Sardanapalus (play)  

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Sardanapalus (1821) is a historical tragedy in blank verse by Lord Byron, set in ancient Nineveh and recounting the fall of the Assyrian monarchy and its supposed last king. It draws its story mainly from the Historical Library of Diodorus Siculus and from William Mitford's History of Greece. Byron wrote the play during his stay in Ravenna, and dedicated it to Goethe. It has had an extensive influence on European culture, inspiring a painting by Delacroix and musical works by Berlioz, Liszt and Ravel, among others.

Ernest Hartley Coleridge, in his notes on the works of Byron, states, "It is hardly necessary to remind the modern reader that the Sardanapalus of history is an unverified if not an unverifiable personage.... The character which Ctesias depicted or invented, an effeminate debauchee, sunk in luxury and sloth, who at the last was driven to take up arms, and, after a prolonged but ineffectual resistance, avoided capture by suicide, cannot be identified."

In his own preface to the play, Byron claims that he has "attempted to preserve ... the `unities.'" ... "aware of the unpopularity of this notion in present English Literature." If the unities are no longer popular in England, they are "still so in the more civilized parts" of the world.

Full text[1]

SARDANAPALUS: A TRAGEDY.

[2] [Sardanapale, Tragédie Imitée de Lord Byron, par L. Alvin, was performed at the Théatre Royal at Brussels, January 13, 16, 1834.

Sardanapalus, a Tragedy, was played for the first time at Drury Lane Theatre, April 10, 1834, and (for the twenty-second time) June 5, 1834. Macready appeared as "Sardanapalus," Miss Phillips as "Zarina," and Miss Ellen Tree as "Myrrha." [In his diary for April 11, 1834 (see Reminiscences, 1875, i. 414, 415) Macready wrote, "On arriving at my chambers ... I found a letter without a signature; the seal was the head of Byron, and in the envelope was a folded sheet with merely the words, 'Werner, Nov., 1830. Byron, Ravenna, 1821,' and 'Sardanapalus, April 10th, 1834.' Encircling the name of Byron, etc., was a lock of grey hair fastened by a gold thread, which I am sure was Byron's, ... it surprised and pleased me."]

Sardanapalus, King of Assyria, was produced at the Princess's Theatre, June 13, 1853, and played till September 2, 1853. Charles Kean appeared as "Sardanapalus," Miss Heath as "Zarina," and Mrs. Charles Kean as "Myrrha."

Sardanapale, Opéra en Trois Actes, par M. Henry Becque, Musique de M. Victorin Joncières, was performed for the first time at the Thèatre Impérial-Lyrique, February 8, 1867.

Lord Byron's Tragedy of Sardanapalus, in four acts, was performed at the Theatre Royal, Manchester, March 31-April 28, 1877. Charles Calvert (the adapter) played "Sardanapalus," Miss Hathaway "Zarina," and Miss Fanny Ensor "Myrrha;" and June 26-July 27, 1877, at the Royal Alexandra Theatre, Liverpool. Calvert's adaptation was also performed at Booth's Theatre, New York.]

[3]

INTRODUCTION TO SARDANAPALUS swash

Byron's passion or infatuation for the regular drama lasted a little over a year. Marino Faliero, Sardanapalus, and the Two Foscari, were the fruits of his "self-denying ordinance to dramatize, like the Greeks ... striking passages of history" (letter to Murray, July 14, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 323). The mood was destined to pass, but for a while the neophyte was spell-bound.

Sardanapalus, a Tragedy, the second and, perhaps, the most successful of these studies in the poetry of history, was begun at Ravenna, January 13, 1821, "with all deliberate speed;" but, for a time, from laziness or depression of spirits, or, perhaps, from the counter-excitement of "the poetry of politics" (Letters, 1901, v. 205), that is, the revolutionary drama which had begun to run its course, a month went by before he had finished the first act (February 15). Three months later (May 28) he announces the completion of the drama, the last act having been "dashed off" in two or three days (Letters, 1901, v. 300).

For the story of Sardanapalus, which had excited his interest as a schoolboy, Byron consulted the pages of Diodorus Siculus (Bibliothecæ Historicæ, lib. ii. pp. 78, sq., ed. 1604), and, possibly to ward off and neutralize the distracting influence of Shakespeare and other barbarian dramatists, he "turned over" the tragedies of Seneca (Letters, 1901, v. 173). It is hardly necessary to remind the modern reader that the Sardanapalus of history is an unverified if not an unverifiable personage. Diodorus the Sicilian, who was contemporary with Cicero, derived his knowledge of Assyrian history from the Persica of Ctesias of Cnidos, who was private physician at the court of Artaxerxes Mnemon (B.C. 405-359), and is said to have had access to, and to have consulted, the "Persian authorities" (διφθέραι Βασιλικαὶ).

[4] The character which Ctesias depicted or invented, an effeminate debauchee, sunk in luxury and sloth, who at the last was driven to take up arms, and, after a prolonged but ineffectual resistance, avoided capture by suicide, cannot be identified. Asurbanipal (Ašur-bāni-apli), the son of Esarhaddon and grandson of Sennacherib, who ascended the throne B.C. 668, and reigned for about forty years, was, as the cuneiform records and the friezes of his palace testify, a bold hunter and a mighty warrior. He vanquished Tarku (Tirhakah) of Ethiopia, and his successor, Urdamane. Ba'al King of Tyre, Yakinlū King of the island-city of Arvad, Sandăsarmū of Cilicia, Teumman of Elam, and other potentates, suffered defeat at his hands. "The land of Elam," writes the king or his "Historiographer Royal," "through its extent I covered as when a mighty storm approaches; I cut off the head of Teumman, their king.... Beyond number I slew his warriors; alive in my hands I took his fighting men; with their corpses, as with thorns and thistles, I filled the vicinity of Susa; their blood I caused to flow in the Eulæus, and I stained its waters like wool." Clearly the Sardanapalus who painted his face and carded purple wool in the penetralia of his seraglio does not bear even a traditional resemblance to Ašur-bāni-apli the Conqueror.

All that can be affirmed with any certainty is that within twenty years of the death of Asurbanipal, the Assyrian Empire passed into the hands of the Medes;[1] but there is nothing to show whether the period of decay had already set in before the close of his reign, or under which of his two successors, Ăsur-etil-ilāni or Sin-šar-iškun, the final catastrophe (B.C. 606) took place (Encyclopedia Biblica, art. "Assyria," art. "Ăsur-bani-pal," by Leonard W. King).

"I have made," writes Byron (May 25, 1821), "Sardanapalus brave though voluptuous (as history represents him), and as amiable as my poor pen could make him." Diodorus, or rather Ctesias, who may have drawn upon personal reminiscences of his patron, Artaxerxes Mnemon (see Plutarch's Artaxerxes, passim), does not enlarge upon his amiability, and credits him only with the courage of despair. Byron's Sardanapalus, with his sudden transition from[5] voluptuous abandonment to heroic chivalry, his remorseful recognition of the sanctities of wedlock, his general good nature, his "sly, insinuating sarcasms" (Moore's Diary, September 30, 1821, Memoirs, iii. 282), "all made out of the carver's brain," resembles history as little as history resembles the Assyrian record. Fortunately, the genius of the poet escaped from the meshes which he had woven round himself, and, in spite of himself, he was constrained to "beat his music out," regardless of his authorities.

The character of Myrrha, which bears some resemblance to Aspasia, "a native of Phocea in Ionia—the favourite mistress of Cyrus" (see Plutarch's Artaxerxes, Langhorne's Translation, 1838, p. 699), was introduced partly to pacify the Countess Guiccioli, who had quarrelled with him for maintaining that "love was not the loftiest theme for true tragedy," and, in part, to prove that he was not a slave to his own ideals, and could imagine and delineate a woman who was both passionate and high-minded. Diodorus (Bibl. Hist., lib. iii. p. 130) records the exploits of Myrina, Queen of the Amazons, but it is probable that Byron named his Ionian slave after Mirra, who gives her name to Alfieri's tragedy, which brought on a convulsive fit of tears and shuddering when he first saw it played at Bologna in August, 1819 (Letters, 1900, iv. 339).

Sardanapalus, a Tragedy, was published together with The Two Foscari, a Tragedy, and Cain, a Mystery, December 19, 1821.

The three plays were reviewed by Heber in the Quarterly Review, July, 1822, vol. xxvii. pp. 476-524; by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review, February, 1822, vol. 36, pp. 413-452; in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, February, 1822, vol. xi. pp. 212-217; and in the Portfolio (Philadelphia), December, 1822, vol. xiv. pp. 487-492.

[6]

[7]

TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOETHE A STRANGER PRESUMES TO OFFER THE HOMAGE OF A LITERARY VASSAL TO HIS LIEGE LORD, THE FIRST OF EXISTING WRITERS, WHO HAS CREATED THE LITERATURE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY, AND ILLUSTRATED THAT OF EUROPE. THE UNWORTHY PRODUCTION WHICH THE AUTHOR VENTURES TO INSCRIBE TO HIM IS ENTITLED SARDANAPALUS.[2] [8]

[9]

PREFACE swash

In publishing the following Tragedies[3] I have only to repeat, that they were not composed with the most remote view to the stage. On the attempt made by the managers in a former instance, the public opinion has been already expressed. With regard to my own private feelings, as it seems that they are to stand for nothing, I shall say nothing.

For the historical foundation of the following compositions the reader is referred to the Notes.

The Author has in one instance attempted to preserve, and in the other to approach, the "unities;" conceiving that with any very distant departure from them, there may be poetry, but can be no drama. He is aware of the unpopularity of this notion in present English literature; but it is not a system of his own, being merely an opinion, which, not very long ago, was the law of literature throughout the world, and is still so in the more civilised parts of it. But "nous avons changé tout cela," and are reaping the advantages of the change. The writer is far from conceiving that any thing he can adduce by personal precept or example can at all approach his regular, or even irregular predecessors: he is merely giving a reason why he preferred the more regular formation of a structure, however feeble, to an entire abandonment of all rules whatsoever. Where he has failed, the failure is in the architect,—and not in the art.

[10] In this tragedy it has been my intention to follow the account of Diodorus Siculus;[4] reducing it, however, to such dramatic regularity as I best could, and trying to approach the unities. I therefore suppose the rebellion to explode and succeed in one day by a sudden conspiracy, instead of the long war of the history.

[11]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ swash MEN. Sardanapalus, king of Nineveh and Assyria, etc. Arbaces, the Mede who aspired to the Throne. Beleses, a Chaldean and Soothsayer. Salemenes, the King's Brother-in-Law. Altada, an Assyrian Officer of the Palace. Pania. Zames. Sfero. Balea.

WOMEN. Zarina, the Queen. Myrrha, an Ionian female Slave, and the Favourite Mistress of Sardanapalus. Women composing the Harem of Sardanapalus, Guards, Attendants, Chaldean Priests, Medes, etc., etc. Scene.—A Hall in the Royal Palace of Nineveh. [13]

SARDANAPALUS.[5]

ACT I. Scene I.—A Hall in the Palace.

Salemenes (solus). He hath wronged his queen, but still he is her lord; He hath wronged my sister—still he is my brother; He hath wronged his people—still he is their sovereign—[14] And I must be his friend as well as subject: He must not perish thus. I will not see The blood of Nimrod and Semiramis Sink in the earth, and thirteen hundred years Of Empire ending like a shepherd's tale; He must be roused. In his effeminate heart There is a careless courage which Corruption10 Has not all quenched, and latent energies, Repressed by circumstance, but not destroyed— Steeped, but not drowned, in deep voluptuousness. If born a peasant, he had been a man To have reached an empire: to an empire born, He will bequeath none; nothing but a name, Which his sons will not prize in heritage:— Yet—not all lost—even yet—he may redeem His sloth and shame, by only being that Which he should be, as easily as the thing20 He should not be and is. Were it less toil To sway his nations than consume his life? To head an army than to rule a harem? He sweats in palling pleasures, dulls his soul,[a] And saps his goodly strength, in toils which yield not Health like the chase, nor glory like the war— He must be roused. Alas! there is no sound

[Sound of soft music heard from within.

