 | Zobeide |  |
62
ACT V.
HERMODON, ZOBEIDE, SEYFEL, SCYTHIANS.ZOBEIDE.
Why do ye pause? Proclaim your Scythian law,
Nor fear to add new terrors to my soul:
What means this dreadful solemn preparation?
SEYFEL.
My child—I scarce can speak—behold the altar
Which I this morn adorn'd with nuptial wreaths,
With mournful emblems strew'd ere set of sun.
HERMODON.
Th'inviolable law which rules our country,
Demands the widow'd fair to sacrifice,
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That Hymen's flame may be the flame of vengeance;
That the lov'd manes of her injur'd husband,
The shade that hovers o'er this mournful land,
To purer air may take its happier flight,
Replume its wing, and waft its way to bliss.
ZOBEIDE.
Am I to sacrifice? Ah! whom?—my father!—
HERMODON.
Heav'n hath reserv'd this bloody minister.
[Presents a dagger.
SCYTHIAN.
Thy glory sure demands—
SEYFEL.
You may revere
That law your ancestors did consecrate;
But danger follows—Persia will be fear'd—
Big clouds impend, the gathering surges roar,
Yourselves are shipwreck'd in the storm you raise.
SCYTHIAN.
Let the swoln tempest rage—yet undismay'd,
Scythians shall dare to cope with Persian valour.
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No time to waver now—delay offends—
Your husband's murder cries to heaven for vengeance.
ZOBEIDE.
O people! hear me speak:
I was in Persia born, and am a stranger
To those harsh laws which bind these ruder climes:
Athamand is valiant—
A valiant chief would never stoop to murder—
Scythians, ye know the worth of godlike courage!
My husband bled beneath a conqueror's arm:
Justice ye surely prize as well as vengeance:
Weigh and resolve—Say, is it mine to strike?
To plunge my guilty hands in sacred blood,
And kill a warrior, who is still my king?
HERMODON.
And kill a warrior!—If thy too timid hand,
Rejecting ev'ry claim of rightful marriage,
The holy ties of gratitude and love,
Shall hesitate to make this expiation—
Dread the rough maxims of an injur'd state.
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But, if the weakness of my sex prevail,
And I, o'ercome with terror, should refuse—
SCYTHIAN.
He shall expire beneath the sharpest tortures.
ZOBEIDE.
You then demand a victim slain by me?
HERMODON.
Reject not Scythia's law.
ZOBEIDE.
(After a pause)
I accept it.
[Takes the dagger.
HERMODON.
Dar'st thou, in presence of th'immortal Gods,
Confirm this oath?
ZOBEIDE.
I swear it, cruel men!
I swear it, Hermodon: Ye thirst for blood;
Be sure ye have enough; but 'till the hour,
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In mercy keep him from my tortur'd sight;
Meanwhile, I would some counsel from my father;
Then act your wills, I patiently resign.
SCYTHIAN.
Let us retire, my friends.
HERMODON.
The widow'd fair one
Declares herself submissive to our law;
My deep-felt grief will somewhat be appeas'd,
If hands like those submit to give us vengeance.
[Ex. Hermodon and Scythians.
SEYFEL.
There was a time, when through the daring prince
I would have stabb'd a guilty monarch's heart;
Now pity pleads aloud for the unfortunate,
And fierce resentments languish in regret.
ZOBEIDE.
How could you dive into my inmost thoughts,
And read each varying struggle of my soul?
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I fain would weep thy gen'rous husband's fate;
But now, alas! I feel alone for thee!
This rash detested oath!
ZOBEIDE.
You see the altar—
Should I refuse, you know what torments wait him;
After this fatal blow—and all our sufferings,
O say—will you too sink upon his tomb?
SEYFEL.
I there would die.
ZOBEIDE.
No, live—I charge you live;
The gallant Persians will revenge this outrage,
The youths of Ecbatan to Scythia's wilds,
From Taurus will descend with winged speed,
Will, like a torrent, pour their rapid force,
And drive these monsters from their rocky fastness.
SEYFEL.
Alas! I greatly fear—
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Talk not of fear,
It is allied to guilt—we will not fear;
'Tis true, the gross inhabitants of Scythia
Are savage, cruel—not invincible.
But, oh! meanwhile, by every awful tie,
Secure the pardon of our captive friends;
E'en as the victim bleeds, let all be free,
And pass the mountains under faith of treaty.
SEYFEL.
Assure thyself, my child, I will obtain it—
And yet this treaty serves but to confound me,
The prince no less will perish at the altar—
The Persians will not rouze but to avenge him.
ZOBEIDE.
I've weigh'd my destiny, and all's resolv'd.
SEYFEL.
I freeze with horror.
ZOBEIDE.
Go, I partake it all.
The time is precious, leave me to summon strength:
In solemn suit invoke each conscious being
To bear eternal record to the vow.
