University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The theatre represents a rocky shore, with a distant prospect of the sea; beyond which is seen still more faintly a city.
Several Men and Women in affliction.
A Man.
Behold, my friends, behold the dismal scene,
Where never summer treads, nor spring serene,
But everlasting winter low'ring o'er,
Deforms the bleak, uncomfortable shore.

A Woman.
Here, where the wild beast lurking in his den,
Avoids the haunts of no less savage men;
Among these rocks the horrid cavern lies,
Doom'd to receive the Royal sacrifice.

Chorus.
Oh dreadful sentence! unrelenting fate!
Mourn, all ye sons of prostrate Persia, mourn;
From hence let sorrow take an endless date,
Tears follow tears, and sighs to sighs return;
In an eternal course of piercing woe,
Such as from shame, despair, and grief, should flow.

A Man and a Woman.
A nymph adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
So soft a form, so fair a face,
With Venus she may vie:
Like some sweet flow'r, untimely crop!
Ah, must she fade! ah, must she drop!
Ah! must she, must she die?

A Man.
Soft! break ye quickly off! west o'er the beach,
Far as the eye its piercing beams can stretch:
Lo! where the victim, 'midst a mournful throng,
In solemn, slow procession, moves along.

A Woman.
She comes a living coarse; what eye but weeps
At the sad spectacle?—Now, Sun, eclipse!
At once the lover and the God assume,
And snatch her trembling from th'untimely tomb.

SCENE II.

A procession appears at a considerable distance, consisting of priests, youths, virgins, &c. &c Leucothöe in the centre, covered with a black veil; as it approaches the audience, the following semi-chorus is sung with frequent pauses.
Semi-Chorus.
Prepare! ye Stygian pow'rs, prepare!
In all your pomp of horrors dress'd;
Ye dreadful ministers of fate,
Set wide Death's adamantine gate,
For, lo! we bring a guest.
Prepare! prepare! prepare!

[The procession being come to the front of the stage.]
Strophe.
Hear! injur'd chastity; pure essence, hear!
From yonder marble sphere;
Where-e'er thou hold'st thy mansion in the skies,
Look down, look down,
From thy exalted and star-spangled throne,
To thee we sacrifice.

Chorus.
To thee,
To thee we sacrifice.

Anti-Strophe.
Hear, Justice! awfulest of beings, hear!
Tremend'ous and severe,
Thou whose stern resolution never dies,
Look down, look down,
From thy immovable, immortal throne;
To thee we sacrifice.

Chorus.
To thee,
To thee we sacrifice!

Epode.
To her, to thee our voice we raise,
Avert your anger from the state;
Deign to accept a nation's praise,
And let the forfeiture she pays
Her crime expiate.

Semi-Chorus.
Prepare! ye Stygian pow'rs, prepare!
In all your pomp of horrors dress'd;
Ye dreadful ministers of fate,
Set wide Death's adamantine gate,
For, lo! we bring a guest.
Prepare! prepare! prepare!

Leucothöe,
Putting aside the veil. She appears in white, with fillets, after the manner of a sacrifice.
Oh, mighty God! that guides the day,
A moment stop your rapid way;
Behold me in this dreadful strife,
Just tott'ring on the brink of life,
No help, no friendly comfort nigh,
To break my fall,
Beset with all
The terrors of eternity;
While doubts and fear
My bosom tear,
And with alternate passion vie;
Think when you see,
And pity me;
Oh! think it is for you I die.

A Youth.
Thy charms just rising to their noon,
Ah! must we see them set so soon?

A Virgin.
Those charms which distant princes woo'd,
And deities themselves pursu'd!

A Youth.
What heart that is not frozen quite,
But must in thy afflictions share?

A Virgin.
To see, oh melancholy sight!
To see you plung'd in sudden night!

A Youth.
To be you know not what!

A Virgin.
To go you know not where!

Leucothöe.
Weep not, my dear companions!

Chorus of Youths and Virgins.
Cruel stroke!
Can nothing then thy destiny revoke?

Leucothöe.
No! we must part; e'en now fate lifts the sheers,
To cut the thread of my scarce half-spun years.
Farewel! when poor Leucothöe's forgot,
Oh! may you find a more indulgent lot.
May each be happy in some nymph or youth,
Proud to repay your tenderness and truth.
Then, if between the transports of your bliss,
You should recount a piteous tale like this,
Of some poor creature by her love betray'd,
As the sad accidents your mem'ry strike,
Bestow a tear in pity to my shade,
And mourn at once two fates so much alike.

Youth and Virgin.
Come, Sorrow, from thy gloomy cell,
Where in eternal rage you dwell;
From thy bed of raven's plumes,
Curtain'd round with dusky fumes.

