University of Virginia Library

ACT the FIRST.

Zelmira.
Thro' the wide camp 'tis awful solitude!
On ev'ry tent, which at the morning's dawn
Rung with the din of arms, deep silence sits
Adding new terrors to the dreadful scene!
My heart dies in me!—hark!—with hideous roar
The turbulent Araxes foams along,
And rolls his torrent thro' yon depth of woods!
'Tis terrible to hear!—who's there?—Zopiron!

Enter Zopiron.
Zelmira.
My lord; my husband!—help me; lend your aid!

Zopiron.
Why didst thou leave thy tent?—why thus afflict
Thy anxious breast, thou partner of my heart?
Why wilt thou thus distract thy tender nature
With groundless fears—e're yonder sun shall visit
The western sky, all will be hush'd to peace.

Zelmira.
The interval is horrid; big with woe,
With consternation, peril and dismay!
And oh! if here, while yet the fate of nations
Suspended hangs upon the doubtful sword,
If here the trembling heart thus shrink with horror,
Here in these tents, in this unpeopled camp,
Oh! think, Zopiron, in yon field of death
Where numbers soon in purple heaps shall bleed,
What feelings there must throb in ev'ry breast?
How long, ambition, wilt thou stalk the earth
And thus lay waste mankind!—

Zopiron.
This day at length
The warlike king, victorious Pharasmanes
Closes the scene of war.—The Roman bands
But ill can cope with the embattled numbers
Asia pours forth, a firm undaunted host!
A nation under arms!—and every bosom
To deeds of glory fir'd!—Iberia then—

Zelmira.
Perish Iberia!—may the sons of Rome
Pour rapid vengeance on her falling ranks,
That he, who tramples on the rights of nature,
May see his vassals over-whelm'd in ruin,
May from yon field be led in sullen chains,
To grace the triumph of imperial Rome,
And from th' assembled senate humbly learn
The dictates of humanity and justice!

Zopiron.
Thy generous zeal, thy ev'ry sentiment
Charms my delighted soul.—But thou be cautious,
And check the rising ardor that inflames thee.
The tyrant spares nor sex, nor innocence—

Zelmira.
Indignant of controul, he spurns each law,
Each holy sanction, that restrains the nations,
And forms 'twixt man and man the bond of peace.

Zopiron.
This is the tyger's den; with human gore
For ever floats the pavement; with the shrieks
Of matrons weeping o'er their slaughter'd sons,
The cries of virgins to the brutal arms
Of violation dragg'd, with ceaseless groans
Of varied misery for ever rings
The dreary region of his curs'd domain.

Zelmira.
To multiply his crimes, a beauteous captive,
Th' afflicted Ariana—she—for her,
For that fair excellence my bosom bleeds!
She, in the prime of ev'ry blooming grace,
When next the glowing hour of riot comes,
Shall fall a victim to his base desires—

Zopiron.
The bounteous gods may succour virtue still!
In this day's battle, which perhaps e're now
The charging hosts have join'd, should Roman valour
Prevail o'er Asia's numbers.—

Zelmira.
That event
Is all our hope.—And lo! on yonder rampart
Trembling with wild anxiety she stands,
Invokes each god, and bids her straining eye
Explore the distant field.—

Zopiron.
Yes, there she's fix'd
A statue of despair!—That tender bosom
Heaves with no common grief—I've mark'd her oft,
And if I read aright, some mighty cause
Of hoarded anguish, some peculiar woe
Preys on her mind unseen!—But, ha! behold,
She faints;—her fears too pow'rful for her frame
Sink that frail beauty drooping to the earth.

[Exit hastily.
Zelmira.
Haste, fly, Zopiron, fly with instant succour;
Support her; help her;—Lo! th' attendant train
Have caught her in their arms!—assist her heav'n,
Assuage the sorrows of that gentle spirit!
Her flutt'ring sense returns;—and now this way
The virgins lead her.—May the avenging gods!
In pity of the woes such virtue feels,
In pity of the wrongs a world endures,
With pow'r resistless arm the Roman legions,
That they may hurl in one collected blowed
Assur'd destruction on the tyrant's head!—

Enter Zenobia, leaning on two attendants.
Zenobia.
A little onward, still a little onward
Support my steps—

Zelmira.
How fares it, madam, now?