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This dread recognizance from earth to heav'n.
SEYFEL.
I go, but sore opprest with ills like these;
Whate'er's decreed, my doom is fixt despair.
[Exit.
ZOBEIDE.
How long must I restrain this storm of grief—
Nor greater sure inflicted by the Gods!
My Sulma comes—and I unload my heart.
Enter SULMA.
SULMA.
And do we meet again! What scenes of blood
Since last we parted! O! let us part no more,
'Till fate hath finish'd its last cruel edict.
ZOBEIDE.
Thou yet must see a far more piteous sight.
SULMA.
More piteous sight!—Zobeide will ne'er submit
To satiate savage minds with guilty slaughter?
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Think'st thou that I'll complain to Scythian monsters?
Complain to seas, to rocks, to steel, or adamant—
For them I left a people most renown'd,
Sometimes unjust—but polish'd, great, and generous.
Shall I complain to Scythians?—Nations! Earth!
O kings! What outrage? Gods! Masters of thunder!
Unite with me.—
Let Death stalk uncontroul'd till Taurus' high
He heap on heap, piles mountains of the slain.
What means this frantic rage? vain, vain regrets!
These imprecations serve but to distract me;
O, Rage! what art thou? flatterer of a moment,
A short-liv'd passion, preying on thyself,
I sink thy slave—I feel thy deadly power,
Thou fixt eternal foe to steady virtue.
SULMA.
Let Reason's balmy breath assuage your griefs,
You're not reduc'd to serve their cruel purpose.
ZOBEIDE.
Then Athamand must share the bitterest tortures.
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But, oh! that secret love, which ardent pleads—
ZOBEIDE.
Shall ever plead—How can I then resolve
To plunge a dagger in a monarch's heart,
Who came to lay his empire at my feet?
SULMA.
'Tis so abhorr'd a deed—the savage Scythians,
Whose altars reek not but with human blood;
Ah! did they know your love—would stay your hand,
Arm'd to destroy him.
ZOBEIDE.
No, they would urge the deed;
Such are their cruel hearts—Such, such is man,
By simple nature kind, nay oft times good,
But if provok'd, his vengeance is unbounded.
SULMA.
The wretched Seyfel to these Scythians bound
In closest leagues of amity—link'd with them,
Let him bear out the ills he solely caus'd.
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Too much for me he suffers—I only wish
To weed each rankling poison from his breast,
Not add new troubles to his rev'rend age:
But, O ye Pow'rs! attend his last request,
Bend the stern purpose of this rustic senate,
Confirm th'important oath—heal Persia's woes,
Nor force me act a deed yourselves abhor.
SULMA.
You now give life to my affrighted sense.
[Solemn music at a distance.]
ZOBEIDE.
Those solemn sounds proclaim th'eventful hour,
And summon me to more than death—trembling
I stand the shock—revisit mortal clime
Spirits of good! if when in fleshly mould
Something ye knew of what I now endure,
Aid my firm labours—in a righteous cause
'Tis yours to succour;—And if your suppliant acts
Obedient to your wills—reward the deed;—
Twine round my brow the wreaths of brightest fame,
Laurels which fade not, gems which can't decay.
[Dead march.]
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HERMODON, SEYFEL, ZOBEIDE, SCYTHIANS.
First SCYTHIAN.
Hail to the shadowy grove, whose deep-felt gloom
Still adds new horrors to this awful scene!
Guard round the rustic altar, worthy friends,
Lest footsteps rude invade these hallow'd haunts,
Or brawling noise profane the solemn hour.
HERMODON.
Sure here some secret unknown Pow'r resides,
Whose eye pervades, and well approves this offering;
At this dread hour he sits in mystic state,
And chills the soul with awe and veneration.
ZOBEIDE.
What Power can here reside of good to man?
These are the favour'd haunts of dim Despair,
Of fire-ey'd Madness, or sunk Melancholy;
Here Murder prowls—here, when that witch the Night,
High pois'd in air, performs her secret rites,
And spreads her baneful mantle o'er the skies.
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Misdeem us not, if when stern Justice calls,
We rigidly obey its awful summons;
A murder'd son demands this expiation;
'Tis due to us, to him, to heav'n, and vengeance.
First SCYTHIAN.
Nor vengeance dearer than our country's law.
ZOBEIDE.
Enough, enough—swear but by every power,
The blood of all my countrymen is sacred,
And this fell hand submits to give you vengeance.
SEYFEL.
All shall be spar'd, we swear—th'immortal Gods
Ne'er saw a Scythian violate his oath.
Now lead him to the altar.
ZOBEIDE.
A moment stay—
Yet why should terror more pervade my heart?
I scorn the woman in me—Lead him on—
I'll firmly brave this thunder-bolt of heaven.
SEYFEL.
And do I live to this—O teeming earth!
Ope thy wide jaws in mercy to receive me!
