 | The Fate of Sparta ; or, The Rival Kings |  |
15
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The Tent of Cleombrotus. Cleombrotus surrounded by Generals, &c.CLEOMBROTUS.
(rising.)
To the north bastion, Perdicas, lead you
Th'Iberian troops; and Menecrates, you,
Support the Thracians at the eastern gate.
I will myself lead on my loyal Spartans;
Then if I fall, I fall 'midst those, whose rights
I should too cheaply purchase with my life;—
If I am conqueror, with them to conquer,
Will add to victory a sweeter sense,
And make my laurels dearer than my crown.
COREX.
Live, prince!—live ever on the throne of Sparta!
CLEOMBROTUS.
He only lives a prince, who lives a patriot;
And he who loves not those, he's rais'd to govern,
Is not their monarch, but their scourge.
MEZENTIUS.
The night wears on, and thy devoted army
Demand to place thee, ere its noon be past,
Upon that seat, thou know'st so well to fill.
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Instant I'll join, and lead them to the battle.
Their force superior, and their honest cause
Must doubly act upon our fear-struck foes,
And bid them spare the horrors of a carnage.
Enter Officer.
Thy face hath tidings!
Officer.
From the town a priestless,
With hasty steps, and accents that breathe music
Sweet, and resistless as the golden lyre
Of beamy-hair'd Apollo, seeks thy tent
Royal Cleombrotus!
CLEOMBROTUS.
A priestless! say'st thou?
Surely of magnitude must be the errand
Which asks a messenger so pure, and holy.
Retire, my friends; 'tis due to rank like her's.
In a few moments he who bids you go,
Shall bid ye follow!
Nor will he stop, 'till his glad voice shall hail you
Victors, in Sparta. (they go).
Now attend the virgin.
(The officer goes out and re-enters with Chelonice.)
Thus, holy maid! lowly and wondering,
I greet your presence.—Oh what great behest,
Can have impell'd thee from thy hallow'd couch,
To seek amidst the hurry of a camp
A care-worn soldier?
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Couch, Cleombrotus?
Dost thou then think within the mournful walls
These feet have left, that one unfeeling wretch
Can seek a couch, or meditate repose?
Thou hast our sleep.—Our balmly rest lies tenter'd,
On the sharp points thou'st levell'd at our hearts.
Restore our rest! bid the soft God of sleep
Again revisit our long watchful lids!
It is for this I seek thee in thy camp;
For this that humly in the dust I bend,
Asking thy pity, for our wretched Sparta.
CLEOMBROTUS.
But that I dare not touch thy sacred form,
Thou should'st not humbly bend.—Oh, Priestess, rise!
[She rises.
If this thy errand to our martial plain,
'T were well the fire that burns within your temple,
Yet felt your feeding hand.—Your altars, virgin!
They are the places for your prayers to rise from;
There, mix'd with incense, they might reach Olympus,
But here, alas! they fall on sterile earth—
Or must return, unanswer'd, to your bosom.
CHELONICE.
Oh, is it possible! Canst thou who own'st
A soldier's gen'rous feelings, think a moment
On the dread horrors of this waning night,
And yet resolve to pull those horrors on us?
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Bid your own sov'reign save ye! Oh, Leonidas,
How wretched is this art! Yield me my crown!
And not descend to seek the aid of women
To deprecate the vengeance thou provok'st!
CHELONICE.
Oh, by the flame that burns to chaste Minerva,
Leonidas stoops not to supplicate;
Knows not the step that I unprompted take!
Well dost thou know his haughty, princely soul,
That lighter holds the heavy ills thou'rt charg'd with,
Than to submit and invocate thy pity.
CLEOMBROTUS.
'Tis well; his firmness shall be firmly met.
Return then, priestess! let your king prepare
His roughest welcome for unbidden guests.
His roughest welcome we have sworn to merit;
And not a heart within this banner'd field,
But will sustain the arm his oath hath bound.
CHELONICE.
Oh! for a voice to perjure them—
'Twere a celestial crime! Cleombrotus,
Is there not one voice—Stubborn! ask thy heart,
Is there not one could move thee? Chelonice!
CLEOMBROTUS.
Oh, name her not; her image ruins me!
Her form, her supplicating look—resist her!
