue, and spurn the swain
Who groans beneath the burden of your wars
If his too liberal tongue but glance a hint
Against th'imperial politics, that teach
Unbounded conquest, and unbounded sway!

Uri.
You wrong me much, my friend! there is no heart
In all Judæas bands, which throbbs more quick
At freedom's call, than mine! or more regrets
The time, when our victorious flag (which now
Hangs like a meteor, o'er the troubled east
Portending ruin) more benignly shone
Like Phosphor, o'er those native hills, a sign
Of gentle peace, to all but Israel's foes
Invading foes—but now, we seek them far
From home—and seem to love the cruel trade
Even for itself!

Adr.
Believe me, friend! there lies
Beneath the splendid pile of trophied arms
A deep abyss of ruin for the state!—
Ambitious views, and overweening thoughts
Ideal crowns, and sceptres in the grasp
Already lead our leader, we pursue
And ask not why, nor whither.

Uri.
Such designs
In other minds at other times may grow—
But our commander ne'er will bribe his host
Such dangerous lengths!

Adr.
Thro' want of power—perhaps
I doubt his self-denial.

Uri.
Be th'effect
From this, or from whatever cause deriv'd
His honours on his loyalty recline
And that reposes singly on the name
Of David.

Adr.
You already have return'd
All unawares, the answer I desired
And clear'd my doubts, then from himself he holds
No claim to general love; has he no arts
Of popularity?

Uri.
His arts are vain
Since his ill-omen'd hand in Abner's blood
Was dy'd, tho' bold in arms, in counsel wise
Tho' with the semblance of paternal love
He courts his gallant bands, their hearts revolt.
Tho' by their King's command, their hands are his.
His persidy to Saul's lamented friend
So taint his every deed, his every look,
His words seem fawning, and his liberal gift
The purchase of sedition—that foul deed
Attaints the general, and degrades the man.

Adr.
On kingly favour then he rests alone!—
Say, should the rays of royal grace illume
Some heroe in eclipse, and point their rays
Full on another head, would Israel's bands
Approve the monarch's choice?

Uri.
I question that,—
His brother still, with honest martial worth
Of half the popular indignation, robs
The general's name, obnoxious tho' it be—
Another choice might sow dissension's rage
Among the troops.

Adr.
But Israel's choice at home
The sanction of the tribes, the senate's voice
Would, like the word, that bids the troubled deep
Compose her tumult, send a sacred calm
Among the hosts of Jacob.

Uri.
The intent
Of your discourse, I know not—if to soothe
My grief, you miss the means! while thus you gall
My sore impatience—Was I sent for home
To vent at large my unavailing sighs
For undeserved shame, or lend my breath
To faction's aims!

Adr.
And art thou yet to learn
The general discontent, that spreads around
From tribe to tribe, and what the delegates
Intend, this moment in full counsel met,—
An awful consistory? thou shalt know
Their purpose soon, and you, perhaps, may hear
Uriah's name the master-note that fills,
The awful harmony of popular claims.

Uri.
Uriah's name!

Adr.
No longer will they bear
Oppression's iron rod, nor brook the sway
Of those confederates, who have rul'd the state
So long at random; now a single word,
Perhaps, will break the charm!

Uri.
And were my name
That of the luckiest rebel, who dissolv'd
The bonds of loyalty, and blew the storm
From mutiny to madness, 'till the crown,
Purchas'd by blood, adorn'd the villain's brow.
Sooner upon the footstool of the throne
My blood should flow in royalty's defence,
Than this right hand should break the hallow'd bounds
That lets in loud misrule to lord it wide
O'er sacred order and imperial sway.—
Even gratitude, and friendship's ties forbid.—
I love my king, his virtues well I know,
To them I trust in time to break the cloud,
And chace the noxious fogs that hide his beams.

Adr.
You wrong my meaning much, if you surmise
I wish to tempt you from your loyalty—
I rather hope that some high office waits
Your coming, either in the court or camp,
To serve thy king, and Israel's state at once;
Some station, whence your eye, like yonder beam,
May pierce corruption's haunts, and bid it die,
And wither up the foul and noxious stems
Of luxury and vice, where'er they spring.—
This David owes thee, and I trust, he means
The retribution now, for much it taints
His fame, to leave his long-try'd friend obscure,
(Altho' his worth compells a nation's praise)
Like day's bright lamp, which, tho' beneath the deep,
Yet wakes the warbling lark's instinctive song.—
Shouldst thou succeed, the choice would soon dispell
All discontent, and lay the rising storm.—
If he neglect thee, and continue still
His favour to that dark society
That fill the court and camp, would'st thou refuse
A hand to help to save a sinking state,
When Israel claims thine aid?

Uri.
I see not yet
The pressing need to leave the beaten track
Of loyalty.

Adr.
And may it never come!
Yet time, my friend, may soon discover more!
Then, if thy country calls, attend the call,
Nor fear to spread thy pinions to the gale,
Mount to an eagle's pitch, and boldly soar
Against the sun, if fate demands thy rise!
Think on thy wrongs, if any faults be found
Where most thou fear'st. Remember Israel's claim—
And, when I see thee next, be resolute,
Be fearless, as becomes thy country's friend,
Be bold, be cautious, and avoid thy home.

[Exit Adriel.
Uri.
Was it a demon in a friendly form
That came to tempt me thus!—I yet am firm—
The noxious spell has neither touch'd my head
Nor heart. I feel the seat of reason clear—
What am I then to think, or what resolve.
Think on my wrongs. Why, then, my shame is known.
Yon travel'd sun but propagates the tale
From east to west! Yet I must shun my home!
Or glares the proof abroad?—perhaps—at court.
Or from the court my shame at first began.
For we, that fight the battles of our king,
And bear the vengeance of our God against
Rebellious states, and purge the noxious clime,
Yet know not what pollution breeds at home,
Or what foul vapours taint the stagnant calm
Of high-vic'd cities. Some new favourite
Of this new faction, that besiege the throne
Of too indulgent David, has undone
My peace for ever; yet, whoe'er he is,
My friend even dreads to name him. Should it be
Amnon, or Absalom, my sovereign lord
Will not, like old lethargic Eli, spare
The criminal, for his exalted rank,
Or royalty of blood. Yet why my friend
Should warn me thus to keep aloof. Some spell
Or danger lurks within. I have it! Fiends!
The veil is drawn at last! O stupid, numb'd
To sense! O for a long and quiet sleep!
Unvisited by dreams!
O for the wings of eagles to escape
This odious scene, and the detested truth
That rushes on my sense—pursues my steps
With harpy stings. Madness were ease to this!
I then was call'd for home, to cloak her shame.—
The foul adult'ress! lest the swelling crime
Should force discovery 'ere the camp allows
A regular return. Oh, Adriel,
Would thou hadst kept the secret! Yet I thank thee—
Thank thee—for frenzy—madness. Yet I'm calm!
I will collect myself! Ah now I know,
Too well I know thy kind assiduous care,
To lure me from the soul-corroding scene
To fairy strains of popular applause!—
Yet I will keep my post—besiege the court
Till day succeeds to night, and night to day.
Well am I us'd to watching, care and toil,
In Israel's cause; and in my sov'reign's ear,
Even in his dreams, I'll hollow for revenge;
And, if I fail, I'll find the way to reach
The nearest to the throne, or shake the seat
Of royalty itself with my appeal.

[Exit Uriah.
Scene changes to an inner Apartment of the Palace.
DAVID.
How all things change, thro' the dark medium seen
Of self-abhorrence, and the gloom of sin!
Yon sun that us'd to lift my mental view
Thro' boundless journies, till his lamp was lost
On the pure limits of eternal day,
Seems but a flickering taper now, that leads
To the licentious bower. Yon quiet groves,
Where, when the day-star, (sunk beneath the deep)
Call'd in his wand'ring glories, when forlorn
The widow'd evening flung her gaudy robes
Aside, and walk'd the woods in graver state,
Sedate and slow; when each dim alley seem'd
To fluctuate with aerial shapes, that mov'd
Celestial measures to the soothing swell
Of the soft breeze, which, thro' the lofty sweep
Of the green theatre, alternate rose,
Alternate sunk, and varied with soft touch
The waving scenery of the pendent gloom!
How did the movements of my soul accord
With the grave minstrelsie! But now, these woods
Put on the pomp of Hades. Whispering fiends
Mock the sweet woodland echoes, till they seem
To sicken at their breath! They line my walks,
Marshall my lonely steps, and, thro' the air,
Hurl their dark spells that check the mounting thought,
And tame the soaring soul to base pursuits,
Like the sad bird that skims the mantled pool
When humid vapours clog his weary wings.

To him, ONIAH.
[ONIAH]
Aside.

Oniah.
Pardon, my lord, and, if my tongue offends,
Think it an organ, by the powers above,
Reluctant, in an odious task employ'd!

David.
Whate'er it be, with confidence declare
Thy message; I must learn to bear the worst.
What has been, has been, nor can fate recall
The deeds of yesterday, the deep remorse
Of years to come!

Oniah.
Whatever is to come,
Heaven tells not. All her oracles are dumb
To thy enquiries.

David.
In the people's voice,
Perhaps, it speaks too plain! That awful organ
Is often touch'd by Heaven. Did Zadok give
No answer?

Oniah.
What he said, I shall report
Most truly—when I pray'd him to apply
For counsel to th'eternal majesty
That dwells between the cherubim—I dare not,
Was his abrupt reply. “I saw last night
“An awful vision sent from him, who lives
“For ever. In the holiest place of all
“Methought I stood, and saw the heavenly lamp
“Burn ominously dim, all mute and sad
“Seem'd the attendant choir, the warbled hymn
“Paus'd on a sudden, and their startled looks
“Were all bent upward, with expectance dread
“Of some descending terrour from above
“Clad in empyreal glory; when anon
“Like light'ning it appear'd, and quick was gone—
“And all was desolate and dark, forlorn
“And silent; but the flash forerun the storm
“Soon rose below a tempest of misrule
“And various clamour, like the winds of Heaven
“That lash th'insurgent waves,—the dread result
“To me is all unknown, nor Heaven vouchsafes
“By oracle or Urim to unfold
“His will at large.”

David.
I only wish'd to know
If by th'expulsion of a man, involv'd
In tenfold guilt, I might, in part, appease
Heaven's anger, which against me seems to burn!
This is denied—and yet—the voice within
Tells what the vision meant, too plain—but still
The sanction of the prophet was requir'd—
—Was Nathan found at last?

Oniah.
Long was the search
And hopeless, till at last we trac'd him on
To Moreh's hill; with hasty march he strode
To the tall summit, which o'erlooks the vale
Of Hinnom, where the dark flood finds below
His gulfy way, then looking back, he cast
An angry glance, “Yon city soon shall pour
“Her worst abominations forth in vain—
“Other abominations shall succeed!”
“Loud in the breeze I hear the birds of prey
“I see them hover o'er yon hated roof
“Then westward wing their way, till Ephraim's wood
“Presents an unexpected feast,” no more
He deign'd, but plung'd amid the forest gloom
Inscrutable to eyes profane, where still
He shuns all human converse.

David
to Oniah, who retires.
To Oniah.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Court before the Palace of David.
Enter JOAB disguised.
[JOAB]
What do I see and hear? I left one siege
It seems, to stand another! Rabbah's streets
Were I this moment hem'd by hostile spears
Were not more dangerous to my hunted life
Than Salem's sacred squares.—I heard my name
In execrations sent from lip to lip
As if it breath'd infection! I would find
As many hands to end my hated life
As if the sons of Ammon dog'd my heels
Were I but known among them! soon I'll learn
The drift of this commotion, and, perhaps
Discharge it on my foes.—'Tis true, the people
Have been aggriev'd, and, should their curses light
As they are meant, there lives not one whose life
Is more obnoxious! But I much admire
Why David hides his head, and lets the storm
Roll on resistless, like th'unbridled winds!
Great was his ancient influence—great the love
His people bore him, else my blood, long since,
Had paid the public hatred, but I hung
On him, like clasping ivy on the oak,
And while the vigorous root supply'd his stem,
My branches flourish'd green. But who are these,
Who toward the palace move in solemn pomp?—
By all my fears, the delegates of Israel.
What can it mean? I'll mingle with the crowd,
And learn their destination! Could I trust
The rumour of the day, they threaten me!
I'll follow with the stream, but find, perhaps,
A way at length to fix a lasting mound
Before the fury of the people's power.

AMOZ, HELKIAH, with the other Delegates of the People, approach the Palace.
To them, ACHITOPHEL.
[ACHITOPHEL]
The king has sent me—(so I must pretend)
—[Aside].
From you to learn the purport of your claims,
Ye might have staid, till from the conquer'd foe,
Our general came triumphant, and laid down
His crested pride, to join in sage debate.
We then confirm your laws.

Hilk.
The general's voice
Is futile here; in his own cause, no man
Is judge and advocate! The law we come
Now to propose regards himself the first.

Ach.
If it be wrong to judge the meanest man
Unheard, and unimpeach'd, then judge not him!

Hilk.
On him we lay no blame; nor derogate
From his illustrious rank, and kindred ties
To Jesse's royal stem; but this, (with him)
Respects a public cause!

Ach.
Declare your grievance.

Hilk.
It has been oft declar'd, but still in vain.
But pent up waters, though deep mounds oppose,
Will find their way at last. It is more fit
To form a regular channel for its rage,
Than to confine its fury, lest it rise
In dread rebellion, and convulse the globe.—
Why does the flower of Israel waste its prime
In foreign fields, while years on years revolve,
And sees our bounds extend, our people fade.
The soldier's glossy raven locks assume.
The griesly hue, beneath the batter'd helm.
At home the hind out-toils the travel'd sun,
And sees the harvest of his labour, swept
Away, to feed the famine of the war.
And, worse (if worse can be) to waste at home
The soul infections of an haughty court!

Ach.
Whence this new insolence?

Hilk.
Achitophel,
You much mistake, or wilfully misname
Our privilege; this insolence is old,
Old as the days of Aaron. Then the voice
Of the assembled tribes was law and truth,
Tho' now it sounds in some fastidious ears
Like treason!

Ach.
What you gave, ye would resume.
When, all unable to defend yourselves
Against the numerous foes, that hem'd you round
On every hand, and held in manacles
Your martial ardour; then you claim'd a king
(Such as the nations boast) to lead you on
To conquest and to glory, now, averse
To your own choice (a choice confirm'd above)
Ye would undo your work, and grudge to bear
That easy load ye laid upon yourselves.
But this, were this allow'd, by sudden change
Would quite unhinge all government, and break
The settled course of things; as if the moon
Of bleak December should assert her right
O'er July's sultry calm, and freeze his dews
In her cold crystal urn.

Amoz.
Those arguments
Your royal master needs not to support
His state, for in his subjects hearts he reigns:
Nor needs the claims of tyranny, to guard
His firm, establish'd throne; it is to give
His power a better basis we propose
These laws. Our loyal meaning is to give
Our King a surer title to our loves,
And counsel him to trust his sacred cause
To those we can confide in. This we claim—
We wish to see old Judah's line restor'd
To its first honours, and we must have way.—

Ach.
Ye know not whom ye toil for, if ye did
Ye were more culpable, but now, no more
Ye know the hand that turns your headlong rage
To his own factious purpose, than the mass
Which from its flaming gorge the mountain flings
Knows, why it falls in ruin on the swains
And lays their harvest low!

