University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

The Vestibule of the Temple.
Ilyssus and Virgins.
Ilyssus.
Haste, haste, ye Virgins; round the Columns twine
Your flowery Chaplets; and with Streams fresh-drawn
Of Castaly, bedew the sacred Porch
Of the great God of Day. Already see
His orient Beam has reach'd the double Top
Of high Parnassus, and begins to shed
A gleamy Lustre o'er the Laurel Grove!
Haste, haste, ye Virgins. From the Vale beneath
I hear the Noise of Chariots, and of Steeds
Which hither bend their Course, for every Sound
Seems nearer than the former.—And behold
A reverend Stranger, who perhaps proclaims
Th'Approach of some great Monarch, to consult
All-seeing Phœbus, or implore his Aid.
Haste, haste, ye Virgins!

Enter Phorbas.
Phorbas.
Tell me, gentle Maids,
And thou, fair Youth, who seem'st to lead the Train,
Is this the Temple of the Delphic God?

Ilyssus.
It is; and on the middle Point of Earth
Its firm Foundations by immortal Hands
Stand fix'd:—but break we off; the folded Gates
Unbar, and lo! the Priestess' self appears!

[The Pythia speaks as she descends from the Temple
Pythia.
Hence, ye profane! nor with unhallow'd Step
Pollute the Threshold of the Delian King
Who slew the Python!—Say, from whence thou art,
And what thy Business, Stranger.

Phorbas.
Sacred Maid!
From Athens am I come, the Harbinger
Of great Creusa, mine and Athens' Queen

Pythia.
Comes she on pious Purpose, to adore
The mystic Shrine oracular?

Phorbas.
She does;
And with her comes the Partner of her Bed,
Æolian Xuthus: he whose powerful Arm
Sav'd Athens from her Fate, and in return
From good Erectheus' bounteous Hand receiv'd
His Daughter and his Crown.— [Half aside.
Would he had found
Some other Recompence!

Pythia.
[Overhearing him.
Would he had found?
Old Age is talkative, and I may learn
Somewhat of moment from him.—Wherefore come they?
Does Famine threaten, or wide-wasting Plague
Infest the Land?

Phorbas.
Thank Heaven, our crouded Streets
Have felt no dire Disease; and Plenty still
Laughs in our blooming Fields. Alas! I fear
The childless Goddess who presides o'er Athens
Has found a surer Method to declare
How ill she brooks that any Stranger Hand
Should wield th'Athenian Scepter.

Pythia.
Does from her
The Vengeance come?

Phorbas.
I know not whence it comes,
But this I know, full fifteen Years have roll'd
Since first their Hands were join'd, and roll'd in vain;
For still the Royal Pair in Silence mourn,
Curs'd with a barren Bed. For this they come,
T'explore the latent Cause, and beg of Heav'n
To grant an Heir, or teach them where to fix,
On what selected Head, th'Athenian Crown.

Pythia.
And Heaven, no doubt, will hear and grant their Prayer.
Ilyssus, haste, and bid the Priests prepare
For Sacrifice. You, Nysa, and your Sisters,
Amid the Laurel Grove with Speed perform
The Morning's due Lustration.
Then hither all return.—Myself mean while
Will tempt the Vice of Age, and try to draw
Some useful Secrets from him.
Aside.
The good King
Of whom you spake, Erectheus, did his People
Esteem and love him as they ought? for Fame
Talk'd largely of his Worth. He was a King—

Phorbas.
He was my good old Master, such a King
As Heaven but rarely sends. Did we esteem
And love him, dost thou ask? O, we ador'd him,
He was our Father, not our King.—These Tears
At least may speak my Heart.—We must not hope
In these degenerate Times to see him equall'd.
He never did an unkind Act, but once,
And then he thought the public Good requir'd it;
Tho' much I fear the Evils we lament
From thence derive their Origin.

Pythia.
What Act?
What unkind Act?

Phorbas.
O Maid, 'twere long to tell
The whole unhappy Story, yet in part
Hear what to me appears too closely join'd
With these our present Ills. There was a Youth
Athenian born, but not of Royal Blood,
His Name Nicander; him unlucky Fate
Had made the Lover of our present Queen
While yet a Maid. What will not Love attempt
In young ambitious Minds? he told his Pain,
And won the Fair in secret to admit,
And to return his Passion. The good King
Was for a Time deceiv'd, but found at last
Th'audacious Fraud, and drove the guilty Youth
To Banishment perpetual. Some say
'Twas by his Means he fell, tho' that my Heart
Consents not to believe. Thus much is sure,
Nicander wander'd forth a wretched Exile,
And ere few Days had past, upon the Road
Were found his well-known Garments stain'd with Blood.
Sure Sign of Murder, and as sure a Sign
No needy Robber was the Instrument.

