University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—The Portal of the same Hall of the Palace.
Beleses
(solus).
The Sun goes down: methinks he sets more slowly,
Taking his last look of Assyria's Empire.
How red he glares amongst those deepening clouds,
Like the blood he predicts. If not in vain,
Thou Sun that sinkest, and ye stars which rise,
I have outwatched ye, reading ray by ray
The edicts of your orbs, which make Time tremble
For what he brings the nations, 'tis the furthest
Hour of Assyria's years. And yet how calm!
An earthquake should announce so great a fall—
A summer's sun discloses it. Yon disk,
To the star-read Chaldean, bears upon
Its everlasting page the end of what
Seemed everlasting; but oh! thou true Sun!
The burning oracle of all that live,
As fountain of all life, and symbol of
Him who bestows it, wherefore dost thou limit
Thy lore unto calamity? Why not
Unfold the rise of days more worthy thine
All-glorious burst from ocean? why not dart
A beam of hope athwart the future years,
As of wrath to its days? Hear me! oh, hear me!
I am thy worshipper, thy priest, thy servant—
I have gazed on thee at thy rise and fall,
And bowed my head beneath thy mid-day beams,
When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watched
For thee, and after thee, and prayed to thee,
And sacrificed to thee, and read, and feared thee,
And asked of thee, and thou hast answered—but
Only to thus much: while I speak, he sinks—
Is gone—and leaves his beauty, not his knowledge,
To the delighted West, which revels in
Its hues of dying glory. Yet what is
Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset;
And mortals may be happy to resemble
The Gods but in decay.

Enter Arbaces by an inner door.
Arb.
Beleses, why
So wrapt in thy devotions? Dost thou stand
Gazing to trace thy disappearing God
Into some realm of undiscovered day?
Our business is with night—'tis come.

Bel.
But not
Gone.

Arb.
Let it roll on—we are ready.

Bel.
Yes.
Would it were over!

Arb.
Does the prophet doubt,
To whom the very stars shine Victory?

Bel.
I do not doubt of Victory—but the Victor.

Arb.
Well, let thy science settle that. Meantime
I have prepared as many glittering spears
As will out-sparkle our allies—your planets.
There is no more to thwart us. The she-king,
That less than woman, is even now upon
The waters with his female mates. The order
Is issued for the feast in the pavilion.
The first cup which he drains will be the last
Quaffed by the line of Nimrod.

Bel.
'Twas a brave one.

Arb.
And is a weak one—'tis worn out—we'll mend it.

Bel.
Art sure of that?

Arb.
Its founder was a hunter—
I am a soldier—what is there to fear?

Bel.
The soldier.

Arb.
And the priest, it may be: but
If you thought thus, or think, why not retain
Your king of concubines? why stir me up?
Why spur me to this enterprise? your own
No less than mine?

Bel.
Look to the sky!

Arb.
I look.

Bel.
What seest thou?

Arb.
A fair summer's twilight, and
The gathering of the stars.

Bel.
And midst them, mark
Yon earliest, and the brightest, which so quivers,
As it would quit its place in the blue ether.

Arb.
Well?

Bel.
'Tis thy natal ruler—thy birth planet.

Arb.
(touching his scabbard).
My star is in this scabbard: when it shines,
It shall out-dazzle comets. Let us think
Of what is to be done to justify
Thy planets and their portents. When we conquer,
They shall have temples—aye, and priests—and thou
Shalt be the pontiff of—what Gods thou wilt;
For I observe that they are ever just,
And own the bravest for the most devout.

Bel.
Aye, and the most devout for brave—thou hast not
Seen me turn back from battle.

Arb.
No; I own thee
As firm in fight as Babylonia's captain,
As skilful in Chaldea's worship: now,
Will it but please thee to forget the priest,
And be the warrior?

Bel.
Why not both?

Arb.
The better;
And yet it almost shames me, we shall have
So little to effect. This woman's warfare
Degrades the very conqueror. To have plucked
A bold and bloody despot from his throne,
And grappled with him, clashing steel with steel,
That were heroic or to win or fall;
But to upraise my sword against this silkworm,
And hear him whine, it may be—

Bel.
Do not deem it:
He has that in him which may make you strife yet;
And were he all you think, his guards are hardy,
And headed by the cool, stern Salemenes.

Arb.
They'll not resist.