Hil.
We need not blush
To name the man, whose virtues long have won
A nation's confidence, and given them trust
In all his days to come!

Ach.
Produce the man
Whose merit soars above the common pitch
Of statesmen and of heroes!

Amoz.
Who can doubt
The man, or who has borne so mean a lot
In Israel's tribes, as never to have heard
Uriah's name?

Ach.
His virtues are allow'd
By all, nor can that age be quite corrupt
When such men are esteem'd! But should the King
Allow such ready monitors at will
To win their way by clamour, and besiege
His throne, on every petty discontent
What would become of majesty and awe
What would become of Israel, still the prey
Of every popular gust? yet mean I not
To slight your grave proposal, when I find
The sanction of the senate join your claims,
But these are sudden measures and require
Deliberation. To degrade the man
Whom years have crown'd with glory, seems a step
That leads to danger.

Amoz.
For ourselves, we scorn
The danger, and we know the general host
Abhors their leader's view; nor aught supports
Obedience in the camp but David's name
Remove that column, and the general sinks
With all his martial fame.

Ach.
Of this I own
Some symptoms have appear'd, the people's voice
Demands respect—but, for this day, the King
Requests a respite, till to-morrow's dawn
Matures his counsels, some domestic cares
At present have engross'd the royal mind
To these he dedicates his present hours!
To-morrow is the peoples!

[After a short conference with the rest.
Amoz.
We depend
Upon his wisdom, and with joint assent
Postpone our message, till he claims our presence

[Exeunt Delegates.
Ach.
The man who watches not the turning tide
Nor weighs his anchor, when the current serves
Must leave his vessel stranded on the beach
And mourn the moments lost! I did not rise
To this uncertain height to stem the blast
Of popular favour. He, that holds the helm
Of state should learn to veer with every wind
And have a harbour still secure and safe
On whatsoever coast the shifting gale
Blows from all quarters under heaven—I saw
This tempest in the cradle, nor despis'd
Its infant frowns, nor, when it grew at last
To giant size, it found me unprepar'd
To ride the wild waves in my steady barque!—
Let Joab and them, who scorn'd to shun the flaw
Beneath its fury sink!—for me, I scorn
To share the sounding fall of wilful men.—
Another crew may man the toiling ship
Tho', by themselves undone, the mariners
Were all swept overboard. Uriah then
Is Israel's favourite, and too well I know
The guilty reason why the conscious King
Would wish to raise him!—He has one way left
To calm the people's and the husband's rage
At once; I see the former chief's decline
And this new favourite's rise—whate'er I owe
The general, to myself a larger debt
Is due, nor will I break the ancient law
Of self-defence, to aid a desperate cause—
But who comes here?—

Enter a MESSENGER.
Mess.
My lord! a stranger sues
For audience.

Ach.
Let him come

Mess.
He shuns the view
Of public eyes.

Ach.
Let him declare to you
His business.

Mess.
He refuses to disclose
To any ear but yours', whate'er he claims!

Ach.
What means this mystic semblance? does he seem
A foreigner or native, one of rank
Plebeian, or above the common herd?

Mess.
His habit speaks the soldier! but he seems
A man, that on himself alone depends
Scorning the sun-shine and the storms of life
Not us'd to tremble at a despot's nod
But daring to confront him; as the time
And his disguise allow'd me, in his mein
And port, I this could learn.

Ach.
I hazard not
An interview with strangers—I have foes
That seek my life! before I see this man
He must with cautious hand be scrutiniz'd
For private arms.

Mess.
Already that is done
He of himself unfolded all his robe
And bade me search him round!

Ach.
Then let him wait
My coming at the secret place of audience.

Scene changes to a Closet in the Palace.
ACHITOPHEL, A STRANGER.
Ach.
[Joab discovering himself.

Joab.
Yes—I watch
While you securely sleep, nor seem to mind
The pent-up storm that seems to rage beneath
And threats to blow you to the moon! for me
I heard its voice afar, I mark'd its rage
Even from the camp, till under Salem's towers
It threatens dread explosion!

Ach.
For what end
I know not, but for some important end
The noble chief forsakes his watchful post
By Rabbah's towers, in those more dangerous walls
To face his unseen foes, that brew a storm
Which menaces more near.

Joab.
Ideal horrours
Of popular commotion! Let it rage
I've weather'd many worse! but this appears
A reptile, noxious vapour, carrying plagues
Deep in its bosom, which it sows around
And drizzles death, where'er it sweeps along,
Already has it poison'd half the camp
And now it sails away, and threats the city.

Ach.
Be calmer! and by certain signs describe
Your secret foe.

Joab.
His name at once declar'd
Discovers all—Uriah.

Ach.
Whence your dread
Of him?

Joab.
Are you to learn his guileful arts
His serpent fraud, that hisses as it stings
His whisper'd faction thro' the tribes of Israel—
It must be he—for since he join'd our bands
They hate the track of glory, and begin
To sigh for home—there was a time, of late
When honour was a soldier's sole religion—
But now, by yonder heaven, they talk of right
The rights of men and citizens, nor think
That fields, manur'd with blood, and leaguer'd walls
And thund'ring battlements (to swell the fame
Of conquerors and Kings), and laureate wreaths
To the survivors, pay the sighs and groans
Of a few mournful widows!

Ach.
What or who
Has taught them this new doctrine? have the murmurs
Of this seditious city reach'd the camp?—
Or is there one among themselves who sows
Those cockles in their minds?

Joab.
I tell thee, statesman
Uriah must be he!

Ach.
Uriah's name!
Say, is it sounded with more dread than yours?
Does he command the camp, conduct the siege?
Are you the rebel's master or his slave?—
What dread enchains your tongue, or what prevents
Your sentence on your substitute?

Joab.
His art
Baffles my rage, nor does he leave a mark
Even for the shafts of slander to insix
Its venom'd point. In loyalty's close mask
He veils the soulness of his deep designs
In darkness and in doubt! the common camp
Adores his name!—with more than wizard spell
Still as the factious clamour swells to Heaven
His balmy elocution sooths the storm
Like lenient oil on turbid waters pour'd—
Thus voluble and artful as the snake
That poisons with a kiss, he slips the hold
And baffles the pursuer!

Ach.
Curse his virtues!
Worse than the red plague, and the hidden fire
That wins its fearful way against the wind
His fame infects even here! the noisy crowd
That haunt our streets return his hated name
In echo to the camp, the storm you fear'd
Has crost another whirlwind in its way
And sweeps the forest with redoubled rage!

Joab.
And thou and I will in the whirlwind fall
Unless we foil its fury! Fate or chance
That led me here, I thank thee! else my hand
Perhaps had never drawn th'imperial sword!
—Canst thou conjecture yet the King's intent
With what new honours he designs to load
His favourite?

Ach.
But, that I know the King
Bound to his friends by more than kindred tyes
For loyalty, and long-try'd services
I would have thought he meant to raise him high
Or in the civil or the martial line.

Joab.
It was not then for nought the soldiers seem'd
To hail his name at parting, with the sound
Of many a hearty farewell, and the strain
Of public benedictions mixt with tears!—
I see the deadly birth of many a moon
Begin its dreadful progress in the clouds
And fall at length in horror on my head
We must return the poison to his lips
Or learn to drain the venom'd bowl ourselves.—

Ach.
Depend upon the King!

Joab.
The ties of blood!
My hapless hand has cut the holy knot
Long since—my loyalty is like his love!—
By a far different tenure I possess
My lofty post, I flourish in his fears
He dreads me, like a phantom of the night—
Whene'er he dares to turn a steady eye
Upon the dark and formidable shape
The shape is gone!—Achitophel! to thee
This is no mystery! since I clear'd my way
To military honours thro' the breast
Of Abner!—to my thought, I read my doom
Too plain, in David's alienated eye:
And did he know, that when he gave the word
For slaughter, echo would repeat the doom
From many a factious voice in Israel's camp
He would not linger long! This to thine ear
I trust with safety, for I know thy doom
Is link'd with mine, and thou wilt lend thine aid
To ward the coming ill.

Ach.
aside.
To Joab.

Joab.
Ha! statesman!—is it thus? have I upheld
Your pride and rais'd you from the dust to spurn
Your patron! but I come not here, on thee
Dependent, for I know thee! other arms
And arts are mine, than puny statesmens skill
I came no suppliant, with a gentle shower
Of woman's tears to court thy slender aid
But tell thee, in a voice of thunder, tell thee
Thou must dispatch this rival or resolve
To sink beneath his influence! he detests
Thine arts and thee—the watch-day to the wolf
Bears not more mortal enmity than he
To thee! and doest thou hope to live, when he
Rules paramount? as well the shadowy ghost
Might dare the sun's full beam, he dies, or thou
Must fall!

Ach.
aside.
I now must soothe him, till I point
My dart at leisure for a surer blow! To Joab.

Thou hast convinc'd me! but in David's love
If he has found protection, who shall dare
To snatch him thence?

Joab.
The law of self-protection!
Shall clear thee to thyself! nor have I shar'd
With thee so long the chace of common foes
To doubt thy skill to circumvent or snare
Thine enemies at will! thou hast the ear
Of David!—thro' that organ pour the bane
That taints the mind, thou strik'st as sure a blow
As if the murtherer's dagger arm'd thy hand!—
It was no trivial errand call'd me here
From Ammon's leaguer'd walls! I could confide
The secret to no bosom but my own
And thine—reflect, tho' numerous are my foes
Yet far more numerous are my friends—they spread,
From Tadmor's eastern bounds to Jordan's flood!—
Remember this, and let me ne'er behold
His hated face again, if thou wouldst wish
To see thy friend in peace!—I must away
And join my followers, ere the rosy morn
Blush for my seeming negligence! adieu.

[Ex. Joab.
Ach.
To-morrow's dawn shall see thee linger here
Or I am not Achitophel!—Am I
A man to be insulted, menac'd, plung'd
In ruin! selfish man! he nought regards
My cause, my life, my honour! so I lead
His hated rival to the dark abyss
He cares not, tho' I drown along! but they
Who guide the helm of state, are not to leave
The rudder at each hot-brain'd fools' command
That mutinies for sway! It seems a trifle
For you to leave your camp, in mean disguise
To leave the cause of nations on the point
And hazard of a moment, to pursue
Your guiltless foe, and from your Sovereign's heart
Tear the new favourite, and again secure
Your station with a second Abner's fall!
But I have felt your tyranny too long—
I help'd you! but the trade of blood has taught
The gratitude of wolves! But now, behold!
Thy savage fury drives thee to a snare
Thou little dream'st of! (If the King but dares
To be that heroe which he was of old
And 'venge a peoples wrongs.)—Let him do this,—
Sedition's fangs are drawn, and Faction hides
Her glaring orbs, that (like the comet's beam
Menac'd the state,) in everlasting sleep!—
Two savages at once are in my snare
If one escapes, he rends me—so perhaps
The other may,—but gratitude would bind
Uriah's noble nature to repay
Life for his life, and thanks for dignity—
The other's disposition nought secures
But adamant, and Hell's eternal chains.—
This is no time to falter, or delay
My purpose—who attends there? Bid the guard
Secure the outward gate! A spy is caught
From Rabbah sent! But see, the King himself;
This even exceeds my most exalted hopes!

Enter DAVID.
David.
What means this outcry! these unsual signs
Of trepidation which your visage tells
As if some terrible conspiracy
Was found?

Ach.
My Lord! if still you think me leagued
With the proud general to secure my sway
By his audacious aid, vouchsafe to hear
And judge my candour, loyalty, and truth
By what I now disclose!—in hot pursuit
Of brave Uriah's guiltless blood, the chief
This military star, the lasting dread
Of Ammon, leaves his post in mean disguise
And dares, beneath the glance of majesty
Beneath the double frown of you and Heaven
To dictate murther to me!

David.
Why, and how?
Amazement! can it be? would Joab forsake
His station? fling aside the general's staff
To seize th'assassin's dagger? we must be
Convinc'd of this by more than vague report
Belief is tardy to such 'scapes as these,
Prodigious, far beyond the reach of faith!

Ach.
Your own sight shall convince you! for, by this
He is secur'd, and now, if e'er you dar'd
Or when Goliah or his brother fell
Put on the warriour! strike the rebel down
With that awaken'd thunder, which (he says,)
You fear to wield, and start, even at the flash
Of your own bolt! His partizans are gone
His faction distant! Here the serpent's head
By its own fury and revenge impell'd
Has found its way, a single blow decides
Its doom, and then, its spires, and deadly sting
Will cease to threat!

David.
How will he meet my eyes?

Ach.
Oh think no more on that! but crush him now
Draw the knot hard that stifles him, or soon
The furies from thy hand will snatch the cord
And change it to Rebellion's scourge, to drive
Thy friends to fill Sedition's deadly files!
His fall will soothe their rage! the powers above
Have given another cast for royalty!
Seize it with noble daring, or you're lost!

David.
We must not be precipitate! the bent
Of Israel's mind would scarcely bear it now!

Ach.
Think on their hatred for his crime, the theme
Of general detestation thro' the tribes!

David.
Think how his name's ador'd in Israel's host!

Ach.
'Tis worth the tryal—you may trust too far!—
Resolve to vindicate your name, or go—
Go to the wilds again, and stray forlorn
In Paran's woods, or in her gloomy caves
Conceal your menac'd head! you must not look
For Heaven's protection now, as when you fled
From Saul!—that was your fate, but this your fault.
That was a test of holy confidence
But this, distrust in Heaven—resolve, and strike
The blow!

David,
Is he secur'd?

Ach.
He is, but yet
Feels not the pressure of the viewless snare
That waves its meshes o'er his sentenc'd head
Not to be broken, if your fiat seals
His doom, at once!—I go, to give the sign
But must not now be seen!

David.
Go, and return
Even with the expedition of a thought—
Each moment labours with the births of fate!—
His actions speak presumption, next to madness—
They call for punishment, or wild misrule
Will break subordination, and the child
Unborn, may live to curse the nerveless hand
Of Israel's King, who let the ruin spread [Exit. Achitophel.

Since first I sheath'd the sword that ought to blush
With penal blood for the lamented fall
Of Abner, still above my guilty head
The blade of heavenly justice seems to wave!
And is there then no second cause—no more
Let me extend the veil of others crimes
To hide my own abasement!—Hence, avaunt—
Say, whence and what art thou, insidious fiend
That strivest with opiate draught to lull the sense
Of Inward shame, and point'st another's sin
As if the blood of Abner could efface
The stain of David! but perhaps the doom
Of Joab may break one chain, and give the means
Of reparation to that injur'd man
Who well deserves, and well can fill the post
Of this audacious rebel! He is just,
And loves his King, tho' by the crowd rever'd;
His name the tumult of the streets resounds
His name the awful organ of the state
That speaks in Israel's delegated band
Exalts, and claims for him the martial wreath
'Tis Heaven itself the welcome choice inspires
'Tis Heaven, that bids the tempest lift its voice
And from the deep and stagnant gulf of air
Sweeps the contagion of the settled calm
Away!—I will obey the awful sign
And lull the storm by some great sacrifice
Before the whirlwind lays my honour low,
And spreads them in the dust—the voice of blood
Cries for revenge, and strikes the vault of Heaven.