Pythia.
How bore Creusa this?

Phorbas.
At first her Sorrows
Were loud and frantic. Time at length subdued
Her Rage to silent Grief. The good old King,
To sooth her Woes, consented she should raise
A Tomb to her Nicander; and perform
A Kind of annual Rites to parted Love.

Pythia.
But that not long continued, for we find
She married Xuthus.

Phorbas.
'Twas a Match of State,
He sav'd her Country, and she gave her Hand
Because that Country ask'd it. But her Heart
Is buried with Nicander. Still to him,
And Xuthus' self permits it, she performs
Her yearly Off'rings, and adorns with Flowers
An empty Tomb.—Would he had liv'd, and reign'd
Her wedded Lord! we had not wanted then
Th'Assistance of a Stranger Arm to guard
Th'Athenian State, nor had we then been driven
To search for Heirs at Delphi.

Pythia.
Stop thy Tongue,
Or speak with Rev'rence of the sacred Shrine.
—Thy Words were hasty, but thy Silence now
Makes just Atonement for them.—Then perhaps
Thou think'st this want of Heirs a Curse entail'd
By Heaven on Athens for Nicander's Death
And Xuthus' Reign?

Phorbas.
I am Athenian born,
Nor love Æolian Kings, however great
And good they may be.

Pythia.
The Imperial Xuthus
Is much renown'd.

Phorbas.
Is virtuous, brave, and pious;
Perhaps too pious.

Pythia.
How!

Phorbas.
Forgive me, Maid,
I speak my Thoughts with Freedom.

Pythia.
What thou speak'st
To me, is sacred. Then perchance thou rank'st
His Journey hither to address the God
Among those Acts which thou would'st call too pious?

Phorbas.
For me the Gods of Athens would suffice.—
Yet do I pay just Rev'rence, holy Maid,
To thee, and to thy Shrine.

Pythia.
Thy Zeal for Athens
Is too intemperate.—But the Train returns
And interrupts our Converse. Say, Ilyssus,
Are they prepar'd?

Enter Ilyssus and Virgins.
Ilyssus.
They are, and only wait
Th'approaching Victims.

Pythia.
By yon Train, the Queen
Is now on her Arrival. Thou, Ilyssus,
Receive her here; while I, as Custom wills,
Deep in the Temple's inmost Gloom retire
And wait th'inspiring God.—Ilyssus, hear;
When thou hast paid due Honours to the Queen,
Haste to Aletes, in the Laurel Grove
Impatient I expect him; tell him, Youth,
Things of uncommon Import do demand
His instant Presence.—But the Croud approaches.
Stranger, farewel.—I feel, I feel within
An Heav'n-born Impulse, and the Seeds of Truth
Are lab'ring in my Breast.—Stranger, farewel.

[The Pythia returns to the Temple, and the Gates shut.
Enter Creusa and Attendants.
Creusa.
No farther need we Conduct. Bid the Guards
Return, and wait the King.

Phorbas.
Does ought of Moment
Detain him on the Road?

Creusa.
He stops a while
At great Trophonius' Cave, that he may leave
His Duty unperform'd. Heaven grant his Zeal
May meet with just Success!

Ilyssus.
Please you, great Queen,
In yon Pavilion to repose, and taste
Some light Refection.

Creusa.
Ha!—Lycea,—Phorbas,
What Youth is this? There's something in his Eyes,
His Shape, his Voice.—What may we call thee, Youth?

Ilyssus.
The Servant of the God, who guards this Fane.

Creusa.
Bear'st thou no Name?

Ilyssus.
Ilyssus, gracious Queen,
The Priests and Virgins call me.

Creusa.
Ha! Ilyssus!
That Name's Athenian. Tell me, gentle Youth,
Art thou of Athens then?

Ilyssus.
I have no Country,
Nor know I whence I am.

Creusa.
Who where thy Parents?
Thy Father, Mother?

Ilyssus.
Ever honor'd Queen,
I never knew a Mother's tender Cares.
Nor heard th'Instructions of a Father's Tongue.

Creusa.
How cam'st thou hither?

Ilyssus.
Eighteen Years are past
Since in the Temple's Portal I was found
A sleeping Infant.

Creusa.
Eighteen Years! good Heaven!
That fatal Time recalls a Scene of Woe—
Let me not think.—Were there no Marks to shew
From whom or whence thou wert?

Ilyssus.
I have been told
An Osier Basket such as Shepherds weave,
And a few scatter'd Leaves were all the Bed
And Cradle I could boast.

