University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

LADICE, SLAVE.
LADICE.
Tired of incessant vigil every hour
This heart beats with a feebler stroke of hope,
And still awaits a messenger in vain.
I have watch'd the folded gates from day to day,
And caged within their massive gloom my sense
Unsteady grows, and dim, that I relapse
Into intense oblivion of the world,
But feebly conscious of my loneliness.
Why this delay? that no intelligence
Of Egypt's destiny doth break the spell
Of my suspense, no animating voice
Should reach the lonely daughter of the king
That he is safe and that her brother lives!
No ray of consolation! I am pale
And worn, and suffer from the want of rest.
Night, the encourager of bold designs
Not with its coming sheds ideal light
On me, but ushers in unearthly gloom,
That in the distance hope's undying lamp
Emits a circle dismal and confin'd.
My eyes pursue the stalking phantasies
Which tread with airy limbs the black expanse,
And heedless pass the mirror of the soul.
Or starting from my couch at some strange sound
That smites upon my ear, I look afar
As to descry the tented field where moves
On watch the lofty figur'd sentinel,
But all is still except the plash of waves,
Or wing of some black Ibis on the stream,
Or agitated lotos. Cold with dread,
The new resolve to woo oblivious sleep
I entertain, but night more earnest grows,
And with unhappy purposes unfolds
Her sable-clouded scroll where ghastly thought
Reads imaged terrors and inhuman deeds.

SLAVE.
Think not so sadly lady, but apply
Refreshment to thy lips; thy pallid hue
Bespeaks a want of food.

LADICE.
I need not that.
My aspect is the image of a mind
Wherein despair seeks hospitality.
Thou art a slave, no lover of the soil,
Or had the drooping anguish of my eyes
Met sister grief in thee.

SLAVE.
Indeed not so;
Is not my home a station at thy side?
Pleas'd only in the flow of thy delights,
And sad whenever thou art sorrowful,
My feelings live in thine.

LADICE.
My grateful girl,
In mercy to thy love I would be glad.
But when in sight of woe we try to laugh
What mockery we feel! It is too much;
The merry trouble ends in bitterness,
And is convuls'd to tears ere it hath power
To reach calm grief again.

SLAVE.
What so great cause
Of sadness pours these sobbings from thy breast?
Methinks I ne'er have seen thro' falling tears
Those lustrous eyes before.

LADICE.
My lonely hours
Have not betrayed their mistress' confidence
Or they had told how often I have wept.
Hath it not reach'd thine ear, that at the verge
Of the Pelusian shore my country's fate
Pends on the issue of a single fight?

SLAVE.
And whence hath sprung such contest that our lives
May suffer ere it end?

LADICE.
I will relate.
For often did I hear when but a child
My father's sire, the wise Amasis, tell
How when he overthrew his tyrant king,
And grasped himself the sceptre of this land,
A herald of the Persian claim'd his child
For King Cambyses' bride. Amasis scorn'd
To place her by the fierce barbarian's side,
But sent Nitetis deck'd with gems and gold,
Daughter of Apries, the fallen king.
She told the cheat that Persia might avenge
Her father's fate, and in her line restore
Imperial consequence. Meantime, a Greek,
One Phanes, a deserter from our ranks,
Urged King Cambyses to invade the shores
Of Nile: the monarch entertain'd the prayer.

SLAVE.
But then Amasis died.

LADICE.
A conqueror's son,
Cambyses takes delight in clash of spears.
He hath no better motive to prolong
This hated war. Oft in thy servitude
Hast thou reveal'd thy fatal origin,
How that thy mother was a sorceress
And the strong gift of foresight could confer
On the afflicted. This in lighter hours
Hath been our theme: now hasten to her side,
And pouring all my troubles in her ear
Beseech the gift that I may see the scene
Of Egypt's conflict, and discern our fate.

SLAVE.
Dost thou not fear that some dread penalty
May be exacted by the righteous powers
Should'st thou succeed in wresting from their book
The secrets else conceal'd?

LADICE.
No punishment
Equal in force to this inquietude
Can be inflicted on me.

SLAVE.
Think once more!

LADICE.
Canst thou succeed with thy progenitress?

SLAVE.
I fear, too swiftly and too well.

LADICE.
Depart!
Behold my Inaros at length appears.

INAROS, LADICE.
LADICE.
Son of Piromis, loved Inaros!
As often as I dare to look on thee,
The pomps of state which uninvited throng
Around me, vanish; or they stand apart
Aw'd into distance by love's rivalry,
Within whose pale life's sweetest memories
Can only pass! and often in my need
These spell-bind sorrow and divert its tears
To channels of affection.

