University of Virginia Library

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!

Astyages.
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,
My crown shall now descend—my dearest son,
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.

Mandane.
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!