Zenobia.
My strength returns—I thank ye, gen'rous maids,
And would I could requite you—fruitless thanks
Are all a wretch can give.—

First attendant.
The gentle office
Of mild benevolence our nature prompts—
Your merit too commands:—on Ariana
We tend with willing, with delighted care,
And that delight o'er pays us for our trouble.

Zenobia.
Your cares for me denote a heart that feels
For others woes.—Methinks with strength renew'd
I could adventure forth again.—

Second attendant.
'Twere best
Repose your wearied spirits—we will seek
Yon rising ground, and bring the swiftest tidings
Of all the mingled tumult.

Zenobia.
Go, my virgins;
Watch well each movement of the marshall'd field;
Each turn of fortune;—let me know it all;—
Each varying circumstance.—

Zenobia, Zelmira.
Zelmira.
And will you thus,
Be doom'd for ever, Ariana, thus
A willing prey to visionary ills,
The self-consuming votarist of care?

Zenobia.
Alas! I'm doom'd to weep—the wrath of heav'n
With inexhausted vengeance follows still,
And each day comes with aggravated woes.

Zelmira.
Yet when Iberia's king, when Pharasmanes,
With all a lover's fondness—

Zenobia.
Name him not!
Name not a monster horrible with blood,
The widows, orphans, and the virgin's tears!

Zelmira.
Yet savage as he is, at sight of thee
Each fiercer passion softens into love.
To you he bends; the monarch of the east
Dejected droops beneath your cold disdain,
And all the tyranny of female pride.

Zenobia.
That pride is virtue;—virtue that abhors
The tyrant reeking from a brother's murder!
Oh! Mithridates! ever honour'd shade!
—Peaceful he reign'd, dispensing good around him,
In the mild eve of honourable days!—
Thro' all her peopled realm Armenia felt
His equal sway;—the sunset of his pow'r
With fainter beams, but undiminish'd glory,
Still shone serene, while ev'ry conscious subject
With tears of praise beheld his calm decline,
And bless'd the parting ray!—yet then, Zelmira,
Oh! fact accurs'd!—yes Pharasmanes then,
Detested perfidy!—nor ties of blood,
Nor sacred laws, nor the just gods restrain him;—
In the dead midnight hour the fell assassin
Rush'd on the slumber of the virtuous man;—
His life blood gush'd;—the venerable king
Wak'd, saw a brother arm'd against his life,
—Forgave him and expir'd!

Zelmira.
Yet wherefore open
Afresh the wounds, which time long since hath clos'd?
—This Day confirms his sceptre in his hand.

Zenobia.
Confirms his sceptre—his!—indignant gods,
Will no red vengeance from your stores of wrath
Burst down to crush the tyrant in his guilt?
His sceptre, saidst thou?—urge that word no more—
The sceptre of his son!—the solemn right
Of Rhadamistus!—Mithridates' choice,
That call'd him to his daughter's nuptial bed,
Approv'd him lineal heir;—consenting nobles,
The public will, the sanction of the laws,
All ratified his claim;—yet curs'd ambition,
Deaf to a nation's voice, a nation's charter,
Nor satisfied to fill Iberia's throne,
Made war, unnatural war, against a son,
Usurp'd his crown, and with remorseless rage
Pursued his life.

Zelmira.
Can Ariana plead
For such a son?—means she to varnish o'er
The guilt of Rhadamistus?

Zenobia.
Guilt, Zelmira!

Zelmira.
Guilt that shoots horror thro' my aching heart!—
Poor lost Zenobia!

Zenobia.
And do her misfortunes
Awaken tender pity in your breast?

