University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A plain at the foot of a steep craggy mountain.
DIONE. LAURA.
Laura.
Why dost thou fly me? stay, unhappy fair,
Seek not these horrid caverns of despair;
To trace thy steps the midnight air I bore,
Trod the brown desart, and unshelter'd moor:
Three times the lark has sung his matin lay,
And rose on dewy wing to meet the day,
Since first I found thee, stretch'd in pensive mood,
Where laurels border Ladon's silver flood.

Dione.
O let my soul with grateful thanks o'erflow!
'Tis to thy hand my daily life I owe.
Like the weak lamb you rais'd me from the plain,
Too faint to bear bleak winds and beating rain;
Each day I share thy bowl and clean repast,
Each night thy roof defends the chilly blast.
But vain is all thy friendship, vain thy care:
Forget a wretch abandon'd to despair.

Laura.
Despair will fly thee, when thou shalt impart
The fatal secret that torments thy heart;
Disclose thy sorrows to my faithful ear,
Instruct those eyes to give thee tear for tear.
Love, love's the cause; our forests speak thy flame,
The rocks have learnt to sigh Evander's name.
If fault'ring shame thy bashful tongue restrain,
If thou hast look'd, and blush'd, and sigh'd in vain;
Say, in what grove thy lovely shepherd strays,
Tell me what mountains warble with his lays;
Thither I'll speed me, and with moving art
Draw soft confessions from his melting heart.

Dione.
Thy gen'rous care has touch'd my secret woe.
Love bids these scalding tears incessant flow,
Ill-fated love! O, say, ye sylvan maids,
Who range wide forests and sequester'd shades,
Say where Evander bled, point out the ground
That yet is purple with the savage wound.
Yonder he lies; I hear the bird of prey;
High o'er those cliffs the raven wings his way;
Hark how he croaks! he scents the murder near.
O may no greedy beak his visage tear!
Shield him, ye Cupids; strip the Paphian grove,
And strow unfading myrtle o'er my love!
Down, heaving heart.

Laura.
—The mournful tale disclose.

Dione.
Let not my tears intrude on thy repose.
Yet if thy friendship still the cause request;
I'll speak; though sorrow rend my lab'ring breast.
Know then, fair shepherdess; no honest swain
Taught me the duties of the peaceful plain;
Unus'd to sweet content, no flocks I keep,
Nor browzing goats that overhang the steep.
Born where Orchomenos proud turrets shine,
I trace my birth from long illustrious line,
Why was I train'd amidst Arcadia's court?
Love ever revels in that gay resort.
Whene'er Evander past, my smitten heart
Heav'd frequent sighs, and felt unusual smart.
Ah! hadst thou seen with what sweet grace he mov'd!
Yet why that wish? for Laura then had lov'd.

Laura.
Distrust me not; thy secret wrongs impart.

Dione.
Forgive the sallies of a breaking heart.
Evander's sighs his mutual flame confest;
The growing passion labour'd in his breast;
To me he came; my heart with rapture sprung,
To see the blushes, when his falt'ring tongue
First said, I love. My eyes consent reveal,
And plighted vows our faithful passion seal.
Where's now the lovely youth? he's lost, he's slain,
And the pale corse lies breathless on the plain!

Laura.
Are thus the hopes of constant lovers paid?
If thus—ye powers, from love defend the maid!

Dione.
Now have twelve mornings warm'd the purple east,
Since my dear hunter rouz'd the tusky beast;
Swift flew the foaming monster thro' the wood,
Swift as the wind, his eager steps pursu'd:
'Twas then the savage turn'd; then fell the youth,
And his dear blood distain'd the barb'rous tooth.

Laura.
Was there none near? no ready succour found?
Nor healing herb to staunch the spouting wound?

Dione.
In vain through pathless wood the hunters crost,
And sought with anxious eye their master lost;
In vain their frequent hollows echo'd shrill,
And his lov'd name was sent from hill to hill;
Evander hears you not, he's lost, he's slain,
And the pale corse lies breathless on the plain.

Laura.
Has yet no clown (who, wandring from the way,
Beats ev'ry bush to raise the lamb astray)
Observ'd the fatal spot?

