Sar. (solus.)

Farewell!

He is gone; and on his finger bears my signet,
Which is to him a sceptre. He is stern
As I am heedless; and the slaves deserve
To feel a master. What may be the danger,
I know not: he hath found it, let him quell it.
Must I consume my life-this little life-
In guarding against all may make it less ?(1)
It is not worth so much! It were to die
Before my hour, to live in dread of death,
Tracing revolt; suspecting all about me,
Because they are near; and all who are remote,
Because they are far. But if it should be so-
If they should sweep me off from earth and empire,
Why, what is earth or empire of the earth?

I have loved, and lived, and multiplied my image;
To die is no less natural than those

Acts of this clay! 'T is true I have not shed
Blood as I might have done, in oceans, till
My name became the synonym of death-
A terror and a trophy. But for this
I feel no penitence; my life is love:
If I must shed blood, it shall be by force.
Till now,
no drop from an Assyrian vein
Hath flow'd for me, nor hath the smallest coin
Of Nineveh's vast treasures e'er been lavish'd
On objects which could cost her sons a tear:
If then they hate me, 't is because I hate not:
If they rebel, 't is because I oppress not.
Oh, men! ye must be ruled with scythes, not sceptres,
And mow'd down like the grass, else all we reap
Is rank abundance, and a rotten harvest

Of discontents infecting the fair soil,

Making a desert of fertility.

I'll think no more.- -Within there, ho!

Sar.

Enter an ATTENDANT.

Slave, tell

Communicates between us, though unseen, In absence, and attracts us to each other. Myr. There doth.

Sar.

What is it?

Myr.

My lord!

Sar. My lord-my king-sire-sovereign; thus it
For ever thus, address'd with awe. I ne'er [is-
Can see a smile, unless in some broad banquet's
Intoxicating glare, when the buffoons
Have gorged themselves up to equality,
Or I have quaff'd me down to their abasement.
Myrrha, I can hear all these things, these names,
Lord-king-sire-monarch-nay, time was I
prized them;

That is, I suffer'd them-from slaves and nobles;
But when they falter from the lips I love,
The lips which have been press'd to mine, a chill
Comes o'er my heart, a cold sense of the falsehood
Of this my station, which represses feeling

In those for whom I have felt most, and makes me
Wish that I could lay down the dull tiara,
And share a cottage on the Caucasus
With thee, and wear no crowns but those of flowers.
Myr. Would that we could!`

Sar.

And dost thou feel this?-Why? Myr. Then thou wouldst know what thou canst

Hearts ?

I think so.

A thousand, and a thousand.

Myr.

Sar.

Myr. Not one! the time may come thou mayst. Sar.

It will!

Hear, Myrrha; Salemenes has declared—
Or why or how he hath divined it, Belus,
Who founded our great realm, knows more than I-
But Salemenes hath declared my throne
In peril.

Myr. He did well.

Sar.

And say'st thou so?

(1) "The Epicurean philosophy of Sardanapalus gives him a fine opportunity, in his conferences with his stern and confidential adviser, Salemenes, to contrast his own imputed and fatal vices of ease and love of pleasure with the boasted virtues of his predecessors, war and conquest." Jeffrey.

And made thee weep and blush ?

(2) In the MS.

"and even dared Profane our presence with his savage jeers."-E.

Myr.

More frequently, and he did well to call me
Back to my duty. But thou spakest of peril
Peril to thee-
Sar.

Ay, from dark plots and snares
Fom Medes-and discontented troops and nations.
I know not what-a labyrinth of things-
A maze of mutter'd threats and mysteries:
Thou know'st the man-it is his usual custom.
But he is honest. Come, we'll think no more on 't—
| But of the midnight festival.

Myr.

'T is time

To think of aught save festivals. Thou hast not
Spurn'd his sage cautions?

Sar.
What!-and dost thou fear?
Myr. Fear?-I'm a Greek, and how should I fear
death?

A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom?
Sar. Then wherefore dost thou turn so pale?
Myr.
I love.
Sar. And do not I? I love thee far-far more
Than either the brief life or the wide realm,
Which, it may be, are menaced ; yet I blench not.
Myr. That means thou lovest nor thyself nor me;
For he who loves another loves himself,
Even for that other's sake. This is too rash :
Kingdoms and lives are not to be so lost.
Sar. Lost!-why, who is the aspiring chief who
Assume to win them?
[dared

Myr.
Who is he should dread
To try so much? When he who is their ruler
Forgets himself, will they remember him?
Sar. Myrrha!