To rouse him short of thunder. Hark! the lute— The lyre—the timbrel; the lascivious tinklings Of lulling instruments, the softening voices30 Of women, and of beings less than women, Must chime in to the echo of his revel, While the great King of all we know of earth Lolls crowned with roses, and his diadem Lies negligently by to be caught up By the first manly hand which dares to snatch it. Lo, where they come! already I perceive[15] The reeking odours of the perfumed trains, And see the bright gems of the glittering girls,[b] At once his Chorus and his Council, flash40 Along the gallery, and amidst the damsels, As femininely garbed, and scarce less female, The grandson of Semiramis, the Man-Queen.— He comes! Shall I await him? yes, and front him, And tell him what all good men tell each other, Speaking of him and his. They come, the slaves Led by the monarch subject to his slaves. Scene II.

Enter Sardanapalus effeminately dressed, his Head crowned with Flowers, and his Robe negligently flowing, attended by a Train of Women and young Slaves.

Sar. (speaking to some of his attendants). Let the pavilion[6] over the Euphrates Be garlanded, and lit, and furnished forth For an especial banquet; at the hour Of midnight we will sup there: see nought wanting, And bid the galley be prepared. There is A cooling breeze which crisps the broad clear river: We will embark anon. Fair Nymphs, who deign[16] To share the soft hours of Sardanapalus, We'll meet again in that the sweetest hour, When we shall gather like the stars above us,10 And you will form a heaven as bright as theirs; Till then, let each be mistress of her time, And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha,[7] choose; Wilt thou along with them or me? Myr.‍My Lord— Sar. My Lord!—my Life! why answerest thou so coldly? It is the curse of kings to be so answered. Rule thy own hours, thou rulest mine—say, wouldst thou Accompany our guests, or charm away The moments from me? Myr.‍The King's choice is mine. Sar. I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy20 Is to contribute to thine every wish. I do not dare to breathe my own desire, Lest it should clash with thine; for thou art still Too prompt to sacrifice thy thoughts for others. Myr. I would remain: I have no happiness Save in beholding thine; yet—— Sar.‍Yet! what yet? Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier Which ever rises betwixt thee and me. Myr. I think the present is the wonted hour Of council; it were better I retire.30 Sal. (comes forward and says) The Ionian slave says well: let her retire. Sar. Who answers? How now, brother? Sal.‍The Queen's brother, And your most faithful vassal, royal Lord. Sar. (addressing his train). As I have said, let all dispose their hours Till midnight, when again we pray your presence. [The court retiring.[17] (To Myrrha,[c] who is going.) Myrrha! I thought thou wouldst remain. Myr.‍Great King, Thou didst not say so. Sar.‍But thou looked'st it: I know each glance of those Ionic eyes,[d] Which said thou wouldst not leave me. Myr.‍Sire! your brother—— Sal. His Consort's brother, minion of Ionia!40 How darest thou name me and not blush? Sar.‍Not blush! Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her crimson Like to the dying day on Caucasus, Where sunset tints the snow with rosy shadows, And then reproach her with thine own cold blindness, Which will not see it. What! in tears, my Myrrha? Sal. Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one, And is herself the cause of bitterer tears. Sar. Curséd be he who caused those tears to flow! Sal. Curse not thyself—millions do that already.50 Sar. Thou dost forget thee: make me not remember I am a monarch. Sal.‍Would thou couldst! Myr.‍My sovereign, I pray, and thou, too, Prince, permit my absence. Sar. Since it must be so, and this churl has checked Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose An empire than thy presence. [Exit Myrrha. Sal.‍It may be, Thou wilt lose both—and both for ever! Sar.‍Brother! I can at least command myself, who listen To language such as this: yet urge me not60 Beyond my easy nature. Sal.‍'Tis beyond That easy—far too easy—idle nature, Which I would urge thee. O that I could rouse thee![18] Though 'twere against myself. Sar.‍By the god Baal! The man would make me tyrant. Sal.‍So thou art. Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice, The weakness and the wickedness of luxury, The negligence, the apathy, the evils Of sensual sloth—produce ten thousand tyrants,70 Whose delegated cruelty surpasses The worst acts of one energetic master, However harsh and hard in his own bearing. The false and fond examples of thy lusts Corrupt no less than they oppress, and sap In the same moment all thy pageant power And those who should sustain it; so that whether A foreign foe invade, or civil broil Distract within, both will alike prove fatal: The first thy subjects have no heart to conquer;80 The last they rather would assist than vanquish. Sar. Why, what makes thee the mouth-piece of the people? Sal. Forgiveness of the Queen, my sister wrongs; A natural love unto my infant nephews; Faith to the King, a faith he may need shortly, In more than words; respect for Nimrod's line; Also, another thing thou knowest not. Sar. What's that? Sal.‍To thee an unknown word. Sar.‍Yet speak it; I love to learn. Sal.‍Virtue. Sar.‍Not know the word! Never was word yet rung so in my ears—90 Worse than the rabble's shout, or splitting trumpet: I've heard thy sister talk of nothing else. Sal. To change the irksome theme, then, hear of vice. Sar. From whom? Sal.‍Even from the winds, if thou couldst listen Unto the echoes of the Nation's voice. Sar. Come, I'm indulgent, as thou knowest, patient,[19] As thou hast often proved—speak out, what moves thee? Sal. Thy peril. Sar.‍Say on. Sal.‍Thus, then: all the nations, For they are many, whom thy father left In heritage, are loud in wrath against thee.100 Sar. 'Gainst me!! What would the slaves? Sal.‍A king. Sar.‍And what Am I then? Sal.‍In their eyes a nothing; but In mine a man who might be something still. Sar. The railing drunkards! why, what would they have? Have they not peace and plenty? Sal.‍Of the first More than is glorious: of the last, far less Than the King recks of. Sar.‍Whose then is the crime, But the false satraps, who provide no better? Sal. And somewhat in the Monarch who ne'er looks Beyond his palace walls, or if he stirs110 Beyond them, 'tis but to some mountain palace, Till summer heats wear down. O glorious Baal! Who built up this vast empire, and wert made A God, or at the least shinest like a God Through the long centuries of thy renown, This, thy presumed descendant, ne'er beheld As king the kingdoms thou didst leave as hero, Won with thy blood, and toil, and time, and peril! For what? to furnish imposts for a revel, Or multiplied extortions for a minion.120 Sar. I understand thee—thou wouldst have me go Forth as a conqueror. By all the stars Which the Chaldeans read—the restless slaves[e] Deserve that I should curse them with their wishes, And lead them forth to glory. Sal.‍Wherefore not? Semiramis—a woman only—led[20] These our Assyrians to the solar shores Of Ganges. Sar.‍Tis most true. And how returned? Sal. Why, like a man—a hero; baffled, but Not vanquished. With but twenty guards, she made130 Good her retreat to Bactria. Sar.‍And how many Left she behind in India to the vultures? Sal. Our annals say not. Sar.‍Then I will say for them— That she had better woven within her palace Some twenty garments, than with twenty guards Have fled to Bactria, leaving to the ravens, And wolves, and men—the fiercer of the three, Her myriads of fond subjects. Is this Glory? Then let me live in ignominy ever. Sal. All warlike spirits have not the same fate.140 Semiramis, the glorious parent of A hundred kings, although she failed in India, Brought Persia—Media—Bactria—to the realm Which she once swayed—and thou mightst sway. Sar.‍I sway them— She but subdued them. Sal.‍It may be ere long That they will need her sword more than your sceptre. Sar. There was a certain Bacchus, was there not? I've heard my Greek girls speak of such—they say He was a God, that is, a Grecian god, An idol foreign to Assyria's worship,150 Who conquered this same golden realm of Ind Thou prat'st of, where Semiramis was vanquished. Sal. I have heard of such a man; and thou perceiv'st That he is deemed a God for what he did. Sar. And in his godship I will honour him— Not much as man. What, ho! my cupbearer! Sal. What means the King? Sar.‍To worship your new God And ancient conqueror. Some wine, I say. [21] Enter Cupbearer.

Sar. (addressing the Cupbearer). Bring me the golden goblet thick with gems, Which bears the name of Nimrod's chalice. Hence,160 Fill full, and bear it quickly. [Exit Cupbearer. Sal.‍Is this moment A fitting one for the resumption of Thy yet unslept-off revels? Re-enter Cupbearer, with wine.

