University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

The Laurel Grove.
Phorbas and Lycea.
Lycea.
O Earth! O Heaven! O wretched, wretched Athens!

Phorbas.
Speak on, Lycea; wherefore art thou silent?
Why do'st thou lead me to this secret Shade?
What mean thy flowing Tears?

Lycea.
The Queen, the Queen!

Phorbas.
Say, what of her?

Lycea.
I know not, all to me
Is Terror and Confusion.

Phorbas.
What thou know'st
Relate.

Lycea.
She sent me forth to seek thee, Phorbas;
I found thee not, but met at my Return
Creusa's self. Despair was in her Eyes,
With hasty Steps she shot impatient by me,
Nor listen'd when I spake. I follow'd wond'ring,
And enter'd the Pavilion.

Phorbas.
The Pavilion?
Why, went she to the Banquet?

Lycea.
Eager went,
Despair and Anguish mixing on her Look.
But, O good Heaven, how chang'd was that Despair
To inexpressive Joy, when from the Croud
She learnt Ilyssus had delay'd the Feast,
And won the King once more to ask her Presence,
“Where is he? let me clasp him to my Breast,”
She cried; “I now no longer will resist
“Heaven's high command.” Imperial Xuthus rose
With Transport to receive her, and loud Shouts
Proclaim'd the People's Joy. When, Death to Sight!
Eternal Pain to Memory! the Slave
Presents the Goblets; Fill, she cried, a third,
I too will hail Ilyssus King of Athens.
But first all swear, swear by immortal Jove,
By the far-darting God who here presides,
And the chaste Guardian of our native Fanes,
Swear here, swear all, and binding be the Oath,
Ilyssus only shall be Athens' King.

Phorbas.
What could she mean?

Lycea.
Attentive Xuthus caught
With Joy the happy Omen, and all swore
Ilyssus only should be Athens' King.
This done, I saw her from Ilyssus' Hand
Snatch the dire Goblet, and to him resign
Her own untouch'd. The Slave who mix'd the Draught
Turn'd pale and trembled, I with eager Zeal
Press'd forward, but in vain; she firmly grasp'd
The Bowl, and smiling drank it to the Dregs.

Phorbas.
The Poison, ha?—I knew her foolish Fondness
Would start at Murder's Name. But wherefore die?
Why turn upon herself her impious Rage?
'Twas Madness all; or else some new Contrivance,
Some fresh Æolian Fraud.—I care not what.
I yet will blast their Schemes.—Yes, let her die,
By her own Folly perish. Athens still
Survives, and shall survive.—I must be sudden.
She doubtless will betray me to the King,
And cut off ev'n this last Resource. Lycea,
Be secret, and thy Country shall be free.

Lycea.
Were it not better, Phorbas, first to see her.
Perhaps some Secret unreveal'd may lurk
Beneath this Show of unexampled Rashness.
She left the Banquet soon, and with the Pythia
Enter'd the Temple.

Phorbas.
With the Pythia, say'st thou?
Then there is Mischief toward.

Lycea.
Yet now alone
We may surprize her, for I saw the Maid,
Quick from the Fane return with hasty Steps
As if dispatch'd on some important Message,
Perhaps to find thee out. Sure thou should'st see her.

Phorbas.
And perish, ha?—No, no, my sacred Country,
Too much already have I been deceiv'd;
I will not leave thee in a Woman's Power.
—Yet hold, Lycea may inform her of them
And my Designs prove yet abortive. Maid,
Thy Presence may be needful.

Lycea.
Mine? Good Heaven,
In what? Creusa will require my Aid;
At least my Tears are due to my poor Queen
In her last Moments.

Phorbas.
Stay, she wants them not;
I know the Poison's Force too well, Lycea,
To fear a Death so sudden. This Way, Maid;
Nay, thou must go; I shall have Business for thee,
Some secret Message to the Queen, Lycea,
Which thou alone can'st bear.

[Exeunt.
Enter Pythia and Nicander.
Pythia.
'Twas he, I saw him and Lycea with him.
Sure he should be inform'd?—Thou hear'st me not.

Nicander.
This Action of the Queen sits near my Heart.

Pythia.
She bade me tell thee.—But why waste we Time,
Thou now may'st enter at the Postern Gate
Unseen by all.

Nicander.
Why did'st thou not rush in, and stop the Feast?
Thy speedy Presence there had sav'd us all.

Pythia.
What could I do? The Queen was there already
And all seem'd Peace and Joy; could I suspect
That Poison lurk'd beneath so fair a seeming?

Nicander.
She breaks thro' my Designs.—Unhappy Woman!
My Soul bleeds for her, and Confusion hangs
On every rising Thought.—The dear, dear Boy!—
Where is he, at the Banquet still?