Myr. Frown not upon me: you have smiled
Too often on me not to make those frowns
Bitterer to bear than any punishment
Which they may augur.-King, I am your subject!
Master, I am your slave! Man, I have loved you!—
Loved you, I know not by what fatal weakness,
Although a Greek, and born a foe to monarchs-
A slave, and hating fetters-an Ionian,
And, therefore, when I love a stranger, more
Degraded by that passion than by chains!
Still I have loved you. If that love were strong
Enough to overcome all former nature,
Shall it not claim the privilege to save you ?
Sar. Save me, my beauty! Thou art very fair,
And what I seek of thee is love-not safety.
Myr. And without love where dwells security?
Sar. I speak of woman's love.
Myr.
The very first
Of human life must spring from woman's breast,
Your first small words are taught you from her lips,
Your first tear quench'd by her, and your last sighs

(1) "To speak of 'the tragic song' as the favourite pastime of Greece two hundred years before Thespis, is an anachronism. Nor could Myrrha, at so early a period of her country's history,

Myr. By teaching thee to save thyself, and not
Thyself alone, but these vast realms, from all
The rage of the worst war-the war of brethren.
Sar. Why, child, I loathe all war, and warriors;
I live in peace and pleasure: what can man
Do more?

Myr. Alas! my lord, with common men
There needs too oft the show of war to keep
The substance of sweet peace; and, for a king,
'T is sometimes better to be fear'd than loved.
Sar. And I have never sought but for the last.
Myr. And now art neither.

Sar.

Dost thou say so, Myrrha ? Myr. I speak of civic popular love, self-love, Which means that men are kept in awe and law, Yet not oppress'd—at least they must not think so; Or if they think so, deem it necessary, To ward off worse oppression, their own passions. A king of feasts, and flowers, and wine, and revel, And love, and mirth, was never king of glory. Sar. Glory! what's that? Myr. Ask of the gods thy fathers. Sar. They cannot answer; when the priests speak for then,

'T is for some small addition to the temple.

Myr. Look to the annals of thine empire's founders. Sar. They are so blotted o'er with blood, I cannot. But what wouldst have? the empire has been founded:

I cannot go on multiplying empires.
Myr. Preserve thine own.

Not an hour

Pan. May the king live for ever! Sar. Longer than he can love. How my soul hates This language, which makes life itself a lie. Flattering dust with eternity. (2) Well, Pania' Be brief.

Pan. I am charged by Salemenes to Reiterate his prayer unto the king, That for this day, at least, he will not quit The palace: when the general returns, He will adduce such reasons as will warrant His daring, and perhaps obtain the pardon Of his presumption.

Sar.

What! am I then coop'd ? Already captive ? can I not even breathe The breath of heaven? Tell prince Salemenes, Were all Assyria raging round the walls In mutinous myriads, I would still go forth. Pan. I must obey, and yet

Myr.
O monarch! listen.
How many a day and moon thou hast reclined
Within these palace walls in silken dalliance,
And never shown thee to thy people's longing;
Leaving thy subjects' eyes ungratified,
The satraps uncontroll'd, the gods unworshipp'd,
And all things in the anarchy of sloth,
Till all save evil slumber'd through the realm!
And wilt thou not now tarry for a day,—

A day which may redeem thee? Wilt thou not
Yield to the few still faithful a few hours,
For them, for thee, for thy past fathers' race,
And for thy sons' inheritance?

What is thy motive, Myrrha, thus to urge me?
Myr. Thy safety; and the certainty that nought
Could urge the prince thy kinsman to require
Thus much froin thee, but some impending danger.
Sar. And if I do not dread it, why shouldst thou?
Myr. Because thou dost not fear, I fear for thee.
Sar. To-morrow thou wilt smile at these vain
fancies.

Myr. If the worst come, I shall be where none And that is better than the power to smile. [weep, And thou?

Sar. I shall be king, as heretofore.
Myr. Where?

Sar.

With Baal, Nimrod, and Semiramis, Sole in Assyria, or with them elsewhere. Fate made me what I am-may make me nothingBut either that or nothing must I be:

Sar. These are mere fantasies; There is no peril :-'tis a sullen scheme Of Salemenes, to approve his zeal,

(1) In the MS.

"Who loved no gems so well as those of nature."-E

If I must make a prison of our palace,
At least we'll wear our fetters jocundly;
If the Euphrates be forbid us, and

The summer dwelling on its beauteous border,

(2) In the MS.

Wishing eternity to dust."-E

Here we are still unmenaced. Ho! within there!

Myr. (sola.) Why do I love this man? My country's daughters

Love none but heroes. But I have no country!
The slave hath lost all save her bonds. I love him;
And that's the heaviest link of the long chain-
To love whom we esteem not. Be it so:
The hour is coming when he 'll need all love,
And find none. To fall from him now were baser
Than to have stabb'd him on his throne when highest
Would have been noble in my country's creed:
I was not made for either. Could I save him,
I should not love him better, but myself;
And I have need of the last, for I have fallen

In my own thoughts, by loving this soft stranger:
And yet methinks I love him more, perceiving
That he is hated of his own barbarians,
The natural foes of all the blood of Greece,
Could I but wake a single thought like those
Which even the Phrygians felt when battling long
Twixt Ilion and the sea, within his heart,