Sar. (taking the cup from him). Noble kinsman, If these barbarian Greeks of the far shores And skirts of these our realms lie not, this Bacchus Conquered the whole of India,[8] did he not? Sal. He did, and thence was deemed a Deity.[f] Sar. Not so:—of all his conquests a few columns.[9] Which may be his, and might be mine, if I Thought them worth purchase and conveyance, are170 The landmarks of the seas of gore he shed, The realms he wasted, and the hearts he broke. But here—here in this goblet is his title To immortality—the immortal grape From which he first expressed the soul, and gave To gladden that of man, as some atonement For the victorious mischiefs he had done. Had it not been for this, he would have been A mortal still in name as in his grave; And, like my ancestor Semiramis,180 A sort of semi-glorious human monster. Here's that which deified him—let it now Humanise thee; my surly, chiding brother,[22] Pledge me to the Greek God! Sal.‍For all thy realms I would not so blaspheme our country's creed. Sar. That is to say, thou thinkest him a hero, That he shed blood by oceans; and no God, Because he turned a fruit to an enchantment, Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,190 And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls. Well, then I pledge thee And him as a true man, who did his utmost In good or evil to surprise mankind. [Drinks. Sal. Wilt thou resume a revel at this hour? Sar. And if I did, 'twere better than a trophy, Being bought without a tear. But that is not My present purpose: since thou wilt not pledge me, Continue what thou pleasest. (To the Cupbearer.)‍Boy, retire. [Exit Cupbearer. Sal. I would but have recalled thee from thy dream;200 Better by me awakened than rebellion. Sar. Who should rebel? or why? what cause? pretext? I am the lawful King, descended from A race of Kings who knew no predecessors. What have I done to thee, or to the people, That thou shouldst rail, or they rise up against me? Sal. Of what thou hast done to me, I speak not. Sar.‍But Thou think'st that I have wronged the Queen: is't not so? Sal. Think! Thou hast wronged her! Sar.‍Patience, Prince, and hear me. She has all power and splendour of her station,210 Respect, the tutelage of Assyria's heirs, The homage and the appanage of sovereignty. I married her as monarchs wed—for state, And loved her as most husbands love their wives. If she or thou supposedst I could link me Like a Chaldean peasant to his mate, Ye knew nor me—nor monarchs—nor mankind. Sal. I pray thee, change the theme: my blood disdains Complaint, and Salemenes' sister seeks not[23] Reluctant love even from Assyria's lord!220 Nor would she deign to accept divided passion With foreign strumpets and Ionian slaves. The Queen is silent. Sar.‍And why not her brother? Sal. I only echo thee the voice of empires, Which he who long neglects not long will govern. Sar. The ungrateful and ungracious slaves! they murmur Because I have not shed their blood, nor led them To dry into the desert's dust by myriads, Or whiten with their bones the banks of Ganges; Nor decimated them with savage laws,230 Nor sweated them to build up Pyramids, Or Babylonian walls. Sal.‍Yet these are trophies More worthy of a people and their prince Than songs, and lutes, and feasts, and concubines, And lavished treasures, and contemnéd virtues. Sar. Or for my trophies I have founded cities: There's Tarsus and Anchialus, both built In one day—what could that blood-loving beldame, My martial grandam, chaste Semiramis, Do more, except destroy them? Sal.‍'Tis most true;240 I own thy merit in those founded cities, Built for a whim, recorded with a verse Which shames both them and thee to coming ages. Sar. Shame me! By Baal, the cities, though well built, Are not more goodly than the verse! Say what Thou wilt 'gainst me, my mode of life or rule, But nothing 'gainst the truth of that brief record. Why, those few lines contain the history Of all things human: hear—"Sardanapalus, The king, and son of Anacyndaraxes,250 In one day built Anchialus and Tarsus. Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip."[10][24] Sal. A worthy moral, and a wise inscription, For a king to put up before his subjects![25] Sar. Oh, thou wouldst have me doubtless set up edicts— "Obey the king—contribute to his treasure— Recruit his phalanx—spill your blood at bidding— Fall down and worship, or get up and toil." Or thus—"Sardanapalus on this spot Slew fifty thousand of his enemies.260 These are their sepulchres, and this his trophy." I leave such things to conquerors; enough For me, if I can make my subjects feel The weight of human misery less, and glide Ungroaning to the tomb: I take no license Which I deny to them. We all are men. Sal. Thy Sires have been revered as Gods— Sar.‍In dust And death, where they are neither Gods nor men. Talk not of such to me! the worms are Gods;[11] At least they banqueted upon your Gods,270 And died for lack of farther nutriment. Those Gods were merely men; look to their issue— I feel a thousand mortal things about me, But nothing godlike,—unless it may be The thing which you condemn, a disposition To love and to be merciful, to pardon The follies of my species, and (that's human) To be indulgent to my own. Sal.‍Alas! The doom of Nineveh is sealed.—Woe—woe To the unrivalled city! Sar.‍What dost dread?280 Sal. Thou art guarded by thy foes: in a few hours The tempest may break out which overwhelms thee, And thine and mine; and in another day What is shall be the past of Belus' race. Sar. What must we dread? Sal.‍Ambitious treachery, Which has environed thee with snares; but yet There is resource: empower me with thy signet[26] To quell the machinations, and I lay The heads of thy chief foes before thy feet. Sar. The heads—how many? Sal.‍Must I stay to number290 When even thine own's in peril? Let me go; Give me thy signet—trust me with the rest. Sar. I will trust no man with unlimited lives. When we take those from others, we nor know What we have taken, nor the thing we give. Sal. Wouldst thou not take their lives who seek for thine? Sar. That's a hard question—But I answer, Yes. Cannot the thing be done without? Who are they Whom thou suspectest?—Let them be arrested. Sal. I would thou wouldst not ask me; the next moment300 Will send my answer through thy babbling troop Of paramours, and thence fly o'er the palace, Even to the city, and so baffle all.— Trust me. Sar.‍Thou knowest I have done so ever; Take thou the signet. [Gives the signet. Sal.‍I have one more request. Sar. Name it. Sal.‍That thou this night forbear the banquet In the pavilion over the Euphrates. Sar. Forbear the banquet! Not for all the plotters That ever shook a kingdom! Let them come, And do their worst: I shall not blench for them;310 Nor rise the sooner; nor forbear the goblet; Nor crown me with a single rose the less; Nor lose one joyous hour.—I fear them not. Sal. But thou wouldst arm thee, wouldst thou not, if needful? Sar. Perhaps. I have the goodliest armour, and A sword of such a temper, and a bow, And javelin, which might furnish Nimrod forth: A little heavy, but yet not unwieldy. And now I think on't, 'tis long since I've used them, Even in the chase. Hast ever seen them, brother?320 Sal. Is this a time for such fantastic trifling?[27]— If need be, wilt thou wear them? Sar.‍Will I not? Oh! if it must be so, and these rash slaves Will not be ruled with less, I'll use the sword Till they shall wish it turned into a distaff. Sal. They say thy Sceptre's turned to that already. Sar. That's false! but let them say so: the old Greeks, Of whom our captives often sing, related The same of their chief hero, Hercules, Because he loved a Lydian queen: thou seest330 The populace of all the nations seize Each calumny they can to sink their sovereigns. Sal. They did not speak thus of thy fathers. Sar.‍No; They dared not. They were kept to toil and combat; And never changed their chains but for their armour: Now they have peace and pastime, and the license To revel and to rail; it irks me not. I would not give the smile of one fair girl For all the popular breath[12] that e'er divided A name from nothing. What are the rank tongues[13]340 Of this vile herd, grown insolent with feeding, That I should prize their noisy praise, or dread Their noisome clamour? Sal.‍You have said they are men; As such their hearts are something. Sar.‍So my dogs' are; And better, as more faithful:—but, proceed; Thou hast my signet:—since they are tumultuous, Let them be tempered, yet not roughly, till Necessity enforce it. I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us, The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch,350 Not to add to each other's natural burthen[28] Of mortal misery, but rather lessen, By mild reciprocal alleviation, The fatal penalties imposed on life: But this they know not, or they will not know. I have, by Baal! done all I could to soothe them: I made no wars, I added no new imposts, I interfered not with their civic lives, I let them pass their days as best might suit them, Passing my own as suited me. Sal.‍Thou stopp'st360 Short of the duties of a king; and therefore They say thou art unfit to be a monarch. Sar. They lie.—Unhappily, I am unfit To be aught save a monarch; else for me The meanest Mede might be the king instead. Sal. There is one Mede, at least, who seeks to be so. Sar. What mean'st thou!—'tis thy secret; thou desirest Few questions, and I'm not of curious nature. Take the fit steps; and, since necessity Requires, I sanction and support thee. Ne'er370 Was man who more desired to rule in peace The peaceful only: if they rouse me, better They had conjured up stern Nimrod from his ashes, "The Mighty Hunter!" I will turn these realms To one wide desert chase of brutes, who were, But would no more, by their own choice, be human. What they have found me, they belie; that which They yet may find me—shall defy their wish To speak it worse; and let them thank themselves. Sal. Then thou at last canst feel? Sar.‍Feel! who feels not380 Ingratitude?[14] Sal.‍I will not pause to answer With words, but deeds. Keep thou awake that energy Which sleeps at times, but is not dead within thee,[29] And thou may'st yet be glorious in thy reign, As powerful in thy realm. Farewell! [Exit Salemenes. Sar. (solus).‍Farewell! He's 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.390 Must I consume my life—this little life— In guarding against all may make it less? 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;400 To die is no less natural than those Acts of this clay! 'Tis true I have not shed Blood as I might have done, in oceans, till My name became the synonyme 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 flowed for me, nor hath the smallest coin Of Nineveh's vast treasures e'er been lavished410 On objects which could cost her sons a tear: If then they hate me, 'tis because I hate not: If they rebel, 'tis because I oppress not. Oh, men! ye must be ruled with scythes, not sceptres, And mowed 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! Enter an Attendant.

Sar.‍Slave, tell The Ionian Myrrha we would crave her presence.420 Attend. King, she is here. [30] Myrrha enters.

Sar. (apart to Attendant).‍Away! (Addressing Myrrha.)‍Beautiful being! Thou dost almost anticipate my heart; It throbbed for thee, and here thou comest: let me Deem that some unknown influence, some sweet oracle, Communicates between us, though unseen, In absence, and attracts us to each other. Myr. There doth. Sar.‍I know there doth, but not its name: What is it? Myr.‍In my native land a God, And in my heart a feeling like a God's, Exalted; yet I own 'tis only mortal;430 For what I feel is humble, and yet happy— That is, it would be happy; but—— [Myrrha pauses. Sar.‍There comes For ever something between us and what We deem our happiness: let me remove The barrier which that hesitating accent Proclaims to thine, and mine is sealed. Myr.‍My Lord!— Sar. My Lord—my King—Sire—Sovereign; thus it is— For ever thus, addressed with awe. I ne'er Can see a smile, unless in some broad banquet's Intoxicating glare, when the buffoons440 Have gorged themselves up to equality, Or I have quaffed 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 suffered them—from slaves and nobles; But when they falter from the lips I love, The lips which have been pressed 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 me450 Wish that I could lay down the dull tiara, And share a cottage on the Caucasus[31] 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 never know. Sar. And that is—— Myr.‍The true value of a heart; At least, a woman's. Sar.‍I have proved a thousand—A thousand, and a thousand. Myr.‍Hearts? Sar.‍I think so. Myr. Not one! the time may come thou may'st. Sar.‍It will. Hear, Myrrha; Salemenes has declared—460 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? Thou whom he spurned so harshly, and now dared[g] Drive from our presence with his savage jeers, And made thee weep and blush? Myr.‍I should do both More frequently, and he did well to call me Back to my duty. But thou spakest of peril Peril to thee—— Sar.‍Aye, from dark plots and snares470 From Medes—and discontented troops and nations. I know not what—a labyrinth of things— A maze of muttered 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.‍'Tis time To think of aught save festivals. Thou hast not Spurned his sage cautions? Sar.‍What?—and dost thou fear?[32] Myr. Fear!—I'm a Greek, and how should I fear death? A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom?480 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 dared Assume to win them? Myr.‍Who is he should dread490 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,500 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,510 Your first small words are taught you from her lips, Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighs Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, When men have shrunk from the ignoble care[33] Of watching the last hour of him who led them. Sar. My eloquent Ionian! thou speak'st music: The very chorus of the tragic song I have heard thee talk of as the favourite pastime Of thy far father-land. Nay, weep not—calm thee. Myr. I weep not.—But I pray thee, do not speak520 About my fathers or their land. Sar.‍Yet oft Thou speakest of them. Myr.‍True—true: constant thought Will overflow in words unconsciously; But when another speaks of Greeks, it wounds me. Sar. Well, then, how wouldst thou save me, as thou saidst? 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 man530 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, 'Tis sometimes better to be feared 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 oppressed—at least they must not think so, Or, if they think so, deem it necessary,540 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 them, 'Tis 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.[34] But what wouldst have? the Empire has been founded. I cannot go on multiplying empires.550 Myr. Preserve thine own. Sar.‍At least, I will enjoy it. Come, Myrrha, let us go on to the Euphrates: The hour invites, the galley is prepared, And the pavilion, decked for our return, In fit adornment for the evening banquet, Shall blaze with beauty and with light, until It seems unto the stars which are above us Itself an opposite star; and we will sit Crowned with fresh flowers like— Myr.‍Victims. Sar.‍No, like sovereigns, The Shepherd Kings of patriarchal times,560 Who knew no brighter gems than summer wreaths,[h] And none but tearless triumphs. Let us on. Enter Pania.

Pan. May the King live for ever! Sar.‍Not an hour Longer than he can love. How my soul hates This language, which makes life itself a lie, Flattering dust with eternity.[i] 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,570 He will adduce such reasons as will warrant His daring, and perhaps obtain the pardon Of his presumption. Sar.‍What! am I then cooped? 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——[35] Myr.‍Oh, Monarch, listen.— How many a day and moon thou hast reclined Within these palace walls in silken dalliance,580 And never shown thee to thy people's longing; Leaving thy subjects' eyes ungratified, The satraps uncontrolled, the Gods unworshipped, And all things in the anarchy of sloth, Till all, save evil, slumbered 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? Pan.‍'Tis true!590 From the deep urgency with which the Prince Despatched me to your sacred presence, I Must dare to add my feeble voice to that Which now has spoken. Sar.‍No, it must not be. Myr. For the sake of thy realm! Sar.‍Away! Pan.‍For that Of all thy faithful subjects, who will rally Round thee and thine. Sar.‍These are mere fantasies: There is no peril:—'tis a sullen scheme Of Salemenes, to approve his zeal, And show himself more necessary to us.600 Myr. By all that's good and glorious take this counsel. Sar. Business to-morrow. Myr.‍Aye—or death to-night. Sar. Why let it come then unexpectedly, 'Midst joy and gentleness, and mirth and love; So let me fall like the plucked rose!—far better Thus than be withered. Myr.‍Then thou wilt not yield, Even for the sake of all that ever stirred A monarch into action, to forego A trifling revel. Sar.‍No. Myr.‍Then yield for mine;[36] For my sake! Sar.‍Thine, my Myrrha! Myr.‍'Tis the first610 Boon which I ever asked Assyria's king. Sar. That's true, and, wer't my kingdom, must be granted. Well, for thy sake, I yield me. Pania, hence! Thou hear'st me. Pan.‍And obey. [Exit Pania. Sar.‍I marvel at thee. 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 from 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.620 Sar. To-morrow thou wilt smile at these vain fancies. Myr. If the worst come, I shall be where none weep, And that is better than the power to smile. 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 nothing— But either that or nothing must I be: I will not live degraded. Myr.‍Hadst thou felt Thus always, none would ever dare degrade thee.630 Sar. And who will do so now? Myr.‍Dost thou suspect none? Sar. Suspect!—that's a spy's office. Oh! we lose Ten thousand precious moments in vain words, And vainer fears. Within there!—ye slaves, deck The Hall of Nimrod for the evening revel; 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, Here we are still unmenaced. Ho! within there!640 [Exit Sardanapalus.[37] Myr. (solus). 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 stabbed 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,650 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, He would tread down the barbarous crowds, and triumph.660 He loves me, and I love him; the slave loves Her master, and would free him from his vices. If not, I have a means of freedom still, And if I cannot teach him how to reign, May show him how alone a King can leave His throne. I must not lose him from my sight. [Exit. ACT II. Scene I.—The Portal of the same Hall of the Palace.

Beleses (solus). The Sun goes down: methinks he 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,[38] I have outwatched ye, reading ray by ray The edicts of your orbs, which make Time tremble[j] For what he brings the nations, 'tis the furthest Hour of Assyria's years. And yet how calm! An earthquake should announce so great a fall—10 A summer's sun discloses it. Yon disk, To the star-read Chaldean, bears upon Its everlasting page the end of what Seemed 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 dart20 A beam of hope athwart the future 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 bowed my head beneath thy mid-day beams, When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watched For thee, and after thee, and prayed to thee, And sacrificed to thee, and read, and feared thee, And asked of thee, and thou hast answered—but Only to thus much: while I speak, he sinks—30 Is gone—and leaves his beauty, not his knowledge, To the delighted West, which revels in Its hues of dying glory. Yet what is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset; And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay. Enter Arbaces by an inner door.