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Inexorable fortune!
Enter ATHAMAND guarded.
ATHAMAND.
Dear Zobeide!
Take—take the steel; let thy uplifted hand
Pierce a fond heart, devote to thee alone;
Preserve the honour'd lives of all my friends,
Give me my death, I unrepining fall;
I kiss the trembling hand which fearful strikes,
Nor think it ruin to be so destroy'd,
To bleed for Zobeide and my orphan'd country.
ZOBEIDE.
O stop this torrent of o'erwhelming goodness,
My generous, cruel prince!—words arm'd like these
Unnerve my feeble hand, and quite subdue me;
Breathe sharpest curses, sting me to my purpose;
Distract me not with tender protestations,
Nor vanquish courage with such kind endearments.
ATHAMAND.
Yet hear me speak the source of each misfortune,
And tho' too late, assert my injur'd honour;
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Urg'd me to wed the daughter of a king
Nearest allied in empire and dominion,
But, oh! my heart was fixt on thee alone.
Not daring openly to thwart his will,
I seemingly consented—but determin'd
Instant with previous nuptials to prevent it;
I seemingly consented—accursed hour!
'Twas then report bore on its rapid wing
The shameful tale of my ill-seeming purpose;
And ere my trusty friends could search thee out,
And tell each fearful oath I'd sworn to Heav'n,
Thy fears betray'd thee to believe me false,
Thy fears, alas! had driv'n thee from thyself,
And borne thee far from me, from peace and Persia.
ZOBEIDE.
And was thy purpose just?—What then am I?
Thy truth to me has dragg'd thee to thy ruin;
Thou fixt aloft, triumphant on a throne,
Lov'd by the people, favour'd by the Gods,
Wide as the sun had'st spread thy blessings round thee;
But, oh! I've hurl'd thee from the giddy height,
And plung'd thee deep in guilt, and endless mis'ries.
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Ill-omen'd visions fright my mad'ning brain,
And furies ring a knell of dire presages.
HERMODON.
The impatient hour reproves our long delay.
SEYFEL.
O! let me kneel before my honour'd prince—
SCYTHIAN.
Away; dost thou too—
HERMODON.
We will not pause; proceed—
ZOBEIDE.
Insatiate monsters! stay—ye know not, sure,
The guilt ye would enforce—Athamand is my Prince;
Nay more, for I adore him—I here avow
My secret love—I here declare my passion—
I here abjure those nuptials which have bound me.
ATHAMAND.
I die content.
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What means this frantic woe?
Nature herself is sick at thy lamentings.
ZOBEIDE.
When Scythians fall, no stars withdraw their blaze,
An atom sinks unheeded—unregarded—
But O! thy fate drinks dry a nation's eyes,
All Persia sinks one great stupendous ruin,
And I become the murderer of a world.
ATHAMAND.
This kind embrace o'erpays whole years of anguish;
Blest in thy love, I leave the world to fate.
ZOBEIDE.
Long has the captive worn the galling chain,
But now to hail the dawn of rising joys,
To view some holier land where mercy reigns,
Where peace shall bloom with blessings ever new;
Hail, happy land!—there, there again to rest,
Where man can not oppress, or I offend him;
Spare but his life, and thus to finish mine.
[Stabs herself.
O live, my prince! thus dying I entreat thee.
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Zobeide!
SEYFEL.
My child!
SULMA.
My ever honor'd friend!
HERMODON.
Take off his chains, we grant his rated life.
ATHAMAND.
Talk'st thou of life to one all gash'd with wounds,
Torn on the wheel, or struggling in his tortures,
His limbs all mangled, or his heart destroy'd?
No, no, this reeking steel from Zobeide's wound
Prevents the greater curse.
[Kills himself.
ZOBEIDE.
Then all is lost.—
Nor e'en my death can expiate these disasters.
Thou who alone can'st judge the feeble heart,
At length look pitying on me—
Whilst these faint accents languish on my tongue,
Whilst life stands trembling on the brink of fate
I fain would plead—but thou art just—tho' I am—
[Dies.
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The struggle's past, and the world sinks before me;
Extend your mercy to my sole request!
Let one small spot enclose our last remains,
'Tis all I ask, and Persia will requite you.
What now is all the baseless dream of power,
Ambition's fire, the lust of wealth or empire?
The scene once clos'd, each glittering prospect fails—
The dreary mansions of the peaceful grave
Receive alike the Scythian and the Monarch.
Now, now I sink—my Zobeide—mercy, Heaven!
[Dies.
HERMODON.
Bear off my wretched friend—woes great as these
Press heavy on his years—Submit we to our fate:
Submit we to the stern award of awful heaven;
My son, my country, and the Gods appeas'd,
Mercy usurps the rigid seat of justice,
And weeps in mournful tribute o'er their graves.
END OF THE FIFTH ACT.
| Zobeide | |