University of Virginia Library

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.