University of Virginia Library

Banks of the Tigris—Distant View of Ctesiphon.
Enter Constantia, borne on a litter. With her, Eusebia and Ladies of the Court, &c. To them Anatolius and Officers meeting.
ANATOLIUS.
Set down the litter gently: much I fear
The length and heat of this day's march too rudely
Have shaken her soft frame. Madam, the Empress
(To Eusebia.
Is much too slight a flower for these rough days.
Her head bows down, untimely withering,
Like a displanted herb in summer drought.
These warlike toils and strange disquietudes
Suit not her tender nature.

EUSEBIA.
'Tis too true.
How wan she looks—how falteringly she moves.
Mark too her eye—there, where the buoyant spirit
Should glance his radiant banner, the drooped fringes
Hang like the scutcheons of a broken heart.

ANATOLIUS.
Then is she broken hearted! The night star
Looks not more faded when the morning dawns,
Than she, thus at the gate of opening Heaven.
The heaviness of doom is on her. Oh,
Fate hath a solemn language speaking thus!
Madam, will 't please you to alight? We 've now
(To Constantia.
Closed our day's journey.

CONSTANTIA.
Thou say'st true: our journey
(And mine has been a weary and a sad one,)
Is like to have swift termination.
Let me look round once more: from this high seat
The eye hath 'vantage. 'Tis a goodly scene—
Yon river, like a silvery snake, lays out
His coil i' th' sunshine lovingly—it breathes
Of freshness in this lap of flowery meadows.
How call you this, my lord?

ANATOLIUS.
The famous Tigris.

CONSTANTIA.
'Tis worthy of report: worthy to have been
The scite of empire, nurse of the human race,
And place of mighty actions! Was it not here
The fathers of mankind, the Patriarchs,
Dwelt with their flocks—Abraham and Israel?
Was it not here the wise Chaldean shepherd
Leaned on his staff and watched the stars at night?
Here too (as holy legends tell) stretched beautiful
The paradise of innocence—the home
Of Eve and Adam, ere they sinned: and here
The iron age had birth. Power first put on
His gauntlet, and earth shook beneath his tread.
This is the soil of tyranny: the land
Is rank with much pollution. Proud Assyrian,
Where is thy Babel now—thy Nineveh?
Thy temples and thy palaces, and gates
That poured the tide of men? It is the tomb
Of nations that we tread on: the vast charnel
Of grandeur—yet without a monument!
The works of man are like himself, vain dust:
Nothing but fame, or good or ill, endures.

EUSEBIA.
Oh, hear her—look on her! so sad, so earnest.
How grand, yet awful, is decaying nature!
Conscious of fate, yet fearless—casting on all
A light, like that of evening, when the shades
Lie deepest. Sweet Constantia, sit you down:
So,—they have smoothed your mantle on this bank
Here, in the sun for you. Are you not tired?
This rest is sweet.

CONSTANTIA.
Oh, I am sick at heart!
My spirit like its feeble frame. Yes, yes,
The bed of rest is smoothed for me. I never
Shall taste of trouble more.

EUSEBIA.
Nay, now you trifle
With our affections, dearest.

CONSTANTIA.
Think not so.
Look on me as a prophetess. My sight
Is purged: gleams of another world pass over me,
And I am as the dead. I know it—know it.
Already half the vital heat is gone—
Look on me as a prophetess: Cassandra,
Unheeded in her wilderness of mind;
In her extreme despair cut off; yet truly
Telling of woe and ruin. Oh, I shall be
Deep in the ground and feel it not.

EUSEBIA.
Sweet daughter,
Pray you suppress these thoughts.

CONSTANTIA.
Where lingers Julian?
My eyes have not looked on him as they should do,
Now that they have not long to look. His duties
Are not so pressing, but that he might give
Some hours of comfort to a parting soul;
Who for his sake alone loves life. Where is he?
I have the fearful longing—my short breath
Comes quick with much anxiety. Sweet angels!
Take me not to you till my soul hath seen him,
And poured its bitterness forth in parting tears
Upon his neck, forgiving, blessing, comforting!
Send for him; send for him: my heart is faint
Lead me to shade, the sun is hot, fatigue
Hath shaken me—send quickly.

(They carry her into the tent. Exeunt.