University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Masinissa, Narva,
Masinissa.
—'Tis true, my friend,
Thou good old man, by whom my youth was form'd,
The firm companion of my various life,
I own, 'tis true, that Sophonisba's image
Lives in my bosom still; and at each glance
I take in secret of the bright idea,
A strange disorder seizes on my soul,
Which burns with stronger glory. Need I say,
How once she had my vows? Till Scipio came,
Resistless man! like a descending God,
And snatch'd me from the Carthaginian side
To nobler Rome; beneath whose laurel'd brow,
And ample eye, the nations grow polite,
Humane and happy. Then thou may'st remember,
Such is this woman's high impetuous spirit,
That all-controuling love she bears her country,
Her Carthage; that at this she sacrific'd
To Syphax, unbelov'd, her blooming Years,
And won him off from Rome.

Narva.
My generous prince!
Applauding Afric of thy choice approves.
Fame claps her wings, and virtue smiles on thee,
Of peace thou softner, and thou soul of war!
But oh beware of that fair foe to glory,
Woman! and most of Carthaginian woman!
Who has not heard of fatal Punic guile?
Of their sly conquests? their insidious leagues?
Their Asdrubals? their Hannibals? with all
Their wily heroes? And, if such their men,
What must their women be?

Masinissa.
You make me smile.
I thank thy honest zeal. But never dread
The firmness of my heart, my strong attachment,
Severe to Rome, to Scipio, and to Glory.
Indeed, I cannot, would not quite forget
The grace of Sophonisba; how she look'd,
And talk'd, and mov'd, a Pallas, or a Juno!
Accomplish'd even in trifles, when she stoop'd
Ambition's flight, and with a soften'd eye
Gave her quick spirit into gayer life.
Then every word was liveliness, and wit;
We heard the Muses' song; and the dance swam
Thro' all the maze of harmony. I flatter not,
Believe me, Narva; yet my panting soul,
To Scipio taken in the fair pursuit
Of fame, and for my people's happiness,
Resign'd this Sophonisba; and tho' now
Constrain'd by soft necessity to see her,
And she a captive in my power, will still
Resign her.

Narva.
Let me not doubt thy fortitude,
My Masinissa, thy exalted purpose
Not to be lost in love; but ah! we know not,
Oft, till experience sighs it to the soul,
The boundless witchcraft of ensnaring woman,
And our own slippery hearts. From Scipio learn
The temperance of heroes. I'll recount
Th'instructive story, what these eyes beheld;
Perhaps you've heard it; but 'tis pleasing still,
Tho' told a thousand times.

Masinissa.
I burn to hear it.
Lost by my late misfortunes in the desart,
I liv'd a stranger to the voice of fame,
To Scipio's last exploits. Exalt me now.
Great actions raise the mind. But when a friend,
A Scipio does them; then with more than wonder,
Even with a sort of vanity we listen.

Narva.

Masinissa.
I remember.
And in his favour that impress'd me first.
But to thy story.

Narva.
What with admiration
Struck every heart, was this—A noble virgin,
Conspicuous far o'er all the captive dames,
Was mark'd the general's prize. She wept, and blush'd,
Young, fresh, and blooming like the morn. An eye,
As when the blue sky trembles thro' a cloud
Of purest white. A secret charm combin'd
Her features, and infus'd enchantment thro' them.
Her shape was harmony.—But eloquence
Beneath her beauty fails; which seem'd, on purpose,
Pour'd out by lavish nature, that mankind
Might see this action in its highest lustre.
Soft, as she pass'd along, with downcast eyes,
Where gentle sorrow swell'd, and now and then
Dropt o'er her modest cheek a trickling tear,
The Roman legions languish'd; and hard war
Felt more than pity. Even Scipio's self,
As on his high tribunal rais'd he sat,
Turn'd from the piercing sight, and chiding ask'd
His officers, if by this gift they meant
To cloud his glory in its very dawn.

Masinissa.
Oh Gods! my fluttering heart! On, stop not, Narva.

Narva.
She question'd of her birth, in trembling accents,
With tears and blushes broken, told her tale.
But when he found her royally descended,
Of her old captive parents the sole joy;
And that a hapless Celtiberian prince,
Her lover and belov'd, forgot his chains,
His lost dominions, and for her alone
Wept out his tender soul; sudden the heart
Of this young, conquering, loving, godlike Roman
Felt all the great divinity of virtue.
His wishing youth stood check'd, his tempting power.
By infinite humanity—

Masinissa.
Well, well;
And then!

Narva.
Disdaining guilty doubt, at once
He for her parents and her lover call'd.
The various scene imagine: How his troops
Look'd dubious on, and wonder'd what he meant;
While stretch'd below the trembling suppliants lay,
Rack'd by a thousand mingling passions, fear,
Hope, jealousy, disdain, submission, grief,
Anxiety, and love in every shape.
To these as different sentiments succeeded,
As mixt emotions, when the man divine
Thus the dread silence to the lover broke.
“We both are young, both charm'd. The Right of War
“Has put thy beauteous mistress in my power;
“With whom I could, in the most sacred ties,
“Live out a happy life: But know that Romans
“Their hearts as well as enemies can conquer.
“Then take her to thy soul; and with her take
“Thy liberty and kingdom. In return
“I ask no more, but, when you view these eyes,
“These charms, with transport, be a friend to Rome.