Exit David.
Scene—A Prison.
Joab.
The statesman's art at last has gain'd the day
And I must fall, the victim of my pride
And folly!—I have heard of miracles
But never knew a lion snar'd before
In such a vile envenom'd spider's web.—
My blood must pay the purchase of his guile—
But force I dread not—David would not risque
The stroke of public justice. But the steel
Of the assassin, or the well-drug'd bowl
Will do the deed, and Abner's fall atone.—
Blood will have blood—and is there such a charm
In dying groans, that they can pierce the clouds
And wake the sleeping thunder?—When I feel
The bolt, I will believe it. But my heart
Still keeps its wonted measure—I may live
(For so my mind presages) to repay
My enemies, with grateful recompense.—
But who comes here? he does not bear the stamp
Of an assassin! royalty and youth
Blend in his aspect their united charms
—'Tis Absalom—he has not yet forgot
His ancient friends, altho' in faithless courts
Long educated; well I know his mind
Fearless and prompt as light'ning, yet as dark
As gathering tempests wrapt in midnight gloom
Altho' a beauteous surface hides that heart—
—What may this visit bode?

To him ABSALOM.
Abs.
What have we here
An eagle in a cage?

Joab.
True, royal youth! the kites
And daws have won the day!

Abs.
But who could dream
To see thee here! Is this thy generalship
To leave the siege?

Joab.
A little time had told
The purpose of this step, a slender space
Had shown, it was thy cause as much as mine!—
The common claim of royalty, the safety
Of David's house, as much as my command
That led me from the camp in this disguise
For one impending peril threatens both.

Abs.
This artful involution of your cause
With ours, were calculated well to gain
Our favour, were it true.

Joab.
By nobler arts
In happier times I thought I gain'd your love
And, low as I am now reduc'd, I scorn
By adulation's little arts to gloss
A bad cause over!—What I say, I'll prove.—
There is no room for hope, and if there were
I scorn by falsehood to obtain the boon.

Abs.
I came not here to offer hope, or try
With empty promises of useless aid
To soothe your dying moments—yet, if duty
The interest of my father, and the state
Permitted me to use my power, thy life
Were safe as mine!

Joab.
I know thy influence well
And well you know that I could pay, the price
Of thy protection, were I once again
In freedom to collect my numerous friends:
But let me fall, by vulgar arts o'erthrown,
Ere I expose the life of David's son
To danger by my flight!

Abs.
aside.
I know thy love—
(Rather thy interest—) and could well depend
Upon thy loyalty: but other bars
Divide my cause and thine—my name upholds
The people's privilege! I swell the breath
Of opposition; you support the power
Of new prerogative extended far
Beyond its ancient bounds!—

Joab.
aside.
(I see his views!—)
And wouldst thou wish the people's privilege
Extended equal to their haughty claims?
Wouldst thou desire to see Uriah rule
The banded powers of Israel? trust me, Prince!
That stern republican would lift his crest
Above the fading glories of the crown
And with its gems, purloin the public voice
To sanctify the robbery! those brave youths
Who eastward far in conquest spread the name
Of David, soon would see their mould'ring bands
Sink like the files of Lebanon before
The woodman's stroke! disbanded, or confin'd
Tamely in garrisons to waste their prime
And on our castled frontiers, face the foe
As lordly lions from their range confin'd
And chain'd, like shepherds dogs! would this become
The throne of Judah? You might see the time
When thou wouldst mourn the change, and weep to view
The martial fire of Israel thus confin'd
To fume away like smother'd lamps, at home!
How would the Arab, and the Ammonite
Rejoice to see the torrent of our rage
That swept their sandy plains, repose at last
In dull stagnation?

Abs.
Tho' I seem to blame
The bloody trophies from our neighbours won
And fill the cry of faction, to preserve
The interest of our family alive
And raise an artificial mound, to stem
The sinking torrent of the people's love
That fleets from David's name so fast away;
Yet, were this head ordain'd to sill the crown
I would not wish it had a hold so slight
As to be puff'd away, by every breath
Of popular discontent, I would not chuse
A bulrush for my sceptre, to be bent
By every breeze that blows!

Joab.
And wouldst thou wish
Like a state-captive, to implore thy guards
For liberty—to leave the palace dungeon
And breathe the liberal air? wouldst thou submit
To have thy progress bounded by the stream
Of Cedron's brook, nor ever from the brow
Of Olivet to see thy subject vales
Wave with their plenteous harvest? this must be
The fate of David! he has lost the people,
By the same cause that lost his own esteem.
And when this head lies low, as soon it must,
Be this my consolation, that those eyes
Shall not behold my Monarch's low disgrace,
Condemn'd at stated holidays to show
The gaudy pageant of fallen royalty
Led in the rabbles triumph!—

Abs.
This the sun
Shall never see, if I survive to fill
The throne of Judah!

Joab.
How canst thou avoid
This doom, if David shows the crowd the way
To domineer above the falling crown
How wilt thou stem the torrent when it roars
When that vile bird, that pecks the royal image
Grows to an eagle size, with all her brood
Of feather'd imps about her, long enur'd
To prey on kingly power? then, who will dare
To clip their wings, or lure them from the scent
Of palace plunder? not the boasted wand
Of Moses, which dismist the living cloud
Of locusts to the Erythrean main!

Abs.
There still are hopes, for yet this vulture's nest
Is callow, and a little art can rule
The unfledg'd family!

Joab.
Yes—would the King
Resign to thee the sceptre, or admit thee
The partner of his throne, he then might rule
O'er all the hearts in Israel.

Abs.
Would that awe
Due to my father, to my faltering voice
Give its full compass, I could claim my share
Of royalty, in thunder's deepest note!

Joab.
I praise thy piety, that deigns to wait
For thy legitimate boon, till sage Uriah
A proselyte to loyalty and order
Allows the sapient measure, founded deep
In wisdom, and permits thy greener boughs
To climb the withering stem of royalty
And clothe it with new blossoms!

Abs.
Deep I feel,
The keen edge of thy censure! Jesse's stem
Was never doom'd to bend and sue for grace
To this new favourite, by a female hand
Rais'd to the pitch of greatness!

Joab.
On that theme
Silence befits us best. The mind may see
What our eyes wink at!—

Abs.
Yet a thought occurs!
I am not deeply read in Israel's story
But say—was Saul, the royal Benjamite
Chosen by the voice of Heaven, or of the people!

Joab.
Nam'd by the prophet, but the common vote
Confirm'd it!

Abs.
Then the people in their tribes
Pronounc'd the will of Heaven!—another question!—
Was not this Benjamite, (altho' by Heaven
Propos'd, and by the people's voice confirm'd—)
Yet by a righteous mandate set aside
Hurl'd from his throne, altho' the sentence hung
In short suspence; did he not wear the crown
And royal mantle like a victim drest
For hallow'd butchery, before he fell
In Gilboa's fatal field?

Joab.
Your sire possess'd
The sanction of the prophet—long before
The death of Saul. His hatred rose from hence—
Hence rose his persecution of thy father.

Abs.
The people's voice at Hebron chose my father,
Their acclamations rais'd him to the stars,
But now the buoyance of their breath subsides,
And down he sinks!

Joab.
Thy words forerun my thoughts,
And give that breath, which I had scarce presum'd
To picture in my mind! Nay, do not start!
The low declining cause of royalty
(Tho' by unusual methods) must be prop'd;
The public is our first concern, whate'er
Becomes of private ties.

Abs.
'Tis piety
To save a father, plunging in the stream,
Tho' at th'expence of half his cumbrous robes,
Which hinders his exertion. It were sacrilege
To strip a parent, were it not to save
His life.

Joab.
Were but those hands unchain'd,
My voice could call ten thousand warlike hands
To aid thy claim!

Abs.
I have the people's voice—
Yet such a great and arduous enterprize
Throbbs at my heart in ominous presage!—
I dread the hazard of a precious life.
My father will not tamely share his crown,
Tho' all the tribes demand it! He has still
His band of heroes to support his claim,
Uriah at their head!

Joab.
Had David fled
The prophet's holy unction, he had kept
The flocks of Bethlehem still, and never grasp'd
The rod of royalty. But thou, perhaps,
Hast doubts of me!—Uriah may be found
To suit thy purpose better.

Abs.
Thou betray'st
The father! can the son confide in thee?

Joab.
'Tis by the son's advancement I preserve
The father, for unless with thee he shares
The steerage of the state, the barque is lost.—
Heaven smite this head with all its choicest plagues
If e'er I lost my loyalty to him!—
Yet you perceive how he rewards my truth!—
Consider, prince, my voice could oft have rais'd
A tempest, that had shook his blasted boughs
Ere yet he fixt his fibres in the soil!—
'Twas in his cause I rais'd my hasty hand
'Gainst Abner's life, and risqu'd the people's hate.
I graft you on his stock to save the stem,
To save you from the storm that threatens both!

Abs.
Should I procure you liberty and life,
What pledge could you afford me of your faith,
And pure intention to support my claim
With all your means?

Joab.
If I forget my faith
And promise pledg'd, you still can reach my life,
At least my fame, and at my armies' head
Thy voice can blast my fortunes, tho' my flag
Stream'd on the walls of Rabbah, and you know
My hatred to Uriah! I must leave
My deadly rival basking in the beam
Of royal favour, and your voice to him
(If I deceive you) can at once secure
The rule of Israel's bands!

Abs.
The dye is cast—
I free thy body to secure thy mind—
But with the strong and viewless bond of souls
I first must bind you fast. I go to find
The means of your enfranchisement.

[Exit.
Joab.
Why go!—
I like thy soaring spirit! but, alas!
How shallow to suppose, my schemes possess
As little reach as thine! Shall I employ
My master-engine, form'd with patient art,
To play for children's bidding, to disturb
The settled elements, and almost disjoint
Both worlds, to mount a bubble on the breeze
For fools to laugh at? No—presumptuous boy!
Thou didst not feel the still and subtle breath
That blew thy flame to such a raging height.—
My lungs deny their office, and thy blaze
Goes out! The stubble is consum'd that fed
The conflagration. Go—Convene thy tribes,
Hollow sedition in the general ear,
And bid the trumpet of rebellion sound,
Emblaze the streaming flag of proud revolt
With gorgeous colours of necessity,
And exigence of state! I'll aid the king.
My loyal trump shall blow a blast so loud,
As soon shall drown thy factious minstrelsie,
And stun sedition's bands. A fair pretext
Thy riot shall afford, to weed the land
Of all those rash and fiery volunteers
That spend their mouths and bark at royalty
This this shall found again my tottering power
On adamantine base! the King shall reign
My delegate, and I his earthly God—
Hark—to the jarring music of yon gate
Hail! glorious freedom! hail! unbounded sway!—

ACT IV.

[Scene I.]

The Palace.
ACHITOPHEL.
Was it the fiction of an hideous dream
That gave the General to my cheated view
Or did that demon, who protects him still
Bring him in sight, and waft him hence away
To propagate his guilt and force the King
And me, on dreadful measures? Must we then
Complete the bloody task? does hell's deep gorge
Claim her detested sacrifice? behold
Those haughty lines, trac'd with a rapid hand,
“I have escap'd the snare! thou canst not spread
“Cobwebs for eagles. Wouldst thou save thyself
“Thou knowst the ransom. Tremble and obey!
“Reflect on Abner's fall.” Unheard presumption—
—But let me curb my tongue! those walls have ears
Those palace-gates, that open'd to his flight
Spontaneous, to the viewless hand, that aids
His hopes, would close on me, did any word
Escape, which courtly malice could distort
To treason! well I see, but dare not own
I know the hand that freed him! hapless King!
Thou too must render up thy stedfast friend
To soothe these tygers? or they leap the fence
And o'er the fold in devastation range—
And, if mistaken tenderness unsteels
Thy resolution, thou, or I am lost;
Lost in the whirlwind of the General's rage
Or in the deep devouring gulf absorpt
Of thy proud son's ambition!—all my trust
Is only this, that selfish ends will lead
The royal rebel, and the haughty chief
To foul suspicion of each others views
And each will think himself unsafe, unless
By force or fraud he fastens on the power
Own'd by the other!—Thus, between two storms
Of adverse wing, the royal barque may ride
Awhile in safety, tho' in giddy whirls
Dash'd round and round. This fury of the field
We first must sooth, the tyger of the court
Is yet unfang'd!—But here the father comes
Incenst, yet trembling at the prospect sad
Of sure domestic strife!

To him, DAVID.
David.
To thee I owe
That here I stand deserted by my friends
And, of my God forsaken!

Ach.
aside.
(Thus the guilty
And the unfortunate, on others, strive
To fling the galling load that weighs them down)
My royal master knows, the guard to me
Was not permitted!

David.
Has my son the heart
(Unless, by some fell demon of the state
Some pupil of left-handed policy
Like thee, seduc'd) to meet his Father's rage?—
If you revere not Joab, you fear his wrath!—

Ach.
I therefore wish his fall!—

David.
I know not that—
I know thee subtle, undermining, dark:
One, that would worship Moloch for his power
And to his burning idol sacrifice
The son of thine own bowels!

Ach.
Tho' I feel
The keen reproach, yet to thy grief alone
I charge its bitterness!—a cooler moment
When your corroding anguish is assuag'd
Will tell thee, that had I conniv'd at this
I ne'er had staid behind to meet thy rage,
But to the General's camp for shelter fled!—
The hand, perhaps that freed him, is beyond
The seizure of thy power, or claims at least
Some spell to ward the tempest from his head.

David.
—Oh! that my memory could escape that pang!—
Thou takest thy time to probe a father's wound
When Heaven's deep judgment has disarm'd his hand
Else thou hadst not presum'd!—but thou, perhaps
Art leagued with both against thy sovereign lord.

Ach.
opening his breast.
Secure my faith at once! the solemn tomb
Contains no traitors, and my dust-clos'd ear
Will hear no imputations, which my soul
Abhors!

David.
I know not whom, or what to trust?
Forgive my rage—forgive a father's anguish
To madness driven by the degeneracy
And treason of a much-lov'd son—Degeneracy!
From whom degenerate? am I not a rebel
A rebel to myself, and to my God
My country's foe? and can I blame the power
That, when I lost the reins of self-command,
Let loose this bosom tyger; yet less guilty
Than those black passions which laid waste before
Each province of the intellectual world,
And manacled my reason? I must bear it!
Soon too, perhaps, the voice of public shame
Will thunder in my ears! My untold crimes,
Like deadly exhalations in the gale,
Will rise, and poison all the ambient air,
Till Nature's self, whose glories once I sung,
Will sicken at my name!

Ach.
That danger yet,
I trust, is far remote!

David.
How can you trust,
Or how believe? Does not Uriah feel
Bathsheba's guilt?

Ach.
He keeps in silence still
His knowledge, or his doubts. A stronger spell
May lead him home. The banquet is begun
By your command. The failure of a night,
Chance might have caus'd, or some fantastic vow.

