University of Virginia Library

Scene VI.

—A colonnade round the court of the same house.
Enter Sophonisba and Massanissa.
Soph.
And are we, then, so altered? Shall we pace
For ever through the twilight without speaking?
I had so many things to say to you,
And now has your short visit reached its close,
And yet we scarce seem to have talked together.

Mas.
You scarcely can expect a cheerful face,
After so signal a defeat as ours.

Soph.
And yet your nature was more hopeful once.
You said you twice had caught a glimpse of Scipio
At Silpia. Did the sight of him fulfil
Your high-wrought expectation?

Mas.
How could that be?
'Twas but a moment, and I scarcely saw him.
What's Scipio to me?

Soph.
Do you, then, forget
All you have told me of the glowing pictures
The young Massiva painted of his captor,
And of your longing dream to meet with him?

Mas.
Ay, all our generals are fools to him;
We've not his match in Spain since Hasdrubal.

Soph.
You speak most gloomily. And do you, then,
Wholly despair of our affairs in Spain?

Mas.
To you, a woman living here at ease,
'Tis vain to speak of war's perplexities
And changes. You could never understand them.

Soph.
And have I, then, no interest in my country?
And have I, then, no interest in your fortunes?
Oh, Massanissa, you are changed, most changed!
The ambition growing in your soul so fast
Will swallow up your love. Too true I feel it,
Our days of childhood are for ever over.

Mas.
You speak as though I were forsaking you.
Why should you doubt me?

Soph.
Ah! I had so many,
So many things to say to you—and now
Your gloomy countenance and absent air
Chill all I could have uttered into silence.
Tell me, if we should never meet again,
Would it content you to have parted so?

Mas.
Why should you think we may not meet again?
Trust me, I bear in battle a charm'd life.

Soph.
We still may live, yet never meet again—
You may not die, and yet may die to me.

Mas.
What mean you by this melancholy tone?
You, too, are changed—you chide me for ambition,
Yet 'twas your love, your counsels, taught it me.
See, it grows late. I must be gone.

Soph.
So soon?
But we shall meet again ere you leave Carthage?

Mas.
I must sail early—no, I fear we cannot.
Our farewell must be now.

Soph.
Farewell.

Mas.
Take comfort;
For if Hamilcar's sons but do their part,
The war will soon be over. Fare thee well
Till then, and then no more, my Sophonisba!

[Exit.
Soph.
The history of my life is over now;
Whatever may become of me, 'tis over.
The arrow has struck home into my heart,
And when I pluck it from me I shall die.

[Exit.