Masinissa.
There spoke the soul of Scipio—But the Lovers?

Narva.
Joy and extatic wonder held them mute;
While the lowd camp, and all the clustring crowd,
That hung around, rang with repeated shouts.
Fame took th'alarm, and thro' resounding Spain
Blew fast the fair report; which, more than arms,
Admiring nations to the Romans gain'd,

Masinissa.

SCENE II.

Masinissa, Sophonisba, Narva, Phoenissa.
Sophonisba.
Behold, victorious prince! the scene revers'd;
And Sophonisba kneeling here; a captive,
O'er whom the Gods, thy Fortune, and thy Virtue,
Have given unquestion'd power of life and death.
If such a one may raise her suppliant voice,
Once music to thy ear; if she may touch
Thy knee, thy purple, and thy victor-hand;
Oh listen, Masinissa! Let thy soul
Intensely listen! While I fervent pray,
And strong adjure thee, by that regal state,
In which with equal pomp we lately shone!
By the Numidian name, our common boast!
And by those houshold gods! who may, I wish,
With better omens take thee to this palace,
Than Syphax hence they sent. As is thy pleasure,
In all beside determine of my fate.
This, this alone I beg. Never, oh never!
Into the cruel, proud, and hated power
Of Romans let me fall. Since angry heaven
Will have it so, that I must be a slave,
And that a galling chain must bind these hands;
It were some little softning in my doom,
To call a kindred son of the same clime,
A native of Numidia, my lord.
But if thou canst not save me from the Romans,
If this sad favour be beyond thy power;
At least to give me death is what thou canst.
Here strike—my naked bosom courts thy sword;
And my last breath shall bless thee, Masinissa.

Masinissa.
Rise, Sophonisba, rise. To see thee thus
Is a revenge I scorn; and all the man
Within me, though much injur'd by thy pride,
And spirit too tempestuous for thy sex,
Yet blushes to behold thus at my feet,
Thus prostrate low, her, for whom kings have kneel'd,
The fairest, but the falsest of her sex.

Sophonisba.
Spare thy reproach.—'Tis cruel thus to lose
In ranckling discord, and ungenerous strife,
The few remaining moments that divide me
From the last evil, bondage—Roman bondage!
Yes, shut thy heart against me. Shut thy heart
Against compassion, every human thought,
Even recollected love: Yet know, rash Youth!
That when thou seest me swell their lofty triumph,
Thou seest thy self in me. This is my day;
To morrow may be thine. But here, assur'd,
Here will I lie on this vile earth, forlorn,
Of hope abandon'd, since despis'd by thee;
These locks all loose and sordid in the dust;
This sullied bosom growing to the ground,
Scorch'd up with anguish, and of every shape
Of misery full: till comes the soldier fierce
From recent blood; and, in thy very eye,
Lays raging his rude sanguinary grasp
On these weak limbs; and clinches them in chains.
Then if no friendly steel, no nectar'd draught
Of deadly poison, can enlarge my soul;
It will indignant burst from a slave's body;
And, join'd to mighty Dido, scorn ye all.

Masinissa.
Oh Sophonisba! 'tis not safe to hear thee;
And I mistook my Heart, to trust it thus.
Hence let me fly.

Sophonisba.
You shall not, Masinissa!
Here will I hold you, tremble here for ever;
Here unremitting grow, till you consent.
And can'st thou think, oh! canst thou think to leave me?
Expos'd, defenceless, wretched, here alone?
A prey to Romans flush'd with blood and conquest?
The subject of their scorn or baser love?
Sure Masinissa cannot; and, tho' chang'd,
Tho' cold as that averted look he wears;
Sure love can ne'er in generous breasts be lost
To that degree, as not from shame and outrage
To save what once they lov'd.

Masinissa.
Enchantment! Madness!
What would'st thou, Sophonisba!—Oh my heart!
My treacherous heart!

Sophonisba.
What would I, Masinissa?
My mean Request sits blushing on my cheek.
To be thy slave, young prince, is what I beg;
Here Sophonisba kneels to be thy slave;
Yet kneels in vain. But thou'rt a slave thy self,
And canst not from the Romans save one woman;
Her, who was once the triumph of thy soul;
E'er they seduc'd it by their lying glory.
Immortal gods! and am I fallen so low?
Scorn'd by a lover? by a slave to Rome?
Nought can be worth this baseness, life, nor empire!
I loath me for it.—On this kinder earth,
Then leave me, leave me, to despair and death!

Masinissa.
What means this conflict with almighty nature?
With the whole warring heart?—Rise, quickly rise,
In all the conquering majesty of charms,
O Sophonisba, rise! while here I swear,
By the tremendous powers that rule mankind!
By heaven and earth, and hell! by love, and glory!
The Romans shall not hurt you—Romans cannot;
For Rome is generous as the gods themselves,
And honours, not insults, a generous foe.
Yet since you dread them, take this sacred pledge,
This hand of surety, by which kings are bound;
By which I hold you mine, and vow to treat you,
With all the rev'rence due to ruin'd state,
With all the softness of remember'd love,
All that can sooth thy fate, and make thee happy.