Bel.
Why not? they are soldiers.

Arb.
True,
And therefore need a soldier to command them.

Bel.
That Salemenes is.

Arb.
But not their King.
Besides, he hates the effeminate thing that governs,
For the Queen's sake, his sister. Mark you not
He keeps aloof from all the revels?

Bel.
But
Not from the council—there he is ever constant.

Arb.
And ever thwarted: what would you have more
To make a rebel out of? A fool reigning,
His blood dishonoured, and himself disdained:
Why, it is his revenge we work for.

Bel.
Could
He but be brought to think so: this I doubt of.

Arb.
What, if we sound him?

Bel.
Yes—if the time served.

Enter Balea.
Bal.
Satraps! The king commands your presence at
The feast to-night.

Bel.
To hear is to obey.
In the pavilion?

Bal.
No; here in the palace.

Arb.
How! in the palace? it was not thus ordered.

Bal.
It is so ordered now.

Arb.
And why?

Bal.
I know not.
May I retire?

Arb.
Stay.

Bel.
(to Arb. aside).
Hush! let him go his way.
(Alternately to Bal.)
Yes, Balea, thank the Monarch, kiss the hem
Of his imperial robe, and say, his slaves
Will take the crumbs he deigns to scatter from
His royal table at the hour—was't midnight?

Bal.
It was: the place, the hall of Nimrod. Lords,
I humble me before you, and depart.

[Exit Balea.
Arb.
I like not this same sudden change of place;
There is some mystery: wherefore should he change it?

Bel.
Doth he not change a thousand times a day?
Sloth is of all things the most fanciful—
And moves more parasangs in its intents
Than generals in their marches, when they seek
To leave their foe at fault.—Why dost thou muse?

Arb.
He loved that gay pavilion,—it was ever
His summer dotage.

Bel.
And he loved his Queen—
And thrice a thousand harlotry besides—
And he has loved all things by turns, except
Wisdom and Glory.

Arb.
Still—I like it not.
If he has changed—why, so must we: the attack
Were easy in the isolated bower,
Beset with drowsy guards and drunken courtiers;
But in the hall of Nimrod—

Bel.
Is it so?
Methought the haughty soldier feared to mount
A throne too easily—does it disappoint thee
To find there is a slipperier step or two
Than what was counted on?

Arb.
When the hour comes,
Thou shalt perceive how far I fear or no.
Thou hast seen my life at stake—and gaily played for:
But here is more upon the die—a kingdom.

Bel.
I have foretold already—thou wilt win it:
Then on, and prosper.

Arb.
Now were I a soothsayer,
I would have boded so much to myself.
But be the stars obeyed—I cannot quarrel
With them, nor their interpreter. Who's here?

Enter Salemenes.
Sal.
Satraps!

Bel.
My Prince!

Sal.
Well met—I sought ye both,
But elsewhere than the palace.

Arb.
Wherefore so?

Sal.
'Tis not the hour.

Arb.
The hour!—what hour?

Sal.
Of midnight.

Bel.
Midnight, my Lord!

Sal.
What, are you not invited?

Bel.
Oh! yes—we had forgotten.

Sal.
Is it usual
Thus to forget a Sovereign's invitation?

Arb.
Why—we but now received it.

Sal.
Then why here?

Arb.
On duty.

Sal.
On what duty?

Bel.
On the state's.
We have the privilege to approach the presence;
But found the Monarch absent.

Sal.
And I too
Am upon duty.

Arb.
May we crave its purport?

Sal.
To arrest two traitors. Guards! Within there!

Enter Guards.
Sal.
(continuing).
Satraps,
Your swords.

Bel.
(delivering his).
My lord, behold my scimitar.

Arb.
(drawing his sword).
Take mine.

Sal.
(advancing).
I will.

Arb.
But in your heart the blade—
The hilt quits not this hand.

Sal.
(drawing).
How! dost thou brave me?
Tis well—this saves a trial, and false mercy.
Soldiers, hew down the rebel!

Arb.
Soldiers! Aye—
Alone you dare not.

Sal.
Alone! foolish slave—
What is there in thee that a Prince should shrink from
Of open force? We dread thy treason, not
Thy strength: thy tooth is nought without its venom—
The serpent's, not the lion's. Cut him down.