Zelmira.
Ill-fated princess! in her vernal bloom
By a false husband murder'd!—from the stem
A Rose-bud torn, and in some desert cave
Thrown by to moulder into silent dust!—

Zenobia.
You knew not Rhadamistus—Pharasmanes
Knew not the early virtues of his son.
As yet an infant, in his tend'rest years
His father sent him to Armenia's court,
That Mithridates' care might form his mind
To arts, to wisdom, and to manners worthy
Armenia's sceptre, and Zenobia's love.
The world delighted saw each dawning virtue,
Each nameless grace to full perfection rising!—
Oh! he was all the fondest maid could wish,
All truth, all honour, tenderness and love!
Yet from his empire thrown! with merciless fury
His father following,—slaughter raging round,
What could the hero in that dire extreme?

Zelmira.
Those strong impassion'd looks!—some fatal secret
Works in her heart, and melts her into tears.

[Aside.
Zenobia.
Driv'n to the margin of Araxes' flood,—
No means of flight,—aghast he look'd around,—
Wild throbb'd his bosom with conflicting passions,—
And must I then?—tears gush'd and choak'd his voice,—
—And must I leave thee then Zenobia?—must
Thy beauteous form—he paus'd, then aim'd a poniard
At his great heart—but oh! I rush'd upon him,
And with these arms close-wreathing round his neck,
With all the vehemence of pray'rs and shrieks,
Implor'd the only boon he then could grant
To perish with him in a fond embrace.—
The foe drew near—time press'd,—no way was left—
He clasp'd me to his heart—together both,
Lock'd in the folds of love, we plung'd at once,
And saught a requiem in the roaring flood.

Zelmira.
—This wondrous tale—this sudden burst of passion—

Zenobia.
Ha!—whither has my frenzy led me?—hark!—
That sound of triumph!—lost, for ever lost!
Ruin'd Armenia—oh! devoted race!

A flourish of trumpets.
Enter Tigranes, Soldiers, and some Prisoners.
Zenobia.
Thy looks, Tigranes, indicate thy purpose!
The armies met, and Pharasmanes conquer'd;
Is it not so?

Tigranes.
As yet with pent up fury
The soldier pants to let destruction loose.
With eager speed we urg'd our rapid march,
To where the Romans tented in the vale
With cold delay protract the ling'ring war.
At our approach their scanty numbers form
Their feeble lines, the future prey of vengeance.

Zenobia.
And wherefore, when thy sword demands its share
Of havock in that scene of blood and horror,
Wherefore return'st thou to this lonely camp?

Tigranes.
With cautious eye as I explor'd the forest,
Which rises thick near yonder ridge of mountains,
And stretches o'er th' interminable plain,
I saw these captives in the gloomy wood
Seeking with silent march the Roman camp.
Impal'd alive 'tis Pharasmanes' will
They suffer death in misery of torment.

Zenobia.
Unhappy men!—and must they—ha!—that face,
That aged mien!—that venerable form!—
Immortal pow'rs!—is it my more than father?—
—Is that Megistus?—

Megistus.
Ariana here!
Gods! could I ever hope to see her more?
Thou virtuous maid!—thou darling of my age!—

Zenobia.
It is—it is Megistus!—once again
Thus let me fall and clasp his rev'rend knee,
Print the warm kiss of gratitude and love
Upon this trembling hand, and pour the tears,
The mingled tears of wonder and of joy.—

Megistus.
Rise, Ariana, rise—allmighty gods!
The tide of joy and transport pours too fast
Along these wither'd veins—it is too much
For a poor weak old man, worn out with grief
And palsied age,—it is too much to bear!
Oh! Ariana,—daughter of affliction,
Have I then found thee?—do I thus behold thee!—
Now I can die content!—

Zenobia.
Thou best of men!
These joys our tears and looks can only speak.—

Megistus.
Yet they are cruel joys—mysterious heav'n!
You bid the storm o'ercast our darksome ways;
You gild the cloud with gleams of cheering light;
Then comes a breath from you, and all is vanish'd!

Zenobia.
Wherefore dejected thus—

Megistus.
Alas! to meet thee
But for a moment, and then part for ever!
To meet thee here, only to grieve thee more,
To add to thy afflictions,—wound that bosom
Where mild affection,—where each virtue dwells,
Just to behold thee, and then close my eyes
In endless night, while you survey my pangs
In the approaching agony of torment—

Zenobia.
Talk not of agony;—'tis rapture all!
And who has pow'r to tear thee from my heart?

