University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Circe's Magical Cave.
Enter Chief Magician.
Ch. Mag.
'Tis now the very Noon of silent Night,
When Nature's duller Sons are steep'd in Rest;
And only Murth'rers and Magicians wake.
Wolves cease to howl; and the shrill-yelping Cur
No longer bays the Moon. The hoarse Wind sleeps;
The lazy slacken'd Surge scarce beats its Shore:
And the moist Element above is hush.
This solemn Hour demands our covert Rites;
While shiv'ring Ghosts steal from the recent Shrowd,
And glide disquiet, to their late-lov'd Homes:
While Demons frolick; and the Satyr's Tread
Makes bare the Ringlets in the flow'ry Field.
But soft! the Partners of my Toils return.
Enter several other Magicians.
Say, is your Task perform'd at full?
Caught you the Lamb of fable Wool?
Chose you the dank unwholesom Pit,
In barren Earth, by Thunder split;
In some dark Vale, which, all the Year,
Nor Show'rs bedew, nor Sun-beams chear?
And thither backward o'er the Heath
Drew you the Victim to her Death?

Mag.
The Trench was barren; Victim black;
And o'er the Heath we drew her back.

Ch. Mag.
Did you the streaming Honey pour,
Made thin with Milk, to mix the Gore?
And when the Pit receiv'd the Flood,
With blighted Slips of Cypress Wood
Light you the Pile, and o'er its Flame
Thrice call'd on Hecat's awful Name?

Mag.
All, as your Will requires, is done;
What yet remains the Charm to crown?

Ch. Mag.
Instant the Sprigs of Hemlock cull,
Dipt in the cold and mantled Pool,
And with our Spell, and baneful Hymn,
Made rank, as those on Lethe's Brim:
Around the steaming Venom throw;
And with it deadly Night-shade strew.
Then wake those Sounds, that fright the Snake;
And split her in the lonely Brake:
Which pierce the Deep, and call up Sprights
That revel in our Midnight Rites.

[Harsh Musick.
INCANTATION, Sung by three Magicians.

Ch. Mag.
Enough:—dread Hecat comes; the Schriech-owl's Voice
Pierc'd shrill my Ear: the silent Bat has flown
Across our Cavern; and the drowsy Humm
Of swarming Beetles trumpets her Approach.

Hecat rises.
Hec.
Say, Slaves, on what important Theme,
By Victim slain, and grateful Steam,
Am I thus sudden hither drawn?
What Mischiefs must prevent the Dawn?
What Deaths by Land, at Sea what Wrecks,
Are wish'd this Under-globe to vex?
Pronounce some dear Distress of Price,
Pleasing beyond your Sacrifice:
Some Havock, worthy well our Trade,
Your Thirst for Ill, and Hecate's Aid.

Ch. Mag.
Nor Death, nor Havock, now employs our Charms;
Tho', haply, both may follow.—Mighty Regent!
The Daughter of the Sun, Imperial Circe,
Bow'd with Love's Anguish, gives this hasty Summons.
Ev'n now she waits our finish'd Rites, to know
What Issue's writ in Fate; what saving Arts
Remain to snatch the darling Youth from Death.

Hec.
Base Triflers! Do you thus fulfill
Your sworn Obedience to my Will?
My Presence claims momentous Things,
Ruin of Lands, and Death of Kings:
To scatter the red Plague i'th' Air,
And blast the Promise of the Year.
And am I call'd from far to save
A wanton Minion from the Grave?
Tell her, I do your Spells withstand;
And will not deal in her Command.

Ch. Mag.
Alas! You know her Gifts: Has she not Pow'r
With sudden Clouds t'obscure the sacred Day?
Rowl Waters backward, and untie the Wind?
From her pale Sphere call down the frighted Moon?
And task the Demons both of middle Air,
And Hell's black Deeps, to execute her Purpose?

Hec.
She should have practis'd Deeds of Hate:
To love, befits a vulgar Fate.
The thwarting Gods oppose her Flame,
Dooming Events we must not name.
She comes:—Take heed, your Answers all
Be doubtful, and equivocal.
If farther she require to know,
The rest we will in Vision shew;
With mystick Meaning circled round,
And dark, and intricate t'expound.

[Hecat descends.
Enter Circe.
Cir.
My lab'ring Bosom swells with strong Impatience;
Dreadful Uncertainty, what Racks of Soul
Attend thy Intervals!—Ye Snails in Art,
Most prompt of Promise, Drones to execute!
What say th'Infernal Pow'rs?—Pronounce, and ease me.

Ch. Mag.
When next the Prince from Bonds is freed,
Unless your Hands assist the Deed,
He breaks for ever from your Arms:
Few Hours are granted to your Charms.
You must his Chains release this Night,
Or, ere the Dawn, he takes his Flight.

Circe.
Ha! takes his Flight?—that Sentence chills my Blood:
A dreadful Fate is menac'd in this Warning.
—'Tis Death, or I, alone can set him free.
And, if my Efforts fail, the Tyrant's Steel
Must drink his Blood,—and so he takes his Flight.—
Prevent it, Gods!—Say, is not this denounc'd?
Explain the Horrors of your dark Prediction.

Ch. Mag.
The Pow'rs, reluctant to your Pray'r,
Permit not farther to declare.

Circe.
Reluctant! Force the stern and sullen Demons;
Do it and claim our richest Grace to friend you:
Refuse, and all the Plagues, my baleful Arts
Have Pow'r t'inflict, shall make your Lives accurst.

Ch. Mag.
What more your doubting Heart would know,
Forbid to us in Words to shew,
Fantastick Forms shall instant rise,
In Vision shadowing to your Eyes.

[The Priest waves his Wand, and at the Mouth of the Cave appear, and cross over, four Priests of Diana, the Statue of the Goddess born on the Pedestal; Grecians with their Swords drawn, following it; Iphigenia, led by Pylades; Orestes leading Hermione, follow'd by Hermes.]
Circe.
The Statued Goddess born in solemn Pomp,
Guarded, as 'twere the Spoil of hostile Bands?
The Priestess too, led by the Grecian's Friend,
Discharg'd of Bonds, and smiling in his Fate?—
And there the lovely Prince—but ha! what Maid
Of Grecian Garb, in Pride of blooming Youth,
Graces his Hand, and seems to charm his Soul?
He sees me now—Confusion! how he frowns,
And turns his Eye as from an hated Object!—
Then Hermes—wherefore follows he, and seems
To guide the Train committed to his Charge?
What mean the riddling Pow'rs? Alas! I fear.
—'Tis Hermes' Office to conduct the Dead.
But why the Priestess? Is she too to die?
There the dark Pageantry confounds my Sense;
And warns me how I trust its mystic Purport.
Back to the Temple then—There all my Doubts
Shall stand resolv'd: Employ the fav'ring Night;
Make strong thy Arts to save the darling Youth,
Or perish with him at the fatal Altar.

[Exeunt Circe, and Magicians severally.