David
O for a prophet's eye, to mark the scenes
To-morrow's sun must see!
This night, revolving on her ebon throne,
Winds up the doom of Bathsheba and me.
I cannot bear to ponder on her doom.
Ruin'd by me, for me to public shame,
Perhaps, to ignominious death expos'd.—
On me, me, rather let the tempest fall—
I was the tempter, I deprav'd her mind,
I blew the embers of a former flame
To their first conflagration.

Ach.
Yet, my lord,
All may be well. You tremble at a shade,
The coinage of your fancy. If her spouse
Can stand the siege of circulating bowls,
Of music's charm, and hymeneal songs,
Warm as the amorous descant in the grove
Of Araby the blest, which to the fair
The raptur'd lover chants, as evening draws
Around their flowery couch her raven pall;
Then is he more than man. But he will melt,
The subtle spirit thro' his nerves will thrill,
Till his rapt fancy represents his spouse
Drest in the bridal robe, while o'er her cheek
Soft wishes and soft fears alternate stray!

David.
Night wears apace, and soon the crisis comes.
Go thou and watch his passions how they tend,
Whether the bowl has sooth'd his cares asleep,
Or drawn the painful secret from his heart.
If so, we must prepare to meet the worst.

Ach.
I go.— [Aside.]
(But I have spirits there at work
Thou little dream'st of, to unlock the soul,
And draw the painful secret forth in storms.
The noble savage must be roused to rage,
Else he would ne'er be tempted to the snare.)

[Exit Achitophel.
David
Oh! what a torture of suspence I feel,
While in the balance of my rival's mind,
That plays with every breeze, my doubtful doom
Hangs trembling! If resentment steels his soul
Against his spouse, to-morrow's rising sun
Lights up my shame, and paints my midnight deeds
To gazing multitudes! Already Heaven
Has left me, and I now must court the power
Of reeling madness, in the luscious grape
To aid my purpose! To what noxious fiend
Must I address my prayer, to cloud the beam
Of reason, and before suspicion's eye
Hs gaudy tints display, that lead the mind,
Like the night-wand'ring sire to seeming safety?—
Oh, blessed times! when, thro' the ruffling storm
Of fell adversity, that howl'd around,
When in each breeze I heard the savage yell
Of them that sought my life; against the gale,
That seem'd to bear my blasted hopes away,
My prayers could gain the steep ascent to Heaven,
And draw a beam of comfort from the skies
That shot athwart the gloom its vernal ray,
And lighten'd all within! Tho' lonely caves
Conceal'd my slumbers, and the desart hills
Oft saw my midnight steps pursued along
By the rude tempest, and relentless man
I did not fear you then, my deadliest foes!
Seducing demons! who in gaudy shapes
Bask in the day-dreams of unruffled life.
The air was winnowed then by wholesome gales
That shatter'd your fine forms, and bore away
The fraudful vision! In the thunder's voice
I heard the plaudit of approving Heaven—
Even the fierce lightning wing'd my ardent soul
Above the conflict of these elements,
To scenes of endless peace! Now all is peace
Abroad. The deadly feud begins within.—
Oh! for his voice again, tho' in the tone
Of Heaven's terrific organ, as it spoke
With awful voice, yet friendly, to the land
Of Egypt! I would hail the welcome sound—
Now, like a barque becalm'd, with languid sails,
I'm left to slumber on the stagnant wave,
While the wild passions rise in rude revolt
Against their pilot, whose unprosperous hand
So madly trifled with the friendly gale!—
I cannot linger thus—Impatience burns
For some relief! But soon the crisis comes.
The watchful eye of Jealousy may sleep
By love, compos'd to rest, and peace return!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

ELIEZER, JONADAB; URIAH—as rising from a banquet.
Eliezer.
You had his love before—the public voice
Now sanctions his—and, on the swelling gale
Of popular applause your worth shall mount
To heights unthought before! Then, why this caution?
This cold reserve? I would not wish the king
Should know it, he would deem such cool return
But ill beseem'd a friend so nobly try'd
In fortune's worst extreme.

Uri.
Aside.

Jon.
If my thoughts
Could wander from the present scene, nor camps,
Nor ambuscadoes, nor the night-alarm
Would claim my contemplation! Other views
Of more pacific import, might demand
The meditations of a youthful mind.

Eliez.
Where would your fancy point?

Jon.
To rosy bowers,
And moonlight glades, by gentle whispers led,
And beauteous forms, soft stealing from the view,
Where no rude trumpet, nor barbarian yell
Disturb the sleeping lovers!

Uri.
Such thefts as these
Have often stolen the laurel from the brow
Of conquering Israel, and transfixt her shield
With hostile javelins; still, where'er we turn'd
Our waving banners, our most deadly foes
Were found at home!

Jon.
Aside.
What magisterial censure.
But he is gall'd—I fear we've gone too far.

Eliez.
Pardon a jest—the language of our friend
Is free—perhaps, his manners not less pure
Than those that wear religion's darkest mask.

Uri.
I own my ignorance, nor yet can learn
How, when th'unguarded ear, and roving eye
Is open to contagion, by the use
Of this too liberal language, from the taint
The mind can 'scape.

Jon.
Plain truth was never
So deep a crime before—but I am school'd.

Uri.
Do you adorn it with the sacred stamp
Of manly plainness thus to blazon vice?

Eliez.
You're too punctilious—form'd of antique mould
And wedded to the ways of a republic
They fit not monarchies.—those sterner virtues
Might suit, perhaps, the camp where Joshua rul'd,
Or Gideon.—But the season now is gone!
There was a time to mourn and beat the breast
'Tis gone—the storms of winter now are past
And jocund May leads on the playful hours.—

Uri.
Virtue and honour I suppos'd the same—
The same their obligations, not to change
With cloud or sunshine, like the vernal flower
That courts the rising sun, and folds her leaves
When night ascends.

Eliez.
While, like the vigorous stem
Of baleful yew, that braves the winter blast
You wear your gloomy honours thick upon you
And sicken all the sacred train of mirth
Around! I envy not such solemn pomp.
The blessed sun that warms my mounting blood
Points other joys to me!—

Uri.
The people's voice,
The language of misrule, the general cry
Of mutiny; do those with soft applause,
Immortalize that riot, and excess
That cause the intestine plague?—they too proclaim
Your vices with like freedom to the world
But in a louder tone, and boldly tell,
What you conceal, the ruin that attends
Such principles.

Eliez.
That man may preach at ease
Of temper'd blood, and boast his self-command
Whom heavenly virtue in an angel's form
Expects, to bless his honourable toils
At home with mutual rapture.—

Uri.
Now, by Heaven—
Did not my honest sword disdain the blood
Of such a venom'd sycophant, a reptile
Bred in the sunshine of a court, that word
Had been your last!—malignant miscreant
The sting within that sneer, which fits a fiend
In all the triumph of infernal glee
Confirms it! cursed be those fatal charms
And doubly curst, the guilt-concealing hour
When first her broken faith became the theme
Of court applause!

Jon.
What fiend impels you thus
Beyond the bounds of reason? say, what proof
What test, or knowlege of your spouses guilt?
What wretch so busy with a matron's fame
As to compel you thus to blast her truth
With foulest imputation?

Uri.
All the skill
Of glozing rhetoricians, to conceal
Or varnish o'er her guilt, are futile! vain!—
If the light gossamer might wrap the limbs
Of the fell tyger, or the famish'd pard
In lasting bondage; then the flimsy art
Of courtiers might controll my waken'd rage!—

Jon.
Your proofs I know not—all is new to me
As my surprize!

Uri.
It is no common pain
That wrings the secret from a soldier's breast
Which burns the cheek to tinder, and writes shame
Indelible, a foul, stigmatic mark
On him and his for ever! Do I live
And am I patient underneath my wrongs?—
No—earth shall tremble, and high heaven applaud
My vengeance! I have proofs, convincing proofs!—
Why—honest nature spoke it in her face
At her first sight of me! tho' she was school'd
Prepar'd, and tutor'd (as it since appear'd)
For the encounter! I was warn'd before—
And she had drest her looks to scorn surprize
But a few searching questions soon brought up
The conscious blood to her adulterous cheeks!
And she had paid the forfeit on the spot
But Heaven restrain'd me!

Jon.
Have you nought but this!
No proof, no evidence?

Uri.
Yes—proofs on proofs,
As soon the sun shall see!—

Jon.
Forgive—forget!
Are you a soldier?—Let your self-command.
Proclaim your manhood!

Uri.
I—shall I forgive?
To let contempt pursue my taintless name?
Tamely to suffer wrong?—It must not be.
Tho' all the vicious court connives at crimes,
Uriah shall revenge, tho' yawning hell
Should flame across his way!

Eliez.
And how revenge?
You little think how strong an arm is rais'd
To guard her threaten'd life!

Uri.
Altho' the siend
Who blasted all my hopes, should take the form
Of one, who proudly boasts the royal blood;
The Father of his People, would revenge,
Altho' the stroke should wound a father's soul!
The safety of his throne, his spotless name,
Demand the painful task.

Jon.
Should he deny—
Should he, to screen the high-born criminal,
Offer unhop'd for honours, and a place
Which envy might repine at, and your foes
Lament to see, could you support the thought
That your blind vengeance had embroil'd the house
Of David, and transfixt a father's heart
With grief's envenom'd shaft, and burning shame?—
Ponder the sad result, before you dip
Your foot in blood.—

Uri.
Will Justice hear the plea?
Eternal Justice! will she break her sword
Because a father weeps? Will his salt tears
Assuage the penal flames, that heavenly wrath
Awakes to punish crimes? Heaven to this hand
Entrusts her awful cause, and were I false
To her eternal trust, the crimes to come
Patron'd by this example, would derive
Their blackest guilt from me, (should I refuse
To draw the delegated sword of vengeance)
A soldier's honour, and religion calls,
It is the cause of man, the cause of heaven,
And by our mighty legislator's soul
I will not slumber till I 'venge his laws!—
I'll instant to the king, and boldly claim
The strumpet's doom, and if the king denies
My claim—my country's universal voice,
Swell'd to an hurricane, shall echo mine—
Ten thousand hands shall drag the culprit hence,
Even from the guarded steps of Judah's throne!

[Exit Uriah.
JONADAB—ELIEZER.
Jon.
See what a tempest your ungovern'd tongue
Has rais'd! Was this a time to gall the wound
That rankled in the husband's heart? The king
Will on thy folly charge whatever ills
May come; my care had mixt a cup of balm
To lull the soldier's anguish, and my hand
Perhaps, had drawn a soft and gaudy veil
Between his mental eye, and those dire scenes
That wake his fury. With unhappy hand
You tore the curtain down, and gave to view
Those hideous images that fire the brain!
By Heavens, the King shall know it—not on me
The blame shall lie!

Eliez.
Go! and inform the King
Short-sighted man! and are you then to learn
Who gave th'ingredients which this skilful hand
Dash'd in the soldier's bowl?—their first effect
(Like other poisons,) seems ungovern'd rage
And furious frenzy; but this stormy gust
Will soon fatigue itself, and work its end.
The tempest sweeps along the waste of Heaven
And seems to drive the baffled vapours on
In rude voluminous triumph, but full soon
It breathes its rage away—the gloomy foes
Rally their files o'er all the shaded sky
Surround their victor, and involve his plumes
In humid bondage, while the welkin weeps
The wild winds durance, in continuous flow.

Jon.
Explain your mystic words.

Eliez.
There is no need—
The dread event that labours to the birth
Shall soon disclose it. Tho' Uriah seems
(Exulting in his freedom) to defy
The congregated powers of earth and hell,
And on the public favour to rely,
Yet thro' the waste of night, across the wild,
O'er many a desart league of burning sand,
All viewless to the eye, the waving snare
Extends, which wraps the warrior in its folds.
His hands are fetter'd, tho' he feels it not,
And soon his silent tongue shall own the spell.

Jon.
But why provoke his rage?

Eliez.
The bird, that strives
In the fine meshes of the fowler's snare,
But binds himself the firmer, and exhausts
His little strength in vain! That clamorous rage,
That haughty language of insulted honour,
These vows of vengeance, and that fiery glance,
Whose lightning seem'd to wither all around,
Were but the playthings of superior art,
That bids the tempest rage, and the rude blast
Harrow the sea, and cover any shore
We please, with shatter'd wrecks! While we above,
From the calm summit of imperial skill,
Laugh at the lightnings as they dance along
Th'interminable waste of clouds below.
This is our triumph, tho' the awful scenes
Are yet involv'd in night!

Jon.
Your words, I fear,
Import Uriah's doom; and must he fall?
Is there no charm to soothe a husband's rage,
But death's eternal sleep! No refuge given
But the asylum of the quiet tomb,
For his swoln anguish?

Eliez.
Hear me, and be dumb
For ever! He, or thou and I must fall,
Should he survive; his wrongs, the people's voice,
His claims of public favour, would compel
Even David to adopt him, and resign
To his stern grasp the rudder of the state.
The barque, indeed, might steer in safety on,
But we, the ancient leaders of the crew,
Must perish, or forsake the lightned keel;
His zeal would deem us but the useless lumber
Of the disorder'd ship; or, should we 'scape
The wreck that threatens from Uriah's pride,
We could not stem another deadlier storm,
That from another coast of angry heaven,
Threatens no less—the general, his sworn foe—
Tho' secret, never will forgive the men
Who let Uriah 'scape the deadly snare
That holds him now—and well you know, his hate
Is mortal, as his power is uncontroll'd.
I had my orders, else I had not dar'd
To rouse the lion's rage. Behold the king!—
My task demands me, I must not be found
To loiter at this juncture.—Fare thee well.—

[Exeunt severally.
Scene continues.
Enter DAVID and ACHITOPHEL.
Ach.
Yet he may live;—but royalty must die
If he survive; subordination, rule,
And order, all must cease!

David.
Did he disdain
The proffer'd honour! Did he scorn the bounty
Of him, whose friendship was his noblest pride
Of old?

Ach.
You seem to doubt your faithful servant.
If you would condescend yourself to try
His temper, and observe the brooding storm
Beneath the settled gloom that clouds his brow,
Your doubts would end in certainty!

David.
Alas!
I know too much. I heard him threaten loud,
And shake the palace with vindictive rage.
This is not to be borne! Yet, coward conscience!
—I trembled at the menace of my slave
As if the thunder lent its awful sound
To every accent—what does he resolve?

Ach.
I know not—thro' the hall that fronts the gate
He roams disturb'd, and often smites his brow
Then calls on friendship, and arraigns the name
Of hapless love!

David.
Did any word or sign
When the freed soul was strip'd of its disguise
And spurn'd all danger from a mortal foe
Seem then to point at me?

Ach.
Not, as I heard—
He rather seem'd on you to place his trust.

David.
The torture of the fiends is in the thought!
Generous, believing man! altho' I know
That whatsoever sycophant disclos'd
His consort's lapse, with keen malignant joy
Pointed at me, yet, tardy of his faith
My friend, my injur'd friend! believ'd him not!
Why will he rush on danger thus and brave
Perdition for the sake of doubtful vengeance
I cannot, must not hurt him! I have sinn'd
Beyond redress already—I must save him!