Seem'd everlasting; but oh! thou true sun! The burning oracle of all that live,

As fountain of all life, and symbol of
Him who bestows it, wherefore dost thou limit
Thy lore unto calamity? Why not
Unfold the rise of days more worthy thine
All-glorious burst from ocean? why not dart
A beam of hope athwart the future's years,
As of wrath to its days? Hear me ! oh, hear me !
I am thy worshipper, thy priest, thy servant-
I have gazed on thee at thy rise and fall,
And bow'd my head beneath thy mid-day beams,
When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watch'd
For thee, and after thee, and pray'd to thee,
And sacrificed to thee, and read, and fear'd thee,
And ask'd of thee, and thou hast answer'd-but
Only to thus much while I speak, he sinks-

Is gone and leaves his beauty, not his knowledge,
To the delighted west, which revels in

Its hues of dying glory. Yet what is

sets more slowly,

Taking his last look of Assyria's empire

How red he glares amongst those deepening clouds,
Like the blood he predicts. If not in vain,
Thou sun that sinkest and ye stars which rise,
I have outwatch'd ye, reading ray by ray

The edicts of your orbs, which make Time tremble
For what he brings the nations, 't is the furthest
Hour of Assyria's years. And yet how calm!
An earthquake should announce so great a fall-
A summer's sun discloses it. Yon disk,

(1) There are two of Lord Byron's characteristic excellences which he never leaves behind in his most fantastic expeditions, and which he has accordingly brought into his new domain of classic tragedy. One of these is his intense feeling of the loveliness of woman-his power, not only of picturing individual forms, but of infusing into the very atmosphere which surrounds them the spirit of beauty and of love. A soft roseate light is spread over them, which seems to sink into the soul. The other faculty to which we allude is his comprehensive sympathy with

Bel. I do not doubt of victory-but the victor.
Arb. Well, let thy science settle that. Meantime

I have prepared as many glittering spears
As will out-sparkle our allies-your planets.
There is no more to thwart us. The she-king,
That less than woman, is even now upon
The waters with his female mates. The order
Is issued for the feast in the pavilion.
The first cup which he drains will be the last
Quaff'd by the line of Nimrod.

the vastest objects in the material universe. There is scarcely any pure description of individual scenes in all his works; but the noblest allusions to the grandeurs of earth and heaven. He pays no allegiance but to the elements." The moon, the stars, the ocean, the mountain desert, are endowed by him with new speech and language,' and send to the heart their mighty voices. He can interpret between us and the firmament, or give us all the sentiment of an everlasting solitude.-E.

Bel. Art sure of that? Arb.

He keeps aloof from all the revels? Bel.

But

Arb. And ever thwarted: what would you have

more

To make a rebel out of? A fool reigning,

His blood dishonour'd, and himself disdain'd : Why, it is his revenge we work for.

- Bel.

Could

He but be brought to think so: this I doubt of. Arb. What, if we sound him?

Bel.

Bel. What seest thou? Arb.

A fair summer's twilight, and The gathering of the stars. Bel.

Yes-if the time served.

Enter BALEA.

And 'midst them, mark Yon earliest, and the brightest, which so quivers, As it would quit its place in the blue ether. Arb. Well!

Bel. 'Tis thy natal ruler-thy birth-planet. Arb. (touching his scabbard.) My star is in this scabbard: when it shines,

It shall out-dazzle comets. Let us think
Of what is to be done to justify

Thy planets and their portents. When we conquer,
They shall have temples-ay, and priests-and thou
Shalt be the pontiff of-what gods thou wilt;
For I observe that they are ever just,
And own the bravest for the most devout.
Bel. Ay, and the most devout for brave-thou hast
Seen me turn back from battle.
[not

Arb.
No; I own thee
As firm in fight as Babylonia's captain,
As skilful in Chaldea's worship: now,
Will it but please thee to forget the priest,
And be the warrior?

Bel. (to Arb. aside.) Hush! let him go his way. (Alternately to Bal.) Yes, Balea, thank the monarch, kiss the hein

Of his imperial robe, and say, his slaves
Will take the crumbs he deigns to scatter from
His royal table at the hour-was 't midnight?

Bal. It was: the place, the hall of Nimrod. Lords, I humble me before you, and depart. [Exit BALEA. Arb. I like not this same sudden change of place; There is some mystery: wherefore should he change it ?

Bel. Doth he not change a thousand times a day? Sloth is of all things the most fancifulAnd moves more parasangs in its intents Than generals in their marches, when they seek To leave their foe at fault.-Why dost thou muse? Arb. He loved that gay pavilion, it was ever His summer dotage.

Bel.

And he loved his queen— And thrice a thousand harlotry besidesAnd he has loved all things by turns, except Wisdom and glory.

Arb.

Still-I like it not.

If he has changed-why so must we: the attack
Were easy in the isolated bower,
Beset with drowsy guards and drunken courtiers;
But in the hall of Nimrod――

Bel.
Is it so ?
Methought the haughty soldier fear'd to mount
A throne too easily-does it disappoint thee
To find there is a slipperier step or two