INAROS.
In those words
I hear eternal blessings.

LADICE.
When of late
I saw my brother armed to share the fight,
And like my father mount the battle steed;
When from the gates in solemn movement tramp'd
The war-born cavalry; I wept aloud
And thought of Inaros.

INAROS.
And from the field
Hast thou no tidings?

LADICE.
None.

INAROS.
Then all is well.
Were we to yield to timorous phantasy
Our trouble-serving thoughts would rob the breast
Of fond anticipation. Let us trust
That when two kings behold each other's face
A sense of innate majesty may stir
The peaceful impulse: that alone decides
The cause of justice.

LADICE.
It befits the great
To tower above the passions of the world.

INAROS.
O my Ladice, let me see thine eyes!
How soft, how beaming are they! As I gaze
Their light glows into fire, they pierce my heart.
Before I saw thy loveliness I sigh'd
To gather pleasures from the flowery earth;
I lov'd the world, the clime, the virgin sky,
I lov'd myself! but when I saw thy face
I ceas'd to know another universe.
What I aspir'd to had not life like thee.
It answer'd not my look, return'd no smile,
And made to me no promise. I but guess'd
Its meaning and believ'd it; thee I hear!

LADICE.
How often conscious of like solitude
Would I in saddest peace of mind exclaim,
What is there in this life's monotony?

INAROS.
The well known yesterday seem'd come again,
The well known sense of being seem'd to fail.
But now the hours chant rapture as they come;
Sense of eternal harmony pervades
Each form of thought which on affection dwells.
We feel our love within each other's mind;
And as in fond embrace our feelings meet
A single sentiment of life involves
Our earnest being!

LADICE.
Never shall we share
The fondly looked-for future of our love
In this sad earth; that heaven which to the mind
Is given to be its everlasting home
Is our sole hope; these animating hours
But promise an affection which awaits
Our lives beyond the tomb.

INAROS.
O let despair
Haunt unbless'd souls; let its dismayful looks
Affright not thee, thou source of clearest hope,
Which in one stream thro' earthly dullness flows
Into this glad receptacle, the heart.
Repose in faith. Behold for thy proud sake
Is sent a herald to the far-famed port
Of the wave-girt Busiris, tranquil seat
Of Isis' grandest fane, yet more sublime
Than that whose column'd beauty on the coast
Of Tyre, illumed by emerald pillar, soars,
That there a sumptuous sacrifice be made
In offering for thy welfare. Nor alone
In that religious island, but at home
Are offer'd up both hymns and sacrifice.

LADICE.
These things thy love suggested for my good;
Nor can poor gratitude repay thy care.
In thy enlighten'd sphere of piety,
Thou hast not made omission of the land,
Or its defenders. I before had heard
Of these august proceedings, but would learn
From thine own lips of this great sacrifice.

INAROS.
The prayer and fasting done, a chosen priest
Fell'd to the earth a monstrous ox, and flay'd,
And the warm entrails sever'd. Thro' the limbs
And other sacred parts the knife he drew.
Then o'er the mutilated trunk there stood
The shaven youths, each bearing offerings.
The one deposited his figs and grapes
Within the carcase, one wild honey pour'd,
A third brought bread made of the purest grain,
And others follow'd with delicious choice
Of aromatics, frankincense, and myrrh.
These laid within the victim, from a vase
Of glittering brass they pour'd the holy oil
In plenteous stream, and sacrific'd in fire.
Then as the sacred portions blaz'd, a rage
Came o'er each face, else pious, and the breast
Was beaten fiercely, till by penance sooth'd
All gather'd to the feast. Great is the day!
Myriads were here assembled; strangers brought
Their dreadful usages from lands afar,
That they their rites might mingle in the feast
Of Isis Buceron. And to enhance
The fervor of the scene, while yet the men,
Who held the hereditary trust, their herds
Drove off the Temenos, the river glow'd
Beneath the laden barges under way
To Atarbechis with the horn-deck'd bones:
For there the remnants of the sacred bull
Are gather'd to a consecrated spot.