Ach.
aside.
I'm lost, if he relents!—My royal Lord
Trust not appearance—he may know too much
Tho' with such art his knowlege he conceals,
Design'd, perhaps, to throw you off your guard
And give him means to strike the surer blow)
Your noble nature flings a gorgeous veil
Of seeming excellence before your sight!
Thro' your own matchless medium you behold
The characters of others. Every tint
Of your own genuine virtues, on their shadows
Reflected falls, and gilds the vapours o'er
(Like evening's watry vest!) with fluid gold!
Dost thou suppose Uriah's soaring soul
Can stoop to wrongs, and to a woman's fall
Limit his daring? He has other views!
Go to the senate! to the crowded camp!
You see his footsteps like a stormy god
Thro' the tumultuous waves: across the wild
And o'er the burning sand, Uriah's name
Loads the full gale: from Arnon's distant shore
To Salem's towers, the thorough-fare of Heaven
On its broad bosom wings from clime to clime
The magic syllables! the common herd
Nay, even the reverend Sanhedrim proclaim
The seeming virtues, which adorn the robe
That hides his dark ambition!—do you doubt?—
Doubt on! till faction and revolt o'erturns
The steady balance of imperial power!—

David.
His guilt at least is dubious—mine is certain
I'll own it—ask forgiveness—well I know
His generous nature!—

Ach.
Did you ever know
This generous friend forsake his first resolve?—
I grant his nobleness of mind as high
As e'er upheld the diadem, or rod
Of regal sway: will he consent to soil
His taintless honours with degrading shame
And live, a breathing monument of scorn?—
He would not for this kingdom! He'll revenge
His wrongs on you, or her.

David.
Did not my fall
Involve a people, I would much prefer
My fall to hers—for oh! whatever power
In love's soft name has fasten'd on my heart
There, there it domineers! the purple tide
That warms my veins, is not more native there!—
Nor does the watry waste obey the moon
With more subjection.

Ach.
You must learn to bear
Her loss!—But that is small—you must already
Have own'd the call of Prudence to resign her
To her first Lord—already you have felt
The cruel, deep divorce!—the second pang
Will not be half so poignant as the first!

David.
Too deep I feel the bitter irony!—
I know his proud integrity would scorn
To mingle with contagion!—Hell reward
The man, that told the secret! But for him
All had been well!

Ach.
We only now must toil
For the best possible! among the worst
There is a choice of evils; when the hope
Of good is gone already! well I know
(Or my old observation quite has fail'd)
There's danger in the man! His smooth address
His favour with the populace, denote
Sinister meaning—His attractions draw
Like the sun's influence to the point of noon
The wat'ry vapours, till his stores are full
And then the deluge comes and drowns the world.

David.
I cannot think it!

Ach.
Confiding in his pity! He perhaps
May grant forgiveness and again receive
His consort to his bosom—No—by Heaven
He ne'er will do it; were there nought besides
To steel his resolution but the fear
Of losing popular favour, should his baseness
Be known as it must be!—at least surmise
Would construe all the honours he might gain
To shameful bribes for silence and consent.
A man may oft be injur'd in his bed
While it's unknown, and may be still a man—
If he consents, and looks upon the theft
With undistinguishing, cool apathy
He is no more a man, but a vile slave—
An idiot:—such Uriah ne'er was deem'd

David.
A dreadful aggravation of my crime!
All this, in horrible detail I saw
Ere my first lapse, a certain consequence—
And yet I fell—tho' leisure was allow'd
For full deliberation, and the damp
Of cold presage, that chill'd me to the heart
Might well have bid th'unhallow'd ardour cool—
I persever'd, and now I must go on
Or perish by retreat: a stable stand
On those deluding, slippery paths of vice
Is not allow'd.

Ach.
Can you resign her?

David.
Never!—
She lives an inmate here! Even Nature's voice
Declares her born for me, and me for her!—

Ach.
Make her for ever thine.

David.
But how?

Ach.
All men
Are mortal, and the shaft that flies by day
Or pestilence, that walks the gloom of night
May reach their lives!

David.
Ha! Belial! name it not!
The thought is madness! must adultery then
Be cloaked by murder?

Ach.
Think Bathsheba lost,
Fallen, fallen a victim to the Judge's doom
You live a victim to the public scorn
Perhaps, dethron'd and exil'd! that is small.—

David.
What worse? exile with her, could she be sav'd
Were—but I rave!—some frenzy fires my brain!
Must I, by merit rais'd, when haughty Saul
Had fallen from Heaven's protection, thus abuse
The gift?

Ach.
I own, in thee religion lives
Thy fall involves her ruin, on thy head
The solemn fabric sinks, with all its pomp
And Israel's veneration, turn'd with toil
From idols, like the tide that bursts its bounds
Reverts with violence to its former course—
A single life prevents it!—

David.
What a life!

Ach.
When Abraham and Jephthah first resolv'd
To sacrifice their children, was there nought
To wring the bosom, or to melt the heart?
And what induc'd them, but religion's cause?
What seal'd the father's vow? religion's cause.
He for religion's cause a daughter slew
You scruple to resign a dangerous man
Whose life protracted, threats the very soul
Of state,, religion, and your life itself!—
For when it threats your life, it threatens all!
Religion's being on your life depends!
—You must acquire more fortitude, or sink
Beneath your numerous foes!

David.
I must not think.

Ach.
There is no time for thought—resolve at once—
Dost thou not wish the obstacle remov'd
By any safe expedient?—Search thy heart—
Examine well within! I know thou dost—
But Heaven, that marks the movements of the mind,
In equal balance weighs the guilty deed,
And guilty thought! Already is thy mind
Deep stain'd with blood, in Heaven's impartial eye,
And sentence past already. What remains
But give th'imperial mandate—and 'tis o'er—
One act of penitence atones for all.

David
And must I yield against my better sense?—
My reason reels, and all within is doubt.

Ach.
No choice is given, but everduring shame,
Or one decisive blow, that lops away
The noxious plant that shades your nobler views.
It is a public cause, the cause of kings,
Of Israel! And shall private cares pervent
That necessary doom, which public love
Demands? Can you resolve to suffer shame,
(The last of ills! which angels scarce can bear)
To see the tribes assembled to thy fall,
Like some stern woodman's train, whose sturdy strokes
Assail the noblest plant of all the grove,
Till, overcome by many a ruthless blow,
It bows th'aerial head and sweeps the ground?
Will you encounter this, and live to see
Some alien stem transplanted in your room.
Some Gentile god, with solemn rites abhorr'd,
Expell the dread of Israel from his shrine?—
Such things must be, if to the rising gust
Of popular fury stern Uriah joins
His vengeful clamours—should he send around
The dreadful tokens of a husband's wrath,
Thro' each astonish'd tribe, as he of old,
Who turn'd the torrent of a people's rage
On one devoted town, and sacrific'd
A slaughter'd people for a wife abus'd;
What were the consequence?—Wild anarchy,
And nameless horrors! Law, religion, form,
And loyalty, all trampled under foot.
Bathsheba's sprinkled blood will rouse the flame
To tenfold rage, whose fury will involve
The palace and her king! But here, behold!
The victim comes, from thine own lips, to hear
Her sentence.

David.
Save me, save me from her eyes
They flash the vengeance of insulted Heaven.

Ach.
introducing Bathsheba.
Look on the vengeance of insulted Heaven!
And think—will Heaven permit a form like this
To plead in vain—she flies to thee for refuge.

[Exit Achitophel.
David.
Bathsheba! oh—was this a time to claim
An interview? or art thou come to see
The double triumph of thy fatal charms
Over thy husband and thy King at once?
He domineers below, and thou art come
To charge me with your wrongs—is this an hour
To add new aggravation to a load
That bends me to the ground?

Bath.
Our shame and woe
Are mutual, but, my Lord! you much mistake
The purpose of my coming at this hour
Of danger and distress! I know my guilt
I feel what self-infliction wounds within,
Yet still some inborn dignity remains,
Yet undeprav'd, still some regard to truth
And justice, which for ever locks my lips
From charging on thy soul this fatal lapse
(Fatall to me!)—I come to ease thy care
Andre ason down the conflict in thy soul!

David.
Then—I have drawn within the bounds of guilt
And cureless sorrow, this distinguish'd mind
This generous spirit, which disdains to charge
The cruel spoiler, with her deadly wrongs!—
For this, Bathsheba! I was not prepar'd!—
Rather pursue me with thy keen reproach
Charge me with all the guilt! a manly mind
Should have repell'd the foe, not sunk, like me
To childish weakness! I was steel'd within
But I flung off the armour of the mind
Before the danger came!—

Bath.
It was surprize—
A smother'd passion, by a sudden spark
Rais'd to a conflagration, which o'ercame
All obstacles—that conquest o'er yourself
When with a trembling hand, and bleeding heart
You first resign'd me to your chosen friend:
(Too well I mark'd, and never can forget
Your pangs that moment, when you lost me first
Resign'd me, like a martyr to your honour!)
—That was a glorious tryal, whose desert
Should sooth your present woes!—ah! would to Heaven!
Thy friend had caught the godlike zeal of friendship
That warm'd thy bosom then! I had not now
Been doom'd to sate his vengeance with my blood
He took th'advantage of a solemn vow
By a stern father's will impos'd before
And well—too well he knew, my father's will
Was his sole claim!—he ne'er possess'd my heart—
And when a nobler interest warm'd my breast,
It was not like a soldier, nor a friend
To seize th'unwilling hand!

David.
He was my friend
For me he risqu'd his life, and, tho' to part
From thee, was then a summons, like the stroke
Of death, I own'd not then that selfish mind
To rob my fellow-soldier and my friend
Of such a gem, beyond the wealth of Kings
To buy.—But pardon me—this language now
Must be renounc'd for ever!

Bath.
Too, too well
I know the sad necessity. But hear
At least a palliation of thy fault
From her, who feels her own, nor fears to add
A share of that, which, to yourself unjust
You claim, a debt which Heaven too clearly sees
Is due to me, and what my life must pay.—
I blame not him, altho' it look'd like coldness
That such a length of time unheeded past,
And yet his spouse he claim'd not, from the hand
Which first bestow'd her.—Did he seem to prize
The present when it came? a few short months
Had seen me wedded, when the trumpet's call
Lur'd him from love and the soft lap of peace,
Tho' no invasion shook our trembling bounds
And our indulgent legislator's voice
To the new-wedded pair had given a year
Unvext by wars alarms!

David.
It prov'd at least
His love of fame and of his King's renown!

Bath.
I too could give my life for Israel's cause,
To purge the taint affronted pride disdains
From his imperious mind, who slighted me
Who flung me, like a worthless toy, away
Nor thought it worth a lordly husband's pains
To throw away a few neglected hours
To gain a consort's heart, too cold before!
Yet to his vengeance I must pay my life,
Whose scorn the seeds of alienation sow'd
The source of all my woes! yet this is well!
Since, ere suspicion singles out my Lord
The tomb shall close on me, and bury all—
Deep, deep below the busy fiend shall rest
Whose obloquy might reach the royal name
Did I survive!

David.
And you—must you atone
—(Less guilty far,) for my more deadly crimes
It must not, shall not be!—

Bath.
The law's demands
Must be obey'd—they claim a forfeit life.—

David.
No palliation, no excuse allow'd
For one whose fatal fall, her spouses fault
Perhaps alone had caus'd?

Bath.
So human laws
Ordain—perhaps in other worlds than this
In the great tribunal that sifts the heart
Distinction may be made between the tinge
Of guilt and weakness!

David.
I, alas! was chosen
Heaven's delegate (had I deserv'd the name,
This ne'er had been!) I ought—but now 'tis late—
To have display'd at once my sovereign power
To solve this dark enigma of your fate
But, self-involv'd in guilt, I durst not move
Left hissing scorn, and obloquy, combin'd
Should hurl me from the throne!

Bath.
Would Heaven, my doom
Were past! then all would end, and peace return
To your perturbed spirit.

[Going.
David.
Stay—oh Heaven!—
Must she submit to fate? whose generous mind
Would hazard all for him, who caus'd her fall?
It must not, cannot be!—Nature exclaims
Resistless, raging, in the cause of her
Who reigns in every pulse! yet, go—send in [Ex. Bath.

Achitophel to me, his keen research
May find some specious means to reconcile
My fighting duties! oh unhappy fall!
Other asylums I was us'd to find
In my distress, while I had trust in Heaven!
—I now must trust to man.

Enter ACHITOPHEL.
David.
Achitophel!
Is there no port! no refuge from this storm
That menaces so loud?

Ach.
The storm is o'er
Uriah waits your orders to the camp
Ere morn he must depart!

David.
Why thus prevent
The dawn?

Ach.
I know not, but conjecture lends
Her glimmering lamp that throws a dubious ray
On the dark purpose of the warriour's mind.

David.
Tell what you fear at once!

Ach.
In two days hence
The Judge of life and death ascends his seat
—This will afford him space to reach the camp
To sound revolt among his partizans
Then, with the expedition of a bolt
That, glancing from the shiver'd rock, o'erthrows
The blasted tree, his fiery-footed haste
Will chace his hapless consort to the grave!

David.
Ha! is it so—it bears a dreadful form
Of something like the truth!

Ach.
Resolve, my Lord!
This is no time for pause! Bathsheba's doom
Is fixt already, past thy power to ward
If he returns.

David.
How knowst thou that? explain!—

Ach.
Too well—a friend of his has borne the scroll
To Zadoc.

David.
Prove it!

Ach.
Oh my Lord! is this
A time to search for proofs, or is my faith
No better known?—when he returns, the proofs
Will come in thunder, when redress is past!—
—Nay more, the malecontents, who lurk'd of late
In corners, meet in crowds, and waft the sound
Of clamorous obloquy from band to band,
Their slanders spare not even the royal name!
They only want a leader to assert
The baffled claims of Benjamin's proud race!

David.
This is but rumour still!

Ach.
[Shews a Parchment.

David.
He, that gave
Can keep the sceptre mine! but we must find
Some means to save the state.

Ach.
To save thyself
And all that's dear.

David
No more—we must contrive
To setter headlong rage—nor risque our all
At jealousy's demand, or faction's frown,
The means shall be resolv'd upon within.

[Exeunt.
Scene—Another part of the Palace.
URIAH—ADRIEL.
Uri.
And is it thus the King has learnt to treat
His early friends? It was not so of old!
—Sent for in haste, exalted with vain hope
Of freedom from this tyrant of the camp
Whom now I serve—then!—what a deadly blank
For all the comforts of domestic joy
I felt at home—the royal presence barr'd
By sycophants against the monarch's friends
Yet that were well! but this unheard-of wrong!—
—What?—am I grown a savage of the wild
To be thus baited by the last of men
The rabble of a court?—

Adr.
Compose your rage
And take your measures coolly!

Uri.
I will find
A passage to the King, or lose myself,—
Soon shall I know, if he allows his friends
—The partners of his glory, to submit
To such a welcome!—were I call'd my friend!
Among my foes, like Sampson, to make sport
By my blind gambols! I could bear it well—
—But, to be hoodwink'd thus among my friends
Expos'd to all the ridicule and sneer
Of scorners, who would tremble at my frown
Were they to meet me in another field—
—This is not to be borne!—thou too, my friend
Contrivest to hold the veil upon my eyes
And keep me blindfold here, among the rest!