Megistus.
Alas! the charge of vile imputed guilt—

Zenobia.
I know thy truth, thy pure exalted mind—
Thy sense of noble deeds—imputed guilt—
Oh! none will dare—hast thou Tigranes?—what,
What is his crime?—blush, foul traducer, blush!—
Oh! (to Megistus)
the wide world must own thy ev'ry virtue.—

Tigranes.
If in the conscious forest I beheld
Their dark complottings—

Zenobia.
Peace, vile sland'rer, peace!—
Thou know'st who captivates a monarch's heart—
'Tis I protect him—Ariana does it!—
Thou, venerable man! in my pavillion
I'll lodge thee safe from danger—oh! this joy,
This best supreme delight the gods have sent,
In pity for whole years of countless woe.

[Exit with Megistus.
Zelmira, Tigranes.
Tigranes.
With what wild fury her conflicting passions
Rise to a storm, a tempest of the soul!
I know the latent cause—her heart revolts,
And leagues in secret with the Roman arms.

Zelmira.
Beware Tigranes!—that excess of joy,
Those quick, those varied passions strongly speak
The stranger has an int'rest in her heart.
Besides, thou know'st o'er Pharasmanes' will
She holds supreme dominion—

Tigranes.
True, she rules him
With boundless sway—

Zelmira.
Nay, more to wake thy fears—
The youthful prince, the valiant Teribazus
In secret sighs, and feels the ray of beauty
Through ev'ry sense soft-thrilling to his heart.
He too becomes thy foe.—

Tigranes.
Unguarded man!
Whate'er he loves or hates, with gen'rous warmth,
As nature prompts, that dares he to avow,
And lets each passion stand confess'd to view;
Such too is Ariana;—bold and open
She kindly gives instructions to her foe,
To marr her best designs.—

Zelmira.
Her foe, Tigranes!
That lovely form inshrines the gentlest virtues,
Softest compassion, unaffected wisdom,
To outward beauty lending higher charms
Adorning and adorn'd!—The gen'rous prince,—
He too—full well thou know'st him—he unites
In the heroic mould of manly firmness,
Each mild attractive art—oh! surely none
Envy the fair renown that's earn'd by virtue.

Tigranes.
None should Zelmira!—ha! those warlike notes!

Enter Teribazus.
Teribazus.
Each weary soldier rest upon his arms,
And wait the king's return—Zelmira say,
In these dark moments of impending horror,
How fares thy beauteous friend?—her tender spirit
But ill supports the fierce alarms of war.

Enter Zenobia.
Zenobia.
Where is he?—let me fly—oh! Pharasmanes—
Methought those sounds bespoke the king's approach—
Oh! Teribazus, tell me—have the fates—
This horrible suspense—

Teribazus.
I came, bright maid,
To hush the wild emotions of thy heart.
Devouring slaughter for a while suspends
It's ruthless rage;—as either host advanc'd
In dread array, and from the burnish'd arms
Of Asia's ranks redoubled sunbeams play'd
Burning with bright diversities of day,
Came forth an herald from the Roman camp
With proferr'd terms—my father deign'd for once
To yield to mild persuasion—in his tent
Th' ambassador of Rome will soon attend him
To sheathe the sword, and give the nations peace.

Zenobia.
But oh! no peace for me, misfortune's heir!
The wretched heir of misery!—But now
A more then father found,—yet cruel men
Would tear him from me—gen'rous, gen'rous prince,
Spare an old man, whose head is white with age,
Nor let 'em wound me with the sharpest pang
That ever tortur'd a poor bleeding heart.

Teribazus.
Arise my fair;—let not a storm of grief
Thus bend to earth my Ariana's beauties;
Soon shall they all revive—

Zenobia.
They brought him fetter'd,
Bound like a murderer!—Tigranes,—he,—
This is the author of the horrid charge—
He threatens instant death—but oh! protect,
Protect an innocent, a good old man,—
Or stretch me with him on the mournful bier.

