University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

The Portico of the Temple of Themis, the Gates open; at a little distance within, an Altar; Thamyris and Eumenes kneeling before it, with Branches of Olive in their Hands.
THAMYRIS, EUMENES, ORONTES, two other Priests attending.
Orontes
comes down the Stage.
What daughter of affliction, at this hour
Of solemn midnight, with dejected mien,
With suppliant wreaths, and hands to heav'n uprais'd,
Seeks the protection of all-righteous Themis?

THAMYRIS.
Thy queen.

ORONTES.
Immortal powers! Do I behold
My sovereign here, a suppliant in the fane,
Her piety to heaven first taught to rise!
And seeking that protection, which so late
Among the sceptred rulers of the earth
'Twas hers to grant!

THAMYRIS.
O, by this holy fane,
This altar, where my soul submissive bends,
And by the sacred majesty of heaven,
I here adjure thee, from the savage grasp
Of merciless oppression save my child!

ORONTES.
Thy virtues to the gods have made thee dear;
Speak thy request, and find a full compliance.

THAMYRIS.
Blame not these tears, they flow not for myself;
I have a nearer care, which rends my soul,
And gives distress its poignancy; O save
This helpless, uncomplaining innocence
From ills he knows not!

ORONTES.
Thou illustrious mourner!
Chace every anxious fear, and with thy son
Safe at the altar rest.

THAMYRIS.
Thou wilt forgive
A trembling mother's weakness!—not, Orontes,
Not that my doubting heart—I know not what
My woman's fears would say—But wilt thou lead him?
Wilt thou within the temple's last recess
Hide him from treason? murder? Athridates?

ORONTES.
Injurious to the gracious gods, O queen,
Thy causeless terrors rise; from this retreat,
These hallow'd walls, oppression, aw'd, recoils,
Nor dares prophane th' asylum of the wretched.
Yet heav'n allows thy prayer; the faults which spring
From nature's fond excess, the powers divine
With mild indulgence view. Thyself conduct,
And place him by the goddess' awful statue.
Arsames, wait the queen.

THAMYRIS.
Thus let me thank thee;
A few short moments must decide our fate:
My lord, if spar'd by the wild rage of war,
Approaches swift to save. If he is fallen,
This child is Pontus' last remaining hope:
O! guard the precious pledge! my life is nothing.

ORONTES.
What hasty steps!
(advances to the front of the portico)
The hostile bands draw near:
Fierce Athridates comes. Retire, O queen!
With calm submission wait the will divine.

THAMYRIS.
May pitying heaven to this devoted breast
Direct his erring sword, and save Eumenes!