Pythia.
He is.

Nicander.
And where Creusa?

Pythia.
I already told thee,
But thou regard'st not, in the Temple's Gloom
Retir'd she sits, expecting thy Approach.
We there may settle all.

Nicander.
I fear her much.
Thou seest her Passions are too near concern'd
To be of use to us; thy cooler Sense
Must here direct us. Does the Poison's Power
Affect her yet?

Pythia.
Not yet; I would have tried
Some powerful Antidote to quell its Force;
But she refuses Life, and only begs
To see her Son and thee.

Nicander.
I will attend
Upon the Instant. But first hear me, Pythia;
Thou seest on what a Precipice we stand,
It were in vain to hope we could conceal
The Truth from Xuthus, from the rest we may;
'Tis thy task therefore—

Pythias.
What? to own the Fraud,
And publish to the King that Delphi's Shrine
Is not oracular. Ha!

Nicander.
To the King
'Twere better sure to publish the Deceit
Than to the World; and where's the Means but this
To hide it? By Creusa's Art thou say'st
He is already bound in solemn Oaths
To leave Ilyssus Heir to Athens' Throne.
Can'st thou not add still stronger Oaths, or ere
Thou do'st reveal the Secret of our Fate?
Then who shall dare to break them? shall the King?
Thou know'st his scrup'lous Piety extends
Almost to Weakness. What should tempt him to it?
Creusa dead can frame no Schemes against him;
The Boy to him alone must owe his Greatness;
And for Nicander, never more shall Greece
Hear his forgotten Name.

Pythia.
It must be so;
And yet—

Nicander.
What yet? to Phorbas thou with ease
May'st own the Truth; he will not start at Fraud
In sacred things.—But see, the Queen approaches
Impatient of our Stay. She changes not!
The Bloom of Health is still upon her Cheek!
Fain would I hope—But Hopes, alas, are vain.—
What hast thou done, Creusa?

Creusa
entering.
Sav'd Ilyssus!

Nicander.
Thou might'st have liv'd with Honor.

Creusa.

Nicander.
Would thou had'st been less kind!—But, O my Queen,
To blame thee now were vain.—

Creusa.
To blame? 'tis Praise,
'Tis Triumph I demand. He lives! he reigns!
Young Ion lives! young Ion reigns in Athens!
O bring him, Pythia, bring him to my Arms;
Let me but pour a last sad Blessing o'er him,
And Death has lost its Terrors.
How now, Lycea?

Enter Lycea hastily.
Lycea.
Mighty Queen, I know not
If thy Command would authorize th'Attempt,
But Phorbas with an arm'd Athenian Band
Now enters the Pavilion to destroy
The King and young Ilyssus.

Nicander.
Earth and Heaven!
What say'st thou, Maid?

Creusa.
O let me fly to save him,
Here shall their Poinards—

Nicander.
Rest thou there, Creusa,
Thy Embassies to-day have prov'd too fatal.
My Life for his I save him from the Stroke,
And on the Instant send him to thy Arms.
Now, Fate, be doubly mine!

[Exit.
Creusa.
Off, let me go, I will not be restrain'd.
They tear him piecemeal!

Pythia.
Patience, mighty Queen!
What Man can do Nicander will perform.

Creusa.
He is a Father only to my Child,
He cannot tell them what a Mother feels.
—Phorbas was born the Curse of me and mine.
I might have known to what his impious Rage
Would urge him on, and should have first inform'd him.
—Gods! must I never know sweet Peace again,
Not even in Death have Rest!

Pythia.
Behold who comes
To bless thee ere thou diest, and cease to murmur
At Heaven's high Will.

Enter Ilyssus.
Creusa.
It is, it is Ilyssus—
My Son, my Son!

Ilyssus.
Good Heavens! and do I live
To see a Parent melt in Fondness o'er me!
—Aletes saved me from the Soldiers' Arms,
And bade me fly to find a Mother here.
Art thou indeed that Mother, mighty Queen!
And may I call thee so? Thou art, thy Looks
Thy Tears, thy kind Embrace, all, all proclaim
The Truth—O let me thus, thus on my Knees—

Creusa.
Rise, rise, my Child; I am, I am thy Mother.

Ilyssus.
O sacred Sound, Ilyssus is no more
That outcast Youth. A Mother, and a Queen
He finds at once.

Creusa.
But art thou safe, my Child?
Hast thou no Wound?