Arb.‍Beleses, why So wrapt in thy devotions? Dost thou stand Gazing to trace thy disappearing God Into some realm of undiscovered day? Our business is with night—'tis come.[39] Bel.‍But not40 Gone. Arb.‍Let it roll on—we are ready. Bel.‍Yes. Would it were over! Arb.‍Does the prophet doubt, To whom the very stars shine Victory? 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 order50 Is issued for the feast in the pavilion. The first cup which he drains will be the last Quaffed by the line of Nimrod. Bel.‍'Twas a brave one. Arb. And is a weak one—'tis worn out—we'll mend it. Bel. Art sure of that? Arb.‍Its founder was a hunter— I am a soldier—what is there to fear? Bel. The soldier. Arb.‍And the priest, it may be: but If you thought thus, or think, why not retain Your king of concubines? why stir me up? Why spur me to this enterprise? your own60 No less than mine? Bel.‍Look to the sky! Arb.‍I look. Bel. What seest thou? Arb.‍A fair summer's twilight, and The gathering of the stars. Bel.‍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[40] Of what is to be done to justify Thy planets and their portents. When we conquer,70 They shall have temples—aye, 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. Aye, and the most devout for brave—thou hast not Seen me turn back from battle. 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.‍Why not both? Arb.‍The better;80 And yet it almost shames me, we shall have So little to effect. This woman's warfare Degrades the very conqueror. To have plucked A bold and bloody despot from his throne, And grappled with him, clashing steel with steel, That were heroic or to win or fall; But to upraise my sword against this silkworm,[15] And hear him whine, it may be—— Bel.‍Do not deem it: He has that in him which may make you strife yet; And were he all you think, his guards are hardy,90 And headed by the cool, stern Salemenes. Arb. They'll not resist. Bel.‍Why not? they are soldiers. Arb.‍True, And therefore need a soldier to command them. Bel. That Salemenes is. Arb.‍But not their King. Besides, he hates the effeminate thing that governs, For the Queen's sake, his sister. Mark you not He keeps aloof from all the revels? Bel.‍But Not from the council—there he is ever constant. Arb. And ever thwarted: what would you have more[41] To make a rebel out of? A fool reigning,100 His blood dishonoured, and himself disdained: 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.‍Yes—if the time served. Enter Balea.

Bal. Satraps! The king commands your presence at The feast to-night. Bel.‍To hear is to obey. In the pavilion? Bal.‍No; here in the palace. Arb. How! in the palace? it was not thus ordered. Bal. It is so ordered now. Arb.‍And why? Bal.‍I know not. May I retire? Arb.‍Stay. Bel. (to Arb. aside).‍Hush! let him go his way.110 (Alternately to Bal.) Yes, Balea, thank the Monarch, kiss the hem 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 fanciful—120 And 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 besides— And he has loved all things by turns, except[42] 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,130 Beset with drowsy guards and drunken courtiers; But in the hall of Nimrod—— Bel.‍Is it so? Methought the haughty soldier feared to mount A throne too easily—does it disappoint thee To find there is a slipperier step or two Than what was counted on? Arb.‍When the hour comes, Thou shall perceive how far I fear or no. Thou hast seen my life at stake—and gaily played for: But here is more upon the die—a kingdom. Bel. I have foretold already—thou wilt win it:140 Then on, and prosper. Arb.‍Now were I a soothsayer, I would have boded so much to myself. But be the stars obeyed—I cannot quarrel With them, nor their interpreter. Who's here? Enter Salemenes.

Sal. Satraps! Bel.‍My Prince! Sal.‍Well met—I sought ye both, But elsewhere than the palace. Arb.‍Wherefore so? Sal. 'Tis not the hour. Arb.‍The hour!—what hour? Sal.‍Of midnight. Bel. Midnight, my Lord! Sal.‍What, are you not invited? Bel. Oh! yes—we had forgotten. Sal.‍Is it usual Thus to forget a Sovereign's invitation? Arb. Why—we but now received it.150 Sal.‍Then why here? Arb. On duty. Sal.‍On what duty? Bel.‍On the state's.[43] We have the privilege to approach the presence; But found the Monarch absent.[k] Sal.‍And I too Am upon duty. Arb.‍May we crave its purport? Sal. To arrest two traitors. Guards! Within there! Enter Guards.

Sal. (continuing).‍Satraps, Your swords. Bel. (delivering his).‍My lord, behold my scimitar. Arb. (drawing his sword). Take mine. Sal. (advancing).‍I will. Arb.‍But in your heart the blade— The hilt quits not this hand.[l] Sal. (drawing).‍How! dost thou brave me? Tis well—this saves a trial, and false mercy.160 Soldiers, hew down the rebel! Arb.‍Soldiers! Aye— Alone, you dare not. Sal.‍Alone! foolish slave— What is there in thee that a Prince should shrink from Of open force? We dread thy treason, not Thy strength: thy tooth is nought without its venom— The serpent's, not the lion's. Cut him down. Bel. (interposing). Arbaces! Are you mad? Have I not rendered My sword? Then trust like me our Sovereign's justice. Arb. No—I will sooner trust the stars thou prat'st of, And this slight arm, and die a king at least170 Of my own breath and body—so far that None else shall chain them. Sal. (to the Guards).‍You hear him and me. Take him not,—kill. [The Guards attack Arbaces, who defends himself valiantly and dexterously till they waver.

Sal.‍Is it even so; and must[44] I do the hangman's office? Recreants! see How you should fell a traitor.

[Salemenes attacks Arbaces.

Enter Sardanapalus and Train.

Sar.‍Hold your hands— Upon your lives, I say. What, deaf or drunken? My sword! O fool, I wear no sword: here, fellow, Give me thy weapon. [To a Guard. [Sardanapalus snatches a sword from one of the soldiers, and rushes between the combatants—they separate.

Sar.‍In my very palace! What hinders me from cleaving you in twain, Audacious brawlers? Bel.‍Sire, your justice. Sal.‍Or—180 Your weakness. Sar. (raising the sword). How? Sal.‍Strike! so the blow's repeated Upon yon traitor—whom you spare a moment, I trust, for torture—I'm content. Sar.‍What—him! Who dares assail Arbaces? Sal.‍I! Sar.‍Indeed! Prince, you forget yourself. Upon what warrant? Sal. (showing the signet). Thine. Arb. (confused).‍The King's! Sal.‍Yes! and let the King confirm it. Sar. I parted not from this for such a purpose. Sal. You parted with it for your safety—I Employed it for the best. Pronounce in person. Here I am but your slave—a moment past190 I was your representative. Sar.‍Then sheathe Your swords. [Arbaces and Salemenes return their swords to the scabbards.[45]

Sal.‍Mine's sheathed: I pray you sheathe not yours: Tis the sole sceptre left you now with safety. Sar. A heavy one; the hilt, too, hurts my hand. (To a Guard.) Here, fellow, take thy weapon back. Well, sirs, What doth this mean? Bel.‍The Prince must answer that. Sal. Truth upon my part, treason upon theirs. Sar. Treason—Arbaces! treachery and Beleses! That were an union I will not believe. Bel. Where is the proof? Sal.‍I'll answer that, if once200 The king demands your fellow-traitor's sword. Arb. (to Sal.). A sword which hath been drawn as oft as thine Against his foes. Sal.‍And now against his brother, And in an hour or so against himself. Sar. That is not possible: he dared not; no— No—I'll not hear of such things. These vain bickerings Are spawned in courts by base intrigues, and baser Hirelings, who live by lies on good men's lives. You must have been deceived, my brother. Sal.‍First Let him deliver up his weapon, and210 Proclaim himself your subject by that duty, And I will answer all. Sar.‍Why, if I thought so— But no, it cannot be: the Mede Arbaces— The trusty, rough, true soldier—the best captain Of all who discipline our nations——No, I'll not insult him thus, to bid him render The scimitar to me he never yielded Unto our enemies. Chief, keep your weapon. Sal. (delivering back the signet). Monarch, take back your signet. Sar.‍No, retain it; But use it with more moderation. Sal.‍Sire,200 I used it for your honour, and restore it Because I cannot keep it with my own.[46] Bestow it on Arbaces. Sar.‍So I should: He never asked it. Sal.‍Doubt not, he will have it, Without that hollow semblance of respect. Bel. I know not what hath prejudiced the Prince So strongly 'gainst two subjects, than whom none Have been more zealous for Assyria's weal. Sal. Peace, factious priest, and faithless soldier! thou Unit'st in thy own person the worst vices230 Of the most dangerous orders of mankind. Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies For those who know thee not. Thy fellow's sin Is, at the least, a bold one, and not tempered By the tricks taught thee in Chaldea. Bel.‍Hear him, My liege—the son of Belus! he blasphemes The worship of the land, which bows the knee Before your fathers. Sar.‍Oh! for that I pray you Let him have absolution. I dispense with The worship of dead men; feeling that I240 Am mortal, and believing that the race From whence I sprung are—what I see them—ashes. Bel. King! Do not deem so: they are with the stars, And—— Sar.‍You shall join them ere they will rise, If you preach farther—Why, this is rank treason. Sal. My lord! Sar.‍To school me in the worship of Assyria's idols! Let him be released— Give him his sword. Sal.‍My Lord, and King, and Brother, I pray ye pause. Sar.‍Yes, and be sermonised, And dinned, and deafened with dead men and Baal,250 And all Chaldea's starry mysteries. Bel. Monarch! respect them. Sar.‍Oh! for that—I love them; I love to watch them in the deep blue vault, And to compare them with my Myrrha's eyes;[47] I love to see their rays redoubled in The tremulous silver of Euphrates' wave, As the light breeze of midnight crisps the broad And rolling water, sighing through the sedges Which fringe his banks: but whether they may be Gods, as some say, or the abodes of Gods,260 As others hold, or simply lamps of night, Worlds—or the lights of Worlds—I know nor care not. There's something sweet in my uncertainty I would not change for your Chaldean lore; Besides, I know of these all clay can know Of aught above it, or below it—nothing. I see their brilliancy and feel their beauty[m]— When they shine on my grave I shall know neither. Bel. For neither, Sire, say better. Sar.‍I will wait, If it so please you, Pontiff, for that knowledge.270 In the mean time receive your sword, and know That I prefer your service militant Unto your ministry—not loving either. Sal. (aside). His lusts have made him mad. Then must I save him, Spite of himself. Sar.‍Please you to hear me, Satraps! And chiefly thou, my priest, because I doubt thee More than the soldier; and would doubt thee all Wert thou not half a warrior: let us part In peace—I'll not say pardon—which must be Earned by the guilty; this I'll not pronounce ye,280 Although upon this breath of mine depends Your own; and, deadlier for ye, on my fears. But fear not—for that I am soft, not fearful— And so live on. Were I the thing some think me, Your heads would now be dripping the last drops Of their attainted gore from the high gates Of this our palace, into the dry dust, Their only portion of the coveted kingdom They would be crowned to reign o'er—let that pass. As I have said, I will not deem ye guilty,290 Nor doom ye guiltless. Albeit better men[48] Than ye or I stand ready to arraign you; And should I leave your fate to sterner judges, And proofs of all kinds, I might sacrifice Two men, who, whatsoe'er they now are, were Once honest. Ye are free, sirs. Arb.‍Sire, this clemency—— Bel. (interrupting him). Is worthy of yourself; and, although innocent, We thank—— Sar.‍Priest! keep your thanksgivings for Belus; His offspring needs none. Bel.‍But being innocent—— Sar. Be silent.—Guilt is loud. If ye are loyal,300 Ye are injured men, and should be sad, not grateful. Bel. So we should be, were justice always done By earthly power omnipotent; but Innocence Must oft receive her right as a mere favour. Sar. That's a good sentence for a homily, Though not for this occasion. Prithee keep it To plead thy Sovereign's cause before his people. Bel. I trust there is no cause. Sar.‍No cause, perhaps; But many causers:—if ye meet with such In the exercise of your inquisitive function310 On earth, or should you read of it in heaven In some mysterious twinkle of the stars, Which are your chronicles, I pray you note, That there are worse things betwixt earth and heaven Than him who ruleth many and slays none; And, hating not himself, yet loves his fellows Enough to spare even those who would not spare him Were they once masters—but that's doubtful. Satraps! Your swords and persons are at liberty To use them as ye will—but from this hour320 I have no call for either. Salemenes! Follow me. [Exeunt Sardanapalus, Salemenes, and the Train, etc., leaving Arbaces and Beleses.

