 | Cyrus |  |
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ACT V.
SCENE, another part of the Wood.Mandane
alone.
Where am I wandering! this way leads—but whither?
Hold, hold, my brain!—down, down, my busy thoughts,
All recollection's madness—there a train
Of horrid images crowd thick upon me!
Yon bubbling fountain streams with blood—I tread
On mangled limbs—what noise was that—a groan!
Enter Mithranes.
Mithranes.
Wearied with fruitless search, methought but now,
I heard the sound of wild distress—Mandane!
Mandane.
Ha! what art thou?
[wildly.
Mithranes.
O! tell me where is Cyrus?
Does he yet live?
Mandane.
Who dares to speak of Cyrus?
[raving.
Is't thou—take heed—we are observ'd—look there!
See were he comes, all pale and bleeding! ha!
Why do'st thou turn those piteous eyes upon me!
Come, come, my son—nay, pry'thee do not shun me!
Thy mother will no more betray thee—
Mithranes.
Break,
Break my too stubborn heart—have comfort.
Mandane.
Comfort!
Curs'd be the tongue that speaks again of comfort.
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Let my remembrance perish, lest for me
Each son should execrate a mother's name.
Mithranes.
What shall I say to sooth her? speak, Mandane,
'Tis your Mithranes, your old faithful—
Mandane.
Ha!
I know thee now—thou'rt heav'n's vicegerent, sent
To judge, and to condemn me—
Thou strict inquisitor of crimes, before
Whose great tribunal—see yon dreadful witness!
At length 'tis done—and I am sentenc'd!—Oh!—
Where have I been?—Mithranes!—
[Recovers.
Mithranes.
How fares Mandane?
Mandane.
Harpagus has curs'd me
With all the horrid truth—and now he's gone
To save my son, but O! I fear too late!
Mithranes.
Then yet there's hope—
Mandane.
Haste to Astarte's fountain,
There death displays his terrors!—
Mandane alone.
Pitying gods!
[Kneels.
In this short interval of sense, O! hear
A mother's anguish; save him, save my child;
Strike from his breast the lifted steel, nor curse
With a son's blood, a father's erring hand!
[Rises.
And now methinks some gentle spirit whispers,
Mandane, yet have hope—eternal justice
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And I shall once again embrace—but hark!
What hasty steps!—ha! 'tis Cambyses! horror!
'Tis done, 'tis done—
[swoons.
Enter Cambyses, his sword drawn, and bloody.
Cambyses.
My soul! Mandane! speak—she hears me not,
Senseless and cold—but see, life gently breathes
Thro' her pale icy lips—direct me, heaven,
How to recall her wandering spirits home.
Enter Cyrus.
'Tis she, O! let me gently steal upon her,
Nor give her tender soul too soon the alarm!
Cambyses.
Gods! is not that the murderer of my son?
[turning.
Cyrus.
My mother pale and breathless!
[advancing.
Cambyses.
Pass no further.
Art thou not call'd Alcæus? speak.
Cyrus.
I am,
Cambyses.
My wife!
Look up, behold your wish'd revenge compleated
By your Cambyses' hand.
[attacks Cyrus.
Cyrus.
Yet stay—O! heavens!
Tell me—art thou Cambyses?
Cambyses.
Yes, thou wretch!
I am Cambyses—die—
Cyrus.
My dearest father!
Defer your rage—first know me for your son,
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But bare my breast to meet the blow.
[kneels.
Mandane.
Where am I!
Ha! is it possible! what means that form!
[raising herself.
Cambyses.
And shall I listen to his soothing tale
All false as hell—no—perish.
[attacks Cyrus.
Mandane.
Hold, Cambyses!
[interposing.
Thou kill'st thy son!
Cambyses.
Ha! kill my son!
[drops his sword.
Mandane.
My child!
[embracing Cyrus.
And do I clasp thee thus! it is too much.
Cyrus.
And do I now embrace a mother's knees?
And does she own me too?
Cambyses.
Amazement!—speak,
Mandane, do I dream? Can this be Cyrus?
Mandane.
O! yes—it is my Cyrus—gracious heav'n
That snatch'd him from a father's rage!
Cyrus.
My father!
[kneels.
Cambyses.
Rise to my arms, my son! [embrace]
how is my soul
Perplex'd amidst these strange events—Mithranes—
Mandane.
Mithranes still is true—but say what blood
Distain'd thy sword? didst thou not wait but now
With dreadful purpose?
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No—ere I had reach'd
The appointed place, Mirza by chance assail'd me
With a few scatter'd guards; I wounded some,
Then under favour of the sheltering wood
Escap'd from their pursuit; and hence the blood
That wak'd thy terrors.
Cyrus.
At the sacred fount,
I waited long, till Harpagus appear'd,
Disclos'd a wonderous tale, and bade me fly
To ease a mother's anguish.
Enter Mithranes.
Mandane.
O! Mithranes,
What blest events!
Mithranes.
The time admits not, princess,
Of long congratulations—Harpagus
Has told me all; the hour of sacrifice
Is now at hand; my prince, retire awhile;
Thou too, Cambyses, for this way the king
Goes to the temple.
