University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Zimon, and Tryphon.
Zimon.
An awful Dread, a Parent's fond Compassion
Contend within me— and this midnight Dream—

Tryphon.
No airy Dream of Chance! not vainly bred
Of midnight Vapours, and unkind Repose;
But with Lustrations sought, and Sacrifice!
Presented at the Time when no false Dream
Deludes the Sense; in the last Watch of Night,
While on the Victims Skins I slept before the Altar.
The Priests, who in the outward Temple held
Their solemn Vigils, say the Pavement shook,
The Altars groan'd, and strange amazing Sounds
The while re-echo'd thro' the vaulted Dome—
The dreadful Interdiction too resounds
Still in my Ears, like the low, murm'ring Noise
Of distant Thunder.

Zimon.
And will Heav'n divide
A Pair which Nature seems herself to join?
A Pair whose Loves have from their Childhood grown,
And strengthen'd with 'em?

Tryphon.
Yet the Gods are just!—
Let us consider well of this Design,
E'en from its Birth. Now twice the full-orb'd Moon
Has wasted, since our first Attempt was made;
And now the third sends forth its Influence,
Propitious held to Hymen's Votaries.
Think, when the first appointed Day was come,
And the young Pair before the Altar plac'd,
How suddenly the Sun withdrew his Beams,
And vail'd him from the Sight, while Night in Clouds
Seem'd to return in haste upon the Morn.
How Jove from forth the wat'ry Stores of Heaven
Pour'd down a second Deluge on our Heads;
Nor ceas'd his livid shafts of sulph'rous Flame,
Nor ceas'd his dreaded Voice 'till we retir'd!

Zimon.
The Day was horrible!

Tryphon.
Again the Moon
Grew to her highest Pride: fondly again
Thou did'st presume! for what, alas, avail'd
Thy Hecatomb, and pompous Sacrifice?
Think how unwillingly the Victims fell;
How they were dragg'd into the holy Place.
How, when the Intrails were explor'd, in one
The Heart was sought in vain, and from the next
A stench of foul Corruption issued forth:
How from the sacred Altar, Clouds of Smoak,
Black as Tartarean Vapours, roul'd around,
And hung like Night upon us: nor aspir'd
The Flame towards Heav'n; but, dividing, seem'd
To steal, as in Disdain, from what it fed on.
Rank was the Incense, and the holy Wine
Imbitter'd as with Gall: with these compare
What now has happen'd. Urge not Heav'n too far!
But rather thank th' indulgent Pow'rs, who deign
To lighten up our dark, uncertain Ways.
Heaven, the tender Parent of Mankind,
At first informs us gently, and in Smiles;
But with an heavy Hand Correction comes,
If we neglect the kind Admonisher.

Zimon.
May not repeated Sacrifice avail?
Not the pure Vows of the unspotted Maid?

Tryphon.
Then know'st thou not, that tho' all Heav'n combine,
To turn the steady Course of Fate, 'twere vain?
—Yet when I reason with my self, 'tis strange,
[After a Pause.
That you, my Lord, who are the very Head,
Or, as it were, the Helm of this Design,
Shou'd find no private Information;
(As oft it happens on the like Occasions)
Nor yet are self-instructed from above;
Nor from within, by Doubts, Misgivings, Fears,
Involuntary Motions, such as seem
Impos'd upon the Sense; nor from without,
By Objects, or confirming Accidents.

Zimon.
Now, Tryphon, thou awak'st my Memory,
Which Age, and a long Care for Athens' Good
Have worn to frequent Slumbers. Some Days since,
As thro' the solemn Cloifter of the Temple,
And round its hallow'd Grove, where awful Shade
And Silence teach us Adoration,
All bent on Heav'n, I took my wonted Way;
A sudden strange Emotion fir'd my Soul;
I grew enlighten'd, and the Book of Fate,
Methought, was opening to my Mind: When, lo!
Forth from the Thicket rush'd a monstrous Boar,
The Terror, and the Tyrant of his Kind,
In Horror, and in Size surpassing far
All that our Attic Mountains yet have bred.
He stop'd! e'en in my Path he stop'd!—I paus'd!
He glar'd awhile, and, foaming, as in Rage,
With hideous Yells betook him to the Forest.

