University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Tribunal.
Enter Leonidas, Amphares, Sarpedon, Attalus, and others.
LEONIDAS.
Yes, the bright sun beholds me yet a king—
Cleombrotus is yet without our walls!
For this let ev'ry altar blaze with sacrifice,
And hallow'd victims pour the sanguine stream,

AMPHARES.
In vain shall hallow'd victims pour their life,
And blood of hecatombs bedew our altars,
Whilst treason, deep veil'd, spreads out her silent snares.

LEONIDAS.
Her veil shall be remov'd, her snares develop'd.
Here, in this awful seat, where great Lycurgus
Woo'd justice from her high Olympian court
And bade her rule, unsway'd by human ties—
Here shall Leonidas his glory emulate
And rise above the pleaded bonds of nature.
Say! didst thou find the princess bath'd in sorrows?

SARPEDON.
Not lost in tears, but in more stately griefs
Her virgins tell, she pass'd the sleepless night,
Denied to vindicate her secret visit.

AMPHARES.
Whether in tears, or sorrows more reserv'd,
Women express their passions, or their will,
They're each resistless arms, whose edge is bluntless.
But sir! you're guarded.

LEONIDAS.
To a test I'll bring
Her vaunted duty; if it shrinks from that,
Hence tears, and feign'd submission! Not a child,
But a false traitor, will she stand before me;
And lose a sire in the offended prince.

[He seats himself.
AMPHARES.
See, she advances, with her wonted grandeur!
Yet so compos'd and calm, as if prepar'd
Not to receive, but grant a gracious pardon.

(Enter the Princess, attended by Nicrates, guards, &c.)
LEONIDAS.
Ill daughter suits it with such acts as yours,
To come with looks, thus unimpress'd, before us;
Repentant tears, and cheeks ting'd deep with shame,
Would best become your guilty disobedience.

CHELONICE.
Oh may my cheeks indeed be ting'd with shame,
And tears repentant, yet unheeded flow
When guilt or disobedience mark the life
Of wretched Chelonice!—Oh, my father!
Whence are those charges?

LEONIDAS.
From the mouth of Sparta,
Who stiles those traitors, that support her foes.
Princess of Sparta! know, this charge is thine.

CHELONICE.
If I've incurr'd it, may the death she dooms
To traitors fall on me!—Not daughter now,
But subject, and arraign'd, I bend before thee;—
Not to a father pleading, but a judge.

LEONIDAS.
'Tis Lacedemon calls thee to the trial.

CHELONICE.
Nay, but all Greece will turn their eyes towards thee,
And as thou act'st at this important hour,
Will load thy name with honour or dispraise.
Beware of weakness then—with rigour try me!
And if the crime imputed, should be mine,
Then, Agamemnon like, devote thy child
A sacrifice, to your immortal fame!
The world demands such lessons.—Oh, suppose not,
I should disgrace the glorious part assign'd me—
The daughter of Leonidas can't fear to die.

LEONIDAS.
Such firmness should by innocence be sanction'd.
Last night, disguis'd, you pass'd our centinels,
Bending your steps, where your rebellious husband
Plots Lacedemon's ruin.—'Tis your motive,
To this mysterious visit, we demand.

CHELONICE.
Behold it in your undemolish'd walls!
Behold it, Sparta, in thy lofty spires,
Which yet, triumphant, catch the sailing clouds!
See it, ye mothers, in the tender babes
Reposing safely on your matron bosoms!
And you, ye husbands, in whose shelt'ring arms
Your wives yet live, inviolate, and pure!
Those were the motives of my secret visit.

LEONIDAS.
Do Sparta's welfare, and her matrons' honour,
Hang on a thread so slender? Do her battlements,
Her long enduring walls, and brazen gates,
Resist destruction at a woman's bidding?

CHELONICE.
Forgive the seeming boast! Yet had not Chelonice,
Last night, stole secret to her husband's camp,
And there with every art love makes resistless,
Won him to change the purpose of the hour,
This roof, beneath whose dome she stands accus'd,
Had now resounded with the shrieks of death;
Whilst thro' our gates, Thrace and Iberia pour'd,
With mercenary hand, their slaught'ring troops.

LEONIDAS.
If such thy purpose, and if such th'event,
Then, daughter, Lacedemon owes to thee
That she enjoys one added day in safety.
Short respite, from impending woes!
Were 't in thy power to prolong her safety,
And banish from her skies those hov'ring locusts—
Oh! could'st thou, for an end so sanctified,
Boldly resolve to be a Spartan daughter,
And tear unworthy weakness from thy heart?