Mandane.
Must we part so soon?
Cyrus.
But for a time—farewell—lead, good Mithranes.
[Exeunt Cyrus and Mithranes.
Enter Astyages and Mirza behind.
Mandane.
And wilt thou leave me too?
Cambyses.
Mourn not, my love,
When next we meet, we meet in happier hour,
To part no more.
Astyages.
Mirza, 'tis true—but hold,
Let us observe awhile.
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Yes, my Mandane,
Since Cyrus lives—
Astyages.
What do I hear?
[aside.
Cambyses.
His fortune
Shall be our constant theme.—Heav'n that preserv'd,
Has surely form'd him for a life of glory:
But I must hence, farewell.
[going.
Astyages.
Cambyses, stay.
[coming forward.
Mandane.
O heav'ns, the king!
Astyages.
Let not my presence check
Your rising joys, I came to share them with you;
Disclose the wonderous truth: what pious care
Bred up his youth? where is he now conceal'd?
Not speak—Mandane—does my daughter too
Refuse this satisfaction to a parent?
Since then the father mildly pleads in vain,
The king shall force obedience—seize Cambyses—
[Guards enter and seize him.
Enter Harpagus.
Harpagus.
Astyages,
[in haste.
Thou art betray'd—haste—stop the kindling tumult,
Thy presence only can prevent.—
Astyages.
What mean'st thou?
Whence this new alarm?
Harpagus.
The rumour spreads
That Cyrus lives, that now he's at the temple,
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Allegiance to him, while the madding crowds,
With general voice exclaim, “Cyrus is king!”
“Cyrus still lives, Astyages shall die.”
Astyages.
Perfidious slaves!—is this the secret then
Your breasts conceal'd?
[To Cambyses and Mandane.
But henceforth I'll forget
All ties of blood, both perish by this hand,
The victims of my just resentment.
[Draws.
Harpagus.
Hold,
My king—if it be true that Cyrus lives,
Preserve his parents still, as hostages
That may secure his faith.
Astyages.
Thou counsell'st well;
Remove them hence: Mirza, the charge be thine
To guard them in my tent; come, Harpagus,
And let us prove the worst; but if we fall,
We will not fall alone.
Harpagus.
Assist me now,
[Aside.
Ye demons of revenge; nerve this good arm,
And, tyrant, if thou canst, escape my toils.
[Exeunt Astyages and Harpagus on one side, and Cambyses and Mandane on the other, guarded.
SCENE. The Grove before the Dwelling of Mithranes.
Cyrus
alone.
Yet, yet a little, and thy fortune, Cyrus,
Shall break upon the light; perhaps this instant
Verges on the discovery—teach me, heaven!
To bear this burst of dignity—but now
A simple inmate of these woods; and now
The heir of Media's empire! humble merit
Suffic'd Alcæus—narrow bounds prescrib'd
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Expands to nobler views; a prince's virtues
Are not confin'd to private life, but grasp
The happiness of millions.
Enter Aspasia.
Aspasia.
Haste, Alcæus,
Haste, and partake the general transport! Cyrus
Yet lives, again he's found, the wretch who fell
By thee, usurp'd his title.
Cyrus.
Fair Aspasia,
How know'st thou this?
Aspasia.
There is no room for doubt:
These plains re-echo nothing now but Cyrus.
[shout.
Hark! how applauding shouts proclaim their rapture!
Some scatter flowers, or round their temples bind
The festive wreaths, with tears of gratitude
Some pay their thanks to heaven: from rural toil
This drags his fellow; in the unfinish'd furrow
Here rests the share; there roves, without their shepherd,
The flock forsaken: mothers wild with joy,
Teach their young sons to lisp the name of Cyrus;
Even age forgets its feeble state; and children,
Taught by example, tho' they know not why,
With infant prattle join the common voice.
Enter Mithranes and Guards.
Mithranes.
Let us to the temple,
My prince, these guards by Harpagus are sent
For your defence—come then, and with your presence,
Ease your impatient friends.
Cyrus.
Is then my fate
Already publish'd?
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All is now proclaim'd,
And Harpagus has, by undoubted proofs,
Reveal'd your birth.
Cyrus.
Didst thou not wish, Aspasia,
To gaze on Cyrus? now thou may'st behold him,
I am that Cyrus.
Aspasia.
Ha!
Cyrus.
Why droops Aspasia?
Dost thou not joy in my success, or does
The heart that trembled for Alcæus' danger,
Repine at Cyrus' fortune?
Aspasia.
Pardon, sir,
A simple maid, nor wonder that the blush
Overspreads my cheek, when I reflect, for me
My sovereign's life expos'd.—
Cyrus.
Rise, fair Aspasia,
And know the daughter of my Harpagus,
In her defence may justly claim that life
Her father's truth preserv'd.
Enter Messenger.
Mithranes.
Dispatch, my son—
But who comes here? whence art thou?
Messenger.
From the temple,
Where all is tumult and dismay; the king,
Encompass'd by a rebel band, is threaten'd
With speedy death—
Cyrus.