Teribazus.
By heav'n, whoe'er he is, since dear to you,
He shall not suffer—quick, direct me to him—
My guards shall safe inclose him.

Zenobia.
In my pavillion
He waits his doom—

Teribazus.
Myself will bear the tidings
Of life, of joy, and liberty restor'd.—
And thou artificer of ill, thou false,
Thou vile defamer!—leave thy treach'rous arts,
Nor dare accuse whom Ariana loves.

Zenobia, Zelmira.
Zenobia.
Zelmira,—this is happiness supreme!
Oh! to have met with unexampl'd goodness
To owe my all, my very life itself,
To an unknown but hospitable hand,
And thus enabled by the bounteous gods,
To pay the vast, vast debt—'tis ecstacy
That swells above all bounds, till the fond heart
Ache with delight, and thus run o'er in tears.

Zelmira.
What must Zelmira think?—at first your tongue
Grew lavish in the praise of Rhadamistus,
With hints obscure touching your high descent;—
And now this hoary sage—is he your father?
My mind is lost in wonder and in doubt.—

Zenobia.
Then to dispel thy doubts, and tell at once
What deep reserve has hid within my heart,
—I am Zenobia—I that ill-starr'd wretch!
The daughter of a scepter'd ancestry,
And now the slave of Mithridates' brother!

Zelmira.
Long lost Zenobia, and restor'd at length!
I am your subject; oh! my queen! my sov'reign!

Zenobia.
Thou gen'rous friend! rise, my Zelmira, rise.
—That good old man!—oh! it was he beheld me
Borne far away from Rhadamistus' arms,
Just perishing, just lost!—
He dash'd into the flood, redeem'd me thence,
And brought me back to life.—My op'ning eyes
Just saw the light, and clos'd again to shun it.
Each vital pow'r was sunk, but he, well skill'd
In potent herbs, recall'd my flutt'ring soul.

Zelmira.
May the propitious gods reward his care.

Zenobia.
With me he sav'd a dear, a precious boy,
Then in the womb conceal'd;—he sav'd my child
To trace his father's lov'd resemblance to me,
The dear, dear offspring of our bridal loves.

Zelmira.
Oh! blessings on him, blessings on his head!—

Zenobia.
Resign'd and patient I since dwelt with him—
Far in the mazes of a winding wood,
Midst hoary mountains, and deep cavern'd rocks.
But oh! the fond idea of my lord
Pursued me still, or in the cavern'd rock,
The mountain's brow, and pendent forest's gloom.
The sun look'd joyless down;—each lonely night
Heard my griefs ecchoing thro' the woodland shade.
—My infant Rhadamistus!—he is lost,
He too is wrested from me!—'midst the rage
And the wide waste of war, the hell-hound troops
Of Pharasmanes sought my lone retreat,
And from the violated shades, from all
My soul held dear, the barb'rous ruffians tore me,
And never shall the wretched mother see
Her child again!—

Zelmira.
Heav'n may restore him still,—
May still restore your royal husband too—
Who knows but some protecting god—

Zenobia.
No god!
No guardian pow'r was present!—he is lost!—
Oh! Rhadamistus!—oh! my honour'd lord!
No pitying eye beheld thy decent form;—
The rolling flood devour'd thee!—thou hast found
A watry grave, and the last dismal accents
That trembled on thy tongue, came bubbling up,
And murmur'd lost Zenobia!

Zelmira.
Yet be calm.—
The gods may bring redress—even now they give
To misery like thine, the heartfelt joy
Of shielding injured virtue.

Zenobia.
Yes, Zelmira,
That pure delight is mine, a ray from heav'n
That bids affliction smile—All gracious pow'rs!
Make me your agent here to save Megistus,
I'll bear the load of life,—bear all its ills
Till you shall bid this sad world-weary spirit
To peaceful regions wing her happy flight,
And seek my lord in the dark realms of night;
Seek his dear shade in ev'ry pensive grove,
And bear him all my constancy and love.