Chorus.
Come, and with you bring your groans,
Frantic gestures, sullen moans,
Fury of conflicting passions,
Sighs, and tears, and lamentations,
Join with us in doleful lay,
Rage and Death triumph to-day.

[The procession disperses, and the music strikes dead and solemn.]

SCENE III.

ORCHAMUS, LEUCOTHOE, &c. &c.
Orchamus.
Hold yet a moment! ere the impervious skreen,
Which severs world from world, be drawn between;
Ere yet I am of all my hopes beguil'd,
Let me once more embrace my wretched child;
The judge, the sov'reign, have their parts supply'd,
And now the parent will be satisfy'd.

Leucothöe.
My father! oh be quick to drive me down.
Gape wide, ye rocks, and save me from his frown!

Orchamus.
Be not of thy fond father's frowns afraid,
Nor think he comes thy folly to upbraid;
No, rather to these sad proceedings loath,
He comes to mourn the cause which ruins both;
That rigid honour, whose stern voice demands
Thy forfeit life at his unwilling hands.

Leucothöe.
To death, without repining, I submit,
As to a thing which Heaven and you think fit;
Whate'er hath been my crime, while yet I live,
Let me but hear you pity and forgive.

Orchamus.
Forgive you! pity you! oh that I do,
These tears be witness which my cheeks bedew.
Would any thing but death might purge our line
From your offence, or any death but thine;
For with thee all my joys will take their leave,
And I shall walk in sorrow to the grave.

Leucothöe.
Stop! stop! those sacred show'rs, they must not fall
For me; I now indeed am criminal.

Orchamus.

Leucothöe.
Behold thus low, your wretched, indiscreet,
Unhappy daughter, casts her at your feet.
Oh! wherefore did not my frail being end,
Ere I had pow'r such goodness to offend?
Before my crimes had stain'd my royal race,
Or drawn a tear along that sacred face.

Orchamus.
Good heav'n and earth! turn; Nature, turn aside;
Turn, nor behold this pious parricide,
Lest, blind to chance, and ign'rant of the cause,
You think mankind, like me, has left your laws.
To Leucothöe.
Farewel! the time calls on us, we must part.
This last embrace—Down, down, my swelling heart.

Leucothöe.
Look on me.

Orchamus.
You there who attend the rites,
Haste to perform the farther requisites.
Nature, lie still!

Leucothöe.
A rock being removed, the mouth of the caverns appears. She starts, then advances towards it.

[The priest preparing to put her down.
Orchamus.
Stay! yet again forbear—an instant hold!
Ye Gods, regard me, I'm infirm, and old;
[Kneeling.
A load of grief unable to sustain!
Let not the weak and suppliant beg in vain.
If with mistaken piety I rate
This crime, if justice asks not what I give,
Arrest th'uplifted arm of vengeful fate;
Appear! and bid the destin'd victim live.

Chorus.
Your blissful mansions leave!
Appear! and save!

Strophe.
The pow'rs are silent to our pray'r.

Anti-Strophe.
Nor signs of mercy shew.

Strophe.
Whom Heav'n condemns, shall mortal spare?

Srophe, Anti-Strophe.
No! no! no!

[They put her into a cavern.
Orchamus.
[Turning about just as she disappears.]

SCENE IV.

Enter Clytie in wild disorder, followed by her Slaves.
Clytie.
Oh! are you found, Sir? What is't you have done,
To raise the anger of th'immortal Sun?
Speak quickly; answer me, without delay:
Where is your daughter? where's Leucothöe?

Orchamus.
I prithee ask me not; my heart-veins bleed
Each time I think of it.—Oh! where indeed?
Where but—dread consequence of jealous spleen!
For thy officiousness she ne'er had been.

Clytie.
For my officiousness! What, then you'd make
Me partner of your guilt!—Perdition take
The execrable purpose!—I disclaim
Whatever you have done. Look to't, the blame
On your own head.—But, hark! it comes apace!
The thunder comes!—Fly, instant fly this place!
Would you their safety, or your own, consult?
[Pointing to those about him.
For my part, I shall stay to meet the bolt.

[Orchamus and his people withdraw.

SCENE V.

PHOEBUS with the Horæ, CLYTIE with her Slaves.
Phoebus,
entring.
Oh most accursed King! inhuman Sire!
My life! my love! my only heart's desire!
Leucothöe! Oh murder'd!—Hence, away
Like light'ning: help her ere 'tis yet too late.
[To the Hours.
If there's a spark of life unquench'd, we may
Redeem her still, and snatch her soul from fate

[Going off.
Clytie,
kneeling.
Oh, Phoebus! hither turn your angry eyes!
[Exit Phœbus, Clytie looking after him.
What! gone without a word!