Dione.
—O, if ye pass
Where purple murder dyes the wither'd grass,
With pious finger gently close his eyes,
And let his grave with decent verdure rise.

[Weeps.
Laura.
Behold the turtle who has lost her mate:
Awhile with drooping wing she mourns his fate,
Sullen, awhile she seeks the darkest grove,
And cooing meditates the murder'd dove;
But time the rueful image wears away,
Again she's cheer'd, again she seeks the day.
Spare then thy beauty, and no longer pine.

Dione.

Laura.
How vain is force! love ne'er can be compell'd.

Dione.
Though bound by duty, yet my heart rebell'd.
One night, when sleep had hush'd all busy spies,
And the pale moon had journey'd half the skies;
Softly I rose and drest; with silent tread,
Unbarr'd the gates; and to these mountains fled.
Here let me sooth the melancholy hours!
Close me, ye woods, within your twilight bow'rs!
Where my calm soul may settled sorrow know,
And no Cleanthes interrupt my woe
[Melancholy music is heard at a distance.
With importuning love—On yonder plain
Advances slow a melancholy train;
Black cypress boughs their drooping heads adorn.

Laura.
Alas! Menalcas to his grave is born.
Behold the victim of Parthenia's pride!
He saw, he sigh'd, he lov'd, was scorn'd and dy'd.

Dione.
Where dwells this beauteous tyrant of the plains?
Where may I see her?

Laura.
—Ask the sighing swains.
They best can speak the conquests of her eyes,
Whoever sees her, loves; who loves her, dies.

Dione.
Perhaps untimely fate her flame hath crost,
And she, like me, hath her Evander lost.
How my soul pities her!

Laura.
—If pity move
Your generous bosom, pity those who love.
There late arriv'd among our sylvan race
A stranger shepherd, who with lonely pace
Visits those mountain pines at dawn of day,
Where oft' Parthenia takes her early way
To rouze the chase; mad with his am'rous pain,
He stops and raves; then sullen walks again.
Parthenia's name is born by passing gales,
And talking hills repeat it to the dales.
Come, let us from this vale of sorrow go,
Nor let the mournful scene prolong thy woe.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Shepherds and shepherdesses, (crown'd with garlands of cypress and yew) bearing the body of Menalcas.
1 Shepherd.
Here gently rest the corse—with faltring breath
Thus spake Menalcas on the verge of death.
‘Belov'd Palemon, hear a dying friend:
‘See, where yon hills with craggy brows ascend,
‘Low in the valley where the mountain grows,
‘There first I saw her, there began my woes.
‘When I am cold, may there this clay be laid;
‘There often strays the dear, the cruel maid,
‘There as she walks, perhaps you'll hear her say,
‘(While a kind gushing tear shall force its way)
‘How could my stubborn heart relentless prove?
‘Ah poor Menalcas—all thy fault was love!

2 Shepherd.
When pitying lions o'er a carcase groan,
And hungry tygers bleeding kids bemoan;
When the lean wolf laments the mangled sheep;
Then shall Parthenia o'er Menaclas weep.

1 Shepherd.
When famish'd panthers seek their morning food,
And monsters roar along the desart wood;
When hissing vipers rustle through the brake,
Or in the path-way rears the speckled snake;
The wary swain th'approaching peril spies,
And through some distant road securely flies,
Fly then, ye swains, from beauty's surer wound;
Such was the fate our poor Menalcas found!

2 Shepherd.
What shepherd does not mourn Menalcas slain?
Kill'd by a barbarous woman's proud disdain!
Whoe'er attempts to bend her scornful mind,
Cries to the desarts, and pursues the wind.

1 Shepherd.
With ev'ry grace Menacles was endow'd,
His merits dazled all the sylvan croud,
If you would know his pipe's melodious sound,
Ask all the echoes of those hills around,
For they have learn'd his strains; who shall rehearse
The strength, the cadence of his tuneful verse?
Go, read those lofty poplars; there you'll find
Some tender sonnet grow on ev'ry rind.

2 Shepherd.
Yet what avails his skill? Parthenia flies.
Can merit hope success in woman's eyes?

1 Shepherd.
Why was Parthenia form'd of softest mold?
Why does her heart such savage nature hold?
O ye kind gods! or all her charms efface,
Or tame her heart—so spare the shepherd race.