Sophonisba.
I thank thee, Masinissa! now the same;
The same warm youth, exalted, full of soul;
With whom in happier days I wont to pass
The sighing hour: while, dawning fair in love,
All song and sweetness, life set joyous out;
Ere the black tempest of ambition rose,
And drove us different ways.—Thus dress'd in war,
In nodding plumes, o'ercast with fullen thought,
With purpos'd vengeance dark, I knew thee not;
But now breaks out the beauteous sun anew,
The gay Numidian shines who warm'd me once,
Whose love was glory.—Vain ideas, hence!
—Long since my heart, to nobler passions known,
Has your acquaintance scorn'd.

Masinissa.

Sophonisba.
May Masinissa
Ne'er want the goodness he has shewn to me.

SCENE III.

Masinissa, Narva.
Masinissa.
The danger's o'er, I've heard the Syren's song,
Yet still to glory hold my steady course.
I mark'd thy kind concern, thy friendly fears,
And own them just; for she has beauty, Narva,
So full, so perfect, with so great a soul
Inform'd, so pointed high with spirit,
As strikes like lightning from the hand of Jove,
And raises love to glory.

Narva.
Ah, my Prince!
Too true, it is too true; her fatal charms
Are powerful, and to Masinissa's heart
But know the way too well. And art thou sure,
That the soft poison, which within thy veins
Lay unextinguish'd, is not rouz'd a new?
Is not this moment working thro' thy soul?
Dost thou not love? Confess.

Masinissa.
What said my friend,
Of poison? love? of loving Sophonisba?
Yes, I admire her, wonder at her beauty;
And he who does not is as dull as earth,
The cold unanimated form of man,
E'er lighted up with the celestial fire.
Wheree'r she goes still admiration gazes,
And listens while she talks. Even thou thy self,
Who saw'st her with the malice of a friend,
Even thou thy self admir'st her.—Dost thou not?
Say, speak sincerely.

Narva.
She has Charms indeed;
But has she charms like virtue? Tho' majestic;
Does she command us, is her force like glory?

Masinissa.
All glory's in her eye! Perfection thence
Looks from his throne; and on her ample brow
Sits majesty. Her features glow with life,
Warm with heroic soul. Her mien!—she walks,
As when a towering goddess treads this earth.
But when her language flows; when such a one
Descends to sooth, to sigh, to weep, to grasp
The tottering knee; oh! Narva, Narva, oh!
Expression here is dumb.

Narva.
Alas! my Lord,
Is this the talk of sober admiration?
Are these the sallies of a heart at ease?
Of Scipio's friend? And was it the calm sense
Of fair perfection, that, the while she kneel'd
For what you rashly promis'd, seiz'd your soul;
Stole out in secret transports from your eye;
That writh'd you groaning round, and shook your Frame.

Masinissa.
I tell thee once again, too cautious man,
That when a woman begs, a matchless woman,
A woman once belov'd, a fallen queen,
A Sophonisba! when she twines her charms
Around our soul, and all her power of looks,
Of tears, of sighs, of softness, plays upon us;
He's more or less than man who can resist her.
For me, my stedfast soul approves, nay more,
Exults in the protection it has promis'd.
And nought, tho' plighted honour did not bind me,
Shall shake the happy purpose of my heart;
Nought, by th'avenging gods! who heard my vow,
And hear me now again.

Narva.
And was it then
For this you conquer'd?

Masinissa.
Yes, and triumph in it.
This was my fondest wish; the very point,
The plume of glory, the delicious prize
Of bleeding years. And I had been a brute,
A greater monster than Numidia breeds,
A horror to my self; if on the ground,
Cast vilely from me, I th'illustrious fair one
Had left to bondage, bitterness, and death.
Nor is there ought in war worth what I feel;
In pomp and hollow state, like this sweet sense
Of infelt bliss; which the reflection gives me,
Of saving thus such excellence and beauty
From her supreme abhorrence.

Narva.
Masinissa,
My friend! my royal lord! alas! you slide,
You sink from virtue. On the giddy brink
Of fate you stand.—One step, and all is lost!

Masinissa.
No more, no more! if this is being lost.
If this, mistaken! is forsaking virtue,
And rushing down the precipice of fate;
Then down I go, far far beyond the din
Of scrupulous dull precaution.—Leave me, Narva.
I want to be alone, to find some Shade,
Some solitary gloom; there to shake off
This weight of life, this tumult of mankind,
This sick ambition on it self recoiling;
And there to listen to the gentle voice,
The sigh of peace, something, I know not what,
That whispers transport to my heart.—Farewel.

SCENE IV.

Narva
alone.
Struck, and he knows it not.—So when the field,
Elate in heart, the warriour scorns to yield;
The streaming blood can scarce convince his eyes;
Nor will he feel the wound by which he dies.