Arb.‍Beleses! Bel.‍Now, what think you? Arb. That we are lost.[49] Bel.‍That we have won the kingdom. Arb. What? thus suspected—with the sword slung o'er us But by a single hair, and that still wavering, To be blown down by his imperious breath Which spared us—why, I know not. Bel.‍Seek not why; But let us profit by the interval.[n] The hour is still our own—our power the same— The night the same we destined. He hath changed330 Nothing except our ignorance of all Suspicion into such a certainty As must make madness of delay. Arb.‍And yet— Bel. What, doubting still? Arb.‍He spared our lives, nay, more, Saved them from Salemenes. Bel.‍And how long Will he so spare? till the first drunken minute. Arb. Or sober, rather. Yet he did it nobly; Gave royally what we had forfeited Basely—— Bel.‍Say bravely. Arb.‍Somewhat of both, perhaps— But it has touched me, and, whate'er betide,340 I will no further on. Bel.‍And lose the world! Arb. Lose any thing except my own esteem. Bel. I blush that we should owe our lives to such A king of distaffs! Arb.‍But no less we owe them; And I should blush far more to take the grantor's![16] Bel. Thou may'st endure whate'er thou wilt—the stars Have written otherwise. Arb.‍Though they came down, And marshalled me the way in all their brightness, I would not follow.[50] Bel.‍This is weakness—worse Than a scared beldam's dreaming of the dead,350 And waking in the dark.—Go to—go to. Arb. Methought he looked like Nimrod as he spoke, Even as the proud imperial statue stands Looking the monarch of the kings around it, And sways, while they but ornament, the temple. Bel. I told you that you had too much despised him, And that there was some royalty within him—What then? he is the nobler foe. Arb.‍But we The meaner.—Would he had not spared us! Bel.‍So— Wouldst thou be sacrificed thus readily?360 Arb. No—but it had been better to have died Than live ungrateful. Bel.‍Oh, the souls of some men! Thou wouldst digest what some call treason, and Fools treachery—and, behold, upon the sudden, Because for something or for nothing, this Rash reveller steps, ostentatiously, 'Twixt thee and Salemenes, thou art turned Into—what shall I say?—Sardanapalus! I know no name more ignominious. Arb.‍But An hour ago, who dared to term me such370 Had held his life but lightly—as it is, I must forgive you, even as he forgave us— Semiramis herself would not have done it. Bel. No—the Queen liked no sharers of the kingdom, Not even a husband.[17] Arb.‍I must serve him truly—— Bel. And humbly? Arb.‍No, sir, proudly—being honest. I shall be nearer thrones than you to heaven; And if not quite so haughty, yet more lofty. You may do your own deeming—you have codes,[51] And mysteries, and corollaries of380 Right and wrong, which I lack for my direction, And must pursue but what a plain heart teaches. And now you know me. Bel.‍Have you finished? Arb.‍Yes— With you. Bel.‍And would, perhaps, betray as well As quit me? Arb.‍That's a sacerdotal thought, And not a soldier's. Bel.‍Be it what you will— Truce with these wranglings, and but hear me. Arb.‍No— There is more peril in your subtle spirit Than in a phalanx. Bel.‍If it must be so— I'll on alone. Arb.‍Alone! Bel.‍Thrones hold but one.390 Arb. But this is filled. Bel.‍With worse than vacancy— A despised monarch. Look to it, Arbaces: I have still aided, cherished, loved, and urged you; Was willing even to serve you, in the hope To serve and save Assyria. Heaven itself Seemed to consent, and all events were friendly, Even to the last, till that your spirit shrunk Into a shallow softness; but now, rather Than see my country languish, I will be Her saviour or the victim of her tyrant—400 Or one or both—for sometimes both are one; And if I win—Arbaces is my servant. Arb. Your servant! Bel.‍Why not? better than be slave, The pardoned slave of she Sardanapalus! Enter Pania.

Pan. My Lords, I bear an order from the king. Arb. It is obeyed ere spoken.[52] Bel.‍Notwithstanding, Let's hear it. Pan.‍Forthwith, on this very night, Repair to your respective satrapies Of Babylon and Media. Bel.‍With our troops? Pan. My order is unto the Satraps and410 Their household train. Arb.‍But—— Bel.‍It must be obeyed: Say, we depart. Pan.‍My order is to see you Depart, and not to bear your answer. Bel. (aside).‍Aye[o]! Well, Sir—we will accompany you hence. Pan. I will retire to marshal forth the guard Of honour which befits your rank, and wait Your leisure, so that it the hour exceeds not. [Exit Pania.

Bel. Now then obey! Arb.‍Doubtless. Bel.‍Yes, to the gates That grate the palace, which is now our prison— No further. Arb.‍Thou hast harped the truth indeed!420 The realm itself, in all its wide extension, Yawns dungeons at each step for thee and me. Bel. Graves! Arb.‍If I thought so, this good sword should dig One more than mine. Bel.‍It shall have work enough. Let me hope better than thou augurest; At present, let us hence as best we may. Thou dost agree with me in understanding This order as a sentence? Arb.‍Why, what other Interpretation should it bear? it is The very policy of Orient monarchs—430 Pardon and poison—favours and a sword[53]— A distant voyage, and an eternal sleep. How many Satraps in his father's time— For he I own is, or at least was, bloodless— Bel. But will not—can not be so now. Arb.‍I doubt it. How many Satraps have I seen set out In his Sire's day for mighty Vice-royalties, Whose tombs are on their path! I know not how, But they all sickened by the way, it was So long and heavy. Bel.‍Let us but regain440 The free air of the city, and we'll shorten The journey. Arb.‍'Twill be shortened at the gates, It may be. Bel.‍No; they hardly will risk that. They mean us to die privately, but not Within the palace or the city walls, Where we are known, and may have partisans: If they had meant to slay us here, we were No longer with the living. Let us hence. Arb. If I but thought he did not mean my life— Bel. Fool! hence—what else should despotism alarmed450 Mean? Let us but rejoin our troops, and march. Arb. Towards our provinces? Bel.‍No; towards your kingdom. There's time—there's heart, and hope, and power, and means— Which their half measures leave us in full scope.— Away! Arb.‍And I even yet repenting must Relapse to guilt! Bel.‍Self-defence is a virtue, Sole bulwark of all right. Away, I say! Let's leave this place, the air grows thick and choking, And the walls have a scent of night-shade—hence! Let us not leave them time for further council.460 Our quick departure proves our civic zeal; Our quick departure hinders our good escort, The worthy Pania, from anticipating[54] The orders of some parasangs from hence: Nay, there's no other choice, but——hence, I say[p].

[Exit with Arbaces, who follows reluctantly.

Enter Sardanapalus and Salemenes.

Sar. Well, all is remedied, and without bloodshed, That worst of mockeries of a remedy; We are now secure by these men's exile. Sal.‍Yes, As he who treads on flowers is from the adder Twined round their roots. Sar.‍Why, what wouldst have me do?470 Sal. Undo what you have done. Sar.‍Revoke my pardon? Sal. Replace the crown now tottering on your temples. Sar. That were tyrannical. Sal.‍But sure. Sar.‍We are so. What danger can they work upon the frontier? Sal. They are not there yet—never should they be so, Were I well listened to. Sar.‍Nay, I have listened Impartially to thee—why not to them? Sal. You may know that hereafter; as it is, I take my leave to order forth the guard. Sar. And you will join us at the banquet? Sal.‍Sire,480 Dispense with me—I am no wassailer: Command me in all service save the Bacchant's. Sar. Nay, but 'tis fit to revel now and then. Sal. And fit that some should watch for those who revel Too oft. Am I permitted to depart? Sar. Yes——Stay a moment, my good Salemenes, My brother—my best subject—better Prince Than I am King. You should have been the monarch, And I—I know not what, and care not; but Think not I am insensible to all490 Thine honest wisdom, and thy rough yet kind, Though oft-reproving sufferance of my follies.[55] If I have spared these men against thy counsel, That is, their lives—it is not that I doubt The advice was sound; but, let them live: we will not Cavil about their lives—so let them mend them. Their banishment will leave me still sound sleep, Which their death had not left me. Sal.‍Thus you run The risk to sleep for ever, to save traitors— A moment's pang now changed for years of crime.500 Still let them be made quiet. Sar.‍Tempt me not; My word is past. Sal.‍But it may be recalled. Sar. 'Tis royal. Sal.‍And should therefore be decisive. This half-indulgence of an exile serves But to provoke—a pardon should be full, Or it is none. Sar.‍And who persuaded me After I had repealed them, or at least Only dismissed them from our presence, who Urged me to send them to their satrapies? Sal. True; that I had forgotten; that is, Sire,510 If they e'er reached their Satrapies—why, then, Reprove me more for my advice. Sar.‍And if They do not reach them—look to it!—in safety, In safety, mark me—and security— Look to thine own. Sal.‍Permit me to depart; Their safety shall be cared for. Sar.‍Get thee hence, then; And, prithee, think more gently of thy brother. Sal. Sire, I shall ever duly serve my sovereign.

[Exit Salemenes.

Sar. (solus). That man is of a temper too severe; Hard but as lofty as the rock, and free520 From all the taints of common earth—while I Am softer clay, impregnated with flowers: But as our mould is, must the produce be. If I have erred this time, 'tis on the side[56] Where Error sits most lightly on that sense, I know not what to call it; but it reckons With me ofttimes for pain, and sometimes pleasure; A spirit which seems placed about my heart To count its throbs, not quicken them, and ask Questions which mortal never dared to ask me,530 Nor Baal, though an oracular deity—[q] Albeit his marble face majestical Frowns as the shadows of the evening dim His brows to changed expression, till at times I think the statue looks in act to speak. Away with these vain thoughts, I will be joyous— And here comes Joy's true herald. Enter Myrrha.

Myr.‍King! the sky Is overcast, and musters muttering thunder, In clouds that seem approaching fast, and show In forkéd flashes a commanding tempest.[r]540 Will you then quit the palace? Sar.‍Tempest, say'st thou? Myr. Aye, my good lord. Sar.‍For my own part, I should be Not ill content to vary the smooth scene, And watch the warring elements; but this Would little suit the silken garments and Smooth faces of our festive friends. Say, Myrrha, Art thou of those who dread the roar of clouds? Myr. In my own country we respect their voices As auguries of Jove.[s] Sar.‍Jove!—aye, your Baal— Ours also has a property in thunder,550 And ever and anon some falling bolt Proves his divinity,—and yet sometimes[57] Strikes his own altars. Myr.‍That were a dread omen. Sar. Yes—for the priests. Well, we will not go forth Beyond the palace walls to-night, but make Our feast within. Myr.‍Now, Jove be praised! that he Hath heard the prayer thou wouldst not hear. The Gods Are kinder to thee than thou to thyself, And flash this storm between thee and thy foes, To shield thee from them. Sar.‍Child, if there be peril,560 Methinks it is the same within these walls As on the river's brink. Myr.‍Not so; these walls Are high and strong, and guarded. Treason has To penetrate through many a winding way, And massy portal; but in the pavilion There is no bulwark. Sar.‍No, nor in the palace, Nor in the fortress, nor upon the top Of cloud-fenced Caucasus, where the eagle sits Nested in pathless clefts, if treachery be: Even as the arrow finds the airy king,570 The steel will reach the earthly. But be calm; The men, or innocent or guilty, are Banished, and far upon their way. Myr.‍They live, then? Sar. So sanguinary? Thou! Myr.‍I would not shrink From just infliction of due punishment On those who seek your life: were't otherwise, I should not merit mine. Besides, you heard The princely Salemenes. Sar.‍This is strange; The gentle and the austere are both against me, And urge me to revenge. Myr.‍'Tis a Greek virtue.580 Sar. But not a kingly one—I'll none on't; or If ever I indulge in't, it shall be With kings—my equals. Myr.‍These men sought to be so.[58] Sar. Myrrha, this is too feminine, and springs From fear—— Myr.‍For you. Sar.‍No matter, still 'tis fear. I have observed your sex, once roused to wrath, Are timidly vindictive to a pitch Of perseverance, which I would not copy. I thought you were exempt from this, as from The childish helplessness of Asian women[t].590 Myr. My Lord, I am no boaster of my love, Nor of my attributes; I have shared your splendour, And will partake your fortunes. You may live To find one slave more true than subject myriads: But this the Gods avert! I am content To be beloved on trust for what I feel, Rather than prove it to you in your griefs[u], Which might not yield to any cares of mine. Sar. Grief cannot come where perfect love exists, Except to heighten it, and vanish from600 That which it could not scare away. Let's in— The hour approaches, and we must prepare To meet the invited guests who grace our feast. [Exeunt. ACT III. Scene I.—The Hall of the Palace illuminated—Sardanapalus and his Guests at Table.—A storm without, and Thunder occasionally heard during the Banquet.