Tryphon.
How? glar'd he on thee?

Zimon.
With an Eye of Death
As tho' we had encounter'd in the Chase,
And with my Spear I had fix'd him to the Earth!

Tryphon.
And came he on the Left, my Lord?

Zimon.
He did.

Tryphon.
O, how industrious are the pitying Pow'rs,
To guide aright the wand'ring Steps of Man!
Think! has ought else occur'd?—

Zimon.
The other Morn,
[After a short Pause.
As tow'rds the East I bow'd my self to Heaven,
Begging Success on this our Enterprize,
A lonely Turtle on the Left I spy'd.

Tryphon.
The social Bird of Venus, and alone?
This boads a Separation? or by Death,
Or what is worse than Death, Domestic Jarrs.
Far off be all such Strife from Zimon's Walls!

Zimon.
I know thou lov'st me, know thou fear'st the Gods!

Tryphon.
So fearing, I obey their Heav'nly Wills.

Zimon.
'Tis plain thou dost—but oh, ye awful Pow'rs!
How to the tender Maid may I make known
Your harsh Resolves? how tear her from his Armes?
Oh, 'twill be worse than Death! a Love so true!
So deep ingrafted in each other's Heart!
Oft have I mark'd with Joy their growing Passion,
And thought 'twas happy! first in Infant Smiles
It broke, and strengthen'd into Sighs from thence;
Sighs almost made in Ignorance of their Cause:
At length Maturity awakes Desire;
They Hope, they Fear; they Vow, and call it Love.
And now to part! in reach of either's Arms!
Cut off, divided at their Noon of Hope!

Tryphon.
Alas 'tis hard! but Sense of Duty sure
Will mitigate the Pain. Hesione
Knows what is due to Heav'n, and to her Sire:
Early you painted to her tender Mind
The Monster Vice in all its ugly Forms;
The flow'ry Paths of Virtue next you drew,
And peaceful Innocence: she was all Ear:
Her happy Disposition met you Care,
And half prevented your Instruction.

Zimon.
True, my good Tryphon! but so great a Tryal!
So difficult a Task for Patience!
Tho' nurs'd amidst the Horrors of the Field,
Bred in Alarms, and intimate with Danger,
I'm not so ste el'd against Compassion,
That I conceive not what such Lovers feel
At such a Separation: nor has Age
So sower'd my Nature, that I wish not Youth
Its innocent Desires—nor can'st thou feel
A Father's Tenderness.

Tryphon.
A Father's Love
Shines clearest in the Duty of a Father!
Shall Man, shall narrow-sighted Man declare,
This is my certain Path to Happiness?
Here will I tread? but that I'll surely shun;
For Danger, Care, and Pain are ambush'd there?
When even then the kind, indulgent Pow'rs
Expose the wildness of his fond Desires,
And Thunder loudly tells him, he is wrong?
—Then let all-knowing Fate provide no more!

Zimon.
Mistake me not! I am not all subdu'd:
The Will of Heav'n is fervent at my Heart!
Had yet th' all-equal Pow'rs been more severe,
And to their Altars doom'd the spotless Maid;
Destin'd her Virgin Blood a Sacrifice
To the sad Manes of th' unburied Foes
This Arm has slain—shou'd I with-hold my Child?
Nay more was this her Parent's Sword decreed
Death's sacred Instrument—shou'd I yet pause?
Withdraw my Hand, and spare the beauteous Victim?

Tryphon.
No! in Compassion thou wou'dst Sacrifice!
Nor meant I ought to thee: but there are some,
Shou'd even the Guardian Goddess of our State
Minerva's self from her high Heav'n descend,
And in th' Athenian Streets declare her Will,
Yet some, I fear, there wou'd be found, to close
Their impious Ears against her loud Commands!

Zimon.
If any such there be, forgive 'em Heav'n!

Tryphon.
Heav'n is forgot! our Altars are grown cold!

Zimon.
Behold my Daughter! Joy, and Innocence
Bloom in her Face. Alas Hesione,
Thou know'st not yet how near thou art to Pain!
That the rich Robe, gay Hymen's Livery,
Which, foil'd by thy own Lustre, fades upon thee,
Now only serves to decorate thy Sorrows.