 | The Orphan of China |  |
SCENE IV.
Gengis, Octar.Gengis.
Whence come these sighs? these doubtings whence? what God
Spoke in her, and maintain'd her sinking cause?
Is there a pow'r in virtue or in beauty
Above my high authority? ah! Octar,
Stay! for I fear, I tremble for myself:
I want a friend; my weak soul needs support.
Octar.
Since I must speak, receive my honest council:
If you would sacrifice this hostile race,
If the last branches from the wither'd trunk
You would lop off, delay not your revenge.
The cruel rigour of those bloody deeds,
Which must support a throne by conquest gain'd,
Should fall immediate; rapid, sure, and quick.
The bloody stream in torrents should descend.
Time restores peace and order; reconciles
The people to their fate; and wipes away
The bloody traces of their former woes.
They soon forgive, and ev'n forget their wrongs.
But when the blood's drawn from them drop by drop,
When the wound slowly clos'd, is soon again
Torn open by the hand of violence,
When slaughter seems to shape his course anew,
Then fierce despair stirs up to deeds of rage
Their coward souls, and makes a feeble race
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More dangerous, the more they are subdued.
Gengis.
But then this Idamè! this haughty woman!
Wife to a slave that braves me in my anger!
Octar.
You owe her no compassion, but revenge.
Your love for her, you own, was idle passion,
Of a light transient flame the hasty sparks:
Her foolish scorn, her anger, and the time,
Have in your breast its weak remains extinguish'd.
She's in your eyes a guilty wretch, the wife
Of a low criminal.
Gengis.
He shall be punish'd:
I should, I will have vengeance. Pity him!
What! spare a slave I hate! that braves me too!
My rival!
Octar.
Why is not his death pronounc'd?
You have him in your power, and yet he lives.
Gengis.
Just Heav'n! is't come to this? and does my heart,
Subdued by beauty, and disarm'd by tears,
Forego its rage, heave shameful sighs, and feel
Th'alarms of love? I rival to a slave!
A happy slave! and yet permit him live;
Yet know she doats upon him! Ah! I feel
Respect for Idamè ev'n in her husband:
I fear to plunge the dagger in his breast,
Lest the dire stroke should wound her bosom too.
Is it then true I love? is't I that sigh?
What is then love that has such sov'reign pow'r?
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I've only learnt to fight and to obey.
My cars, my steeds, my arrows and my quiver,
These are my only passions, only science;
To this capriciousness of soul a stranger.
I only know of victory and plunder;
That captives always to the victors yield.
This melting softness, to our race unknown,
Belies your fortune and your character.
What is't to you that one more slave attends
In bitterness of soul your dread decree?
Gengis.
I am aware how far my pow'r extends:
I may, too well I know, use violence.
But O! what cruel, what imbitter'd joy,
To force a heart that renders not itself!
To see those eyes that should be lighted up
With transport, sunk beneath a cloud of tears!
And to possess a slave who views your love
With horror, and the agonies of grief!
The monsters of the forests we inhabit,
See happier days, and know less barb'rous loves.
Spite of myself, my anger, and revenge,
The lovely Idamè subdued my soul.
I tremble that my heart should recollect it.
I was enrag'd; and yet her soul o'er mine,
Over my character, and sov'reign will,
Ruled with a pow'r more absolute and sure,
Than I received from war, and victory
Over an hundred kings dethron'd, enslav'd.
'Twas this enflam'd my rage and indignation:
But I'll for ever chase her from my heart;
I will forget her, my sole aim be glory—
Alas! she comes, she triumphs, and I love.
| The Orphan of China | |