CHELONICE.
My heart itself! What is there can exist,
That I'd not sacrifice to save my country,
And bid my father live?

LEONIDAS.
(rising.)
Glorious the moment! 'twould be fame immortal!
The name of Chelonice shall be heard
Wherever female acts of worth, and daring
Rescue the sex, and make them shine o'er man.
—Thy worthless husband! ceas'd he to exist,
Thrace and Iberia would withdraw their troops,
And Sparta rest from curs'd intestine wars.
Invite him from his camp—propose this night
To meet him in the grove—he shall be met
By arms less tender than my Chelonice's.

CHELONICE.
Horror!

LEONIDAS.
Dost shrink?—are those thy boasted fervors?

CHELONICE.
It was my father! 'twas my father spoke it—
I have no answer.

LEONIDAS.
Rebel! thy answer's made;
For now I know 'twas but a false pretence
With which thou'st gloss'd thy visit to the traitor—
Traitor thyself! and leagued with Sparta's foes.

CHELONICE.
O! filial goddess, teach me to submit!

LEONIDAS.
Submission, now, is all the duty left thee,
And thou shalt learn to practise it in chains.
Bear her to prison, as a rebel guard her,
And let her son be captive with his mother.

CHELONICE.
That's mercy yet! amidst the judge's firmness
The parent's love steps in, to chase despair.
Bring here my chains.

[They bring and put them on.
AMPHARES.
(to Leonidas.)
Th'opposing principles
Of filial duty, and connubial love,
Summon their forces in her heart, and one must yield.
Forgive! if in the conflict filial duty fails,
And gives the dear-bought triumph to a husband.

CHELONICE.
Who told thee that those principles oppose,
Or that one yields? Has nature then, improvident,
So narrow form'd the heart, that only one
Of all the various duties she commands,
Can live there? Know, misjudging reasoner,
The duties of the wife and child, may each,
Without opposing, warm the heart.—In mine
They both exist—both flaming!

Spartan.
Spare the princess!

Second Spartan.
Leonidas! oh hear us.

Third Spartan.
Spare thy child!

NICRATES.
O spare the princess! see th'astonish'd citizens,
With supplicating looks, bending before thee!
Shall they implore in vain? They ask a sire
To breathe forth mercy on a sorrowing child;
O! hear their prayers—Mine is the voice of Sparta!

CHELONICE.
Plead for a rebel! Pity how misplaced!
[addressing the citizens.
Should I be spared, the door for treason's open'd,
Nor could your prince dare punish in another,
The crime his child, unforfeited, commits.
He wisely acts, and thus I clasp my chains,
Calling the gods to witness they are dear to me;
For they're a father's gift—perhaps his last.
Lead to my prison! murmur not; be proud
That in your sov'reign you have found a hero!
Who'll punish those most precious to his heart,
When crimes against your rights call down his vengeance.
Lead on!

[Exit with guards, &c.
AMPHARES.
See! self-arraign'd the princess goes,
Acknowledging the justice which condemns her.

[To the citizens.
LEONIDAS.
She may be innocent; yet to refuse
A sacrifice which patriotic love
And filial duty, equally demand,
Is in itself a crime to merit chains.
Amphares, speak! is there no way? Cleombrotus
Would come as Gen'ral, with a train too costly
For the charge of Sparta.—Is there no way,
To gain a private, solitary visit?
By Heaven the man who should perform such service,
I'd rank for ever next my crown and life.

AMPHARES.
Swift execution ever should attend
The will of princes, when that will's reveal'd.
Methinks there might be found a man in Sparta,
Who, bribed thus highly, would despise the danger;
And call it glory, so, to save his country.

LEONIDAS.
If such a man there be—thou know'st the rest!
Time presses hard, my friend, and fate allows
But a few hours, for acts, whose fame shall live
Through ages yet unborn.—I'll leave thee now.
Genius of Sparta! aid th'unripe design!

[Exit.
AMPHARES.
(contemptuously.)
“Genius of Sparta!” Dost think me to cozen
With patriotic flames; or that I see not
'Tis thy ambition, which assumes its port?
No matter; know they're my designs thou nourishest,
And whilst I seem but to obey, I rule.

[Exit.
Scene changes to the Tent of Cleombrotus.
Enter Cleombrotus followed by Mezentius.
CLEOMBROTUS.
By Heaven, the man who stirs towards the town,
With hostile views, shall find his death, not there,
But from my arm. Nor will I bear these murmurs.
Lead back your madd'ning Thracians, who appear
Like midnight wolves, snuffing the air for prey,
Rather than soldiers, bravely met, to right
An injured king.