Creusa.
Unhappy Child!
But more, O ten times more unhappy they
Who lost perhaps in thee their only Offspring!
What Pangs, what Anguish must the Mother feel,
Compell'd, no doubt, by some disastrous Fate—
—But this is all Conjecture.—

Ilyssus.
O great Queen,
Had those from whom I sprung been form'd like thee;
Had they e'er felt the secret Pangs of Nature,
They had not left me to the desart World
So totally expos'd. I rather fear
I am the Child of Lowliness and Vice,
And happy only in my Ignorance.
—Why should she weep? O if her Tears can fall
For even a Stranger's but suspected Woes,
How is that People blest where she presides
As Mother, and as Queen!—Please you, retire?

Creusa.
No, stay. Thy Sentiments at least bespeak
A gen'rous Education. Tell me, Youth,
How has thy Mind been form'd?

Ilyssus.
In that, great Queen,
I never wanted Parents. The good Priests
And pious Priestess, who with Care sustain'd
My helpless Infancy, left not my Youth
Without Instruction. But O, more than all,
The kindest, best good Man, a neighb'ring Sage
Who has known better Days, tho' now retir'd
To a small Cottage on the Mountain's Brow,
He deals his Blessings to the simple Swains
In Balms and powerful Herbs. He taught me Things
Which my Soul treasures as its dearest Wealth,
And will remember ever. The good Priests,
'Tis true, had taught the same, but not with half
That Force and Energy; Conviction's self
Dwelt on Aletes' Tongue.

Creusa.
Aletes, said'st thou?
Was that the good Man's Name?

Ilyssus.
It is, great Queen,
For yet he lives, and guides me by his Counsels.

Creusa.
What did he teach thee?

Ilyssus.
To adore high Heaven,
And venerate on Earth Heaven's Image, Truth!
To feel for others Woes, and bear my own
With manly Resignation.—Yet I own
Some things he taught me which but ill agree
With my Condition here.

Creusa.
What things were those?

Ilyssus.
They were for Exercise, and to confirm
My growing Strength. And yet I often told him
The Exercise he taught resembled much
What I had heard of War. He was himself
A Warrior once.

Creusa.
And did those Sports delight thee!

Ilyssus.
Great Queen, I do confess my Soul mix'd with them.
Whene'er I grasp'd the Osier-platted Shield,
Or sent the mimic Javelin to its Mark,
I felt I know not what of Manhood in me.
But then I knew my Duty, and repress'd
The swelling Ardor. 'Tis to Shades, I cried,
The Servant of the Temple must confine
His less ambitious, not less virtuous Cares.

Creusa.
Did the good Man observe, and blame thy Ardor?

Ilyssus.
He only smil'd at my too forward Zeal;
Nay seem'd to think such Sports were necessary
To soften what he call'd more rig'rous Studies.

Creusa.
—Suppose when I return to Athens, Youth,
Thou should'st attend me thither! would'st thou trust
To me thy future Fortunes?

Ilyssus.
O most gladly!
—But then to leave these Shades where I was nurs'd
The Servant of the God, how might that seem?
And good Aletes too, the kind old Man
Of whom I spake?—But wherefore talk I thus,
You only throw these tempting Lures to try
Th'Ambition of my Youth.—Please you, retire.

Creusa.
Ilyssus, we will find a time to speak
More largely on this Subject, for the present
Let all withdraw and leave us. Youth, farewel,
I see the Place, and will retire at leisure.
Lycea, Phorbas, stay.

Ilyssus.
[Aside.
How my Heart beats!
She must mean something sure. Tho' good Aletes
Has told me polished Courts abound in Falshood.
But I will bear the Priestess' Message to him,
And open all my Doubts.

[Exit.
Phorbas.
Great Queen, why stand'st thou silent? something seems
To labour in thy Breast.

Creusa.
Alas! good Phorbas,
Didst thou observe that Youth? When first my Eye
Glanc'd on his beauteous Form, methought I saw
The Person of Nicander.

Phorbas.
Gracious Queen,
Your Heart misleads your Eyes. The Image there
Too deeply fix'd makes every pleasing Object
Bear some Resemblance to itself.

Creusa.
Lycea,
And yet, tho' thou wast there I well believe
Thy Youth can scarce remember how he look'd,
When from the Fight triumphant he return'd
Grac'd with the victor Laurel; such a Wreath
As now Ilyssus wears. Indeed, Lycea,
Thy Mother, had she liv'd, had thought as I do.
Nay when he spake the Voice too was Nicander's.
I know not what to think, perhaps 'twas Fancy,
Perhaps 'twas something more.