Oh, she could drag me from the arms of glory,
And bid me stop, with vict'ry on my sword.
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Blest be that form!—it is henceforth immortal—
It saves my country!—Now—now then, Cleombrotus
[Unveiling.
See her before thee! See her at thy feet!
CLEOMBROTUS.
Oh, Gods! Why's this? Shall I upbraid, or bless ye?
[gazing on her.
Oh bless ye ever—'tis my Chelonice!
[Raising her.
Now rage—rage on ye furies of the War!
Bear your bold thunders to the tyrant's gates—
My treasure's safe! I hold her to my heart!
Fearless begin the attack; for Chelonice
Breathes not within his walls;—it is my arms
Which press and guard her.
[Voices without.
General! Cleombrotus!
CLEOMBROTUS.
Hear the impatient soldiery! Lead on!
I'll follow with an arrow's swiftness.—Spare!
Spare me one moment.—Mars! 'tis thus thou hang'st
(clasping her)
Upon the breath of Venus; thus anticipat'st
The dear reward of Victory; then dart'st
Amidst thy foes, and, by her touch inspir'd,
Hurl'st thy bright vengeance o'er th'insanguin'd field!
CHELONICE.
Dost thou deceive me? this the power of Chelonice?
[Goes to the wing.
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Stir not 'till he shall lead ye to your spoil!
Yes; lead them to their spoil, thou mighty General!
Guide your keen hunters where the tim'rous deer
In their inclosures herded, wait their fate;—
The conquest will be worthy them and thee!
CLEOMBROTUS.
Oh, my beloved, be worthy of thyself,
And of the fate with which the moment teems!
I wrest this night my crown from usurpation,
To place it on thy brow—
CHELONICE.
To decorate my bier!
Ne'er shall the crown, torn from Leonidas,
Circle his child.—But go! lead on your army.
Here will I patient wait your cries of victory—
The signal of my death!
CLEOMBROTUS
(as to himself).
Oh, woman!
CHELONICE.
'Tis not a woman's, but a Spartan's threat.
The hour in which thou vanquishest Leonidas,
Prepare the pile, to flame around his daughter!
CLEOMBROTUS.
Princess! thou dost mistake thy duty.—Spartan,
And daughter of Leonidas, are titles
Dearest to thee—
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Mistake my duty, said'st thou?
When at a husband's feet I ask a father's life,
Do I mistake my duty?—If I do,
I'll ever so mistake, and boast my error!
Yes, 'till Leonidas sits thron'd in safety,
His daughter shall forget she is a wife;—
Tear from her heart each trace of long past fondness,
And own no ties, but those first awful ones
Stampt there by nature.
CLEOMBROTUS.
Wife of Cleombrotus!
Thy honour and thy fame's deriv'd from him;
Thy happiness from the same source should flow.
How dear those hours—for sure such hours have been,
When thou disclaim'st all joys, but in my love.
CHELONICE.
Hadst thou found bliss in love—
CLEOMBROTUS
(smiling).
I'd not sought bliss on thrones.
Thus, as a lady would you chide, and this
Let all the subject world receive as law.
Let them be taught that in the humble shade,
Far from the reach of proud ambition's eye,
Felicity has rais'd her grassy seat,
And wantons there with love.
But, madam, I was born to reign!
And he so born, feels fires that vulgar souls
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Is not a nymph in humble russet clad,
Sipping the dew-drops for the silver thorn,
Or weaving flow'rs upon a streamlet's brink—
Oh, no! she's scepter'd, and her gifts are crowns!
CHELONICE.
I have a soul, to taste her gifts, like thine.
I have a mind that grasps sublimer cares
Than cottage nymphs can know; I would be great
And bear the cares of thousands.—But ambition,
And ev'ry lofty sentiment it gives,
Sinks to the earth, when weigh'd against his life
From whom I drew my own.
CLEOMBROTUS.
Were I dispos'd
To grant thee all, and sink again to nothing,
Yet am I bound to lead my forces on.
It is not glory, nor the hope of fame
The mercenary feels—his God is plunder.
Should I protract their promis'd hour of harvest,
Disgust and mutiny would fill their ranks—
I cannot, dare not, yield to thee.
CHELONICE.