MEZENTIUS.
So think them! Midnight wolves
Will not retire without their scented prey;
Resolve then to dismiss, or lead them on.

CLEOMBROTUS.
I can do neither. I am bound by oath—
An oath revered by him who shakes Olympus,
Not to begin the attack 'till this day's sun
Resigns the race to him, who gilds to-morrow.

MEZENTIUS.
What forc'd thee to the binding oath?

CLEOMBROTUS.
To tell thee,
Obdurate Thracian! were to give thee words,
Whose foreign sounds would vibrate on thy ear,
But could not raise ideas in thy mind.
What dost thou know of all the sacred charms
Which hang on love connubial? Why tell thee
Of the sweet philtres, on the rosy lips
Of chaste, yet tender beauty? Ears like thine
Would find no music in the tale; nor own
'Twas a sweet madness, so, to be undone!

MEZENTIUS.
Undone, indeed!

CLEOMBROTUS.
Yet not undone.—My promise
Binds me but a few hours.—Ere the blue heavens
Shall in its present station see again
Yon radiant orb—by arms, or peaceful terms,
I shall be king in Sparta.

MEZENTIUS.
Hopes of coward peace
Were not the prospects thou held'st forth, to draw us
From our dear homes.

CLEOMBROTUS.
True; war and victory
Seem'd then the road to lead me to my throne.
But should Leonidas propose those terms
On which I must consent to raise the siege,
Then rich rewards shall gratify your troops,
Without the crimson labour which they pant for.

[Going to one of the upper wings.
MEZENTIUS.
Our troops will not accept a largess, prince!
Where they can claim a right; and on thyself
Rest all the mischief of thy broken faith!

CLEOMBROTUS.
Behold the messenger of peace approaches!—
What humbler cause could make Amphares messenger?
His rank exalted, and his skill in arms,
Render him precious to the town besieged.

MEZENTIUS.
You wish the conference private.—May th'event
Be happier, prince! than that of yester even;
When a false priestess could entice a vict'ry
From you—Oh shame! whilst grasping at its laurels.

[Exit.
CLEOMBROTUS.
Unfurl your banners! why breathe not the trumpets?
Receive that Spartan Lord with the salute
You give your generals, and conduct him hither.
(Enter Amphares.)
When last we met, 'twas not a camp, Amphares!
That witness'd our embrace.

AMPHARES.
Oh, no, Cleombrotus.
We met, thou know'st, beneath a festive dome,
Whose echoes fed on music's sweetest sounds;
Whilst sparkling beauty lent its powerful spells
To gild the hour, and make its joys sublime.

CLEOMBROTUS.
Such hours yet wait us, in the lap of peace.
Leonidas, I trust, hath now resolv'd
To spare the bosom of his native city,
Nor drain her veins, to justify his crimes.

AMPHARES.
Secret his counsels, prince! nor do I know
Whether the gloomy tyrant waits your sword,
Or means to yield your crown without compulsion.

CLEOMBROTUS.
Art thou not come th'ambassador of peace?

AMPHARES.
Oh, no!

CLEOMBROTUS.
Ill founded hope!

[with anger.
AMPHARES.
Hadst thou such hopes?

CLEOMBROTUS.
Or know this hour, Amphares, were not his
To waste in insolent deliberation.
But if not peace, what cause—

AMPHARES.
I know thy question.
Tho' on no public errand I approach you,
Yet will you think the cause not less important,
Than if an empire's fate hung on my breath;—
An empire did I say? What then are empires?
What, all the mighty nothings which embroil,
From age to age, the sons of mad ambition—
Compar'd to those soft int'rests of the heart,
Which tho' in name less splendid, have a power,
That all the grander impulses must stoop to?

CLEOMBROTUS.
Then thou'rt ambassador from Chelonice!
What says my most belov'd? What fragrant message
Breath'd her sweet lips, to him, whose fate she rules?

AMPHARES.
No message bear I, prince! for unsolicited
Amphares comes, and perhaps returns unthank'd.

CLEOMBROTUS.
Forbid it courtesy! what urged this visit?

AMPHARES.
Say rather what urg'd thee, to sleep last night
Within thy camp, whilst ev'ry Spartan citizen
Kept wakeful, to salute thee once more king?

CLEOMBROTUS.
What but the powerful influence thou hast nam'd,
My Chelonice!

AMPHARES.
Hah! was she the destiny
Who snatch'd thy sceptre from thee?

CLEOMBROTUS.
Why, Amphares,
This sudden flashing of thy eye? this scorn?
Her filial heart was agoniz'd; it ask'd—
Could I refuse? She kneeling, ask'd one day
For Sparta, and her sire.

