University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

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!

SCENE II.

Idamè, Zamti, Asseli.
Idamè.
O say, unhappy Zamti,
Is then our slavery, our woe determin'd?
Ah! what hast thou beheld?

Zamti.
The height of horrors.
Our fortune's fixt, and China is no more.
Beneath the stranger sword all falls. Ah! what avail'd
A life of virtue? Fair peace smil'd in vain;
In vain our laws gave pattern to the world;
Grey wisdom dies by brutal violence.
I saw the savage troop of northern ruffians
Making their way in blood, o'er slaughter'd heaps.
Carrying the sword and fire. In crowds they sought
The sacred mansion of our hapless Monarch.
He with majestick brow expected death,
And held within his arms his fainting Queen.
Those of their children, whose increasing valour
Began to grow with years, whose little arms
Could wield a sword, were all already fall'n.
Round them clung those, whose tender infancy
Had nought but cries and tears for their defence.
While they press'd round him, and embrac'd his knees,
I by a secret path approach'd the place,
And view'd with horror the unhappy father.
I saw those fiends, those monsters of the desart,
Lifting the murd'rous steel against our King,
And thro' the palace drag with bloody hands
The father, children, and their dying mother.
While all was fury, havock, death, and plunder,
The wretched Monarch turn'd on me his eyes,
And thus address'd me in the sacred tongue
Unknown to th'conqu'ring Tartar and the people,
O save at least from death my youngest son!
Think, if I did not swear I would preserve him,
O think, how loudly duty call'd upon me.
I felt my fainting spirits new revived;
Hither I flew. The bloody ravishers
Stopt not my passage: whether hideous joy,
Intent on plunder, turn'd their eyes aside;
Whether this badge of my most rev'rend office,
This symbol of the God that I adore,
Struck their fierce souls with awe; or Heav'n itself
Determin'd to preserve this Royal Infant,
Athwart their watchful eyes dim mists suffus'd,
Dazzled their sight, and mollified their rage.

Idamè.
Yes, we will save him. Be this royal charge
With our dear child away convey'd, and bred,
Despair not, but with haste prepare our flight:
Let Etan have the care of our depart,
And fly tow'rds Corea; to the ocean side,
Where, the sea girds this mournful universe.
The earth has desarts and wild savages.
Away then with these infants, while the foe
Invades not yet this sanctified asylum.
Come, time is precious, and complaint in vain.

Zamti.
Alas! has then the race of kings no refuge!—
The troops from Corea linger in their march.
Mean while destruction rages in our walls:
Seize we, if possible, th'auspicious moment
To place in surety this our precious charge.

SCENE III.

Zamti, Idamè, Asseli, Etan.
Zamti.
Why thus, my Etan, frighted and amazed?

Idamè.
Fly, fly this place abandon'd to the Scythian.

Etan.
You are observ'd, and flight impossible.
The pale's encircled by a cruel guard,
Forming around the frighted multitude
A dreadful fence thick-set with pikes and darts.
The Conqu'ror spoke, and slavery heard his voice:
The people, motionless with fear and horror,
Sink in despair, now murder's reeking sword
With impious rage has drank our Emp'ror's blood.

Zamti.
Is he then dead?

Idamè.
O heav'nly powers, the Emperor!

Etan.
Words cannot paint the horrors of the scene.
His bleeding wife, their children torn and mangled—
O Gods! adored on earth! how shall I speak it?
Their sufferings only mov'd the victor's scorn,
While their poor subjects, fearful to complain,
Hung down those eyes that spoke their grief too plainly.
The shameless soldiers on their coward knees
Resign'd their arms; when now the conquerors
Tir'd with the toil of murder, drunk with blood,
Instead of death pronounc'd our slavery.
Yet still new woes remain. This Gengis-Kan,
That leads this swarm from forth the Northern hive,
This tyrant, born to be the bane of China,
Here formerly abode, unknown and scorn'd.
Now all-incens'd, implacable he comes,
To glut his anger, and revenge his wrongs.
His savage nation's form'd by other laws
Than our soft people: Fields, and tents, and cars
Their wonted dwelling, ev'n the wide extent
Of this vast city would appear confinement.
No sense have they of our fair arts and laws,
But mean with barb'rous rage to overturn
These walls, so long the wonder of the world.

Idamè.
Too sure the victor comes resolv'd on vengeance.
In my obscurity I plac'd some hopes;
But Heav'n, alas! determin'd to destroy,
Has scatter'd the kind cloud that late conceal'd us.

Zamti.
Perhaps ev'n yet the Gods will save the Orphan:
Be his security our only care—
What means this Tartar here?

Idamè.
O shield me, Heav'n!

SCENE IV.

Zamti, Idamè, Asseli, Octar, and Guards.
Octar.
Hear, and obey, ye slaves; there yet remains
The last and youngest son of all your kings.
'Tis ye protect him, and your rash compassion
Preserves an enemy we would destroy.
I here command you, in the mighty name
Of the great conqueror of all mankind,
Give up this infant; see it quickly brought me.
If you delay, again within these walls
Shall havock stalk in blood, and you the first
Shall fall a sacrifice. Day flies apace;
Think, and beware; before the close of eve,
If life is precious, see that ye obey.

