 | Mariamne |  |
29
SCENE III.
SALOME, SOHEMUS.Salome.
In this high mantling tide of grief and rage,
Sure when the King arrives, her cold disdain
Will damp the glowing ardor of his soul.
Soh.
Fear not a calm! The cloud will now collect
More vapours still, to give a nobler burst,
And make her ruin sure. When vulgar minds
Despond, they drop beneath the stroke of fate,
With no more tumult than autumnal leaves
Forsake the sapless bough: But majesty
With noise, and pompous horror rushes down
As if the violence of nature tore
A planet from its orb.
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