LADICE.
Then all that man, feeble accomplisher,
Can dare attempt, has been perform'd to-day.
But stay! my eyes directed towards the shore,
I see distinctly with prophetic gaze
The hostile ranks assembled: each is still
In stern defiance gazing on the foe.
Behold in prelude to the threaten'd fight
A band of Hellens rises on the field
Pale with fast-breathing vengeance! They perceive
The traitor Phanes foremost of the hordes
Whom he hath led to his adopted land.
That wretch stands out of the invader's line
Contempt denoting in his distant smile.
But now his look is stiffen'd, and his jaw
Quivers and drops in terror. On our side
The Greeks have led his little babes in view,
Conceal'd before: these had the father left
To confidential care. The innocents,
Now naked, group'd before their parent's sight
Are only heard to utter a shrill cry
Piercing to human hearts: their pallid looks
Instinct with childish dread of violence!
The Greeks more harden'd on the traitor gaze:
And now they draw across the infant's veins
The Ethiopian stone. Tall as a shade,
Relax'd and motionless the father stands;
Nor do the dying innocents again
Utter a cry; pale, shivering, resign'd!
The Greeks in confirmation of their crime
Now mix the blood, this moment shed, with wine,
And as the horror of revenge attains
Within their breasts the blackest consciousness,
They drain the cup, and with their crimson lips
Breathe in one voice a soul-appalling curse,
And swear to conquer!

INAROS.
This is prophecy!
These tidings give some respite to our fears

LADICE.
Behold the Persians, eager for the fight!
They have known conquest only thro' a life
Of hard-fought battles, and their triumphs ceas'd
But when the conquer'd world assur'd their arms
Of universal sway. Their leader sank
Crown'd with the lasting honours of the earth
Into his palace of eternal rest.
His sword is blunted by the file of death,
His arm reposes. His diviner part
Hath fram'd a bright excursion to the seat
Where lofty spirits pause, and look below
On hope and strife as mortal attributes.
The son of Cyrus, not less valiant, leads
The courage of his armies which survives,
Tho' render'd mighty by the mightier dead.
Conscious of solemn purpose, day and night
On the blue summit of Arabian hills
Where neither altar stands, nor statued fate,
The priesthood kneel in prayer for victory.
With a tiara crown'd whose disc is wrought
In myrtle leaves, the priest invokes his god,
And uses nor libations, nor the sound
Of pipes, nor wreathes the bybline leaf, but leads
His victim to the lonely peak. By day
With unabating zeal they sacrifice
To the large circle of the heavens, and call
On highest Zeus, and on the fiery sun
And earth below; and as the night returns
They solemnize the rites of Artemis,
And Mitra who along the galaxy
Reigns as a shepherdess beside her flock.
Hark! they invoke, in piety sublime,
The blessings of the gods, not on themselves,
But on the king and all the Persian land.

INAROS.
How canst thou know these mysteries?

LADICE.
I see
As if I stood amongst the motley crowd.
Oh blind my eyes! great horrors smite their orbs,
And force me to behold them. Turn away
That scene of ruin, bring me to myself.
Oh Doom! turn back and undermine the hours
By which this morn is fashion'd; or desist
From thy disastrous work! Oh Inaros!
This day spreads an inevitable toil
Whose fatal circle holds us; and the breath
Of sweeping time now like a whirlpool comes
To hurry all away.

INAROS.
Ladice! wake;
Unclose those eyes which sudden frenzy binds.
She sinks as into death's exhaustless sleep.

Slaves bear Ladice to a couch.
Terrace beside the Nile, between the Temple and the Palace.
HOROS.
Here let me pause a moment on myself
'Mid scenes of former hope to meditate.
The lotos flower, which moveless on the brink
Still gems this stream, whose circling flood protects
The sacred ground, I watch'd in other days
When not alone, 'neath yon worn pyramid
While the grey clouds were gather'd round its spire
As they are now. With what unwonted force
Recur the pleasing features of that scene!
Methought I saw her?—no, it was her look
Started to life and faded in my soul.
Ah! the spring season of my life is fled
With all its flowers, the brilliant hues obscur'd
Since she departed; and I hide myself
'Mid life's unvariegated foliage
In mournful search of new and strange delights.
In vain! for this deep wound there is no balm.
Ambition seems the sole bright misery
For my adoption; whether it may lead
To honour or perdition, 'tis the same;
Great souls were born to bear adversity.
A memory written in my country's love
I covet now, to sense of duty rous'd
By sense of pain; tho' no reward this brings
The broken heart but only mock delight.
That which I was in the green leaf, I am;
Not more advanc'd against my country's wrongs.
My summer dawns, I triumph or I fall.
Now, more and more the hours of my sweet prime,
So bright when present, afar off appear,
A twilight dimm'd by insubstantial shades
Of past remembrance. She amid the gloom
Flits from me, once regarded with such joy,
But in the portrait as beheld again
Enwrapt in sorrow. Still her loveliness
Remains unsullied by adversity,
That with intense affection as I gaze
The murmurings of passion softly pause,
And whisper at the heart deceptively
Of bliss scarce tainted by an adverse thrill.
Then let me break the fascinating charm
Which from my spirit hath so long exil'd
That longing for the unattain'd which feeds
Upon our best successes, and declares
Our nature ever greater than our fate.