SCENE V.

Zamti, Idamè, Etan.
Idamè.
Where will our sorrows end, when ev'ry moment
Teems with new horrors; and produces evils,
Which, till this day of death, th'affrighted soul
Could ne'er conceive. Alas! you answer not,
But sigh in vain to Heaven, that oppresses us—
And must thou, offspring of so many Kings!
Be sacrific'd to please a ruffian soldier?

Zamti.
I've promis'd, I have sworn to save his life.

Idamè.
Ah! what can your weak help avail him now?
Your oaths, your fond endearments, or your promise?
We have not ev'n hope left.

Zamti.
O Heav'n! my Idamè,
And could'st thou then behold this child of kings
Butcher'd by Scythians?

Idamè.
No, the very thought
Makes my sad eyes run o'er; and if, alas!
Our own dear child demanded not my care,
I would say, Death! my Zamti, since our kings
Fall by the Scythian, let not us survive them!

Zamti.
Who, plung'd in misery views death with dread?
The guilty fear, the wretched wish for death;
The brave defy, and triumph in the face on't;
The wise who know that death at last must come,
Without a shock receive it.

Idamè.
Why is this?
What mean these dreadful words? upon the ground
You fix your eyes, your hair stands all an end,
Your cheek grows pale, and tears are in your eyes.
My bosom answers yours, feels all its griefs:
But what resolve you?

Zamti.
To observe my oath.
Go, wait my coming near the Royal Infant.

Idamè.
O, that my cries and prayers could protect him!

SCENE VI.

Zamti, Etan.
Etan.
Alas! my Lord, your pity can't preserve him.
His death alone can save the state from ruin,
The people's safety ask it.

Zamti.
Yes,—I see
A sacrifice most dreadful must be made.—
Attend me, Etan!—Is your country dear?—
Say, do you own that God of Heav'n and Earth
Worshipp'd by all our fathers, but unknown
To the rude Bonze, and by these Scythians scorn'd?

Etan.
Own him? he is my bosom's sole support:
I mourn my country's woes, nor hope redress
But from his power.

Zamti.
By his sacred name,
By all his power swear, thou'lt ne'er reveal
The secret purpose, which to thy performance
I now commend: swear that thou wilt accomplish
That which the laws, the int'rest of thy country,
My duty and my God by me command thee.

Etan.
I swear it; and may all our common woes
Be heap'd on me alone, if e'er betraying
Your sacred charge, or faultering in my zeal,
My tongue or hand or heart shall prove unfaithful!

Zamti.
I must delay no longer.

Etan.
How! in tears!
Alas! amid so many miseries,
Whence this new cause of grief?

Zamti.
His fate is fix'd.
The cruel order's given.

Etan.
Time grows short;
Yet sure this child, which is to you a stranger—

Zamti.
Stranger! this stranger child! my King a stranger!

Etan.
His father was indeed our King. Alas!
I know it, and I freeze with horror: speak,
What must I do?

Zamti.
My very looks are watch'd,
And all my steps observ'd; but thou'rt unnotic'd.
Thou know'st th'asylum of our sacred charge:
Avail thyself of thine obscurity,
And for a time within the monuments,
Built by our sires, conceal this Royal Infant.
Thence shall be soon conveyed to Corea's chief
This tender shoot of China's Royalty.
Save we at least from these fell murderers
This hapless child, the object of their fears.
Save we Our King, and leave the rest to me.

Etan.
Without this mournful pledge what threatens you?
Say, can you answer all the victor's rage?

Zamti.
Yes, I can satisfy it.

Etan.
You, my Lord!

Zamti.
O nature! O tyrannic duty!

Etan.
How!

Zamti.
Go, from his cradle take my only son.

Etan.
Your son!

Zamti.
Think of the King you ought to save.
Take my son—let his blood—I can no more.

Etan.
Ah! what do you command me?

Zamti.
Spare a father,
His miseries, and most of all his weakness.
Oppose not my design, but quick fulfil
The solemn vow thou'st made.

Etan.
Alas! you wrung
That rash vow from me. To what dreadful duty
Does the performance bind me? your great soul,
And generous purpose I admire with horror.
But if my friendship—

Zamti.
No, it must be so.
I am a father; and a father's grief
Hath told me more, much more than thou canst say.
I've silenc'd blood, do thou bid friendship peace.
Away.

Etan.
I must obey.

Zamti.
For pity leave me.

SCENE VII.

Zamti
solus.
I've silenc'd blood!—Ah, most unhappy father!
That voice, alas! too loudly calls upon me.
My wife and infant rend my soul with anguish:
O charm to silence, Heav'n, the voice of grief,
Nor let me know the weakness of my soul.
Man is too weak, alas! to conquer nature:
Support him, Heaven! and when his cares are vain,
His drooping virtue with thy grace sustain!