Bel.
(interposing).
Arbaces! Are you mad? Have I not rendered
My sword? Then trust like me our Sovereign's justice.

Arb.
No—I will sooner trust the stars thou prat'st of,
And this slight arm, and die a king at least
Of my own breath and body—so far that
None else shall chain them.

Sal.
(to the Guards).
You hear him and me.
Take him not,—kill.

[The Guards attack Arbaces, who defends himself valiantly and dexterously till they waver.
Sal.
Is it even so; and must
I do the hangman's office? Recreants! see
How you should fell a traitor.

[Salemenes attacks Arbaces.
Enter Sardanapalus and Train.
Sar.
Hold your hands—
Upon your lives, I say. What, deaf or drunken?
My sword! O fool, I wear no sword: here, fellow,
Give me thy weapon.

[To a Guard.
[Sardanapalus snatches a sword from one of the soldiers, and rushes between the combatants—they separate.
Sar.
In my very palace!
What hinders me from cleaving you in twain,
Audacious brawlers?

Bel.
Sire, your justice.

Sal.
Or—
Your weakness.

Sar.
(raising the sword).
How?

Sal.
Strike! so the blow's repeated
Upon yon traitor—whom you spare a moment,
I trust, for torture—I'm content.

Sar.
What—him!
Who dares assail Arbaces?

Sal.
I!

Sar.
Indeed!
Prince, you forget yourself, Upon what warrant?

Sal.
(showing the signet).
Thine.

Arb.
(confused).
The King's!

Sal.
Yes! and let the King confirm it.

Sar.
I parted not from this for such a purpose.

Sal.
You parted with it for your safety—I
Employed it for the best. Pronounce in person.
Here I am but your slave—a moment past
I was your representative.

Sar.
Then sheathe
Your swords.

[Arbaces and Salemenes return their swords to the scabbards.]
Sal.
Mine's sheathed: I pray you sheathe not yours:
'Tis the sole sceptre left you now with safety.

Sar.
A heavy one; the hilt, too, hurts my hand.
(To a Guard.)
Here, fellow, take thy weapon back. Well, sirs,
What doth this mean?

Bel.
The Prince must answer that.

Sal.
Truth upon my part, treason upon theirs.

Sar.
Treason—Arbaces! treachery and Beleses!
That were an union I will not believe.

Bel.
Where is the proof?

Sal.
I'll answer that, if once
The king demands your fellow-traitor's sword.

Arb.
(to Sal.).
A sword which hath been drawn as oft as thine
Against his foes.

Sal.
And now against his brother,
And in an hour or so against himself.

Sar.
That is not possible: he dared not; no—
No—I'll not hear of such things. These vain bickerings
Are spawned in courts by base intrigues, and baser
Hirelings, who live by lies on good men's lives.
You must have been deceived, my brother.

Sal.
First
Let him deliver up his weapon, and
Proclaim himself your subject by that duty,
And I will answer all.

Sar.
Why, if I thought so—
But no, it cannot be: the Mede Arbaces—
The trusty, rough, true soldier—the best captain
Of all who discipline our nations—No,
I'll not insult him thus, to bid him render
The scimitar to me he never yielded
Unto our enemies. Chief, keep your weapon.

Sal.
(delivering back the signet).
Monarch, take back your signet.

Sar.
No, retain it;
But use it with more moderation.

Sal.
Sire,
I used it for your honour, and restore it
Because I cannot keep it with my own.
Bestow it on Arbaces.

Sar.
So I should:
He never asked it.

Sal.
Doubt not, he will have it,
Without that hollow semblance of respect.

Bel.
I know not what hath prejudiced the Prince
So strongly 'gainst two subjects, than whom none
Have been more zealous for Assyria's weal.

Sal.
Peace, factious priest, and faithless soldier! thou
Unit'st in thy own person the worst vices
Of the most dangerous orders of mankind.
Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies
For those who know thee not. Thy fellow's sin
Is, at the least, a bold one, and not tempered
By the tricks taught thee in Chaldea.

Bel.
Hear him,
My liege—the son of Belus! he blasphemes
The worship of the land, which bows the knee
Before your fathers.

Sar.
Oh! for that I pray you
Let him have absolution. I dispense with
The worship of dead men; feeling that I
Am mortal, and believing that the race
From whence I sprung are—what I see them—ashes.