Adr.
Why dost thou stay then in this dangerous place
Where, to provoke and sting thee into rage
And make thee do some deed of lunacy
To draw on thee perdition from the King
Is all they wish for? They have miss'd their ends
To lure thee to the snare, and now, they try
To rouse thy rage, and drive thee to the toils—
Art thou, like Sampson, blind amongst thy foes?—
—Then, be a Sampson! pull the fabric down!
And whelm them in the ruin.

Uri.
Talk no more
In riddles, but explain!

Adr.
Thou seest the hand
Of royalty, extended to protect
The guilty—of thyself they meant to form
An engine, a machine, to cloke their schemes,
And sooth the tongue of obloquy to rest—
—You 'scap'd the snare, and now, they doom you dead—
—You ne'er will bear your life to Rabbah's camp—
—But—if you stay
Oh—there is noble vengeance yet in store!
Which not a single voice, nor single arm
Can claim or execute.—Tell your wrongs loud
In Israel's ear, and echo shall reply
From every wood around, where freedom waits
The word to start, and over hill and dale
Pursue the noble chace till lawless power
Forsakes our happy bounds, and breathes her last.—

Uri.
Thou hast indeed disclosed
An unexpected scene!—and must I be
Either an instrument of private guilt
Or the blind tool of faction? am I made
The trumpet of rebellion, or the flute
That breathes soft peace thro' every royal room
Of guilty courts?—at least, my sovereign Lord
Will not deny me justice, which alone
I seek for—but, my scandal to proclaim
To blaze my wrongs before the noontide beam
Is, what the honour of a soldier's name
Or bosom, cannot brook!—and, must I give
My breath to blow sedition's flame abroad
And in sad triumph celebrate my wrongs,
With flaming villages and bloody fields
And devastation and ungovern'd rage?—
No—let me do my duty, as becomes
A soldier. I will ne'er be a machine
Of the blind rabble's fury—if the shaft
Of unseen death should meet me by the way
Sent from my public or my private foes,
Vengeance is heaven's—and what on earth have I
Or to regret, or grieve!—

Adr.
That you mistake
My upright meaning, much afflicts thy friend!
—I could discover more!—but thy warm zeal
Perverts whate'er I say!—I much could wish
My doubts unfounded, but I fear for thee—
Consent at least to take a guard of friends
To bring you hence in safety to the camp
(If any sudden mandate should be given
To haste thy journey in the gloom of night)
For certain treason then shall dog thy heels—
But they shall guard you, and, perhaps, detect
Some mysteries yet untold, whose weight may turn
The scale for freedom in that dubious breast
And echo from her woodlands, shall repeat
Ten thousand fold, the soul-enliv'ning strain.

Uri.
No private wrongs shall make me lend my name
To public mischief—for the rest—my friends
I would not wish endanger'd for my sake—
The law shall right me! or farewell, revenge!

Adr.
No danger need be fear'd, but from yourself
If you too tamely bear such flagrant wrongs—
I'll tell you more, expect me here anon.

[Ex. severally.

ACT V.

The Palace.
DAVID.
Not yet return'd! 'tis strange! they could not miss
The track, nor would they linger in the chace!—
—The morning dawns, but all is dark within.
Ye solemn glooms! and thou still midnight hour
Whence were your secret hoards of vengeance drawn
That thus could fire my brain, and people night
With forms, that made me wish for whisper'd tales
Of ambuscades, of massacres, and blood
To slake the kindling plague that burns within!
—Perhaps they have deserted me, and join'd
The foe! O coward reason! how you reel!—
They have discover'd all, and he returns
Returns, full fraught with vengeance, like a plague
To breathe his venom round in every breast
Till royalty expires, and David's name
That us'd to fill the plausive shouts of thousands
Is breath'd in execration, stamp'd with shame!
I now repent the step, and wish recall'd
The messengers of mercy—never more
Will he consent to pass those guilty gates
Again! perhaps, his rash, mistaken valour
May deem them blood-hounds, meant to lure him back
To certain fate, and stand on his defence!
But they were far too numerous to be foil'd!—
Or force or supplication must prevail—
I should have kept him here! my good resolves
Are now the sport of chance! for, if he 'scapes
Not all the world can save him! But, alas!
Should he return, can I endure his look?
Can I endure to see his lovely spouse
Thro' gazing multitudes led to her fate?
Ah no—tho' shame and ruin should ensue
I would defy the law, profane the court
And boldly rescue her, or lose myself!—
He then must fall—for, should he now return
What plea could I invent to screen my plot
Of death against him? He would still suspect
The man, who once could give him up to fate!—
I know his noble nature, he would scorn
To hold his life on such precarious terms!
Revenge and fear at once would urge him on
To join the faction, and embroil the state!—
Had I upon his loyalty rely'd!—
I knew his nature noble and forgiving—
But now, it is too late!—and, could I bear
To lose her?—never—never—tho' the voice
Of thunder, call'd her from me! then farewell
Remorse! farewell compunction—she is mine!
—But now my palpitating heart informs me
The crisis is at hand—my valiant friend. Enter BENAIAH.

Say, are the messengers return'd?

Ben.
Not yet
At least, not all.

David.
Some dreadful chance, I fear
Has interven'd. What mean your dubious words
At least not all?

Ben
A direful chance indeed!
The messenger that came, has scarce escap'd
With half a life!

David.
What sad reverse is this!
How could he cope with odds! or what bold arm
Was join'd with his?

Ben.
A numerous band of friends
Rous'd by some rumour of an ambuscade,
By Joab prepar'd against his threaten'd life
Triumphant led him thro' the opening gate
And tend him to the camp!—your messengers
Arriving at this moment, when surmise
Teem'd with intended murders, perfidy
And midnight plots—were deem'd the ruffian train
Combin'd to lay the noble warriour low;
Then all was clamour and misgovern'd rage
In vain Uriah strove to lay the storm—
Twice fifty level'd swords at once surround
Your friends, who plead their innocence in vain
One dar'd to menace vengeance, but the threat
Was fatal to the wretch that gave it breath,
His hapless fellows shar'd his bloody doom
Save one, whom favouring night, (tho' wounded sore)
Befriended in his flight, from him was learn'd
The dreadful chance!

David.
Then to his doom he goes!—
Fate has him in the snare, and baffles all
Our vain attempts to save him!
O for a winged messenger of Heaven
To reach the camp at Rabbah, and instill
Unusual pity in the General's mind!—
But they, whose ready ministry of old
Turn'd from my hunted steps the deadly foe
And render'd me as viewless as themselves
Have all forsaken me—nor am I left
Alone. Remorse and guilt, and death, and shame
With dragon wing o'ershade me in their turns
Their harpy clang severe, and funeral yell
Proclaim perdition to my trembling soul! [OMITTED]
Amazement! Nathan here! I thought him fled
For ever from his country, to avoid
The killing sight of an ungrateful child!—
Him, last of all mankind, I wish'd to meet!
What terrible tranquility pervades
His reverend mien and seems to threat a storm—
Would that were all! this deadly calm is worse
Where nought but sense of Heaven's desertion lives!

To him NATHAN.
David.
Prophet, why didst thou thus forsake thy post
Still deem'd the guardian of thy country's weal?

Nath.
The times are not the same! those cares are o'er
Domestic woes have quench'd the patriot's flame!
No more my bosom kindles at the touch
Of Heaven's descending fire! the port is clos'd
That show'd my ravish'd eyes the splendid view
Of ages yet to come! How soon the veil
May rise, I know not! what the sun beholds
Those aged eyes can see, but boast no more
The power to pierce the midnight-woven gloom
In which the cause and consequence are hid!—

David.
This studied ambiguity implies
A meaning, which thy humble words disclaim!

Nath.
When such unerring wisdom guides the helm
Form'd like the diamond in the pregnant mine
With that deep lustre fraught, those mingling beams
Which angels love to gaze on! when the soul
Reflects Heaven's image like the limpid lake
Smooth, and unruffled, by fell passion's gale;
A private man it much would misbecome
To play the pilot, and usurp the helm
From such consummate guidance.—But for me
No such ambitious folly taints my views
Judge by my errand! on a private cause
I come, a suppliant only—With the state
And all its cares, I long have shaken hands,
Content to introduce a poor man's plea
To your indulgent ears—for well I know
Tho' to the dangerous claim of passion deaf
Tho' to the domineering proud appeal
Of appetite, thou turn'st a heedless ear
And look'st on sensual spells with cool regard
Yet wilt thou not contemn the suppliant's prayer!

David.
With the known rigour of thy stern rebuke
Such lavish adulation ill accords—
The humble topic of a poor man's plea
Needs no such pompous prelude.—I suppos'd
My known contempt of flattery might suggest
(To thee at least) a manlier mode of speech
Unless thy words and meaning are at strife.

Nath.
I stand corrected, and shall err no more,
Nor mingle with my rough uneven woof
The tissue of the courtier's silken strain!
It suits not with a plain, pathetic tale
Of rural violence and village wrongs
Which thy paternal care shall soon redress
When known.
When from the bounds of Salem late I past
Self-exil'd, to avoid domestic woe
I thought in some sequester'd vale to find
That peace and innocence devoid of guile
Which (tho' thy bright example beams around)
Even in those sacred bounds are sought in vain,
A peasant's lodge I sought, whom long I knew
Of Heaven so favour'd in his mean retreat
So sanctify'd, that his æthereal guard
Kept from his lonely cot, at distance due
All the vain Images, the gaudy train
Of Syren forms (this world's peculiar boast)
That lures the heedless votary from Heaven.

David.
Could they not guard him from oppressive wrong?

Nath.
They saw him wrong'd, and yet th'oppressor lives.
This hermit for my host I rather chose
Than the proud owner of a neighb'ring pile
Who kept his hospitable gate unclosed
With oftentatious welcome to allure
The way-worn pilgrim's foot—But here instead
Of the long retinue, that fills the haunts
Of luxury, and the unmeaning phrase
Of hollow friendship, warm in words alone,
One gentle lamb, his single inmate play'd
About his joyous hearth and told a tale
Of warm attachment in its honest looks
And gentle bleatings, far beyond the phrase
Of courtly adulation. This remain'd
The solitary orphan of a flock
Which fell contagion, or the fellor gripe
Of lawless usury had reft away
The rest, or fill'd the concert of the vales
Which own'd his wealthier neighbour for their Lord
Or bled, by turns, the victims of his board.

David.
That wealthy neighbour shall refund his store
If aught of inhumanity appears
Before the Judges tribunal—for soon
It shall be closely sifted,—but proceed!—

Nath.
A stranger, to the camp of Israel bound
Of seeming rank, tho' hid in close disguise
The proud man's hospitality had claim'd,
He spar'd his numerous flocks, and sent his hinds
To robb the hermit of his bleating friend
The sole associate of his lonely hours.—
I saw it borne away—I mark'd the tears
Of its sad owner, all in vain they fell
In vain, with supplications he pursued
Even to the proud man's door his innocent charge
His whole redress was insult, scorn, and blows.—

David.
Now Heaven so deal with me, as he shall reap
The bitter fruit of an unfeeling heart
And with his forfeit life redeem the land
From such a foul contagion! soon the world
Shall know, I do not bear the sword in vain!

Nath.
In thee, my Lord, whose pure, unsullied life
Reflects a glowing transcript of Heaven's laws
Such rigour is becoming, but to us
Whose feeble optics boast no angel's ken
The sword of justice dazzles as it strikes—
There needs not such gigantic force to venge
Such petty wrongs.
You know, my Lord! how long the penal sword
Has slumber'd in the sheath, and it might seem
The rigour of severity, at once
To wake its terrours now, for fame would tell
That for a petty wrong, which might be paid
Four fold, a soul was forfeit!

David.
Strange to me
It seems, that thou, whose eagle-sight could pry
Beyond the journies of the sun, to view
The late effect that slumber'd in its cause,
Should be dim-sighted here! but time and grief
Have shed a frost upon your faculties
Else you would see, that famine, sword and fire
With all the woes that on those furies wait
Are not so pestilent as that still plague
That cold, narcotic vapour, worst of ills
With which hell teems, that last result of vice,
When all the virtues, poison'd in their source,
Stagnate at once, and petrify the heart.—
Heaven's! what a journey with his fellow fiends
Thro' every devious tract of every crime
This man must first have run, who thus could tear
The fellow-feelings from his savage heart!
His soul is gangren'd, and the sword alone
Can ward the vengeance stor'd above the sky
Which else, perhaps, would burst upon our heads
In flaming ruin; or the plague might catch
From bosom on to bosom.—He, who dar'd
To seize the lamb, would he have spar'd the child
To join his servile train, or change for gold,
As pride or caprice, or the thirst of gain
Had chanc'd to domineer?

Nath.
Yes—or his spouse!

David.
Ha!

Nath.
Thou art the man! why does thy cheek turn pale
At thy own semblance? was the mask so foul
As even to wake thy rage: and art thou dumb
When thou behold'st the phantom's genuine face?
Thine own most righteous doom has past thy lips
Without recall, and heaven has seal'd the word!
To punish other crimes, were but to prune
The wild luxuriance of a poisonous growth,
While the pernicious root behind remains,
Royal example!

David.
after a long pause.
Then thy flight was feign'd
And thou who seem'd degraded from thy post
As Heaven's own delegate, by Heaven's own hand.
With all thine honours blasted on thy brow,
Return'st with tenfold power, and seem'st to wield
The bolt of vengeance, but thy forward zeal
May be th'effect of petulance; the lamp
Of Heav'n no more may show its light by thee;
Perhaps, 'tis merely to indulge thy spleen,
That thus you dare to thwart me.

Nath.
Judge yourself,
When that fell adder, which you foster now,
Such gratitude will show, as you have shown
To Heaven! My son's rebellion, and my flight,
Were mystic warnings to the mental eye
Of tragic scenes to come! Of wild misrule,
And nameless horrours, even within those walls
To be committed. These will clear my faith,
And vindicate my name. But who, alas!
Who shall exculpate thee? Thou who wast call'd
From a rude scene of turbulence and blood,
Like yon emerging sun from chaos old,
Th'interpreter of Heaven's benignant will
From thy bright station to revive the world
With intellectual light! What demon's hand
Has chang'd thee to a comet, worse than they
Who wave their blazing tresses o'er the globe,
Shedding diseases and sidereal blast?
Thou hast, as far as thou hast power, derang'd
The blest designs of Heaven, eclips'd her light
With deep Egyptian darkness, and reduc'd
Her order to confusion! Thou hast given
A louder note to Passion's loudest storm,
And strengthen'd all her pleas! For who that feels
Her mutinous demands, but well may plead
David's example for his worst offence;
David, selected by applauding Heaven
Her delegate, her prophet, and her priest?—
The faithful husband, of his spouse bereft,
Heart-wounded sires, who mourn the cruel hand
That robb'd his family of all its grace
And comfort, lost at once, shall join to curse
Thy mournful triumphs o'er connubial bliss,
Shall curse thy name, whose magic syllables
Breath'd, as a vile apology for crimes,
Could, like a deep and powerful charm, compose
The loud complaints of conscience!

