The tragedy of Sophonisba

This hour, Phœnissa, this important hour,
Or fixes me a queen, or from a throne
Throws Sophonisba into Roman chains.
Detested thought! For now his utmost force
Collected, desperate, distress'd, and sore
From battles lost; with all the rage of war,
Ill-fated Syphax makes his last effort.

But say, thou partner of my hopes and fears,
Phœnissa, say; while, from the lofty tower,
Our straining eyes the field of battle sought,

Ah, thought you not that our Numidian troops
Gave up the broken field, and scattering fled,
Wild o'er the hills, from the rapacious sons
Of still triumphant Rome?

Phoenissa.
The dream of care!
And think not, madam, Syphax can resign,
But with his ebbing life, in this last field,
A crown, a kingdom, and a queen he loves
Beyond ambition's brightest wish; for whom,
Nor mov'd by threats, nor bound by plighted faith,
He scorn'd the Roman friendship (that fair name
For slavery) and from th'engagements broke
Of Scipio, fam'd for every winning art,
The towering genius of recover'd Rome.

Sophonisba.
Oh name him not! These Romans stir my blood
To too much rage. I cannot bear the fortune
Of that proud people.—Said you not, Phœnissa,
That Syphax lov'd me; which would fire his battle,
And urge him on to death or conquest? True,
He loves me with the madness of desire;
His every passion is a slave to love;
Nor heeds he danger where I bid him go,
Nor leagues, nor interest. Hence these endless wars,
These ravag'd countries, these successless fights,
Sustain'd for Carthage; whose defence alone
Engag'd my loveless marriage-vows with his.
But know you not, that in the Roman camp
I have a lover too; a gallant, brave,
And disappointed lover, full of wrath,
Returning to a kingdom whence the sword
Of Syphax drove him?

Phoenissa.
Masinissa?

Sophonisba.
He:
Young Masinissa, the Massylian king,
The first addresser of my youth; for whom
My bosom felt a fond beginning wish,

Extinguish'd soon; when once to Scipio's side
Won o'er, and dazled by th'enchanting glare
Of that fair-seeming heroe, he became
A gay admiring slave, yet knew it not.
E'er since, my heart has held him in contempt;
And thrown out each idea of his worth,
That there began to grow: nay had it been
As all-possest, and soft, as her's who sits
In secret shades, or by the falling stream,
And wastes her being in unutter'd pangs,
I would have broke, or cur'd it of its fondness.

Phoenissa.
Heroic Sophonisba!

Sophonisba.
No, Phœnissa;
It is not for the daughter of great Asdrubal,
Descended from a long illustrious line
Of Carthaginian heroes, who have oft
Fill'd Italy with terror and dismay,
And shook the walls of Rome, to pine in love,
Like a deluded maid; to give her life,
And heart high-beating in her country's cause,
Meant not for common aims and houshold cares,
To give them up to vain presuming man;
Much less to one who stoops the neck to Rome,
An enemy to Carthage, Masinissa.

Phoenissa.

Think not I mean to check that glorious flame,
That just ambition which exalts your soul,
Fires on your cheek, and lightens in your eye.
Yet would he had been yours! this rising prince;
For, trust me, fame is fond of Masinissa.
His various fortune, his resplendent deeds,
His courage, conduct, deep-experienc'd youth,
And vast unbroken spirit in distress,
Still rising stronger from the last defeat,
Are all the talk and terror too of Afric.

Who has not heard the story of his woes?
How hard he came to his paternal reign;
Whence soon by Syphax' unrelenting hate,

And jealous Carthage driven, he with a few
Fled to the mountains. Then, I think, it was
Hem'd in a circle of impending rocks,
That all his followers fell, save fifty horse;
Who, thence escap'd thro' secret paths abrupt,
Gain'd the Clupean plain. There overtook,
And urg'd by fierce surrounding foes, he burst
With four alone, sore wounded, thro' their ranks,
And all amidst a mighty torrent plung'd.
Seiz'd by the whirling gulph, two sunk; and two,
With him obliquely hurried down the stream,
Wrought to the farther shore. Th'astonish'd troops
Stood check'd, and shivering on the gloomy brink,
And deem'd him lost in the devouring flood.
Mean time the dauntless, undespairing youth
Lay in a cave conceal'd; curing his wounds
With mountain-herbs, and on his horses fed:
Nor here, even at the lowest ebb of life,
Stoop'd his aspiring mind. What need I say,
How once again restor'd, and once again
Expell'd, among the Garamantian hills
He since has wander'd, till the Roman arm
Reviv'd his cause? And who shall reign alone,
Syphax or he, this day decides.

Sophonisba.
Enough.
Thou need'st not blazon thus his fame, Phœnissa.
Were he as glorious as the pride of woman
Could wish, in all her wantonness of thought;
The joy of humankind; wise, valiant, good;
With every praise, with every laurel crown'd;
The warriour's wonder, and the virgin's sigh:
Yet this would cloud him o'er, this blemish all;
His mean submission to the Roman yoke;
That, false to Carthage, Afric, and himself,
With proferr'd hand and knee, he hither led
These ravagers of earth.—But while we talk,
The work of fate goes on; even now perhaps
My dying country bleeds in every vein,
And the warm victor thunders at our gate.

University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.