Bel.
King! Do not deem so: they are with the stars,
And—

Sar.
You shall join them ere they will rise,
If you preach farther—Why, this is rank treason.

Sal.
My lord!

Sar.
To school me in the worship of
Assyria's idols! Let him be released—
Give him his sword.

Sal.
My Lord, and King, and Brother,
I pray ye pause.

Sar.
Yes, and be sermonised,
And dinned, and deafened with dead men and Baal,
And all Chaldea's starry mysteries.

Bel.
Monarch! respect them.

Sar.
Oh! for that—I love them;
I love to watch them in the deep blue vault,
And to compare them with my Myrrha's eyes;
I love to see their rays redoubled in
The tremulous silver of Euphrates' wave,
As the light breeze of midnight crisps the broad
And rolling water, sighing through the sedges
Which fringe his banks: but whether they may be
Gods, as some say, or the abodes of Gods,
As others hold, or simply lamps of night,
Worlds—or the lights of Worlds—I know nor care not.
There's something sweet in my uncertainty
I would not change for your Chaldean lore;
Besides, I know of these all clay can know
Of aught above it, or below it—nothing.
I see their brilliancy and feel their beauty—
When they shine on my grave I shall know neither.

Bel.
For neither, Sire, say better.

Sar.
I will wait,
If it so please you, Pontiff, for that knowledge.
In the mean time receive your sword, and know
That I prefer your service militant
Unto your ministry—not loving either.

Sal.
(aside).
His lusts have made him mad. Then must I save him,
Spite of himself.

Sar.
Please you to hear me, Satraps!
And chiefly thou, my priest, because I doubt thee
More than the soldier; and would doubt thee all
Wert thou not half a warrior: let us part
In peace—I'll not say pardon—which must be
Earned by the guilty; this I'll not pronounce ye,
Although upon this breath of mine depends
Your own; and, deadlier for ye, on my fears.
But fear not—for that I am soft, not fearful—
And so live on. Were I the thing some think me,
Your heads would now be dripping the last drops
Of their attainted gore from the high gates
Of this our palace, into the dry dust,
Their only portion of the coveted kingdom
They would be crowned to reign o'er—let that pass.
As I have said, I will not deem ye guilty,
Nor doom ye guiltless. Albeit better men
Than ye or I stand ready to arraign you;
And should I leave your fate to sterner judges,
And proofs of all kinds, I might sacrifice
Two men, who, whatsoe'er they now are, were
Once honest. Ye are free, sirs.

Arb.
Sire, this clemency—

Bel.
(interrupting him).
Is worthy of yourself; and, although innocent,
We thank—

Sar.
Priest! keep your thanksgivings for Belus;
His offspring needs none.

Bel.
But being innocent—

Sar.
Be silent.—Guilt is loud. If ye are loyal,
Ye are injured men, and should be sad, not grateful.

Bel.
So we should be, were justice always done
By earthly power omnipotent; but Innocence
Must oft receive her right as a mere favour.

Sar.
That's a good sentence for a homily,
Though not for this occasion. Prithee keep it
To plead thy Sovereign's cause before his people.

Bel.
I trust there is no cause.

Sar.
No cause, perhaps;
But many causers:—if ye meet with such
In the exercise of your inquisitive function
On earth, or should you read of it in heaven
In some mysterious twinkle of the stars,
Which are your chronicles, I pray you note,
That there are worse things betwixt earth and heaven
Than him who ruleth many and slays none;
And, hating not himself, yet loves his fellows
Enough to spare even those who would not spare him
Were they once masters—but that's doubtful. Satraps!
Your swords and persons are at liberty
To use them as ye will—but from this hour
I have no call for either. Salemenes!
Follow me.

[Exeunt Sardanapalus, Salemenes, and the Train, etc., leaving Arbaces and Beleses.
Arb.
Beleses!

Bel.
Now, what think you?

Arb.
That we are lost.

Bel.
That we have won the kingdom.

Arb.
What? thus suspected—with the sword slung o'er us
But by a single hair, and that still wavering,
To be blown down by his imperious breath
Which spared us—why, I know not.

Bel.
Seek not why;
But let us profit by the interval.
The hour is still our own—our power the same—
The night the same we destined. He hath changed
Nothing except our ignorance of all
Suspicion into such a certainty
As must make madness of delay.

Arb.
And yet—

Bel.
What, doubting still?