Ilyssus.
The old grey-headed Man,
Who brought this Morn the News of thy Arrival,
Had rais'd against my Breast his eager Sword,
Defenceless I; when good Aletes came
And snatch'd me from the Stroke. I would have staid,
Unarm'd with him have staid, but his Command
Was absolute, that I should fly to find,
What I have found, a Mother!
[Embracing her.
Yet, O Queen,
Why am I thus encompass'd round with Wonder?
May I not know this Riddle of my Fate?
Why first condemn'd to pass my Infant Days
In this obscure Retreat? If I am thine,
Thy Son, illustrious Queen, sure I was born
To Thrones, and Empires?

Creusa.
Thou art born to Thrones.
And shalt in Athens reign.

Ilyssus.
As Xuthus' Heir.
Is Xuthus then my Sire? Forgive me, Queen,
I have a thousand, and a thousand Doubts.
Can Xuthus be my Sire?

Pythia.
Forbear, Ilyssus,
Nor press thy Fate too far. When Time permits
Thou shalt know all.

Creusa.
Shalt know it now, Ilyssus.
Not Xuthus is thy Sire, but that brave Man
Who but this Instant snatch'd thee from thy Fate,
And by that Act proclaim'd himself a Father.

Ilyssus.
Aletes?

Creusa.
Not Aletes, but Nicander,
My wedded Lord, thy Sire!—And see, he comes
To bless thee, and confirm the sacred Truth.
—Good Heaven, he bleeds!

Enter Nicander.
Nicander.
To Death, to Death, Creusa.
Amid the Fray I met the Fate I sought for.
All else is safe, and Xuthus now pursues
A scatter'd Few, who fall beneath his Sword.
—Where is my Boy?—Ye Guards of Innocence!
How has he been beset, and how escap'd!
—Where is my Boy, for I may own him now,
And clasp him to my Breast, no more Aletes,
The sage Instructor of a Youth unknown,
But the dear Father weeping o'er his Child.

Ilyssus.
O Sir, what Gratitude before inspir'd
Let Duty pay.

Nicander.
I have no Time to waste
In Fondness now. Hear my last Words, Ilyssus,
And bind them to thy heart. Thou still must live
The Son of Xuthus. The good Pythia here
Will tell thee all the Story of thy Fate:
And may'st thou prosper as thou do'st obey
Her sacred Counsel. Xuthus too must know
The fatal Tale; but to the World beside
It must be hid in Darkness.

Pythia.
Phorbas sure
Should be inform'd.

Nicander.
Phorbas has breath'd his last;
And the brib'd Slave who mix'd the poisonous Draught
Fell by this Hand.—Ilyssus, O farewel.
I will not bid Adieu to thee, Creusa,
Thy Colour changes, and the Lamp of Life
Fades in thy Eye; we soon shall meet again.—
Ilyssus, Oh!—

Ilyssus.
How hard he grasps my Hand!
My Lord, my Father! Have I learn'd so late,
To call thee by that Name, and must I lose,
For ever lose?—Good Heaven, she grasps me too!
What means it, Pythia? the cold Damps of Death
Are on her.

Creusa.
O my Child, enquire no farther;
'Tis fitting we should part. Lycea, Pythia,
Intreat of Xuthus—yet I need not fear
His Goodness, tho' I wrong'd him, foully wrong'd him,
He yet will prove a Father to my Child,
And from the World conceal the fatal Truth.
O I am cold—what Bolts of Ice shoot thro' me!
How my Limbs shiver!—Nearer yet, my Child,
My Sight grows dim, and I could wish to gaze
For ever on thee.—Oh, it will not be—
Ev'n thou art lost, Ilyssus.—Oh—Farewel.

[Dies.
Ilyssus.
She dies, she dies. Was I then only mock'd
With a vain Dream of Bliss to be plung'd back
In deeper Misery? Did I but hear
The tender Name of Child breath'd fondly o'er me
To make me feel what 'tis to lose that Name?
O I am ten times more an Orphan now,
Than when I knew no Parents.

Enter Xuthus, &c.
Xuthus.
Where is this Murd'ress, who with vile Deceit
Seem'd to consent to ours, and Heaven's Designs,
Only to make us a more easy Prey
To her Assassins?—Ha, Creusa dead?
And the brave Stranger who preserv'd us all?
Is he too dead?—The Boy—

Pythia.
Ilyssus lives.
And thou hast sworn, great King, that he shall reign
Supreme in Athens. Say, do'st thou confirm
That Oath?

Xuthus.
I do, by Heaven!

Pythia.
Ask here no more.
The fatal Tale is for thy private Ear.
Retire, and learn it all. For poor Creusa,
She wrong'd not thee, upon herself alone
She drew Heaven's Vengeance. And too surely proves
That Murder but intentional, not wrought
To horrid Act, before th'eternal Throne
Stands forth the first of Crimes. 'Who dare assume,
Unwarranted, Heaven's high Prerogative
Oe'r Life and Death, with double Force shall find
Turn'd on themselves the Mischiefs they design'd.