University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene—The Palace of Crœsus.
A magnificent Apartment.—Crœsus and his Courtiers attending to Music, in which Flutes prevail.

Flutes of different kinds were much used by the ancients, both on joyful and mournful occasions. Potter gives an account of the Lydian, Phrygian, Carian, &c. In war, the Lacedemonians began their engagements with a concert of flutes. The manner is described by Plutarch in the Life of Lycurgus.

—Crœsus seats himself.—Atys, Adrastus, Orontes, and Philon, arrange themselves by him, and the Act opens with the following Stanzas. The two first are sung alternately by Singers on the opposite sides of the Stage— the third by a single voice, in a solemn but not melancholy strain. As the voice of the Singer dies away, Crœsus speaks.


Crœsus.
Such were the words of the wise man of Athens,
Which we to Lydian measures have consign'd,
To make Philosophy delight in song,
And thus the crabbed saw disprove itself:
For happiness belongs to life, not death.
Who dreads to-morrow's pang must writhe to-day:
While joy to-day is so far joy secure.
Spite of the sophist's doctrine, this I feel,
All Lydia is content, and Crœsus happy.
If aught remain to gratify ambition,
'Tis to be sought beyond the gelid Halys,

The river Halys was celebrated for its coolness.

In regions where an empire seems to rise,
Pregnant with rivalry to Lydia's throne.—
Are the last Messengers to Delphi here?

Philon.
Arrived e'en now, they wait the King's command.

Crœsus.
Then bid them hither with their best despatch.
(An Officer goes out.)
The Oracular replies have all been good:
But still the Pythoness I value most;
And from Apollo's favour'd shrine I'd hear,
Once more, the confirmation of my fortunes.

Enter Officer and Messengers.
Officer.
So please the King, the Messengers from Delphi.

Crœsus.
Welcome to Sardis, Sirs. I long to know
The new reply the Priestess hath vouchsafed.

Messenger.
Long life to Crœsus, Lydia's happy King!
Thus did the Pythoness her answer give:
“The Halys once by Lydia crost,
A mighty empire will be lost.”

Crœsus.
That 's right! that 's right! We leave our kingdom safe,
And penetrate the empire to be lost.—
Philon! see that a hundred golden tiles
Go with the Lion to the Delphic fane.
What said the agitated Priestess more?

Messenger.
Urged on the fate of Crœsus, she replied:
“When o'er the Medes an o'ergrown Mule
Shall hold on high the sov'reign rule,
Then, Lydian, over Hermus fly,
Thy safety seek, and fear to die.”

Crœsus.
Most excellent! What can be more auspicious?
When shall a brutal Mule ascend a throne?
Or Crœsus' courage fail? Thanks to the god!
Philon! Be added to our present offering
The silver casks, and basons of pure gold:
And to the Pythoness I'd have convey'd
Those necklaces and zones of which I spoke;
A treasure of themselves magnificent.

Philon.
Your Highness' orders straight shall be obey'd.

Crœsus.
We'll have a great and royal sacrifice.
(To Philon.)
A thousand chosen victims see collected;

Herodotus says three thousand, the accuracy of which is doubted.

Prepare a pyre of decorated couches,
Goblets of gold, and costly purple vests.
And let all Lydia follow our example,
With proper objects, as by each possess'd.
My Lords! these are great tidings! While, secure,
Our Lydians in rejoicings fill their time,
We'll meditate upon our future conquests.—
But I see faces here, more eager far
For present sport than future victory.
Well! be it so. To-morrow, with the dawn,
Our dogs shall rouse you with melodious noise.
So now we'll separate. To each good day!

(Rises and advances.)
Choir.
Now let the roofs with rapture ring!
Crœsus is happy! Lydia's King!
Happy Crœsus! happy King!

(The Chorus is continued as the Stage is clearing, during which the principal personages advance.)
Manent—Crœsus, Atys, Adrastus, and Orontes.
Crœsus.
Well, dear Adrastus! does your friend persist
In his mad fondness for the chace to-morrow?

Adrastus.
If it so please your Highness.

Crœsus.
And can nought
Divert thee, Atys, from this dangerous sport?

Atys.
Not much of danger, sure, my honour'd Lord.
E'en if there were, think, oh! think, my father,
How Lydians value courage and renown,
Proved and obtain'd in war; or e'en, as now,
In bold attacks upon the Forest tyrants.
Will they not sneer at sloth and cowardice,
In one averse to signalize himself?
And he the very one on whom all eyes
Turn for a chief to lead where danger threats?
And what will Ada think, my lovely bride?
My Lord! good my Lord! let me not lose opinion,
That golden prize which weds esteem to love.