Arb.
He spared our lives, nay, more,
Saved them from Salemenes.

Bel.
And how long
Will he so spare? till the first drunken minute.

Arb.
Or sober, rather. Yet he did it nobly;
Gave royally what we had forfeited
Basely—

Bel.
Say bravely.

Arb.
Somewhat of both, perhaps—
But it has touched me, and, whate'er betide,
I will no further on.

Bel.
And lose the world!

Arb.
Lose any thing except my own esteem.

Bel.
I blush that we should owe our lives to such
A king of distaffs!

Arb.
But no less we owe them;
And I should blush far more to take the grantor's!

Bel.
Thou may'st endure whate'er thou wilt—the stars
Have written otherwise.

Arb.
Though they came down,
And marshalled me the way in all their brightness,
I would not follow.

Bel.
This is weakness—worse
Than a scared beldam's dreaming of the dead,
And waking in the dark.—Go to—go to.

Arb.
Methought he looked like Nimrod as he spoke,
Even as the proud imperial statue stands
Looking the monarch of the kings around it,
And sways, while they but ornament, the temple.

Bel.
I told you that you had too much despised him,
And that there was some royalty within him—
What then? he is the nobler foe.

Arb.
But we
The meaner.—Would he had not spared us!

Bel.
So—
Wouldst thou be sacrificed thus readily?

Arb.
No—but it had been better to have died
Than live ungrateful.

Bel.
Oh, the souls of some men!
Thou wouldst digest what some call treason, and
Fools treachery—and, behold, upon the sudden,
Because for something or for nothing, this
Rash reveller steps, ostentatiously,
'Twixt thee and Salemenes, thou art turned
Into—what shall I say?—Sardanapalus!
I know no name more ignominious.

Arb.
But
An hour ago, who dared to term me such
Had held his life but lightly—as it is,
I must forgive you, even as he forgave us—
Semiramis herself would not have done it.

Bel.
No—the Queen liked no sharers of the kingdom,
Not even a husband.

Arb.
I must serve him truly—

Bel.
And humbly?

Arb.
No, sir, proudly—being honest.
I shall be nearer thrones than you to heaven;
And if not quite so haughty, yet more lofty.
You may do your own deeming—you have codes,
And mysteries, and corollaries of
Right and wrong, which I lack for my direction,
And must pursue but what a plain heart teaches.
And now you know me.

Bel.
Have you finished?

Arb.
Yes—
With you.

Bel.
And would, perhaps, betray as well
As quit me?

Arb.
That's a sacerdotal thought,
And not a soldier's.

Bel.
Be it what you will—
Truce with these wranglings, and but hear me.

Arb.
No—
There is more peril in your subtle spirit
Than in a phalanx.

Bel.
If it must be so—
I'll on alone.

Arb.
Alone!

Bel.
Thrones hold but one.

Arb.
But this is filled.

Bel.
With worse than vacancy—
A despised monarch. Look to it, Arbaces:
I have still aided, cherished, loved, and urged you;
Was willing even to serve you, in the hope
To serve and save Assyria. Heaven itself
Seemed to consent, and all events were friendly,
Even to the last, till that your spirit shrunk
Into a shallow softness; but now, rather
Than see my country languish, I will be
Her saviour or the victim of her tyrant—
Or one or both—for sometimes both are one;
And if I win—Arbaces is my servant.

Arb.
Your servant!

Bel.
Why not? better than be slave,
The pardoned slave of she Sardanapalus!

Enter Pania.
Pan.
My Lords, I bear an order from the king.

Arb.
It is obeyed ere spoken.

Bel.
Notwithstanding,
Let's hear it.

Pan.
Forthwith, on this very night,
Repair to your respective satrapies
Of Babylon and Media.

Bel.
With our troops?

Pan.
My order is unto the Satraps and
Their household train.

Arb.
But—

Bel.
It must be obeyed:
Say, we depart.

Pan.
My order is to see you
Depart, and not to bear your answer.

Bel.
(aside).
Aye!
Well, Sir—we will accompany you hence.

Pan.
I will retire to marshal forth the guard
Of honour which befits your rank, and wait
Your leisure, so that it the hour exceeds not.

[Exit Pania.
Bel.
Now then obey!

Arb.
Doubtless.

Bel.
Yes, to the gates
That grate the palace, which is now our prison—
No further.