Farewell!
I'll be the herald of thy near approach.
The child shall bid the father bare his bosom
To her lord's sword;—shall bid the citizens
Throw wide their portals to admit the conqueror.
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And from a parricide receive their chains,
Then shall the last sad sighs of Chelonice,
Mix'd with the shouts of victory, proclaim
Her murd'rous husband, Lacedemon's king!
[going.
CLEOMBROTUS.
The last sad sighs of Chelonice—Oh!
[following, and leading her back.
Sweet, cruel tyrant, who is victor now?
Nature! in mockery thou stil'st us lords,
And bidst us govern, in this turbid world.
Th'historic page, recording all the acts
That stand the loftiest in an empire's annals,
Reports but woman's will!
CHELONICE.
Then thou dost yield!
How my soul thanks thee, peaceful hours shall tell.
Now, on joy's swiftest pinions let me bear
The grateful tidings to the gates of Sparta.
Oh filial duties, be ye ever crown'd
With joy as pure, as blesseth Chelonice!
[Exit, led by Cleombrotus.
Enter Mezentius and Corex.
MEZENTIUS.
The conf'rence thou hast heard.—Where now the hopes,
The high rais'd hopes, we brought with us from Thrace?
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They must exist no more.—She who could win him,
To spare her Lacedemon but an hour,
Now when th'impatient soldiery pant for conquest,
And ev'ry breast glows with portentous ardor,
Next, may like Omphale transform her Hercules
To story in the loom his bloodless siege.
MEZENTIUS.
But Thrace boasts warriors of more stubborn nerves;
They neither know to yield to woman's threats,
Or man's defiance. The laconic prince
Entic'd us from our native fields, to curb
Those rebel citizens, who yet disown
His rights in Lacedemon; our reward
Their herds, their jewels, and their treasur'd wealth;
Must we forego the riches he affianc'd,
Because his Chelonice begs forbearance?
COREX.
No—
The wages of our labour are at hand;
Our troops obedient; why then not assault
The city we came hither to reduce,
And gather for ourselves the promis'd blessings?
MEZENTIUS.
Our country's genius, Corex, speaks in thee!
Astrea, throw thy useless balance by,
Thy sword is all we ask;—he who bears that,
Can right himself, and punish his deceivers.
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Let caution guard her sword! Cleombrotus,
Supported by th'Iberians, may prevent
The glorious perfidy we meditate.
Revolt seems ripe.—See how resentment burns
[Looking thro' the wing.
Amongst the troops, whilst he unfolds his will
To spare Leonidas for this one night,
The pain to be unking'd.
[Contemptuously.
MEZENTIUS.
Let us assist,
Fanning with secret breath the struggling flame;
And then this woman's soldier shall be taught,
Those grand events which mark the fate of empires,
And stand, protruded, to instruct the world,
Are not the coin of female artifice,
But struck by genius, from a bolder dye!
[Exeunt.
Scene changes to the Palace.
Enter Leonidas and Amphares.
LEONIDAS.
Forsaken by my child! It should be so.
This is an hour of congregated woes,
And the barb'd point of that should not be wanting.
Doth the enemy advance?—Left by my daugther!
Left for a rebel husband!—They are too tardy.
Destruction! slow of foot, to those who'd meet thee,
Quicken thy pace!
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Destruction hastens on.
The princess fled, and longing for thy crown,
Urges her husband to th'unnatural conquest.
LEONIDAS.
I do not curse—mark me! I do not curse them.
Leonidas and cruelty are sounds
That in the mind of Greece combine, and live,
Like pestilence, and its funeral urns.
Am I now cruel? Those late turbid veins,
In which such raging fires have cours'd each other,
Have now no pulse for cruelty. Yet should I—
Oh, the thought rouses all my latent fury—
Should I, amidst the battle, meet those pelicans!
Gods! grant me such a moment, that my life
In that last closing act, may end more blest,
Than crowns, and vengeance ever made its progress!
NICRATES.
(without.)
Where is the king?
(enters.)
LEONIDAS.
Here's he, who in an hour
Shall be the king no more.
NICRATES.
Not so, Leonidas!
