Merope A Tragedy |
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| 1. | SCENE I. |
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 | Merope |  |
SCENE I.
The Tomb of Cresphontes.NARBAS
alone.
Hail venerable Scene! Hail sacred Shade!
Hail sad-sought Manes of my long-lov'd Lord!
My Eyes last Object on Mycenian Earth,
Was thy dear Life and Empire lost in Blood;
Now late returning, their first mourning Search,
Finds in this cold still Tomb, the whole shrunk Reach
Of thy contracted Reign! Yet here, ev'n here,
Were thy Eumenes render'd back, even here
Narbas had held some hope to sooth thy Ghost.
Hail sad-sought Manes of my long-lov'd Lord!
My Eyes last Object on Mycenian Earth,
Was thy dear Life and Empire lost in Blood;
Now late returning, their first mourning Search,
Finds in this cold still Tomb, the whole shrunk Reach
Of thy contracted Reign! Yet here, ev'n here,
Were thy Eumenes render'd back, even here
Narbas had held some hope to sooth thy Ghost.
How shall I meet his Mother's mournful Eye,
Who bring new Weight, to Woes o'ercharg'd before.
From every madd'ning Street, I hear loud Shouts,
Those execrable Bawds, to flatter'd Power!
Proclaim the Traitor Poliphontes, King.
He! who, from Clime to Clime, track'd our sad Way!
Held, like a hunted Deer, his Prince, in Chace;
Hot in Pursuit, for Murder!—Each known Prospect,
Each Point, each Outlet of this neighb'ring Palace,
Brings to afflicted Mem'ry some new Stroke
Of Sorrow, fresh to Pain—tho' fifteen Winters
Have snow'd their whiteness on me, since they fell!
Wou'd, I cou'd find the Face of some old Friend!
But, what Court Friendship's Life lasts, fifteen Winters:
—Soft. Whom has Heaven sent, here! If Innocence—
Dwells yet on Earth, such Looks as these must house it.
[Starts, as Ismene comes nearer.
Who bring new Weight, to Woes o'ercharg'd before.
From every madd'ning Street, I hear loud Shouts,
Those execrable Bawds, to flatter'd Power!
Proclaim the Traitor Poliphontes, King.
He! who, from Clime to Clime, track'd our sad Way!
Held, like a hunted Deer, his Prince, in Chace;
Hot in Pursuit, for Murder!—Each known Prospect,
Each Point, each Outlet of this neighb'ring Palace,
Brings to afflicted Mem'ry some new Stroke
Of Sorrow, fresh to Pain—tho' fifteen Winters
Have snow'd their whiteness on me, since they fell!
Wou'd, I cou'd find the Face of some old Friend!
But, what Court Friendship's Life lasts, fifteen Winters:
—Soft. Whom has Heaven sent, here! If Innocence—
Dwells yet on Earth, such Looks as these must house it.
Bless the resembled Mother's copied Softness!
'Tis my Ismene: 'Tis my own dear Daughter.
Time cannot hide her, from a Parent's Eye:
Child as she was—and chang'd since last I saw her.
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Time cannot hide her, from a Parent's Eye:
Child as she was—and chang'd since last I saw her.
| Merope | |