Arb.
Thou hast harped the truth indeed!
The realm itself, in all its wide extension,
Yawns. dungeons at each step for thee and me.

Bel.
Graves!

Arb.
If I thought so, this good sword should dig
One more than mine.

Bel.
It shall have work enough.
Let me hope better than thou augurest;
At present, let us hence as best we may.
Thou dost agree with me in understanding
This order as a sentence?

Arb.
Why, what other
Interpretation should it bear? it is
The very policy of Orient monarchs—
Pardon and poison—favours and a sword—
A distant voyage, and an eternal sleep.
How many Satraps in his father's time—
For he I own is, or at least was, bloodless—

Bel.
But will not—can not be so now.

Arb.
I doubt it.
How many Satraps have I seen set out
In his Sire's day for mighty Vice-royalties,
Whose tombs are on their path! I know not how,
But they all sickened by the way, it was
So long and heavy.

Bel.
Let us but regain
The free air of the city, and we'll shorten
The journey.

Arb.
'Twill be shortened at the gates,
It may be.

Bel.
No; they hardly will risk that.
They mean us to die privately, but not
Within the palace or the city walls,
Where we are known, and may have partisans:
If they had meant to slay us here, we were
No longer with the living. Let us hence.

Arb.
If I but thought he did not mean my life—

Bel.
Fool! hence—what else should despotism alarmed
Mean? Let us but rejoin our troops, and march.

Arb.
Towards our provinces?

Bel.
No; towards your kingdom.
There's time—there's heart, and hope, and power, and means—
Which their half measures leave us in full scope.—
Away!

Arb.
And I even yet repenting must
Relapse to guilt!

Bel.
Self-defence is a virtue,
Sole bulwark of all right. Away, I say!
Let's leave this place, the air grows thick and choking,
And the walls have a scent of night-shade—hence!
Let us not leave them time for further council.
Our quick departure proves our civic zeal;
Our quick departure hinders our good escort,
The worthy Pania, from anticipating
The orders of some parasangs from hence:
Nay, there's no other choice, but — hence, I say.

[Exit with Arbaces, who follows reluctantly.
Enter Sardanapalus and Salemenes.
Sar.
Well, all is remedied, and without bloodshed,
That worst of mockeries of a remedy;
We are now secure by these men's exile.

Sal.
Yes,
As he who treads on flowers is from the adder
Twined round their roots.

Sar.
Why, what wouldst have me do?

Sal.
Undo what you have done.

Sar.
Revoke my pardon?

Sal.
Replace the crown now tottering on your temples.

Sar.
That were tyrannical.

Sal.
But sure.

Sar.
We are so.
What danger can they work upon the frontier?

Sal.
They are not there yet—never should they be so,
Were I well listened to.

Sar.
Nay, I have listened
Impartially to thee—why not to them?

Sal.
You may know that hereafter; as it is,
I take my leave to order forth the guard.

Sar.
And you will join us at the banquet?

Sal.
Sire,
Dispense with me—I am no wassailer:
Command me in all service save the Bacchant's.

Sar.
Nay, but 'tis fit to revel now and then.

Sal.
And fit that some should watch for those who revel
Too oft. Am I permitted to depart?

Sar.
Yes—Stay a moment, my good Salemenes,
My brother—my best subject—better Prince
Than I am King. You should have been the monarch,
And I—I know not what, and care not; but
Think not I am insensible to all
Thine honest wisdom, and thy rough yet kind,
Though oft-reproving sufferance of my follies.
If I have spared these men against thy counsel,
That is, their lives—it is not that I doubt
The advice was sound; but, let them live: we will not
Cavil about their lives—so let them mend them.
Their banishment will leave me still sound sleep,
Which their death had not left me.

Sal.
Thus you run
The risk to sleep for ever, to save traitors—
A moment's pang now changed for years of crime.
Still let them be made quiet.

Sar.
Tempt me not;
My word is past.

Sal.
But it may be recalled.

Sar.
'Tis royal.

Sal.
And should therefore be decisive.
This half-indulgence of an exile serves
But to provoke—a pardon should be full,
Or it is none.

Sar.
And who persuaded me
After I had repealed them, or at least
Only dismissed them from our presence, who
Urged me to send them to their satrapies?