HOROS, INAROS.
INAROS.
O ever pensive Horos, from whose hand
The crude existences of things return
Formose and sightly! Do I find thee here
Revolving in the mind what next thy art
May render perfect, or thy faculty
Of winning treasures of the wealthy heavens
May do for mortals?

HOROS.
No, the task is o'er.
I was that happy man who lov'd to court
The disembodied beauties of the earth
As they like milder fire escap'd the forms
Of tangible creation: and their shapes
Found like ideal statues in my mind
A perfect order, while the distant worlds
To them made tribute of their harmony.
Those days sped by, another train appear'd
More joyous, since responsive to the call
Of passion which usurp'd the seat of thought.
Then a deep bliss prevail'd—but thou hast heard
Of my bereavement! Years of agony
Led me to contemplate the lot of man.
Thus prompted, I began to analyse
The things pertaining to my father-land,
The rites of fanes, their obscure origin,
The priest's belief, the nation's slavery.
These in a balance pois'd were light as air;
They fled the scourge of reason.

INAROS.
Hast thou weigh'd
In the opposing scale the finite mind?
'Twere feeble to contend with things divine.
And how subversive of thy fantasies
Is the sure comfort souls discern in faith!
View that despair which gathers round the hour
Of dissolution! Then, our mortal part
Has dread of death: but suddenly is hail'd
An inward light which dissipates the gloom,
And souls o'erwhelmed with holy rapture pray.

HOROS.
To ponder that I sought this sacred place,
But oft deferr'd the task, until my thoughts
In reverential mood at length approach'd
The hallow'd theme. But ere the strife began
To tempt myself into belief, I wept
The bitter tears of incredulity.

INAROS.
Think of the lore of the Piromides
Who fix'd the precepts of the gods on stone.
Oh bend beneath their wisdom!

HOROS.
Born a sage,
The rolls and hieroglyphs have I pursued
To their last depth, to find vacuity.
To nature's restoration then I pledge
This spirit which enables me to mourn
My country's degradation.

INAROS.
'Midst thy toils,
Hast thou forgot when early fellowship
Link'd by its hallow'd law our tender hearts,
And chain'd us into one?

HOROS.
Our wanderings
Oft led us to the ruddy precipice
Where nature's porphyry roll made legible
The fabric of a world. And then we trod,
With airy steps and finite arguments,
The rocks where revolution oft hath strode,
Till emblems rose before our wondering sight,
Impersonations of the olden time
Self-sculptur'd in the desert, as to warn
Our thoughts against contention with the signs
Of things inscrutable. Amid such scenes
In those innocuous days in vain we tried
The ancient mystery of the soul to scan.

INAROS.
Yes, then as even in maturer days,
Hard seem'd the task imposed upon our minds
For thought to analyse the source of thought.
And still thou canst condemn the comely truths
Reveal'd to the adopted sons of heaven;
Canst live a worshipper at nature's shrine!
The true belief is the select and pure
Of nature, hallow'd by our piety;
But first by heaven inspir'd. Then, enter here:
The high Piromis, with parental love,
Forgives for the last time thy heresy,
And seeks but thy return to holiness.

HOROS.
Those generous sorrows which pervade mankind
In their prosperity, infect him not
In all his gloom. If thou wouldst please a foe,
Name not the proud arch-enemy again.
My path now long selected, not thy voice
Can charm my ear with reason to retreat.

INAROS.
Thou canst impute no inward thoughts or deeds
To the high priest, that, humbled, he should stand
Amenable to mortal scrutiny.
Wrong not the mighty, then, whom heaven affords
The staff of intellect to prop his age.
Those searching eyes that all things penetrate
With super-human vision, and repel
The damp, and sullying breath of noxious time,
Now glare with more than youthful brilliancy
Upon me; lo! my father's shadow stands
As now I speak, before my mental sight
In growing power, as if the gods had shown
His spotless soul permission to appear
And dissipate the slander. With me hence,
The conclave summons thee.

HOROS.
I know their will
Is not to be resisted. Then these gates
I pass to cite no more the light of day
In proof of truth. Oh heaven-taught liberty!
Incomprehensible thy fate appears,
To perish in the early age of time.