David.
Oh, no more!
Thou rendst my very heartstrings! I have sinn'd,
Beyond redemption sinn'd. O send in haste
To save Uriah.

Nath.
It is now too late.—
Even should thy messenger in time arrive,
Should the swift mandate reach the general's hand
It would but hasten brave Uriah's doom,
Such is his deadly jealousy of all
That share thy favour, thy solicitude
To save him, would be thought a close design
To hurl him from his post, by murther bought,
And fix the hated rival in his room.—
Even Providence ordains that he shall fall.
Guilt must have all its dreadful consequence,
No single plague of all its ghastly train
Shall lagg behind. The whole Tartarean pomp
Shall march in horrour o'er the frighted world,
To shew the perils of beginning vice:
The dreadful admonition else were vain.—
Think not to save him! Thou hast doom'd him dead,
And even Omnipotence has seal'd his fate.

David.
Is there no means to save him?

Nath.
Do you doubt
My mission still? This moment gives a proof
That makes me shudder, while a stronger power
Compells my trembling hand to rend the veil.
See there! [Vision of a Man in a mask appears.

A youth without a name! He boasts thy blood.
Wrapt in unholy musings how he walks!
His eyeballs seek the dust, as if he fear'd
Each glance should tell the fires that burn within,
And soon the dust shall drink his boiling blood,
And vengeance quench the flame!—Stand close, and mark
His dire soliloquy! Nor shalt thou learn
The object of his flame! for Heaven's behest
Must not be stop'd or thwarted, else the close
Of vice, would want its horrours!—Here he comes. The PHANTOM Speaks.

Why was I form'd with such impetuous passions
Oh ill star'd lot of royalty, indulg'd
In every wish! the fuel feeds the flame
Till raging past all bounds, it finds its way
Even to the sanctuary! Ye chaste stars!
I must not name her to you! Even my heart
Treacherous, and inconsistent, with itself
At that lov'd name recoils!—yet urges on
My feet to find my doom!—yet, why recoil?
No husband's forfeit blood I mean to shed,
To meet him with a smile and, with a smile
Dismiss him, with the mandate of his fate—
I dare not reach the mark of Heaven's-belov'd
My crime is short of murther, tho' beyond
Common adultery! and if Heaven connives
At David's crimes, his complicated guilt,
Why should I doubt of pardon, while my sin
Is secret, nor involves the guilt of blood?
(If pardon be required, and right and wrong
Perhaps, whatever priestcraft may devise—
Be not the coinage of a statesman's dream)
I'll think no more!—the genial feast invites
I go to drown reflection in the bowl.

David.
Who is this monster? oh disclose his name
By swift prevention to arrest the course
Of such consummate crimes!

Nath.
It cannot be—
He boasts thy blood, and, as thou seest pursues
Thy steps—you err'd from appetite alone,
While he, improving on the royal crimes
Turns passion into principle, but soon
Vengeance shall cut him short, and lop away
One deadly limb of that malignant plant
Thy crimes have sown in Israel.

David.
I adore
Heaven's ways, nor dare to deprecate her wrath!

Nath.
But other scenes await thee.—Spectacles
Of wider horrour, and more general plagues
When for one lawless deed, a nation mourns;
And slaughter, fire, and devastation strides
From province into province, led to spoil
By vengeance, vengeance for a monarch's crimes,
Where pure religion and her votaries
Are banish'd from the clime by vice disgrac'd.
Arise ye tribes unborn! ye future scenes
Distant, and indistinct in time and place
Behind the convex of the world conceal'd
And on the buoyant bosom of the air
Expand your figur'd pomp, and meet the eye!—
Far distant from those shores, a warlike race
That mark the wheels of the descending sun
Shall see another luminary rise
On their benighted souls, from Salem sent,
From Hermon to Pyrenes distant bourne
Wide flushing o'er the sky. The savage tribe
Shall doff the bloody mail, and bathe their limbs
In pure baptismal waters, where the stream
Of Guadiana laves the fertile fields.—
Long shall their tribes enjoy the deep serene
Of rural bless, beneath their Lords renown'd
Of Alemannia's old heroic race,
Till peace induces luxury and vice,
The court begins the example, taught by thee,
(When thy prophetic eye, that us'd to pierce
Thro' the long vistas of futurity,
Forgot its visions, for th'unholy glance
That led to deeds of darkness and of blood)
The monarch lets his eye at random rove
After forbidden charms, forgets the tye
Of hospitality, and leaves the sire
To weep at home his violated child;
His tears are treasured up above; they fill
The vial of Heaven's vengeance, and come down
In showers of wrath. The raging sire, misled
By the vindictive fiends, ascends the deck,
And to his country's foes a suppliant bends!
See where the reverend senior kneels before
The misbeliever's throne, but not for peace,
For mercy he implores not, but demands
The congregated furies of the south,
Fire, sword, and famine, to revenge his wrongs.
See! where they scowl across the midland main,
And meditate their prey, and mount the wind!
A living cloud of mischiefs, worse than those
“Which Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day,
“Brought up, and darken'd all the land of Nile.”

The Vision of a Royal Court appears.
The King on his throne, and his Nobles attending.
Enter a SUPPLIANT, and kneels.
[SUPPLIANT]
To thee, dread sovereign of an hundred thrones,
Who sees the swarthy sons of Lybia bend
Before thee, and canst bid their headlong zeal
Sweep o'er the subject nations, or subside,
Like the wild hurricanes that rage or sleep
At the great bidding of the power who rules
The kingdom of the winds: if ever zeal
In thy great prophet's cause thy sabre drew,
If ere the wrongs of yon proud Nazarenes
Enflam'd your rage, oh! seize the golden hour,
That zeal and vengeance sanctify at once,
Or sleep for ever! Now the martial sife
No more accords the measur'd march; no more
The trumpet's clang awakes the levied horde,
But o'er the blasted laurels of their groves
Vice curls her reptile tendrils, and consumes
The vital sap, that nurs'd the vig'rous stem!—
The king repays the hospitable rite
With violence and wrong! His nobles view
His mad career in heartless apathy,
Or join his deadly orgies! What remains,
But up—and give the victim to the sword.—
Nature is burden'd with the hated race,
And Heaven's own ministers, that ride the clouds,
To all the winds proclaim the harvest ripe.
Go borrow Time's keen scythe, and lend its edge
To Devastation's hand; the reverend sire
Will shake his hoary locks with joy to see
His task of ages, in one glorious day
Perform'd, then everlasting Righteousness
Will look from Heav'n, and bless the rising flame
That lays the temples of Gomorrah low!—
Seek ye an hostage? take my life in pledge,
If I should fail on yonder hated coast
To give you ample means to plant your power
And bid the Mauritarian stem extend
Its boughs luxuriant o'er the conquer'd land!

King.
Fathers! attend the summons! Heaven itself
Calls us to conquest, and o'er haughty Spain
Our prophet's name to raise, our hallow'd arms
Are cover'd o'er with dust, and want a cause
To furbish them anew. Shall narrow seas
Oppose their march, whom Barca's burning sand
Withheld not, burning fiercer in pursuit
Of glory? think, for every added realm
A double weight of glory waits above
To every one, whose arms have lent their aid
To this victorious cause . Begin the vote.

The Prospect changes to an invaded Country—Cities in Flames— Peasants Massacred, &c. &c.
Nath.
Behold the fruit of thy luxurious hours,
The sequel of thy fond Elysian dreams!
That King who dar'd to violate the laws
Of sacred hospitality and friendship
Bred in religion's pure and sacred rites
Had never dar'd to brave the flaming bolt,
Nor cope with Heaven's dread edict, hadst not thou
Marshall'd the way before! contemplate now
The dreadful harvest which thy hand has sown
How far beyond thy hopes, and let thy heart
Weep blood, if yet the fount of tears be dry,
Uriah too might have embroil'd the state
And with rebellion's shrill sonorous trump
Publish'd his wrongs, and call'd the tribes to arms
But nobly he refus'd—thou little knowest
What a defender you have flung away,
If e'er sedition's flag shall crown thy towers,
If e'er the desart, thro' its lonely bounds
Shall joy to see its exiles steps return!
I see thine agony, and for relief
Of thy soul's torture, to another scene
Direct thy charmed eyes, thou hast beheld
The dark complexion of thy deeds outdone
By Heaven's profest disciple, blest with rays
Of Heaven's peculiar brightness:—how he curst
The beam, and like an adder slunk away
To mingle with his kindred glooms, incenst
To feel the sacred light pervade his soul!
Now view a warriour, whose benighted eyes
Roll'd round in vain to find that heavenly ray
Vouchsafed to that Iberian King,—whose lips
The living waters from the hallow'd fount
Never bedew'd, yet, (dubious as he stands
Upon the trembling verge of life and death
Whether the yawning grave shall close for ever
His prospect, or the conscious mind survive
To endless raptures, or incessant woes,)
He minds not passion's call, he spurns away
The snares of appetite that cross his path
And court him to relax the stubborn nerve
Of steel'd exertion, the seraphic forms
Of good and fair, altho by glimpses caught
Hurry him thro' the phalanx of his foes
And bid him scatter all their adverse bands
Like fire, ascending thro' th'incumbent mass
Of some embowel'd hill. It bursts abroad
All glorious, and the cloudy face of night
Paints with aspiring flame, and vollied hail
Of mimic stars!

The Prospect changes to a Camp, Military Trophies, &c. The General seated as if to receive an Embassy.—A Train of Suppliants approaching at a distance.
David.
Oh Heaven's! all other mortal forms, to this
Are fleeting vapours, unsubstantial air—
Or beauty ne'er was seen by me before
Or she surpasses all the beauteous kind—
His virtue, if he can resign such charms
Exceeds the human pitch.

Nath.
[Goes into a Pavilion and returns with a young Princess.

[Prospect closes.
Nath.
Ponder this scene! then weigh with equal hand
The Gentile, and Believer, then reflect
Whence flow'd the continence of one, and whence
That wild misrule that madden'd in the mind
Of that misguided King, and woke the storm
That wreck'd his country's peace, then ask yourself
If meddling zeal inspir'd my just reproof.

[Exit Nathan.
David.
Was there not shame enough to sink my soul
In the dark gulph of absolute despair?
But horror too and grief must add their weight?—
Yet they are welcome!—cover me, deep night!
Ten thousand fathoms down, where never more
The blessed beam of Heaven shall visit me
Where never winged minister of her's
Thorough the dismal gloom shall wing his flight
To look on my sad fall, and turn away
With deep abhorrence!—but what midnight shade
Can hide me from myself! What curtain fall
Between the piercing beam of torturing thought
And its sad object? Yet, how gentle that
To what this instant I perceive within
This sense of desolation—Heavenly hate,
This dead vacuity, this gloom of being!
This settled sorrow of the swelling heart
By which alone I feel that I exist!—
Where shall I find him, where, the friendly power
Tho' arm'd with vengeance? yet I wish to feel him
And own the father in his dread correction.
Father of mercy! let me own once more
Thy presence, tho' it blast me! turn again
Thy aspect, tho' incenst, on thy fallen son,
And let me feel thy pity in the scourge
That wounds to heal!—far, far around I look
Amid the tossing of this mental storm
Yet see no dawning of that welcome light
Sign of returning peace! it is but just
That I should wander in eternal gloom
For wilfully on heaven's benignant beam
I shut my eyes, and chose to grope my way
To swift perdition with a demon guide. To him, ZADOK.

From him, whom never yet desponding soul
Address'd in vain, I come, but not with peace
Nor soothing promise, long the storm must rage
The dashing rain descend, and deluge spread
Ere with the olive branch the dove returns
Thy soul has lost its vigour—all its powers
Are run to waste, its energy is gone—
Extinct, by foul voluptuous charms exhal'd
This to recover, needs strong discipline
Effective, lasting, till its energy
Recovers in the conflict, like the spark
From stricken steel, or winter's fire, compress'd
To tenfold ardour by the rigorous grasp
Of winter's frory hand—This is Heaven's will
Her primal law, by most effectual means
To keep that sacred, active power awake
In which th'excellency of mind consists
If this be dissipated in the calm
Of sensual life, or if, in sloth relaxt
The faculties lye slumb'ring—then he calls
His ministers—fierce pain, the alarm of war
Domestic grief, adversity's stern march
And quiver'd woes. They rouse the torpid mind
Hunt her thro' all her feelings, till she rise
From her terrene and most inglorious laire
And Heaven-ward looks again, asserts her birth,
Puts forth her pinions, vindicates the skies
And leaves the worldly dim eclipse behind,
But, if those fail, the gangrene is begun
That leads to swift perdition.

David.
Heaven forbid
Such means should fail! Oh let the discipline
Be sharp enough! I shrink not, tho' it leave
My trembling nerves all bare! welcome! affliction
I bless your friendly frowns, to my sick soul
More chearing than the Syren smiles that led
My wand'ring feet astray. Your awful march
And funeral ensigns, seen afar, I hail!
Print not your footsteps lightly in the dust
For every vagrant gale to waft away
The traces of your visitation dread!
But leave a deep, indelible path behind
As when the avenger of his people's sins
Treads the red wine-press in his jealous rage
And stamps his vengeance deep—but me alone
Visit, nor let my people share my woes!

PRIZE, POEMS, ODES, ELEGIES, &c. &c.

HYMN TO SILENCE,

THE PRIZE POEM FOR THE YEAR ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FIVE, T. C. D.