Sal.
True; that I had forgotten; that is, Sire,
If they e'er reached their Satrapies—why, then,
Reprove me more for my advice.

Sar.
And if
They do not reach them—look to it!—in safety,
In safety, mark me—and security—
Look to thine own.

Sal.
Permit me to depart;
Their safety shall be cared for.

Sar.
Get thee hence, then;
And, prithee, think more gently of thy brother.

Sal.
Sire, I shall ever duly serve my sovereign.

[Exit Salemenes.
Sar.
(solus).
That man is of a temper too severe;
Hard but as lofty as the rock, and free
From all the taints of common earth—while I
Am softer clay, impregnated with flowers:
But as our mould is, must the produce be.
If I have erred this time, 'tis on the side
Where Error sits most lightly on that sense,
I know not what to call it; but it reckons
With me ofttimes for pain, and sometimes pleasure;
A spirit which seems placed about my heart
To count its throbs, not quicken them, and ask
Questions which mortal never dared to ask me,
Nor Baal, though an oracular deity—
Albeit his marble face majestical
Frowns as the shadows of the evening dim
His brows to changed expression, till at times
I think the statue looks in act to speak.
Away with these vain thoughts, I will be joyous—
And here comes Joy's true herald.

Enter Myrrha.
Myr.
King! the sky
Is overcast, and musters muttering thunder,
In clouds that seem approaching fast, and show
In forkéd flashes a commanding tempest.
Will you then quit the palace?

Sar.
Tempest, say'st thou?

Myr.
Aye, my good lord.

Sar.
For my own part, I should be
Not ill content to vary the smooth scene,
And watch the warring elements; but this
Would little suit the silken garments and
Smooth faces of our festive friends. Say, Myrrha,
Art thou of those who dread the roar of clouds?

Myr.
In my own country we respect their voices
As auguries of Jove.

Sar.
Jove!—aye, your Baal—
Ours also has a property in thunder,
And ever and anon some falling bolt
Proves his divinity,—and yet sometimes
Strikes his own altars.

Myr.
That were a dread omen.

Sar.
Yes—for the priests. Well, we will not go forth
Beyond the palace walls to-night, but make
Our feast within.

Myr.
Now, Jove be praised! that he
Hath heard the prayer thou wouldst not hear. The Gods
Are kinder to thee than thou to thyself,
And flash this storm between thee and thy foes,
To shield thee from them.

Sar.
Child, if there be peril,
Methinks it is the same within these walls
As on the river's brink.

Myr.
Not so; these walls
Are high and strong, and guarded. Treason has
To penetrate through many a winding way,
And massy portal; but in the pavilion
There is no bulwark.

Sar.
No, nor in the palace,
Nor in the fortress, nor upon the top
Of cloud-fenced Caucasus, where the eagle sits
Nested in pathless clefts, if treachery be:
Even as the arrow finds the airy king,
The steel will reach the earthly. But be calm;
The men, or innocent or guilty, are
Banished, and far upon their way.

Myr.
They live, then?

Sar.
So sanguinary? Thou!

Myr.
I would not shrink
From just infliction of due punishment
On those who seek your life: were't otherwise,
I should not merit mine. Besides, you heard
The princely Salemenes.

Sar.
This is strange;
The gentle and the austere are both against me,
And urge me to revenge.

Myr.
'Tis a Greek virtue.

Sar.
But not a kingly one—I'll none on't; or
If ever I indulge in't, it shall be
With kings—my equals.

Myr.
These men sought to be so.

Sar.
Myrrha, this is too feminine, and springs
From fear—

Myr.
For you.

Sar.
No matter, still 'tis fear.
I have observed your sex, once roused to wrath,
Are timidly vindictive to a pitch
Of perseverance, which I would not copy.
I thought you were exempt from this, as from
The childish helplessness of Asian women.

Myr.
My Lord, I am no boaster of my love,
Nor of my attributes; I have shared your splendour,
And will partake your fortunes. You may live
To find one slave more true than subject myriads:
But this the Gods avert! I am content
To be beloved on trust for what I feel,
Rather than prove it to you in your griefs,
Which might not yield to any cares of mine.

Sar.
Grief cannot come where perfect love exists,
Except to heighten it, and vanish from
That which it could not scare away. Let's in—
The hour approaches, and we must prepare
To meet the invited guests who grace our feast.

[Exeunt.