AMPHARES
, (with contempt.)
For Sparta, and—
But I'll not add the name; your eyes shall witness
For whom she knelt, and ask'd you to withhold
Th'impending sword.

CLEOMBROTUS.
For whom! for whom say'st thou?

AMPHARES.
Why shou'd I speak? Such tales are met ungraciously.
Hard to excite belief, of what to yield to,
Is to embrace the keenest agonies
Fate hath prepar'd for man.

CLEOMBROTUS.
Heed me, Amphares!
The charge thou'dst lead to, cannot be mistaken.
I see thou'rt come to raise suspicion here,
Where yet suspicion never knew to live;
But least to live, when pointed at my wife!

AMPHARES.
Thus should it be.—This is the magic philtre
Bestow'd by Hymen in the bridal cup;
Which when once swallow'd, makes a man—a husband.

[sneeringly.
CLEOMBROTUS.
What is a husband?

[angrily.
AMPHARES.
What his wife shall please;
Credulous, doating, disbelieving, blind!

CLEOMBROTUS.
Were I of that quick temperament, which flames
And blazes at a touch, thou'st said enough
To raise a fire unquenchable, in which
Thou, its first victim, should'st be sacrificed.
Yet tho' my passions do but slowly mount,
They're overbearing as the self-will'd ocean,
Which, in its anger, dashes at the sky;—
Beware!

AMPHARES.
I'm caution'd;—from regard, not fear.

CLEOMBROTUS.
I know thou fear'st not, nor can I suspect.
Six yearly suns have belted round the world,
Since Chelonice at the altar vow'd,
The duties of connubial love to me.
Her heart I've studied; watch'd each turn of temper;
Nor ever saw caprice inhabit there.
Her virtues, tho' chastis'd by female softness,
Are of the grand and stubborn sort,
Which self-collected, smile upon temptation.
O! shall the rooted confidence of ages
Break from its stem, and be the sport of whispers?
No, Amphares; the husband of Chelonice
Can have no fears, but for his own demerits.

AMPHARES.
All then is well.

CLEOMBROTUS.
Not so; for tho' no doubts
Can reach my heart, that would dishonour her,
To justify her fame, I must know all
That malice dares suggest.

AMPHARES.
If to the grove,
Which bounds the palace gardens, and extends
Its love-inviting shades towards your camp,
You'll bend your evening steps, you'll there behold
Whom I forbear to name.—These ears imbib'd
The whisper'd assignation, as unseen
I loiter'd near.—The impulse of the moment,
Bade me convey to thee th'ingrateful secret.
If I did wrong, forgive me for the motive!

CLEOMBROTUS
, (eagerly.)
Amphares!—I'll be calm.—Yet I'm not touch'd.
Who is the villain? tell me that.—His name!

[impetuously.
AMPHARES.
You'll know—

CLEOMBROTUS.
Trifle not! By heaven it were more safe to tread
Upon the burnish'd adder, than to halt
An instant on my rous'd suspicion.—Tell me!

AMPHARES.
Thou know'st Cephisus; on whose downy cheek
The half-blown blossom spreads its doubtful red;
His tuneful voice seems the first notes of love,
And his light form bespeaks a Sylvan god.
Him wilt thou find—

CLEOMBROTUS.
Enough! adieu Amphares!
Think not I harbour doubts; but I will prove—
For Chelonice's sake, I'll prove this night—
Farewel! escort this stranger to the walls.

AMPHARES.
Evening's first shades is the appointed period.
This, and the watch word, Ceres, let's you pass.

[giving a jewel.
CLEOMBROTUS.
I will be there before it's shades.

AMPHARES.
Farewel!

[Exit.
CLEOMBROTUS.
The air's too close.—Now I can breathe again.
His presence seem'd to oppress me, and prevent
The act of respiration.—Yet I'm not well.
Can this be jealousy—suspicion? What?
Of Chelonice? Oh my beloved! sooner
Could I suspect that—but he heard the whisper.
Whisper—who whisper'd? not my Chelonice.
No ear but mine ere drank the 'witching murmurs
Of her chaste lips; or if there has—Oh Gods!
The tortures of whole ages are comprised
In that one thought.—If there has!—
My brain seems splitting.—Oh thou sooty night!
Hasten thy ebon shades; enwrap the world
In tenfold darkness! not a glimm'ring star
Suffer to throw it's beams from thy thick mantle,
That quick on my dishonour, my revenge
May dart with light'ning's certainty, and blast them!