The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere

Sisygambis, the Magian Astar.
Ast.
Madam, fear nought: she'll know the right and do it:
The maid's no Greek, nimble of spirit but small:
Her mind is spacious, and her heart is strong:
In all things still she sees the thing essential.
Such is the royal nature.

Sis.
For this marriage
The royal in her nature is against it:
She neither loves the Greek nor leans to marriage.
She's younger than her years, tho' when a child
Seemingly older.

102

Ast.
Madam, in high courage
She's older than her mother at her death,
And less through weakness of her sex dependent.
She will not wreck the realm.

Sis.
She comes: farewell.
[Astar departs. Arsinoe enters, and, after kneeling, sits at the feet of Sisygambis.
O large and lustrous eyes through tears up-gazing,
What find you in these agèd eyes of mine,
Murky and dim, these wan, discrownèd brows,
Worthy such sweet regard? Large eyes, gaze on!
You see dead Persia and her fallen House:
Their monument am I.

Ars.
Mother! my mother!

Sis.
That name you gave me when your mother died:
It reach'd me first from younger lips than yours:
It was not mine to kiss those lips in death:
Another closed those eyes.

Ars.
Mother! my mother!

Sis.
To them that with officious zeal presumed
Whispering of comfort, thus I made reply,
“He died contending for this Persian realm:
Comfort, save that, I spurn.”

Ars.
Though earth were ashes
That comfort still remains. We needs must weep;
We need not fear, methinks, nor hate, nor murmur.

Sis.
The strongest hand of earth let fall the sceptre:
The wide world shuddered like a shrine profaned:
Then from the gulf there rose a voice, “That sceptre
A slender hand shall lift from out the dust.”
The voice was low. I heard it and survived.

Ars.
Whose hand?

Sis.
The hand that lies across my knees:

103

This missive's heavy with a royal suit:
The Greek king claims that hand.

Ars.
He claim it!—Never!

Sis.
Then from a Persian hand comes Persia's doom:
This bridal had restored her Royal House.

Ars.
It was the Greek king laid it low, my mother.

Sis.
That laid it low, and now that fain would raise it:
The Greeks have given consent.

Ars.
The Greeks consent!
The Greeks! The Greeks dispose of Persia's daughters!
I'd have them nor for arbiters nor subjects!
Of all those Greeks, I know but one, one only,
Not shallow, loud, ignoble and untrue—
Hephestion; him who charmed for us at Tyre
Sadness to peace. Mother, if he has sisters
I think they are hard to win.

Sis.
He weds your sister.

Ars.
Hephestion weds my sister!

Sis.
Woos her and weds her.
You love your sister: does her marriage please you?

Ars.
I know not.

Sis.
Or perhaps displease?

Ars.
I know not.

Sis.
These marriages must be, or both, or neither:
By Persia's law the princess eldest-born
Mustfill earth's proudest throne: that throne is yours—
Unless you spurn it, yours. The king is proud:
The king's one friend will teach you how to win him
And make him father of this fallen realm:
Your sister's husband needs must be your brother.

104

Ars.
There's sweetness in that thought. Oh mother, mother!

Sis.
Now that your hands are shifted from your face
The pallor's less.

Ars.
Oh mother! Spare to urge me!
Scarce for love's sake, methinks, could I surrender
That maiden life, so holy, calm, and clear:
I cannot wed, not loving.

Sis.
I have done.
The nobly-modest usage of the East
Left marriages to parents. Yours are dead:
And therefore you are free.
This day a pact is broken with a grave:
It was a dead king, not a king that lives,
Who made this marriage: in his death he conquered:
Earth's victor stood above a shape sword-pierced:
A stricken shape he stood, a paler shape;
He saw the royal blood, the blood of Persia,
And lo, the conqueror changed to penitent:
That hour he vowed, suspending his advance,
To chase the murderer's steps from land to land
Thenceforth avenger. This too, this he vowed,
To set thy race, Darius, on thy throne
Partaken, not usurped. The tidings reached me,
Child, with your father's corse.

Ars.
'Tis past! My father!
Forgive this base deserter of thy blood,
Trivial impugner of thy sacred will,
Withstander of thy country's peace and greatness!
My mother, write—write quick—that I consent.

[Arsinoe moves to a window. The Queenmother writes. As her letter is finished Arsinoe returns.

105

Sis.
You've been a gazer on our Persian heavens:
The stars are in your face. 'Tis sad no more.

Ars.
The tears which I should weep are bright on yours.

Sis.
Age frets at all. Whoe'er had been your husband
It may be I had wept. Persia is saved.

University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.—Palace at Susa.