Sar. Fill full! why this is as it should be: here Is my true realm, amidst bright eyes and faces Happy as fair! Here sorrow cannot reach. Zam. Nor elsewhere—where the King is, pleasure sparkles. Sar. Is not this better now than Nimrod's huntings, Or my wild Grandam's chase in search of kingdoms She could not keep when conquered?[59] Alt.‍Mighty though They were, as all thy royal line have been, Yet none of those who went before have reached The acme of Sardanapalus, who10 Has placed his joy in peace—the sole true glory. Sar. And pleasure, good Altada, to which glory Is but the path. What is it that we seek? Enjoyment! We have cut the way short to it, And not gone tracking it through human ashes, Making a grave with every footstep. Zam.‍No; All hearts are happy, and all voices bless The King of peace—who holds a world in jubilee. Sar. Art sure of that? I have heard otherwise; Some say that there be traitors. Zam.‍Traitors they20 Who dare to say so!—'Tis impossible. What cause? Sar.‍What cause? true,—fill the goblet up; We will not think of them: there are none such, Or if there be, they are gone. Alt.‍Guests, to my pledge! Down on your knees, and drink a measure to The safety of the King—the monarch, say I? The God Sardanapalus!

[Zames and the Guests kneel, and exclaim—

Mightier than His father Baal, the God Sardanapalus!

[It thunders as they kneel; some start up in confusion.

Zam. Why do you rise, my friends? in that strong peal His father gods consented. Myr.‍Menaced, rather.30 King, wilt thou bear this mad impiety? Sar. Impiety!—nay, if the sires who reigned Before me can be Gods, I'll not disgrace Their lineage. But arise, my pious friends; Hoard your devotion for the Thunderer there: I seek but to be loved, not worshipped. Alt.‍Both— Both you must ever be by all true subjects.[60] Sar. Methinks the thunders still increase: it is An awful night. Myr.‍Oh yes, for those who have No palace to protect their worshippers.40 Sar. That's true, my Myrrha; and could I convert My realm to one wide shelter for the wretched, I'd do it. Myr. Thou'rt no God, then—not to be Able to work a will so good and general, As thy wish would imply. Sar.‍And your Gods, then, Who can, and do not? Myr.‍Do not speak of that, Lest we provoke them. Sar.‍True—, they love not censure Better than mortals. Friends, a thought has struck me: Were there no temples, would there, think ye, be Air worshippers?[v] that is, when it is angry,50 And pelting as even now. Myr.‍The Persian prays Upon his mountain. Sar.‍Yes, when the Sun shines. Myr. And I would ask if this your palace were Unroofed and desolate, how many flatterers Would lick the dust in which the King lay low? Alt. The fair Ionian is too sarcastic Upon a nation whom she knows not well; The Assyrians know no pleasure but their King's, And homage is their pride. Sar.‍Nay, pardon, guests, The fair Greek's readiness of speech. Alt.‍Pardon! sire:60 We honour her of all things next to thee. Hark! what was that? Zam.‍That! nothing but the jar Of distant portals shaken by the wind. Alt. It sounded like the clash of—hark again! Zam. The big rain pattering on the roof. Sar.‍No more.[61] Myrrha, my love, hast thou thy shell in order? Sing me a song of Sappho[18]; her, thou know'st, Who in thy country threw—— Enter Pania, with his sword and garments bloody, and disordered. The guests rise in confusion.

Pan. (to the Guards).‍Look to the portals; And with your best speed to the walls without. Your arms! To arms! The King's in danger. Monarch70 Excuse this haste,—'tis faith. Sar.‍Speak on. Pan.‍It is As Salemenes feared; the faithless Satraps—— Sar. You are wounded—give some wine. Take breath, good Pania. Pan. 'Tis nothing—a mere flesh wound. I am worn More with my speed to warn my sovereign, Than hurt in his defence. Myr.‍Well, Sir, the rebels? Pan. Soon as Arbaces and Beleses reached Their stations in the city, they refused To march; and on my attempt to use the power Which I was delegated with, they called80 Upon their troops, who rose in fierce defiance. Myr. All? Pan.‍Too many. Sar.‍Spare not of thy free speech, To spare mine ears—the truth. Pan.‍My own slight guard Were faithful, and what's left of it is still so. Myr. And are these all the force still faithful? Pan.‍No— The Bactrians, now led on by Salemenes, Who even then was on his way, still urged By strong suspicion of the Median chiefs, Are numerous, and make strong head against The rebels, fighting inch by inch, and forming90[62] An orb around the palace, where they mean To centre all their force, and save the King. (He hesitates.) I am charged to—— Myr.‍'Tis no time for hesitation. Pan. Prince Salemenes doth implore the King To arm himself, although but for a moment, And show himself unto the soldiers: his Sole presence in this instant might do more Than hosts can do in his behalf. Sar.‍What, ho! My armour there. Myr.‍And wilt thou? Sar.‍Will I not? Ho, there!—but seek not for the buckler: 'tis100 Too heavy:—a light cuirass and my sword. Where are the rebels? Pan.‍Scarce a furlong's length From the outward wall the fiercest conflict rages. Sar. Then I may charge on horseback. Sfero, ho! Order my horse out.—There is space enough Even in our courts, and by the outer gate, To marshal half the horsemen of Arabia.

[Exit Sfero for the armour.

Myr. How I do love thee! Sar.‍I ne'er doubted it. Myr. But now I know thee. Sar. (to his Attendant). Bring down my spear too— Where's Salemenes? Pan.‍Where a soldier should be,110 In the thick of the fight. Sar.‍Then hasten to him——Is The path still open, and communication Left 'twixt the palace and the phalanx? Pan.‍'Twas When I late left him, and I have no fear; Our troops were steady, and the phalanx formed. Sar. Tell him to spare his person for the present, And that I will not spare my own—and say, I come. Pan.‍There's victory in the very word. [Exit Pania. Sar. Altada—Zames—forth, and arm ye! There[63] Is all in readiness in the armoury.120 See that the women are bestowed in safety In the remote apartments: let a guard Be set before them, with strict charge to quit The post but with their lives—command it, Zames. Altada, arm yourself, and return here; Your post is near our person.

[Exeunt Zames, Altada, and all save Myrrha.

Enter Sfero and others with the King's Arms, etc.

Sfe.‍King! your armour. Sar. (arming himself). Give me the cuirass—so: my baldric; now My sword: I had forgot the helm—where is it? That's well—no, 'tis too heavy; you mistake, too— It was not this I meant, but that which bears130 A diadem around it. Sfe.‍Sire, I deemed That too conspicuous from the precious stones To risk your sacred brow beneath—and trust me, This is of better metal, though less rich. Sar. You deemed! Are you too turned a rebel? Fellow! Your part is to obey: return, and—no— It is too late—I will go forth without it. Sfe. At least, wear this. Sar.‍Wear Caucasus! why, 'tis A mountain on my temples. Sfe.‍Sire, the meanest Soldier goes not forth thus exposed to battle.140 All men will recognise you—for the storm Has ceased, and the moon breaks forth in her brightness. Sar. I go forth to be recognised, and thus Shall be so sooner. Now—my spear! I'm armed.

[In going stops short, and turns to Sfero.

Sfero—I had forgotten—bring the mirror[19].[64] Sfe. The mirror, Sire? Sar.‍Yes, sir, of polished brass, Brought from the spoils of India—but be speedy.

[Exit Sfero.

Sar. Myrrha, retire unto a place of safety. Why went you not forth with the other damsels? Myr. Because my place is here. Sar.‍And when I am gone——150 Myr. I follow. Sar.‍You! to battle? Myr.‍If it were so, 'Twere not the first Greek girl had trod the path. I will await here your return. Sar.‍The place Is spacious, and the first to be sought out, If they prevail; and, if it be so, And I return not—— Myr.‍Still we meet again. Sar. How? Myr.‍In the spot where all must meet at last— In Hades! if there be, as I believe, A shore beyond the Styx; and if there be not, In ashes. Sar.‍Darest thou so much? Myr.‍I dare all things160 Except survive what I have loved, to be A rebel's booty: forth, and do your bravest. [65] Re-enter Sfero with the mirror.

Sar. (looking at himself). This cuirass fits me well, the baldric better, And the helm not at all. Methinks I seem

[Flings away the helmet after trying it again.

Passing well in these toys; and now to prove them. Altada! Where's Altada? Sfe.‍Waiting, Sire, Without: he has your shield in readiness. Sar. True—I forgot—he is my shield-bearer By right of blood, derived from age to age. Myrrha, embrace me;—yet once more—once more—170 Love me, whate'er betide. My chiefest glory Shall be to make me worthier of your love. Myr. Go forth, and conquer!

[Exeunt Sardanapalus and Sfero.

Now, I am alone: All are gone forth, and of that all how few Perhaps return! Let him but vanquish, and Me perish! If he vanquish not, I perish; For I will not outlive him. He has wound About my heart, I know not how nor why. Not for that he is King; for now his kingdom Rocks underneath his throne, and the earth yawns180 To yield him no more of it than a grave; And yet I love him more. Oh, mighty Jove! Forgive this monstrous love for a barbarian, Who knows not of Olympus! yes, I love him Now—now—far more than——Hark—to the war shout! Methinks it nears me. If it should be so,

[She draws forth a small vial.

This cunning Colchian poison, which my father Learned to compound on Euxine shores, and taught me How to preserve, shall free me! It had freed me Long ere this hour, but that I loved until190 I half forgot I was a slave:—where all Are slaves save One, and proud of servitude, So they are served in turn by something lower In the degree of bondage: we forget That shackles worn like ornaments no less[66] Are chains. Again that shout! and now the clash Of arms—and now—and now—— Enter Altada.

Alt.‍Ho, Sfero, ho! Myr. He is not here; what wouldst thou with him? How Goes on the conflict? Alt.‍Dubiously and fiercely. Myr. And the King? Alt.‍Like a king. I must find Sfero,200 And bring him a new spear with his own helmet.[w] He fights till now bare-headed, and by far Too much exposed. The soldiers knew his face, And the foe too; and in the moon's broad light, His silk tiara and his flowing hair Make him a mark too royal. Every arrow Is pointed at the fair hair and fair features, And the broad fillet which crowns both. Myr.‍Ye Gods, Who fulminate o'er my father's land, protect him! Were you sent by the King? Alt.‍By Salemenes,210 Who sent me privily upon this charge, Without the knowledge of the careless sovereign. The King! the King fights as he revels! ho! What, Sfero! I will seek the armoury— He must be there. [Exit Altada. Myr.‍'Tis no dishonour—no— 'Tis no dishonour to have loved this man. I almost wish now, what I never wished Before—that he were Grecian. If Alcides Were shamed in wearing Lydian Omphale's She-garb, and wielding her vile distaff; surely220 He, who springs up a Hercules at once, Nursed in effeminate arts from youth to manhood, And rushes from the banquet to the battle, As though it were a bed of love, deserves[67] That a Greek girl should be his paramour, And a Greek bard his minstrel—a Greek tomb His monument. How goes the strife, sir? Enter an Officer.

Officer.‍Lost, Lost almost past recovery. Zames! Where Is Zames? Myr.‍Posted with the guard appointed To watch before the apartment of the women.230

[Exit Officer.

Myr. (sola). He's gone; and told no more than that all's lost! What need have I to know more? In those words, Those little words, a kingdom and a king, A line of thirteen ages, and the lives Of thousands, and the fortune of all left With life, are merged; and I, too, with the great, Like a small bubble breaking with the wave Which bore it, shall be nothing. At the least, My fate is in my keeping: no proud victor Shall count me with his spoils. Enter Pania.