2 Shepherd.
As fade the flowers which on the grave I cast;
So may Parthenia's transient beauty waste!

1 Shepherd.
What woman ever counts the fleeting years,
Or sees the wrinkle which her forehead wears?
Thinking her feature never shall decay,
This swain she scorns, from that she turns away.
But know, as when the rose her bud unfolds,
A while each breast the short-liv'd fragrance holds:
When the dry stalk lets drop her shrivell'd pride,
The lovely ruin's ever thrown aside.
So shall Parthenia be.

2 Shepherd.
—See, she appears,
To boast her spoils, and triumph in our tears.

SCENE III.

Parthenia appears from the mountain.
PARTHENIA. SHEPHERDS.
1 Shepherd.
Why this way dost thou turn thy baneful eyes,
Pernicious basilisk? lo! there he lies,
There lies the youth thy cursed beauty slew;
See at thy presence, how he bleeds anew!
Look down, enjoy thy murder.

Parthenia.
—Spare my fame;
I come to clear a virgin's injur'd name.
If I'm a basilisk, the danger fly,
Shun the swift glances of my venom'd eye:
If I'm a murd'rer, why approach ye near,
And to the dagger lay your bosom bare?

1 Shepherd.
What heart is proof against that face divine?
Love is not in our power.

Parthenia.
—Is love in mine?
If e'er I trifled with a shepherd's pain,
Or with false hope his passion strove to gain;
Then might you justly curse my savage mind,
Then might you rank me with the serpent kind:
But I ne'er trifled with a shepherd's pain,
Nor with false hopes his passion strove to gain;
'Tis to his rash pursuit he owes his fate,
I was not cruel; he was obstinate.

1 Shepherd.
Hear this, ye sighing shepherds, and despair.
Unhappy Lycidas, thy hour is near!
Since the same barb'rous hand hath sign'd thy doom.
We'll lay thee in our lov'd Menalcas' tomb.

Parthenia.
Why will intruding man my peace destroy?
Let me content, and solitude enjoy;
Free was I born, my freedom to maintain,
Early I sought the unambitious plain.
Most women's weak resolves like reeds will ply,
Shake with each breath, and bend with ev'ry sigh;
Mine, like an oak, whose firm roots deep descend,
No breath of love can shake, no sigh can bend.
If ye unhappy Lycidas would save;
Go seek him, lead him to Menalcas' grave;
Forbid his eyes with flowing grief to rain,
Like him Menalcas wept, but wept in vain;
Bid him his heart-consuming groans give o'er:
Tell him, I heard such piercing groans before,
And heard unmov'd. O Lycidas be wise,
Prevent thy fate.—Lo! there Menalcas lies.

1 Shepherd.
Now all the melancholy rites are paid,
And o'er his grave the weeping marble laid;
Let's seek our charge; the flocks dispersing wide,
Whiten with moving fleece the mountain's side.
Trust not, ye swains, the lightning of her eye,
Lest ye, like him, should love, despair, and dye,

[Exeunt Shepherds, &c. Parthenia remains in a melancholy posture looking on the grave of Menalcas.

SCENE IV.

Enter Lycidas.
LYCIDAS. PARTHENIA.
Lycidas.
When shall my steps have rest? Through all the wood,
And by the winding banks of Ladon's flood
I sought my love. O say, ye skipping fawns,
(Who range entangled shades and daisy'd lawns)
If ye have seen her! say ye warbling race,
(Who measure on swift wing th'aerial space,
And view below hills, dales, and distant shores)
Where shall I find her whom my soul adores!

SCENE V.

LYCIDAS. PARTHENIA. DIONE. LAURA.
[Dione and Laura at a distance.
Lycidas.
What do I see? No. Fancy mocks my eyes,
And bids the dear deluding vision rise.
'Tis she. My springing heart her presence feels.
See, prostrate Lycidas before thee kneels.
[Kneeling to Parthenia.
Why will Parthenia turn her face away?

Parthenia.
Who calls Parthenia? hah!

[She starts from her melancholy; and seeing Lycidas, flies into the wood.
Lycidas.
—Stay, virgin, stay,
O wing my feet, kind love. See, see, she bounds,
Fleet as the mountain roe, when prest by hounds.