Phorbas.
Illustrious Queen,
You do abuse your noble Mind, and lend
To mere illusions of the Brain, the Force
And Power to make you wretched. Grant there were
Some slight Resemblance of Nicander's Form
In young Ilyssus, tho' my Eyes perceive not
Even the most distant Likeness, grant there were,
Yet wherefore should the Sight so nearly touch thee,
Casual Similitude, we know too well
Nicander left no Heir.
[She seems disturbed.
I say not this,
Great Queen, to heighten but relieve your Sorrows,
And banish from your Breast each vain Surmise
Which Fancy might suggest.

Creusa.
Too well indeed,
O Phorbas, much too well indeed we know
Nicander left no Heir to his Perfections,
No Image of himself.—And yet, good Phorbas,
Blame not my Folly, nor demand a Reason
If I intreat thee to examine strictly
The Fortunes of this young Unknown. The Priests
Or Priestess may know more than they entrust
To his unwary Youth. The Sage he spake of,
Could'st thou not search him out; 'tis somewhere near
He dwells, I think, upon the Mountain's Brow.
Thou wonder'st at me, call it if thou please
A Woman's Weakness; but obey me, Phorbas.

Phorbas.
You say I wonder, 'tis indeed to see
My honor'd Queen employ her Thoughts thus idly
On Griefs long past; when things of dear Concern
To her and Athens should alarm her nearly.

Creusa.
What things of near Concern?

Phorbas.
See'st thou not, Queen,
Thy Crown, Erectheus' Crown, the Crown of Athens,
Wav'ring in Fortune's Power?

Creusa.
The Gods will fix it.

Phorbas.
The Gods? Ah, great Creusa, may my Fears
Be vain and groundless; but I fear the Gods
Have left us to ourselves. When we resign'd
Th'Athenian Scepter to a Stranger Hand
We did reject their Guidance. Wherefore come we
To Delphi now, but that th'offended Gods
Have turn'd too long an inattentive Ear
To our ill-judg'd Petitions.

Creusa.
Why ill-judg'd?
We ask'd for Heirs.

Phorbas.
We did; for Xuthus' Heirs,
The Race of Æolus.—I know, great Queen,
They were to spring from thee; but Heaven permits not
The native Pureness of th'Athenian Soil
Should mix with foreign Clay. I wish we find not
More alien Kings at Delphi.

Creusa.
Think'st thou Xuthus
Deceives us then? His Worth, his Piety,
Forbid the Thought. Besides, the sacred Place
Admits not of Deceit.

Phorbas.
Credulity
Is not the Vice of Age. Forgive me, Queen,
If I suspect that Piety which brings us
To search for Kings at Delphi. Might not Athens
Have chosen her own Monarch? Her brave Youth,
Her bearded Sages, are they not the Flower
And Pride of Greece? Nay, might'st not thou, Creusa,
With liberal Hand bestow th'Imperial Wreath?
And who has better Right?

Creusa.
The Gods, who gave it
To me, and my great Ancestors.

Phorbas.
Whate'er
The Gods bestow can never be resum'd
Tho' we repent. The pious Populace
Will rev'rence Kings from Heaven.

Creusa.
And wherefore not?

Phorbas.
O Queen, perhaps my Fears are too officious,
But let thy Servant beg—

Creusa.
I know thy Zeal
For me, and for thy Country. Rest assur'd,
Creusa never will consent to ought
Which can endanger Athens.

Phorbas.
My Heart thanks thee!

Creusa.
Mean while the Youth Ilyssus—

Phorbas.
Should the King
Confirm'd by Oracles presume to fix
A Stranger on the Throne.—

Creusa.
He will not do it.

Phorbas.
I hope he will not, yet—

Creusa.
The Youth I spake of,
Wilt thou enquire?—

Phorbas.
Should Xuthus lay aside
His usual Mildness, and assume at once
The Monarch and the Husband, could'st thou then—

Creusa.
In Athens' Cause I could resist them all.
But cease these vain Suspicions. A few Hours
Will prove thy Fears were groundless. Mean while, Phorbas
Thou wilt find Methods to inform thyself
Touching this unknown Youth.

Phorbas.
By yonder Guards
The King should be at hand.

Creusa.
I will retire
To the Pavilion, and expect him there.
Yet hear me, Phorbas; let not Xuthus know
Why thou enquir'st.

Phorbas.
Xuthus has other Cares.

Creusa.
The Priestess too, I would confer with her.
Tho' that Lycea may perform. Farewel,
And prosper in thy Task.—Alas, Lycea,
[Exit Phorbas.
There is a Secret labours in my Breast,
But Fate forbids that I should give it Utterance.
This boding Heart was early taught to feel
Too sensibly; each distant Doubt alarms it;
It starts at Shadows.—But retire we, Maid,
Grief is th'unhappy Charter of our Sex;
The Gods who gave us readier Tears to shed
Gave us more Cause to shed them.

[Exeunt.