 | Achilles In Scyros |  |
SCENE I.
The outside of a magnificent temple dedicated to Bacchus. Between the pillars of the temple is discovered on one side the wood sacred to the Deity, and on the other side the sea coast of Scyros. The piazza is filled with Bacchanals celebrating the festival of the God, to the sound of various instruments. A numerous company of the noble dames of Scyros descending the steps from the temple: with these are seen Deidamia and Achilles, the last in a female habit.
Chorus of Bacchanals.
While each, O father Bacchus! pays
To thee this hymn of grateful praise,
Descend our raptur'd souls to raise
With thy celestial fire.
Part Chorus.
O! source! from whom our blessings flow,
Oblivion sweet of human woe!
By thee we scorn this life below,
And to the skies aspire.
Chorus.
Descend our raptur'd souls to raise
With thy celestial fire.
Part Chorus.
By thee, the blood, that scarce maintains
A sluggish course through freezing veins,
With warmth renew'd fresh vigour gains,
And glows with young desire.
Chorus.
Descend our raptur'd souls to raise
With thy celestial fire.
Part Chorus.
Henceforth deceit shall fly the breast
That owns thee for its chosen guest,
And lips, before with falsehood drest,
The words of truth acquire.
Chorus.
Descend our raptur'd souls to raise
With thy celestial fire.
Part Chorus.
Thou mak'st the coward Fame revere;
Thou dry'st from weeping eyes the tear;
Thou bid'st the blush of modest fear
From lovers' cheeks retire.
Chorus.
O! source! from whom our blessings flow;
Oblivion sweet of human woe!
By thee we scorn this life below,
And to the skies aspire.
[here the Chorus is interrupted by the sound of trumpets from the sea.
Deid.While each, O father Bacchus! pays
To thee this hymn of grateful praise,
Descend our raptur'd souls to raise
With thy celestial fire.
Part Chorus.
O! source! from whom our blessings flow,
Oblivion sweet of human woe!
By thee we scorn this life below,
And to the skies aspire.
4
Descend our raptur'd souls to raise
With thy celestial fire.
Part Chorus.
By thee, the blood, that scarce maintains
A sluggish course through freezing veins,
With warmth renew'd fresh vigour gains,
And glows with young desire.
Chorus.
Descend our raptur'd souls to raise
With thy celestial fire.
Part Chorus.
Henceforth deceit shall fly the breast
That owns thee for its chosen guest,
And lips, before with falsehood drest,
The words of truth acquire.
Chorus.
Descend our raptur'd souls to raise
With thy celestial fire.
Part Chorus.
Thou mak'st the coward Fame revere;
Thou dry'st from weeping eyes the tear;
Thou bid'st the blush of modest fear
From lovers' cheeks retire.
5
O! source! from whom our blessings flow;
Oblivion sweet of human woe!
By thee we scorn this life below,
And to the skies aspire.
[here the Chorus is interrupted by the sound of trumpets from the sea.
[to Ach.]
Didst thou not hear?
Ach.
Princess, I did.
Deid.
Who dares
With sounds profane thus rashly to disturb
The sacred rites of our mysterious orgies?
Ach.
'Tis so; I am not deceiv'd; from yonder seas
The sounding clangour comes, and yet I know not,
Nor can divine the cause—but now methinks
I see two vessels, with extended sails,
Swift making to the shore.
[two ships appear at a distance.
Deid.
[alarmed.]
Ah, me!
Ach.
What fear'st thou?
As yet they're distant far.
Deid.
O! let us fly.
[all fly but Ach. and Deid.
Ach.
And wherefore fly?
Deid.
Hast thou not heard these seas
6
The wretched daughters from their mourning sires,
The kings of Tyre and Argos—Know'st thou not
The recent loss which Sparta has sustain'd?
That Greece indignant claims, but claims in vain
The faithless consort from her Trojan spoiler?
Who knows but these deceitful vessels now
Again may bring—O! Heaven! I sink with terror!
Ach.
Fear not, my love, is not Achilles here?
Deid.
O! hold—
Ach.
And if Achilles—
Deid.
O! forbear;
Some one may hear thee: should'st thou be discover'd,
I am lost myself, and thou to me art lost.
What will my father say, deluded thus?
Thou know'st he thinks in thee he views a maid,
And oft, with smiles, has witness'd to our loves.
But what must chance, (I tremble at the thought)
Should he e'er learn that, veil'd in Pyrrha's name,
I love Achilles?
Ach.
Pardon, Deidamia,
I own your caution just.
| Achilles In Scyros | |