Crœsus.
My son! No coward ever sprung from Crœsus.
What Lydian knows not of thy deeds in war?
But oh! that vision!—that terrific vision!
Which show'd thee prostrate with a spear transfix'd!—
It is to you, my Atys, that I look
For hope, in the succession to my realms;
And for our Lydia a long race of kings.
Cyno, your brother, amiable and brave,
Mute left by Nature from his very birth,
Can never fill the throne.

Atys.
My dearest father!
Can I be senseless to your anxious care?
Ah, no!—'tis full of love and wise intent.
And little should I merit love like thine,
Could I, in opposition to thy will,
Enforce the wanton eagerness of youth.
Repeat thy wish, and I forego the leave,
Which so reluctantly has been accorded.
But reason first upon this vision thus:
It intimates the instrument of fate
To be a spear. Where is the enemy?
Boars wield no arms, present no deadly spear.
Had the dire portent been a tusk, indeed,
There had been ground perhaps for some debate—
We go not to contend with men. I pray, Sir,
Weigh the matter thus.

Crœsus.
Atys, you're right.
My fears I own are idle. Thus convinced,
I'll not retract my word, but joy to hear
From your own lips the pleasant toils of sport,
And all th' adventures of the bristled savage.
You hunt, Orontes?

Orontes.
Sir, I count the hours.

Crœsus.
And you, Adrastus, must be early stirring.

Adrastus.
Alas! I've no excitement, Sir, to stir me:
And would your Highness and the Prince excuse—

Crœsus.
Nay, my good friend, I would not for a kingdom
But you were there. Adrastus, dear Adrastus!
Think not I would remind you of your woes,
To claim an int'rest for the expiation
I once administer'd to your distress,
Or make a debt of what has proved a gain:
But if you feel that I have shown you love,
Refuse not to accompany my Atys;
To call forth prudence, and to guard his life.
Wisdom and valour, those prime gifts of Heaven,
Your family have long inherited,
Nor have they fail'd in the descent to you:
Where valour calls, Adrastus should be found.

Adrastus.
Oh! more than father to a wretched youth!
Crœsus, enough! Thy slightest wish, believe me,
Teems with excitement to my grateful thoughts.
By such a dire calamity oppress'd,
It ill becomes me with the gay to move:
'Tis not my nature, Sir; and you have seen
How little given to revelry my heart:
But gratitude excites, and I obey.
I'll with the Prince to Tmolus in the morn,
Wait on his steps, protect his precious life,
And bring him back in safety to your arms.

Crœsus.
'Tis nobly said. And now, my friend, beware
The long indulgence of consuming grief:
Let not our expiation lose its end.
'Tis time to soothe thy bosom; nay, to move
Some powerful spring in favour of thy youth.
Rouse, rouse thee, Boy! And know, that Lydia's King
Would gladly make thee sharer of his joys.—
Atys! you 'll find me with your Bride.

[Exit with Attendants.
(Adrastus muses, and speaks to himself, while Orontes and Atys eye him, and speak apart.)
Adrastus.
His joys!
To move some powerful spring—powerful spring—
The sharer of his joys—'twas strangely said—
And with a smile that seem'd to bid me seek
Some latent meaning in his words—Away!
'Tis folly and presumption—Yet 'twas so—
What if it be, is mine a heart for love?

Atys.
He's wrapt in thought.—Mark'd you my father's smile?

Orontes.
I did.

Atys.
I trust 'twill work a charm upon his fancy!

Adrastus.
They heed me not—Say I could love—What then?

Atys.
Detain him here awhile—I'll soon return.
It is a favourable moment, Sir,
And must be seized, or lost, perhaps, for ever.

[Exit.
Adrastus.
(Absorbed in thought.)
Love should bring pleasure dancing in his train—
If sorrow follow, let the gods look to 't,—
'Tis then their doing—But in woe to court,
And crave of Beauty to participate
A settled grief—and take a mourning suit
To grace Love's nuptials—call it aught but Love.
Except indeed it be the love of self—
Self! that base instinct of the grovelling herd—
Oh! never—never—never.—Atys gone?

(To Orontes.)
Orontes.
He follow'd quick upon his father's steps,
As if intent upon some plan.

Adrastus.
Orontes,
I was thinking, and quite absorb'd you saw,
That love can only dwell in generous minds:
If self e'er mingle, 'tis no longer love.

Orontes.
At least 'tis not refined.

Adrastus.
Nay, but 'tis odious.

Orontes.
Not if it be natural.