The enemy, whose late deserted camp
Pour'd all its eager troops upon the plain,
Are hous'd again beneath their tented roofs;
Their banners clos'd; their spears' bright gleams extinguish'd.
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How is this known?
NICRATES.
Cloudless, the full orb'd car
Of the nocturnal goddess, glides along,
Giving each object perfect and distinct;
The crouded ramparts bless'd the fav'ring light,
Which shew'd their foes, retiring, and unarm'd.
AMPHARES.
This is some subterfuge. The subtle princess
And her ambitious lord, have fram'd the artifice,
To lull thee, valiant prince, in false security.
LEONIDAS.
Well hast thou spoken what thy King conceiv'd;
But who shall speak the father's mad despair?
Oh, Isis! when thou threw'st th'unfeeling flints,
And bade them rise to animated man,
They disobey'd thee;—woman's was the form
In which they sprung to life; in which they yet
Cumber the earth—our cherish'd bosom'd plagues!
NICRATES.
Oh, sir, forbear! the virtues of the princess—
LEONIDAS.
Mention her not! henceforth to name the rebel
But with the curse of parricide, is fatal
To him who speaks.—Fly to your several stations.
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But I'll restore and fix them in their hearts.
To live a sov'reign but one added day,
Is worth the labour of an untir'd Hercules.
[Exit.
NICRATES.
Stay my prompt brother! you may snatch a moment
From duty so impos'd.—Your's is the storm,
Which rages in his heart, against his daughter.
AMPHARES.
I know I rais'd the storm, and there will feed it.
NICRATES.
Hah! to what end—what purpose?
AMPHARES.
I'll reveal it;
Not to that air of menace, which I scorn,
But to thy love fraternal, which insures me
Ready attention, and if needful, help.
NICRATES.
One bosom fed us with it's lucid stream,
One father gave to us a dear existence,
And in my heart I prize each sacred bond.
Yet not those bonds; the father whom we lov'd,
Nor the chaste mother at whose breast we clung,
Shall bribe me to forget superior duties,
Or aid thee in a cause disclaim'd by virtue.
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(sneeringly).
Warm from the schools, and prompt in declamation!
NICRATES.
Not so.
The plain simplicity of Spartan schools
Disclaims, and abrogates misleading eloquence.
You, bred in Athens,—where the polish'd virtues
Luxuriantly repose; giving their documents
In marble palaces, and robes imbued
With ev'ry gaudy stain that paints their fields—
'Tis you, who boast th'unthrifty charms of rhetoric,
Which makes a shadow seem substantial good,
And cloaths with glowing periods crippled morals.
—Yet let me know why thou inflam'st the king,
Against the paragon of female excellence?
AMPHARES.
A Paragon I thought her; and her birth
Which call'd her dower, a kingdom, fixed me her's.
Our line, a scion from that root, whence sprung
Leonidas;—which justified my hopes.
In Athens 'twas I learn'd Cleombrotus
Was made her husband, and co-equal king.
Had I been here, the Hymen of that day,
Had dipp'd his saffron robe, in sanguine dies.
NICRATES.
But now—
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But now my hatred is in youthful vigour,
And I have sworn their ruin.
NICRATES.
Sworn their ruin?
AMPHARES.
Interrogative brother! yes—their deaths!
Were they no more, then Lacedemon's free;
And who could stand 'twixt me and royalty,
But a weak boy? whose tender bud of life,
Fatality, or accident may nip.
What! dost thou mutter spells, with eyes thus fix'd?
NICRATES
, (steadily).
Nor spells, nor pray'rs, for surely they were lost!
Nor shall I reason on thy wicked hopes,
Nor bid thee dread the vengeance of the Gods;
For to a mind that such designs can cherish,
Reason, religion, urge their truths in vain!
Then fear not these, but fear my vigilance;
Go on! spread all thy toils, prepare thy snares,
And I will watch, observe, and counteract thee!
[Exit.
AMPHARES.
Oh insolent, and vain! oppose me not!
Counteract him, who struggles for a crown?
Him, who dares raise his hopes to Sparta's princess?
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To puff a mountain from its solid base,
As to move me from purposes so grand.
Thou talk'st of virtue—I behold a throne!
Thou bidst me fear—I think on chelonice!
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
| The Fate of Sparta ; or, The Rival Kings | |