Pan.‍Away with me,240 Myrrha, without delay; we must not lose A moment—all that's left us now. Myr.‍The King? Pan. Sent me here to conduct you hence, beyond The river, by a secret passage. Myr.‍Then He lives—— Pan.‍And charged me to secure your life, And beg you to live on for his sake, till He can rejoin you. Myr.‍Will he then give way? Pan. Not till the last. Still, still he does whate'er Despair can do; and step by step disputes The very palace. Myr.‍They are here, then:—aye,250[68] Their shouts come ringing through the ancient halls, Never profaned by rebel echoes till This fatal night. Farewell, Assyria's line! Farewell to all of Nimrod! Even the name Is now no more. Pan.‍Away with me—away! Myr. No: I'll die here!—Away, and tell your King I loved him to the last. Enter Sardanapalus and Salemenes with Soldiers. Pania quits Myrrha, and ranges himself with them.

Sar.‍Since it is thus, We'll die where we were born—in our own halls[x] Serry your ranks—stand firm. I have despatched A trusty satrap for the guard of Zames, All fresh and faithful; they'll be here anon. All is not over,—Pania, look to Myrrha.

[Pania returns towards Myrrha.

Sal. We have breathing time; yet once more charge, my friends— One for Assyria! Sar.‍Rather say for Bactria! My faithful Bactrians, I will henceforth be King of your nation, and we'll hold together This realm as province. Sal.‍Hark! they come—they come. Enter Beleses and Arbaces with the Rebels.

Arb. Set on, we have them in the toil. Charge! Charge! Bel. On! on!—Heaven fights for us, and with us—On! [They charge the King and Salemenes with their troops, who defend themselves till the arrival of Zames with the Guard before mentioned. The Rebels are then driven off, and pursued by Salemenes, etc. As the King is going to join the pursuit, Beleses crosses him.

Bel. Ho! tyrant—I will end this war.[69] Sar.‍Even so,270 My warlike priest, and precious prophet, and Grateful and trusty subject: yield, I pray thee. I would reserve thee for a fitter doom, Rather than dip my hands in holy blood. Bel. Thine hour is come. Sar.‍No, thine.—I've lately read, Though but a young astrologer, the stars; And ranging round the zodiac, found thy fate In the sign of the Scorpion, which proclaims That thou wilt now be crushed. Bel.‍But not by thee. [They fight; Beleses is wounded and disarmed.

Sar. (raising his sword to despatch him, exclaims)— Now call upon thy planets, will they shoot280 From the sky to preserve their seer and credit? [A party of Rebels enter and rescue Beleses. They assail the King, who in turn, is rescued by a Party of his Soldiers, who drive the Rebels off.

The villain was a prophet after all. Upon them—ho! there—victory is ours.

[Exit in pursuit.

Myr. (to Pan.) Pursue! Why stand'st thou here, and leavest the ranks Of fellow-soldiers conquering without thee? Pan. The King's command was not to quit thee. Myr.‍Me! Think not of me—a single soldier's arm Must not be wanting now. I ask no guard, I need no guard: what, with a world at stake, Keep watch upon a woman? Hence, I say,290 Or thou art shamed! Nay, then, I will go forth, A feeble female, 'midst their desperate strife, And bid thee guard me there—where thou shouldst shield Thy sovereign. [Exit Myrrha. Pan.‍Yet stay, damsel!—She's gone. If aught of ill betide her, better I Had lost my life. Sardanapalus holds her Far dearer than his kingdom, yet he fights For that too; and can I do less than he, Who never flashed a scimitar till now?[70] Myrrha, return, and I obey you, though300 In disobedience to the monarch. [Exit Pania. Enter Altada and Sfero by an opposite door.

Alt.‍Myrrha! What, gone? yet she was here when the fight raged, And Pania also. Can aught have befallen them? Sfe. I saw both safe, when late the rebels fled; They probably are but retired to make Their way back to the harem. Alt.‍If the King Prove victor, as it seems even now he must, And miss his own Ionian, we are doomed To worse than captive rebels. Sfe.‍Let us trace them: She cannot be fled far; and, found, she makes310 A richer prize to our soft sovereign Than his recovered kingdom. Alt.‍Baal himself Ne'er fought more fiercely to win empire, than His silken son to save it: he defies All augury of foes or friends; and like The close and sultry summer's day, which bodes A twilight tempest, bursts forth in such thunder As sweeps the air and deluges the earth. The man's inscrutable. Sfe.‍Not more than others. All are the sons of circumstance: away—320 Let's seek the slave out, or prepare to be Tortured for his infatuation, and[y] Condemned without a crime. [Exeunt. Enter Salemenes and Soldiers, etc.

Sal.‍The triumph is Flattering: they are beaten backward from the palace, And we have opened regular access To the troops stationed on the other side Euphrates, who may still be true; nay, must be,[71] When they hear of our victory. But where Is the chief victor? where's the King? Enter Sardanapalus, cum suis, etc., and Myrrha. Sar.‍Here, brother. Sal. Unhurt, I hope. Sar.‍Not quite; but let it pass.330 We've cleared the palace—— Sal.‍And I trust the city. Our numbers gather; and I've ordered onward A cloud of Parthians, hitherto reserved, All fresh and fiery, to be poured upon them In their retreat, which soon will be a flight. Sar. It is already, or at least they marched Faster than I could follow with my Bactrians, Who spared no speed. I am spent: give me a seat. Sal. There stands the throne, Sire. Sar.‍Tis no place to rest on, For mind nor body: let me have a couch,340

[They place a seat.

A peasant's stool, I care not what: so—now I breathe more freely. Sal.‍This great hour has proved The brightest and most glorious of your life. Sar. And the most tiresome. Where's my cupbearer? Bring me some water. Sal. (smiling) 'Tis the first time he Ever had such an order: even I,[z] Your most austere of counsellors, would now Suggest a purpler beverage. Sar.‍Blood—doubtless. But there's enough of that shed; as for wine, I have learned to-night the price of the pure element:350 Thrice have I drank of it, and thrice renewed, With greater strength than the grape ever gave me, My charge upon the rebels. Where's the soldier Who gave me water in his helmet?[20][72] One of the Guards.‍Slain, Sire! An arrow pierced his brain, while, scattering[aa] The last drops from his helm, he stood in act To place it on his brows. Sar.‍Slain! unrewarded! And slain to serve my thirst: that's hard, poor slave! Had he but lived, I would have gorged him with Gold: all the gold of earth could ne'er repay360 The pleasure of that draught; for I was parched As I am now. [They bring water—he drinks. I live again—from henceforth The goblet I reserve for hours of love, But war on water. Sal.‍And that bandage, Sire, Which girds your arm? Sar.‍A scratch from brave Beleses. Myr. Oh! he is wounded![ab] Sar.‍Not too much of that; And yet it feels a little stiff and painful, Now I am cooler. Myr.‍You have bound it with—— Sar. The fillet of my diadem: the first time That ornament was ever aught to me,370[73] Save an incumbrance. Myr. (to the Attendants). Summon speedily A leech of the most skilful: pray, retire: I will unbind your wound and tend it. Sar.‍Do so, For now it throbs sufficiently: but what Know'st thou of wounds? yet wherefore do I ask? Know'st thou, my brother, where I lighted on This minion? Sal.‍Herding with the other females, Like frightened antelopes. Sar.‍No: like the dam Of the young lion, femininely raging (And femininely meaneth furiously,380 Because all passions in excess are female,) Against the hunter flying with her cub, She urged on with her voice and gesture, and Her floating hair and flashing eyes,[21] the soldiers, In the pursuit. Sal.‍Indeed! Sar.‍You see, this night Made warriors of more than me. I paused To look upon her, and her kindled cheek; Her large black eyes, that flashed through her long hair As it streamed o'er her; her blue veins that rose Along her most transparent brow; her nostril390 Dilated from its symmetry; her lips Apart; her voice that clove through all the din, As a lute pierceth through the cymbal's clash, Jarred but not drowned by the loud brattling; her Waved arms, more dazzling with their own born whiteness Than the steel her hand held, which she caught up From a dead soldier's grasp;—all these things made Her seem unto the troops a prophetess Of victory, or Victory herself, Come down to hail us hers.[22][74] Sal. (aside).‍This is too much.400 Again the love-fit's on him, and all's lost, Unless we turn his thoughts. (Aloud.) But pray thee, Sire, Think of your wound—you said even now 'twas painful. Sar. That's true, too; but I must not think of it. Sal. I have looked to all things needful, and will now Receive reports of progress made in such Orders as I had given, and then return To hear your further pleasure. Sar.‍Be it so. Sal. (in retiring). Myrrha! Myr.‍Prince! Sal.‍You have shown a soul to-night, Which, were he not my sister's lord——But now410 I have no time: thou lovest the King? Myr.‍I love Sardanapalus. Sal.‍But wouldst have him King still? Myr. I would not have him less than what he should be. Sal. Well then, to have him King, and yours, and all He should, or should not be; to have him live, Let him not sink back into luxury. You have more power upon his spirit than Wisdom within these walls, or fierce rebellion Raging without: look well that he relapse not. Myr. There needed not the voice of Salemenes420 To urge me on to this: I will not fail. All that a woman's weakness can—— Sal.‍Is power Omnipotent o'er such a heart as his: Exert it wisely. [Exit Salemenes. Sar.‍Myrrha! what, at whispers With my stern brother? I shall soon be jealous. Myr. (smiling). You have cause, Sire; for on the earth there breathes not A man more worthy of a woman's love, A soldier's trust, a subject's reverence, A king's esteem—the whole world's admiration! Sar. Praise him, but not so warmly. I must not430 Hear those sweet lips grow eloquent in aught[75] That throws me into shade; yet you speak truth. Myr. And now retire, to have your wound looked to, Pray lean on me. Sar.‍Yes, love! but not from pain.

[Exeunt omnes.

ACT IV. Scene I.—Sardanapalus discovered sleeping upon a Couch, and occasionally disturbed in his slumbers, with Myrrha watching.