Adrastus.
Nature, Orontes,
True to herself, is always lovely—But
She dwindles into ugliness, when false—
E'en pity fails deformity of mind.
Self is instinctive in the lower race;
'Tis man's prerogative to vanquish it,
To live for others, die for others, love
As he lives or dies, not for himself,
But for the bliss of her his heart adopts.

Orontes.
I grant our nature may be thus ennobled.
'Tis not the glorious preference we give
To others o'er ourselves, of which I doubt;
But 'tis our judgment I suspect, my friend.
We view of happiness our own creation,
And think it that of others. But, Adrastus!
Suppose the lovely Aryenis pined
In poignant sadness, o'er some rooted grief;
Were it not bliss, with mild affection's balm,
To heal her wounded mind, and peace restore?

Adrastus.
'Twere bliss indeed!

Orontes.
Imagine now 'twere hers
To pour a balm into Adrastus' wounds—

Adrastus.
Dear, dear Orontes! cease this flatt'ring strain!
So sweet your words, I half suspect I love.

Orontes.
So plain are yours, I know you wholly love.

Adrastus.
And would you have me kill the thing I love?

Orontes.
I'd have you take it to your bosom, man!
And as it lies around your aching heart,
'Twill gradually extract the rankling sting,
And give new life to you, and all who love you.

Adrastus.
Oh! rather say, this palsied heart would numb
The vivifying principle, applied
To lend to torpid powers new energy—
I am not fit to live.—Would I were dead!

Orontes.
But Aryenis—

Adrastus.
Is lovely, most lovely!
And all that beauty, all that virtue owns
Would mix their essences, to form a charm
Might rouse the dying to new life.—But I,
My friend, am fated—not to peaceful death—
Would that I were!—but life—and what a life!
Could I forget this hand were stain'd with blood,
And yield my heart, as it perhaps inclines,
To a sweet hope in Aryenis' love,
A direr woe threats my devoted head.

Orontes.
See where the Princess Aryenis comes.

Enter Atys and Aryenis.
Adrastus.
Dear Aryenis!

Aryenis.
Welcome home, my Lord!
My brother chides, and calls my welcome tardy.

Atys.
So brought her to deny the charge.—Orontes!

(Atys and Orontes conversing apart, gradually withdraw.)
Manent—Adrastus and Aryenis.
Adrastus.
'Tis me he means to chide—but well he knows
How idle is the charge.

Aryenis.
You smile, Adrastus!
You shall go forth again to gather smiles.

Adrastus.
Say rather, shall return to find them here:
Elsewhere they have not been observed, and this
Is but the flutter of an anxious spirit,
By nature tuned to joy, had not—

Aryenis.
Nay, nay!
“Had not,” my Lord, hath had too long a sway.
We must dethrone it now, and teach a heart
That feels another's worth to know its own,
And make its sorrow yield to friendship's joy.

Adrastus.
These are delightful words, my lovely pupil!
And make me feel how fit thou art to teach.

Aryenis.
A little wisdom, dear my Lord, is worth
A hundred times its weight of knowledge—And why?
Because 'tis happiness a hundred fold.
Knowledge ne'er banish'd grief—but Wisdom doth—
Would I could teach you Wisdom's happiness!

Adrastus.
I know no lips so likely to succeed,
Illustrating the rules themselves prescribe.
Oh! Aryenis! were this mind at ease,
And were it worthy of a heart like thine!

(Sighs deeply.)
Aryenis.
My dear preceptor! What a sigh was that!

Adrastus.
Far, far too heavy for a sigh of love.

Aryenis.
Of love, Adrastus! Do you talk of love?

Adrastus.
It is not fit I should—And yet, methinks!
If ever I could hope, 'twould be by love.
Love rectifies the heart, aids all our virtues,
And is the very wisdom you have counsell'd.

Aryenis.
My Lord! My Lord! I never counsell'd love.

Adrastus.
Then farewell hope! No other counsellor,
No other counsel, e'er can heal this mind.—
What am I doing? I forget myself.—
Sweet maid! preserve your heart—'twas my advice,
Amidst the studies that engaged our hours—
Preserve it still—for love is dangerous;
And must be bliss complete, or misery.

Aryenis.
Are not my brother and his Ada happy?—
What sudden paleness seizes on your cheek?

Adrastus.
Nothing—It is—

Aryenis.
Adrastus! You are ill.

(Anxiously.)
Adrastus.
Not ill—'Tis heat that penetrates the brain—
Let us not talk of love—it fires the air:
Failing to cure, it but confirms despair.
We 'll in to Crœsus—He at least is blest
Whom all men love, and whom no ills molest.