Thy genial influence in the lonely hour
I hail, O sacred silence! lo, the muse
In thy kind lap matur'd, now grateful pays
Her song of retribution! May it flow
With unoffending softness to thine ear!—
No more let discord, thy rude foe of old
With inroad wild and desolating hand
The measur'd descant mar! forbid his feet
Bland goddess! from that hallowed haunt, where late
My ravish'd eyes thy hermit steps beheld
Tracing the lawn at eve, while all around
The marshall'd dew obey'd thy potent rod
With soft invasion o'er'the fairy scene
Stealing, and Night, thine ancient lov'd compeer
Pleas'd thy dominion saw! Oh thou most lov'd
Of all the pensive nymphs! vouchsafe once more
That theme, which with an energy, divine
Above aught vocal, thine enchanting power
Did late impart! For to the arduous task
Of perfect recollection thou alone
Art equal. By thy kind conducting hand
Weak Memory led, unravels all the path
Where late she trode bewilder'd, whilst thy veil
Excludes th'annoyance of a busy world!
Or, if this great boon be deny'd, permit
The mighty spirit of some Memphian sage
Who tended erst thy temple on the shores
Of Nile, and now, perhaps, with wonted guard
Watches thy midnight throne, distinct and loud
To chant thine awful legend. Let him tell
How, tendant on the deity, you rode
Far into chaos, and, with potent charm
(Felt thro' his stormy confines,) still'd the roar
Of fighting elements confus'd, and woke
Order, at last, with thy soft touch, the foe
Of the old Anarch, whom in viewless chains
He held so long beneath th'oblivious pool,
Ten thousand fathom down. For this, of old
In less degenerate times, thy deity
With fanes was honour'd, and the mystic pomp
Of ceremonies, by no ruffian noise
Unhallowed, and thy gracious recompense
Let him not leave unsung. How on the hour
The genial hour of vacant revelry
An unremitting guard thou satest, nor oft
Did the quick sally of ungovern'd joy
Or vagrant shaft of keen, corroding wit
Escape the sacred door, to scatter wide
The seeds of future rancour and affray,
Then bid his notes swell with the Samian sage
Pythagoras, and his school of old renown
Where the green years of tender youth unform'd
Heavenly Instructress! pass'd beneath thy sway
Great Queen of Silence, thine was all the train
Whose converse by the quick, alternate glance
Was shot from soul to soul, disdaining use
Of clamorous organ, till, mature and full,
Nurtur'd by thee, at length, they deign'd to ope
The treasures, hoarded in thy golden reign
And bless, with speech a long expecting world.
But, in a gloomy and degenerate age
When Virtue, by her long exerted task
Fatigued, and downward menacing, at last
To superstition sunk, inglorious then
And deep degrading was thy sad employ,
To watch in convents dim the leaden look
Of barren contemplation, or the hand
Tracing a spiritless detail of facts
Misnamed History, and oft thy guise
By sacrilegious dullness was usurp'd
In hooded majesty, to spread an awe
O'er the unthinking crowd, misled with ease
By semblance vain of cogitation deep.
Yet not unuseful was thy steady care
Even then.—That power omniscient (who surveys
The gradual forming of the human race
From savage to refin'd,) on thee bestow'd
An office of high import, to preserve
Those nobler monuments that bore the stamp
Of wisdom, by a length of years sublim'd
Far, far secluded from the scrutiny
Of eyes profane, and apprehension's rude
Lest, madd'ning with the strong ideas, thence
Imbib'd, their zeal, all immature and wild
Should prompt them to disdain their lowly plight
And, aiming at perfection, idly mar
The certain, slow procedure of that hand
Which, with improvement, joins stability.
But, some, of spirit more inquisitive
And restless, daring with unlicens'd eye
Thy yet forbidden treasures to profane
Quickly, with more than Telamonian strength
Dulness, thy new ally, step'd forth, and wide
Display'd her deadly Medusean shield
A mirrour, by a necromancer's art
With a strange, fascinating power replete.
By this the forms august of ancient times
Illum'd, all sudden, as by some foul blast
They seem'd to lose each fair primæval grace
And all appear'd a rude and shapeless mass
Unlovely to the quick, disdainful eye
Of disappointed Fancy. Hence arose
That cold contempt for every noble form
Delineated there by hands divine .
But the Saturnian period saw, at last
Thy gates flung open by the scept'red hand
And all the Arts, in order, issuing forth
Like the first rosy progress of the morn
From chaos, when the new-made planet rose
And at their head, with port of eminence
In pristine bloom renew'd, fair Poetry
Like Hermes, to prepare the nations rude
By soft'ning strains to take a nobler form.
Hail! nurse of holy Contemplation! hail
Mother of Science, thee the pensive sage
In moral musings as absorpt he sits
Darkling, invites to heal the mental flaws
Caus'd by th'invading passions of the day!
And much thou canst! for thine is Reason cool
Thine is Resolve. To thee, fair virtue owes
Her soarings most sublime—Thou, and the night
Alone were conscious, when the moral field
Was by the magic hand of Socrates
Fenc'd with a mound of Amaranthine green
Thou saw'st in Newton's mind, the figur'd world
Arise, in fair idea. Thine are all
The secrets, to our prison'd faculties
Denied. O virgin of the modest lip!
All unelate with learned pride, thou know'st
The freight of those rich squadrons of the sky
That steer their golden voyage overhead,
And the nocturnal Heaven with glory fill!
Descending here, thy wounded ear imbibes
The lonely voice of Sorrow, and the sigh
Of love-lorn youths and maids, with the deep groan
Of him, sore smitten by the midnight hand
Of Conscience, who his bosom's gem has sold
For pomp untasted, riches unenjoy'd!
Goddess! I see thee hang the pensive head
Deploring, as thou bendest to behold
How he broods over his eternal wound!
Thence, borne on wing obscure, the sullen growth
Of lurid rancour thou art bound to mark
Yet Destiny's eternal law forbids
One hint the death-devoted wretch to save.
Still doom'd to watch, thou hear'st with dread alarm
The ruthless, deep, repeated stroke of time
Mining the mundane wall. Thou hear'st beneath
The fiery deluge as it ebbs and flows
Forming new dungeons in the solid globe
Conflicting to and fro; and sending oft
Th'giant warnings to the trembling world.
Not destin'd yet to burst abroad in rage
Till the last trumpet blows the solemn knell
Of sad vicissitude, depos'd, and led
Captive, to grace the long, majestic pomp
Of consummation, on her burning throne.

THE GENIUS OF THE WHITE ROSE,

THE PRIZE POEM FOR THE YEAR ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SIX.

WOODSTOCK.

THE PRIZE POEM FOR THE YEAR ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SEVEN.

THE WANDERER,

A LYRIC POEM, IN FOUR IRREGULAR ODES.

ODE THE FIRST. THE SHEPHERD'S DREAM.

ODE THE SECOND. THE SHEPHERD'S NUPTIALS.

ODE THE THIRD. THE SHEPHERD'S VOYAGE.

ODE THE FOURTH. THE SHEPHERD'S RETURN.

ON THE BIRTH DAY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF MOIRA, BARONESS HASTINGS, &c. &c.

APRIL 10th, 1791.

The tempests late, whose giant call
Awoke the furies of the deep,
When Quiet fled, with ruffled pall
And wild Amazement banish'd sleep.
Are gone—and now, the white-wing'd hours
In peace pursue their trackless course.
No more the found'ring crews' dispairing cry,
Nor woods resounding fall, nor torrents roar,
Nor the loud tumult of the plaintive shore
The chorus of the midnight hour supply.
Ill would those sounds and scenes become
That sacred, calm, and vernal night,
(Brooding o'er the tender bloom)
When first Eliza saw the light.
For no rude passions vex her soul,
No darkness clothes that tranquil scene,
In halcyon calm her moments roll
And all is light and peace within:
Except when Sympathy's too poignant dart
Invades, with barbed shaft, the feeling heart.
For, not in listless ease reclin'd
This sublunary scene she views,
But studies still to make, or find
Fit means her virtues to diffuse:
And tho' in dignity retir'd
No more she deigns an earthly court to grace,
Tho' stationary, still admir'd,
The habitant adorns the place.
Tho' lonely now, Eliza seems to mourn,
Her sphere, of kindred minds, disperst afar,
Soon shall the radiant lights again return
And circle round the bright, maternal star.
Yet, starting from its lucid sphere,
One lamp of love has found its way
(Selina! check the falling tear!)
To the fair dawn of heavenly day.
Soon shall the constellation glow
Attendant on the central throne.
O may they each, in time, bestow
Light on a system of their own.
Then each in honour's radiant sphere enshrin'd,
May their sweet influence far, like her's, extend
Still bright'ning on from kindred mind to mind,
Till, like yon orbs above, their kindling virtues blend.

ON THE BIRTH DAY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS OF MOIRA, BARONESS HASTINGS, &c. &c.

APRIL 10th, 1792.

ON THE BIRTH DAY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF MOIRA, BARONESS HASTINGS, &c. &c.

APRIL 10th, 1793.

In midnight pomp, in Tamor's fairy hall,
(Her green stole for a mourning pall
Exchang'd) the queen of Eirin sate,
Pond'ring her isle's impending fate.
Her tuneless lyre was hung on high
Like a pale meteor in a gloomy sky;
Her mute attendants stood around,
List'ning with dread the distant sound,
Where, must'ring all his factious tribes afar,
The sire of tempest call'd his sons to war;
Mad Rebellion rode the flaw,
And loud Misrule, and scorn of law;
From Gallia's strand, in dark ascent
Their westward course the demons bent,
And sent the foaming surge before
Dashing on Ierne's shore.
“Fling your spells! ye sylphid train!
“O'er the land, and o'er the main.
“Concord! on your halcyon car,
“Mount, and meet the coming war.
“Ere yon loud Æolian band
“Smite my harp with frantic hand,
“And rudely wakes the descant loud
“That calls to arms the madding crowd.”
In vain the Queen her prayers addrest,
Howling o'er the starless waste,
The coming tempest wing'd with fate,
Wafts along its gloomy freight;
And round the roof, with awful sweep
Sends its voice, in cadence deep.
Yelling thro' the rocking dome,
Faction's fiend, on sounding wing,
Twangs the high-suspended string,
The signal to his sister Gnome.
His sister Gnome the signal heard,
And soon the flag of mischief rear'd;
While Stygian lungs the pipe inspir'd,
Which the rude revolters fir'd.
Around in gloomy ambuscade,
Peopling thick the waving shade
In hordes, they plot th'intended wrong,
Or sweep the plain, an hideous throng.
The frighted moon their march beholds
And in deep clouds her vestal charms enfolds.
To Tamor's hall, with mast'ring powers
The rebels point their midnight course;
The Queen beheld, with terrour pale,
Their ensigns, fluttering to the gale,
And heard them, round the 'leaguer'd wall
With menace loud for entrance call.
“Oh! reach yon harp,” with loud exclaim
The Queen began, “its magic frame
“Shall echo that imperial strain,
“At whose deep charm the rebel train
“Shall drop their arms, and speed away
“Like night, before the shafts of day!—
“Touch the soul-commanding string,
“Ye fairies! form a shadowy ring,
“And chant those names, whose potent spell
“The deadly pest can yet dispell;
“Can rescue the insulted laws,
“And bid the march of Horrour pause!—
“Their virtues guard the threat'ned land,
“Their worth arrests the flaming brand!
“Eliza first, for her alone
“The humanizing arts their lov'd protectress own;
“Those favour'd arts, which charm'd of yore
“The savage tribes on Hebrus shore.
“When Orpheus touch'd the sacred wire,
“And the wild passions own'd his lyre.
“Her name perfumes the northern air,
“Where sav'd from want and chill despair,
“By the bounteous plans design'd
“In her bright expansive mind.
“ The swains, who mourn'd their way-ward lot,
“New tracks of industry are taught;
“Where her ready steps she turns,
“Deep distress no longer mourns.
“Where her smiles the prospect clear,
“Anguish dries the falling tear.
“The muse in her protection slumbers,
“Time shall wake her magic numbers;
“When the fated round complete
“Shall bid awake the descant sweet,
“Echoing thro' this gladsome hall
“When other tribes shall hear the call,
“And at the charm, the nameless clan,
“Shall drop the savage, and resume the man!”
Soon, ere half the song was heard,
The dark invasion disappeared;
Faction's hand her banner furls
Discord all her snakes uncurls.
The bugle blows a swift retreat,
And back, “with many twink'ling feet,”
They scud along the moonlight lawn
Like elves before the rosy dawn.

TO CHARLES WILLIAM BURY, ESQ. ON HIS RETURN FROM ITALY, 1789.

VERSES, LEFT AT THE REV. PETER TURPIN'S,

AT BROOKVILLE, IN HIS ABSENCE, Feb. 7th, 1792.

Ah! Flora! why this dead repose?
Awake and leave thy wintry tomb!
And will no breathing sweets disclose
To welcome Love and Hymen home?
How would I bribe (if songs could buy)
The seasons blessings here to join,
I'd proudly share the owner's joy,
For he would sympathize with mine!
Did I possess Golconda's store,
And all the wealth of rich Cathay,
I'd wish him neither less nor more,
Than what would give his virtues play.
But had I sage Alcina's voice,
No breeze I'd call, no genial show'r,
Yet soon a green alcove should rise
To vie with Adam's nuptial bow'r.
Yon beeches should expel the day,
Yon borders long should breathe perfume,
Yon mount that mourns the sun's delay
Should rival Hybla's May-morn bloom.
Yon elmy skreen that skirts the lawn,
Should wave aloft, a solemn grove
And seem an ample curtain drawn,
To shield the seat of peace and love.
Had I Astolfo's magic horn
That chac'd the fiends with potent sound,
No pest, on blighting pinion borne
Should ever pass the hallow'd bound.
“Check thy poetic flights, my friend,”
Quintilio cry'd, and press'd my hand,
“No magic bow'rs need here ascend,
“No visionary blooms expand.
“Here some perennials still remain,
“If poets would vouchsafe to mind 'em:
“Yonder they deck your friend's demesne,
“Had you but eyes, you'd quickly find 'em.
“Here Gilead's balm, and Sharon's rose,
“Mingle, at morn, their fragrant breath;
“Yonder their op'ning blooms disclose,
“Like Piety and spotless Faith.
“That flower, which never opes its breast,
“Till dews descend, and stars appear,
“Is pity for the wretch distrest,
“Unfolding at the falling tear.
“In colours warm; exuberant, full,
“Here friendship meets the ruffling gale.”
And there in sober tints, and cool,
Judgment, the pansie of the dale,
From Tyber and Ilyssus brought;
Some noble Scions deck the soil
Assembled in yon shelter'd spot,
They cast around a general smile.
Here Roman spirit, Attic sense,
Innoxious wit, and social mirth
Around their mingled sweets dispense,
Nor shame their old, illustrious birth.
Would summer's transient blooms compose
Connubial crowns with these to vie?
Then chide not Flora's dead repose
Nor blame the rigour of the sky.
When driving winds and beating rain,
The wintry prospect round deform
Their vivid tints will still remain,
Their scent exhaustless ever charm.

TO JOSEPH COOPER WALKER, ESQ. M. R. I. A.

AND MEMBER OF THE ACADEMIES OF PERTH, CORTONA, AND ROME,

ON HIS EMBARKING FOR ITALY, 1791.

TO JOSEPH COOPER WALKER, ESQ. M. R. I. A. &c. &c.

ON HIS RETURN FROM THE CONTINENT, Oct. 1792.

TO WILLIAM PRESTON, ESQ. ON HIS TRAGEDY, ENTITLED DEMOCRATIC RAGE.

ELEGIES.

TO THE REV. JOHN SMYTH, ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND, 1779.

HENRIETTA,

A MONODY, ON THE DEATH OF MISS HENRIETTA FRANCES DIGBY, OF GEASHILL, DAUGHTER OF THE REV. WILLIAM DIGBY, DEAN OF CLONFERT, 1780.

ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. THOMAS STEWART,

LATE RECTOR OF HOWTH, AND PREBEND OF ST. PATRICK'S, DUBLIN, 1789.

TO THE REV. DR. LESLIE,

OF TANDRAGEE, COUNTY DOWN, ON A LATE MELANCHOLY EVENT IN HIS FAMILY, 1792.

ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN RAWDON, LATE EARL OF MOIRA,

JUNE, 1793.

SPECIMEN OF THE CAPTIVES,

A ROMANCE,

(READY FOR THE PRESS.)

End of the First Canto

A band of Saxon Volunteers, under the command of Albert, a Northumbrian, embark for Ireland, to assert the natives against the Danes: They find peace restored, but are detained in Ulster by contrary winds.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF CHARLEMONT, &c.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND THOMAS PERCY, LORD BISHOP OF DROMORE,

ON HIS RETURN TO IRELAND, ANNO. 1793.