Slave.
Dear Lady, rise:
Think where you are—

Clytie.
Went he not frowning too?
What sudden horrors rush upon my view!
Rising, and casting round her eyes.
What desolate coast is this we tread,
So like the dreary nation of the dead?
Thus wretched Ariadne, left behind,
Wept on the shores of Argos, bleak and bare;
While cruel Theseus fled before the wind,
Nor listen'd to the voice of her despair.

Slave.
Laid her on gently.

Clytie.
Stay ye yet awhile;
My brain's on fire, my blood begins to boil:
What do you hold me for?—Stand off.

Slave.
Alas!
What still I've fear'd—at length is come to pass.
Her senses are disturb'd.

[Thunder.
Clytie.

Slave.
Patience! sweet patience! all shall yet go well.

Clytie.

Chorus.
Clytie, the slaves laying her on the ground.

SCENE VI.

PHOEBUS, CLYTIE, &c. &c.
Phoebus.
Desist, desist; your pains are fruitless all,
The vital spirit's fled beyond recal,
Sunk to those shades from whence it ne'er must rise,
From whence grim Pluto never yields a prize.
Inexorable pow'r!—Oh might we mix
Ev'n here, content from heav'n I would remove,
Upon thy ruthless sepulchre to fix
A monument of wretchedness and love.

One of the Horæ.
Far be such sorrows from the God of Day,
Who next to Jove bears universal sway;
Suppose your mistress dead, exert your pow'r,
She still may glide a stream, expand a flow'r;
Or rising stately in the sylvan scene,
Stretch forth a leafy umbrage o'er the green.

Phoebus.
It shall be so; yes, dear unhappy maid,
Since thy sad lover can no farther aid:
Since stubborn Death denies to loose his hold,
And yield thy beauties in their proper mold,
Thus I pronounce—Grow fruitful, steril grave!
And strait do thou thy former species leave.
Exist—tho' not as thou wert wont to be;
No more a woman, flourish in a tree!
So shall thy body changed, as heretofore,
Teach deities to bend, and mortals to adore.

Chorus.
What sudden fragrance fills the air!
Lo! the blooming shoots appear!
Parent earth,
Assist the birth,
So shall her body, chang'd as heretofore,
Teach deities to bend, and mortals to adore.

The body of Leucothöe, supposed to be changed into a tree of frankincense, rises slowly out of the rock.
Phoebus.
Thrice sacred plant!
Thus Heav'n thy favour'd growth endows;
A spicy scent
Spring ever from thy teeming boughs,
While round thy root rich unguent flows.
The tears you shed,
To Gods a grateful sacrifice,
On altars laid,
In aromatic smoke shall rise,
And plead for mortals with the skies.

[Phœbus about to withdraw.
Clytie
starting up, catches hold of his robe.
By the breeze that passing sighs,
By the rocks that round us rise;
By the stars that dimly glow,
Witness of my present woe;
By the mountains, by the woods,
By the grotto's, by the floods,
By the dear transporting nights,
Witness of our past delights:
For love—for former friendship's sake,
I charge you stay—and hear me speak.

Phoebus.
Unhand me!

Clytie.
Mercy!

Phoebus.
Fury, let me go!
Or—

Clytie.
Never, never will I loose you.—Oh
Grant me a little strength!—Do break my hands!
Destroy me! Dash me on those flinty sands!
Yet still persisting will I hold you fast,
And, striving to embrace you, breathe my last.

Phoebus,
dragging her out of sight.
Nay, then!

Clytie.
O stay—Kind Venus, help afford!
Here let me grow a statue!

Phoebus,
returning.
At your word
I take you.—Be the thing that you desire,
A dread example of immortal ire:
Fix'd to that spot, remain to future times,
An instance of my veng'ance, and your crimes.

Clytie,
behind the rocks.
What!—What is this I feel?—I'm bound,
My feet are rooted to the ground.
A sudden stupor o'er me comes,
That ev'ry faculty benumbs;
Cold, cold, I freeze!
My blood congeals,
My eye-sight fails,
Death invades me by degrees.
I stiffen upward—Cruel—so!
My heart—my voice—help—help me—oh!

Phoebus.
The Horæ setting aside the rocks which obscured her, discover Clytie transformed to a statue. Her Slaves gather about it weeping.

The scene is totally changed to a delightful prospect of a champaign country, the Tree and Statue still in view. A dance is performed proper to the subject.
Chorus.
Enough! enough! your games give o'er,
The well-pleas'd ghost demands no more:
Deep in the coverts of the grove,
Where helpless lovers joy to rove,
Secure she rests, nor farther heeds
The weak effects of earthly deeds.