[He pursues her. Dione faints in the arms of Laura.
Laura.
What means this trembling? all her colour flies,
And life is quite unstrung. Ah! lift thy eyes,
And answer me; speak speak, 'tis Laura calls.
Speech bas forsook her lips.—She faints, she falls,
Fan her, ye Zephyrs, with your balmy breath,
And bring her quickly from the shades of death:
Blow, ye cool gales. See, see, the forest shakes
With coming winds! she breathes, she moves, she wakes!

Dione.
Ah false Evander!

Laura.
—Calm thy sobbing breast.
Say, what new sorrow has thy heart opprest.

Dione.
Didst thou not hear his sighs and suppliant tone?
Didst thou not hear the pitying mountain grone?
Didst thou not see him bend his suppliant knee?
Thus in my happy days he knelt to me,
And pour'd forth all his soul! see how he strains,
And lessens to the sight o'er yonder plains
To keep the fair in view! run, virgin, run,
Hear not his vows; I heard, and was undone!

Laura.
Let not imaginary terrors fright.
Some dark delusion swims before thy sight.
I saw Parthenia from the mountain's brow,
And Lycidas with prostrate duty bow;
Swift as on falcon's wing, I saw her fly,
And heard the cavern to his groans reply.
Why stream thy tears for sorrows not thy own?

Dione.
Oh! where are honour, faith, and justice flown?
Perjur'd Evander!

Laura.
—Death has laid him low.
Touch not the mournful string that wakes thy woe.

Dione.
That am'rous swain, whom Lycidas you name,
(Whose faithless bosom feels another flame)
Is my once kind Evander—yes—'twas he,
He lives.—But lives, alas! no more for me.

Laura.
Let not thy frantic words confess despair.

Dione.
What, know I not his voice, his mien, his air?
Yes, I that treach'rous voice with joy believ'd,
That voice, that mien, that air my soul deceiv'd,
If my dear shepherd love the lawns and glades,
With him I'll range the lawns and seek the shades,
With him through solitary desarts rove.
But could he leave me for another love?
O base ingratitude!

Laura.
—Suspend thy grief,
And let my friendly counsel bring relief
To thy desponding soul. Parthenia's ear
Is barr'd for ever to the lover's prayer;
Evander courts disdain, he follows scorn,
And in the passing winds his vows are born.
Soon will he find that all in vain he strove
To tame her bosom; then his former love
Shall wake his soul, then will he sighing blame
His heart inconstant, and his perjur'd flame:
Then shall he at Dione's feet implore,
Lament his broken faith, and change no more.

Dione.
Perhaps this cruel nymph well knows to feign
Forbidding speech, coy looks, and cold disdain,
To raise his passion. Such are female arts,
To hold in safer snares inconstant hearts!

Laura.
Parthenia's breast is steel'd with real scorn.

Dione.
And dost thou think Evander will return?

Laura.
Forgo thy sex, lay all thy robes aside,
Strip off these ornaments of female pride;
The shepherd's vest must hide thy graceful air,
With the bold manly step a swain appear;
Then with Evander may'st thou rove unknown,
Then let thy tender eloquence be shown;
Then the new fury of his heart controul,
And with Dione's sufferings touch his soul.

Dione.
Sweet as refreshing dews, or summer showers
To the long parching thirst of drooping flowers;
Grateful as fanning gales to fainting swains,
And soft as trickling balm to bleeding pains,
Such are thy words. The sex shall be resign'd,
No more shall breaded gold these tresses bind;
The shepherd's garb the woman shall disguise.
If he has lost all love, may friendship's tyes
Unite me to his heart!

Laura.
—Go, prosp'rous maid,
May smiling love thy faithful wishes aid.
Be now Alexis call'd. With thee I'll rove,
And watch thy wand'rer thro' the mazy grove;
Let me be honour'd with a sister's name;
For thee, I feel a more than sister's flame.

Dione.
Perhaps my shepherd has outstript her haste.
Think'st thou, when out of sight, she flew so fast?
One sudden glance might turn her savage mind;
May she like Daphne fly, nor look behind,
Maintain her scorn, his eager flame despise,
Nor view Evander with Dione's eyes!