University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Idamè, Asseli.
Idamè.
Can there, in this sad day of desolation,
In this dire hour of carnage and destruction,
When ev'n this palace, open to the Tartars,
Falls with the world beneath barbarian hands,
Can there, amid this heap of publick horrors,
Remain for me fresh cause of private woe?

Asseli.
Ah! who, alas! among the common loss,
Feel not the pressure of their own misfortunes?
Who sends not up to heav'n her feeble cries
To save a son, a father, or a husband?
Within this pale, still stranger to the foe,
Whither the King withdrew from public view
The weak defenceless ministers of peace;
Th'interpreters of law, the holy priests,
Decrepit age, and cradled infancy,
And we the trembling band of fearful women,
Whom yet the hand of slaughter has not reach'd,
Know not, alas! to what enormous lengths
The haughty victor may extend his rage.
We hear the thunder roll, and tempests roar:
The storm hangs o'er us, and we dread its fall.

Idamè.
O fortune! O thou more than earthly pow'r!—
Know'st thou, my Asseli, beneath what hand
Once-pow'rful Cathay's bleeding empire groans,
The hand, that thus oppresses all the world?

Asseli.
They call the cruel tyrant King of Kings:
Fierce Gengis-Kan, whose dread exploits in war
Have made proud Asia one vast sepulchre.
Octar his officer, to murder train'd,
With sword and fire already seeks the palace,
And conquer'd Cathay to new masters yields.
This city, sometime sovereign of the world,
Lies drown'd in blood; and all its hundred streets,
Floating in gore, proclaim the dismal tale.

Idamè.
Know'st thou, this tyrant of the subject earth,
This fell destroyer of our helpless state,
This dread of Kings, imbrued in royal blood,
Is a rough Scythian, bred to war and arms;
A warrior, wandering in those savage desarts,
Where angry heaven lours with endless storms.
'Tis he, who mad for pow'r above his fellows;
Was hither driv'n by persecution's rage,
And whom thou lately saw'st in this great city,
Begging protection at the palace gates.
This King of Kings, this victor's Temugin.

Asseli.
How! Temugin! who paid his vows to thee!
That fugitive! whose homage and whose love
Appear'd an insult to your angry parents!
Is't he, draws after him this train of kings,
He, whose bare name strikes terror to mankind!

Idamè.
The same, my Asseli; his haughty courage,
His future greatness shone upon his visage.
All, I confess, seem'd poor and mean to him;
And even, while he begg'd our court's assistance,
Unknown, a fugitive, he seem'd commanding.
He lov'd me; and perhaps my foolish heart
Approv'd his love: perhaps it was my pride
To tame this lion shackled in my chains,
To our soft forms to bend his savage grandeur,
To polish with our virtues his rough soul,
And make him one day worthy to be rank'd
Among the number of our citizens.
He would have serv'd the state he has destroy'd;
And He we scorn'd has brought on all our woes.
Thou know'st, the fierceness of our jealous people,
The ancient honours of our arts and laws,
Our holy faith, thrice sanctified and pure,
And the long glories of a hundred ages,
All, all forbad, with one united voice,
A base alliance with the barb'rous nations.
A holier Hymen has engaged my vows,
And virtuous Zamti merits all my love.
Who would have thought, in those blest hours of peace,
That a scorn'd Scythian thus should lord it o'er us?
This, this alarms me; I refused his hand,
And am the wife and partner of another.
He comes in blood, the world at his command
To give him means of vengeance.—O strange fate!
O heaven! can it be, that this great people
Should like base flocks of cattle sent to slaughter,
Fall, without fight, beneath a Scythian's sword!

Asseli.
The Coreans, it is said, have troops assembled:
Yet we know nothing but by vague report,
And are abandon'd to the victor's rage.

Idamè.
O how uncertainty increases grief!
Who knows how far our miseries extend?
Whether amid the palace of his fathers
The Emperor has refuge found, or help;
Whether the Queen by th'enemy is seiz'd;
Or, if of one or both the hour is come:
Too sad reward, alas! of wedded love.
The hapless infant to our care consign'd
Again excites my fear and my compassion.
My Zamti too with rash step treads the palace;
Haply, respect of his most holy office
May touch these savages. 'Tis said, the ruffians,
Bred to the trade of death, have yet preserv'd
Some notion of a God: so much ev'n nature,
In barb'rous climes, untaught and unimprov'd,
Proclaims to all, Religion and a God.
Yet, ah! I fondly dream of their respect,
I talk of hope, but am a slave to fear.
O misery!