Swift let us fly to save him:
Whate'er the errors of Astyages,
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And nature shudders at a parent's danger—
Away, my friends! farewell, farewell, Aspasia!
Aspasia
alone.
Alcæus—Cyrus!—O! that fatal thought,
My father too—did I not hear ev'n now,
Of tumult and revolt—amidst the waste
Of rebels rage, where death wings ev'ry shaft,
Who knows what perils may surround his life?
Then let me fly, and intercept with mine,
The point that threats the breast of Harpagus!
Or shall he fall? which all ye pow'rs avert,
At least partake his fate, and die beside him!
[Exeunt Cyrus, Mithranes, and guards.
SCENE, outside view of a magnificent temple.
Clashing of swords; Astyages his sword drawn; Harpagus enters.
Astyages.
O! perjur'd traitors! where is now the faith,
You vow'd your king? do all forsake my cause?
No some shall yet be found—what, Harpagus,
Thou com'st in time to give thy sovereign aid,
Thy loyal sword—
Harpagus.
Tyrant, thou art deceiv'd,
Know, 'tis by me thou fall'st.
Astyages.
By thee?—confusion!
Is this thy faith?
Harpagus.
What faith was due from him,
Whose son thy fury murder'd? long, too long
A father's breast has borne the smother'd anguish;
At length it bursts to vengeance; and this hour
Exacts full retribution—blood for blood!
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Dissembling traitor!
Harpagus.
'Tis not now a time
To waste in vain debate—this to thy heart,
This for my poor Arsaces!
[fight.
Cyrus.
Hold, my people!
[within.
What rage transports you? 'tis your Cyrus calls,
Save, save the king—where is Astyages?
Enter Cyrus, his sword drawn, attended.
Cyrus.
'Tis then too late—turn villain—
[Goes to kill Harpagus, who turns to him,
Harpagus!—
What hast thou done!—
O! thou hast stain'd my infancy of glory,
And late posterity will brand the name
Of Cyrus, that to ascend the Median throne,
He waded thro' that sacred blood—my king!
Lift up your eyes, behold your Cyrus here.
Astyages.
Say, what art thou?—O! I have wander'd long
In darkness, now methinks the scene is drawn;
And death, that great remembrancer, calls forth
A thousand black ideas—who art thou?
Cyrus.
Your Cyrus, Mandane's Cyrus.
Astyages.
Art thou
Indeed my Cyrus? art thou he whose life
My cruelty pursu'd?—but heaven is just;
Astyages shall be no longer fear'd—
Cyrus to thee, as to Mandane's offspring,
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Be warn'd by me—still venerate the gods,
And with thy glory veil the shame of—oh!
[dies.
Cyrus.
There fled the royal spirit.—
Harpagus.
Forgive me, prince, howe'er resentment urg'd
This hand against Astyages, my faith
To thee has been unshaken—witness heaven,
I die, and die with joy; since I behold
Cyrus restor'd to Media.
[sinks.
Cyrus.
Ha! thou faint'st!
Harpagus.
Yes, generous youth!—thou need'st not seek revenge
For what this arm has done—ere I had reach'd
Astyages, his weapon pierc'd my breast,
And mark'd me for the shades—this deed of death
Was mine alone—to none my soul imparted
Her preconceiv'd revenge; then with me die
Remembrance of it—yet there's something more—
I have a daughter—O! I faint!—if aught
I may implore of Cyrus, let her find
Protection—oh!
[dies.
Cyrus.
Thou most unhappy man!
Why was thy life thus clos'd, that Cyrus scarce
Without a crime can pay the grateful sorrows
Thy merit claims—
Enter Cambyses, Mandane, and Mithranes.
Mandane.
Alas! alas! my father!
[runt to Astyages, and kneels by him.
Cyrus.
Cambyses and Mandane here!
Cambyses.
Amidst
The rising tumult now, a chosen troop
Of friends assail'd the royal tent, when Mirza
Was slain, and we were freed.
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Then he is gone—
His faults sink with him to the grave—farewell,
Farewell for ever—my remembrance now
Looks back but on those happy years, when all
A father's fondness watch'd his darling child—
These tributary tears—
Cambyses.
Awake, Mandane,
To better scenes—the tempest that so long
Has blacken'd round us, shall be now dispell'd,
And days of peace succeed.
Mithranes.
See where Aspasia,
[looking out.
Frantic with grief, breaks thro' the pitying crowd,
And seeks for Harpagus.
Cyrus.
Unhappy fair-one,
Look to the lovely mourner—thou, Mandane,
Wilt sooth her orphan sorrows.—
Cambyses.
Droop not, son,
But rouze the latent hero; think from thee
What fate exacts; on thee what nations turn
Their long-desiring eyes.—
Cyrus.
Alas, my father!
How shall I run this arduous race of glory?
Be present thou, and with maturer counsels
Support my erring youth: thou too, Mithranes,
Still guard that virtue which thy fostering care
First taught to bloom in life's sequester'd vale;
O! may it now thro' Asia's realms extend
The blessings of my sway, that every age
May learn to venerate the name of Cyrus!
| Cyrus | |