 | Belisarius |  |
271
SCENE III.
A Prison.Belisarius, Phorbas, (in chains.)
Bel.
Deluded Prince!
Oh! ill-condition'd state of empire! girt
By interest and deceit, a constant cloud
The regal throne envelops. At a distance
Stands truth, and weeps. An eye, like lightning keen,
And as the sun, commanding, is required
To pierce through, or disperse the incircling gloom,
And see the lovely mourner in her tears.
Phor.
How are we fallen! the virid leaves of hope
Sear'd in their prime! O days of bliss o'erpast!
Which now but deeper tent the wounds of anguish!
Bel.
Shall we of courage at a distance boast?
And when become the inmates with misfortune,
Cast back a wistful look to happiness?
Shrinking beneath the rigorous embrace
Of our too stern companion?—Conscious virtue
Irradiating the chosen mind, forbids it
To share the common fate.
Phor.
Nor do I faint.
Nor shall thy son, my father, from thy side
In this severest conflict backward turn
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I cannot but invoke revenge, and hurl
Pernicious curses on the heads of those
Who caused our ruin.
Bel.
Will they aught avail?
Sprung from the impetuous ardour of thy youth,
Will they e'er reach their bosoms? Tho I plead not
For brutal apathy, yet patience gives
A nobler triumph, in her awful silence
Far more expressive, than the tumid look,
And boistrous words of anger.—Curse them not.
Phor.
Perfection is not mine.
Bel.
Nor mine, nor any man's.
Yet, what a glorious aim! seeing the fane
On yonder towering eminence, to labour
Up the rough passage, till we gain the height
Allotted to humanity!—The mind
Of busy malice hastens on our fate;
'Tis her's forever to be base and treacherous;
But our's the few short moments which remain,
To study how with dignity to live,
With dignity to die.
Phor.
Again I rise.
Again my father I emerge, and shake
Despondence from me.—Hark! the jarring door!
And footsteps which the echoing vault rebounds!
Let the dark murtherer enter—we're prepared.
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Eum.
Ungrateful are my tidings.
Bel.
Speak them boldly.
Eum.
I come, alas! to bear thy son from hence
To speedy execution.
Bel.
Him alone!
Eum.
Such are my orders.
Bel.
Lead the victim forth!
Never was soul more spotless offer'd up
To the pure gods: fit sacrifice for heaven.
Phor.
Behold that best, that bravest of mankind!
He taught me how to live, and, harder task,
Hath taught me how to die.
Bel.
Let me embrace thee.
I could have wish'd thee slain in glorious battle,
Slain for thy country.—But to fall unjustly
Is no mean fate. Thank heaven thou dost not merit
The stroke of death. These tears which bathe my cheek
Would then have sprung from a less noble motive,
For thy polluted honour. These are nature's,
Which cannot part unmoved from what it loves.
Eum.
Would I could lengthen out his date of life
Till nature brake the seal! But fate withstands;
Nor will Justinian's orders brook delay.
Phor.
O Belisarius! should relentless malice,
Afraid to touch thy sacred head, stop short
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My dying thoughts were fix'd on her—My son!
O fate!—But hence vain murmurs!—This embrace—
Receive my gratitude, affection, duty.
May the just gods thro this dark maze of care
Lead forth thy steps!—Cherish my memory!
To thee, and to the virtuous I bequeath it.
Farewell! I go where coward fraud prepares
No subtle web, nor violence its chains.
Perhaps to mix with heroes; where at least
The plagues of this infested world exist not,
Self-blinded folly, and wide-wasting vice.
[Exeunt.
Bel.
Dear youth! thy blood alone can ne'er assuage
The thirst of hot revenge.—Hapless old man!
I should have gone before him—o'er my ashes
He should have dropp'd the filial tear.—Alone!
Yet not without resource; while still within
The voice of conscience soothes oppressive grief.
[Exit.
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