SCENE I.
The scene a rocky coast, terminated
by a view of the ocean.
Periander
alone.
By the pale glimmering of the falling moon,
Amid the broken windings of these rocks
I wander on forlorn, and find no place
To trust my head, or rest my weary steps.
Horror pursues me close. In each low blast,
And murmur of the main, methinks I hear
The murderous spies of Procles at my heels.
Thou mournful Queen of heaven! and ye dread Gods!
Who rule the fearful secresy of night;
Behold me here, the sport of human chance,
A nameless wretch, a ruine hardly sav'd
From the devouring deep. There my last hopes,
My great revenge lies buried.—Is there more?
Away, away; a Traitor fills my throne,
Triumphant in his crimes: and I the while
Roam here a midnight fugitive. Yet this,
All this I could have borne. He was my foe,
The jealous rival of my power—But thou,
In whom my soul had treasur'd up her heaven,
Friendship, and faith, and love, Eurydice!
Thou to betray me!
[letting himself fall against the rock.
Ha! by the moon's sad beam, I can descry
The towers that hold this author of my shame—
Nay, Procles too, perhaps—and may not he,
Even now—confusion! death! he may, he does
Invade my bed—O hell! she smiles to hear
The story of my fate—And now they give
A loose to impious Joys.—All-seeing Powers!
And does your vengeance slumber? Are your bolts
Reserv'd for me alone?—Ha!—yet 'tis just.
Conscience, that in the day of fortune's favour,
Securely slept, now rouses into strong
And dread conviction of her crime. I broke
The sacred oath sworn to a dying father,
To free my country from her chains. My soul
Shakes, as I roll this thought. O Providence!
Awfully just, tho' Guilt may shut her eye,
Thine ever wakes to mark, to trace, to punish!