Myr. (sola, gazing). I have stolen upon his rest, if rest it be, Which thus convulses slumber: shall I wake him? No, he seems calmer. Oh, thou God of Quiet! Whose reign is o'er sealed eyelids and soft dreams, Or deep, deep sleep, so as to be unfathomed, Look like thy brother, Death,[23]—so still, so stirless— For then we are happiest, as it may be, we Are happiest of all within the realm Of thy stern, silent, and unwakening Twin. Again he moves—again the play of pain10 Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust Crisps the reluctant lake that lay so calm[ac] Beneath the mountain shadow; or the blast Ruffles the autumn leaves, that drooping cling Faintly and motionless to their loved boughs. I must awake him—yet not yet; who knows From what I rouse him? It seems pain; but if I quicken him to heavier pain? The fever Of this tumultuous night, the grief too of His wound, though slight, may cause all this, and shake20 Me more to see than him to suffer. No: Let Nature use her own maternal means,[76] And I await to second, not disturb her. Sar. (awakening). Not so—although he multiplied the stars, And gave them to me as a realm to share From you and with you! I would not so purchase The empire of Eternity. Hence—hence— Old Hunter of the earliest brutes! and ye,[ad] Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes! Once bloody mortals—and now bloodier idols,30 If your priests lie not! And thou, ghastly Beldame! Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on The carcasses of Inde—away! away! Where am I? Where the spectres? Where—No—that Is no false phantom: I should know it 'midst All that the dead dare gloomily raise up From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha! Myr. Alas! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops Gather like night dew. My beloved, hush— Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world,40 And thou art lord of this. Be of good cheer; All will go well. Sar.‍Thy hand—so—'tis thy hand; 'Tis flesh; grasp—clasp—yet closer, till I feel Myself that which I was. Myr.‍At least know me For what I am, and ever must be—thine. Sar. I know it now. I know this life again. Ah, Myrrha! I have been where we shall be. Myr. My lord! Sar.‍I've been i' the grave—where worms are lords And kings are——But I did not deem it so; I thought 'twas nothing. Myr.‍So it is; except50 Unto the timid, who anticipate That which may never be. Sar.‍Oh, Myrrha! if Sleep shows such things, what may not Death disclose? Myr. I know no evil Death can show, which Life Has not already shown to those who live[77] Embodied longest. If there be indeed A shore where Mind survives, 'twill be as Mind All unincorporate: or if there flits A shadow of this cumbrous clog of clay. Which stalks, methinks, between our souls and heaven,60 And fetters us to earth—at least the phantom, Whate'er it have to fear, will not fear Death. Sar. I fear it not; but I have felt—have seen— A legion of the dead. Myr.‍And so have I. The dust we tread upon was once alive, And wretched. But proceed: what hast thou seen? Speak it, 'twill lighten thy dimmed mind. Sar.‍Methought—— Myr. Yet pause, thou art tired—in pain—exhausted; all Which can impair both strength and spirit: seek Rather to sleep again. Sar.‍Not now—I would not70 Dream; though I know it now to be a dream What I have dreamt:—and canst thou bear to hear it? Myr. I can bear all things, dreams of life or death, Which I participate with you in semblance Or full reality. Sar.‍And this looked real, I tell you: after that these eyes were open, I saw them in their flight—for then they fled. Myr. Say on. Sar.‍I saw, that is, I dreamed myself Here—here—even where we are, guests as we were, Myself a host that deemed himself but guest,80 Willing to equal all in social freedom; But, on my right hand and my left, instead Of thee and Zames, and our customed meeting, Was ranged on my left hand a haughty, dark, And deadly face; I could not recognise it, Yet I had seen it, though I knew not where: The features were a Giant's, and the eye Was still, yet lighted; his long locks curled down On his vast bust, whence a huge quiver rose With shaft-heads feathered from the eagle's wing,90[78] That peeped up bristling through his serpent hair.[ae] I invited him to fill the cup which stood Between us, but he answered not; I filled it; He took it not, but stared upon me, till I trembled at the fixed glare of his eye: I frowned upon him as a king should frown; He frowned not in his turn, but looked upon me With the same aspect, which appalled me more, Because it changed not; and I turned for refuge To milder guests, and sought them on the right,100 Where thou wert wont to be. But——[He pauses. Myr.‍What instead? Sar. In thy own chair—thy own place in the banquet— I sought thy sweet face in the circle—but Instead—a grey-haired, withered, bloody-eyed, And bloody-handed, ghastly, ghostly thing, Female in garb, and crowned upon the brow, Furrowed with years, yet sneering with the passion Of vengeance, leering too with that of lust, Sate:—my veins curdled.[24] Myr.‍Is this all? Sar.‍Upon Her right hand—her lank, bird-like, right hand—stood110 A goblet, bubbling o'er with blood; and on Her left, another, filled with—what I saw not, But turned from it and her. But all along The table sate a range of crownéd wretches, Of various aspects, but of one expression. Myr. And felt you not this a mere vision? Sar.‍No: It was so palpable, I could have touched them. I turned from one face to another, in The hope to find at last one which I knew Ere I saw theirs: but no—all turned upon me,120 And stared, but neither ate nor drank, but stared,[79] Till I grew stone, as they seemed half to be, Yet breathing stone, for I felt life in them, And life in me: there was a horrid kind Of sympathy between us, as if they Had lost a part of death to come to me, And I the half of life to sit by them. We were in an existence all apart From heaven or earth——And rather let me see Death all than such a being! Myr.‍And the end?130 Sar. At last I sate, marble, as they, when rose The Hunter and the Crone; and smiling on me— Yes, the enlarged but noble aspect of The Hunter smiled upon me—I should say, His lips, for his eyes moved not—and the woman's Thin lips relaxed to something like a smile. Both rose, and the crowned figures on each hand Rose also, as if aping their chief shades— Mere mimics even in death—but I sate still: A desperate courage crept through every limb,140 And at the last I feared them not, but laughed Full in their phantom faces. But then—then The Hunter laid his hand on mine: I took it, And grasped it—but it melted from my own; While he too vanished, and left nothing but The memory of a hero, for he looked so. Myr. And was: the ancestor of heroes, too, And thine no less. Sar.‍Aye, Myrrha, but the woman, The female who remained, she flew upon me, And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses;150 And, flinging down the goblets on each hand, Methought their poisons flowed around us, till Each formed a hideous river. Still she clung; The other phantoms, like a row of statues, Stood dull as in our temples, but she still Embraced me, while I shrunk from her, as if, In lieu of her remote descendant, I Had been the son who slew her for her incest.[25][80] Then—then—a chaos of all loathsome things Thronged thick and shapeless: I was dead, yet feeling—160 Buried, and raised again—consumed by worms, Purged by the flames, and withered in the air! I can fix nothing further of my thoughts, Save that I longed for thee, and sought for thee, In all these agonies,—and woke and found thee. Myr. So shalt thou find me ever at thy side, Here and hereafter, if the last may be. But think not of these things—the mere creations Of late events, acting upon a frame Unused by toil, yet over-wrought by toil—170 Such as might try the sternest. Sar.‍I am better. Now that I see thee once more, what was seen Seems nothing. Enter Salemenes.

Sal.‍Is the king so soon awake? Sar. Yes, brother, and I would I had not slept; For all the predecessors of our line Rose up, methought, to drag me down to them. My father was amongst them, too; but he, I know not why, kept from me, leaving me Between the hunter-founder of our race, And her, the homicide and husband-killer,180 Whom you call glorious. Sal.‍So I term you also, Now you have shown a spirit like to hers. By day-break I propose that we set forth, And charge once more the rebel crew, who still Keep gathering head, repulsed, but not quite quelled. Sar. How wears the night? Sal.‍There yet remain some hours Of darkness: use them for your further rest. Sar. No, not to-night, if 'tis not gone: methought I passed hours in that vision. Myr.‍Scarcely one; I watched by you: it was a heavy hour,190 But an hour only.[81] Sar.‍Let us then hold council; To-morrow we set forth. Sal.‍But ere that time, I had a grace to seek. Sar.‍'Tis granted. Sal.‍Hear it Ere you reply too readily; and 'tis For your ear only. Myr.‍Prince, I take my leave.

[Exit Myrrha.

Sal. That slave deserves her freedom. Sar.‍Freedom only! That slave deserves to share a throne. Sal.‍Your patience— 'Tis not yet vacant, and 'tis of its partner I come to speak with you. Sar.‍How! of the Queen? Sal. Even so. I judged it fitting for their safety,200 That, ere the dawn, she sets forth with her children For Paphlagonia, where our kinsman Cotta[26] Governs; and there, at all events, secure My nephews and your sons their lives, and with them Their just pretensions to the crown in case—— Sar. I perish—as is probable: well thought— Let them set forth with a sure escort. Sal.‍That Is all provided, and the galley ready To drop down the Euphrates; but ere they Depart, will you not see—— Sar.‍My sons? It may210 Unman my heart, and the poor boys will weep; And what can I reply to comfort them, Save with some hollow hopes, and ill-worn smiles? You know I cannot feign. Sal.‍But you can feel! At least, I trust so: in a word, the Queen Requests to see you ere you part—for ever. Sar. Unto what end? what purpose? I will grant Aught—all that she can ask—but such a meeting.[82] Sal. You know, or ought to know, enough of women, Since you have studied them so steadily[af],220 That what they ask in aught that touches on The heart, is dearer to their feelings or Their fancy, than the whole external world. I think as you do of my sister's wish; But 'twas her wish—she is my sister—you Her husband—will you grant it? Sar.‍'Twill be useless: But let her come. Sal.‍I go. [Exit Salemenes. Sar.‍We have lived asunder Too long to meet again—and now to meet! Have I not cares enow, and pangs enow, To bear alone, that we must mingle sorrows,230 Who have ceased to mingle love? Re-enter Salemenes and Zarina.

Sal.‍My sister! Courage: Shame not our blood with trembling, but remember From whence we sprung. The Queen is present, Sire. Zar. I pray thee, brother, leave me. Sal.‍Since you ask it.

[Exit Salemenes.

Zar. Alone with him! How many a year has passed[27], Though we are still so young, since we have met, Which I have worn in widowhood of heart. He loved me not: yet he seems little changed— Changed to me only—would the change were mutual! He speaks not—scarce regards me—not a word,240 Nor look—yet he was soft of voice and aspect, Indifferent, not austere. My Lord![83] Sar.‍Zarina! Zar. No, not Zarina—do not say Zarina. That tone—That word—annihilate long years, And things which make them longer. Sar.‍'Tis too late To think of these past dreams. Let's not reproach— That is, reproach me not—for the last time—— Zar. And first, I ne'er reproached you. Sar.‍'Tis most true; And that reproof comes heavier on my heart Than——But our hearts are not in our own power.250 Zar. Nor hands; but I gave both. Sar.‍Your brother said It was your will to see me, ere you went From Nineveh with——(He hesitates.) Zar.‍Our children: it is true. I wish to thank you that you have not divided My heart from all that's left it now to love— Those who are yours and mine, who look like you, And look upon me as you looked upon me Once——but they have not changed. Sar.‍Nor ever will. I fain would have them dutiful. Zar.‍I cherish Those infants, not alone from the blind love260 Of a fond mother, but as a fond woman. They are now the only tie between us. Sar.‍Deem not I have not done you justice: rather make them Resemble your own line than their own Sire. I trust them with you—to you: fit them for A throne, or, if that be denied——You have heard Of this night's tumults? Zar.‍I had half forgotten, And could have welcomed any grief save yours, Which gave me to behold your face again. Sar. The throne—I say it not in fear—but 'tis270 In peril: they perhaps may never mount it: But let them not for this lose sight of it. I will dare all things to bequeath it them; But if I fail, then they must win it back[84] Bravely—and, won, wear it wisely, not as I[ag] Have wasted down my royalty. Zar.‍They ne'er Shall know from me of aught but what may honour Their father's memory. Sar.‍Rather let them hear The truth from you than from a trampling world. If they be in adversity, they'll learn280 Too soon the scorn of crowds for crownless Princes, And find that all their father's sins are theirs. My boys!—I could have borne it were I childless. Zar. Oh! do not say so—do not poison all My peace left, by unwishing that thou wert A father. If thou conquerest, they shall reign, And honour him who saved the realm for them, So little cared for as his own; and if—— Sar. 'Tis lost, all Earth will cry out, "thank your father!" And they will swell the echo with a curse.290 Zar. That they shall never do; but rather honour The name of him, who, dying like a king, In his last hours did more for his own memory Than many monarchs in a length of days, Which date the flight of time, but make no annals. Sar. Our annals draw perchance unto their close; But at the least, whate'er the past, their end Shall be like their beginning—memorable. Zar. Yet, be not rash—be careful of your life, Live but for those who love. Sar.‍And who are they?300 A slave, who loves from passion—I'll not say Ambition—she has seen thrones shake, and loves; A few friends who have revelled till we are As one, for they are nothing if I fall; A brother I have injured—children whom I have neglected, and a spouse—— Zar.‍Who loves. Sar. And pardons? Zar.‍I have never thought of this, And cannot pardon till I have condemned.[85] Sar. My wife! Zar.‍Now blessings on thee for that word! I never thought to hear it more—from thee.310 Sar. Oh! thou wilt hear it from my subjects. Yes— These slaves whom I have nurtured, pampered, fed, And swoln with peace, and gorged with plenty, till They reign themselves—all monarchs in their mansions— Now swarm forth in rebellion, and demand His death, who made their lives a jubilee; While the few upon whom I have no claim Are faithful! This is true, yet monstrous. Zar.‍'Tis Perhaps too natural; for benefits Turn poison in bad minds. Sar.‍And good ones make320 Good out of evil. Happier than the bee, Which hives not but from wholesome flowers. Zar.‍Then reap The honey, nor inquire whence 'tis derived. Be satisfied—you are not all abandoned. Sar. My life insures me that. How long, bethink you, Were not I yet a king, should I be mortal; That is, where mortals are, not where they must be? Zar. I know not. But yet live for my—that is, Your children's sake! Sar.‍My gentle, wronged Zarina! I am the very slave of Circumstance330 And Impulse—borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne—misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be—let it end. But take this with thee: if I was not formed To prize a love like thine, a mind like thine, Nor dote even on thy beauty—as I've doted On lesser charms, for no cause save that such Devotion was a duty, and I hated All that looked like a chain for me or others340 (This even Rebellion must avouch); yet hear These words, perhaps among my last—that none E'er valued more thy virtues, though he knew not To profit by them—as the miner lights[86] Upon a vein of virgin ore, discovering That which avails him nothing: he hath found it, But 'tis not his—but some superior's, who Placed him to dig, but not divide the wealth Which sparkles at his feet; nor dare he lift Nor poise it, but must grovel on, upturning350 The sullen earth. Zar.‍Oh! if thou hast at length Discovered that my love is worth esteem, I ask no more—but let us hence together, And I—let me say we—shall yet be happy. Assyria is not all the earth—we'll find A world out of our own—and be more blessed Than I have ever been, or thou, with all An empire to indulge thee. Enter Salemenes.

Sal.‍I must part ye— The moments, which must not be lost, are passing. Zar. Inhuman brother! wilt thou thus weigh out360 Instants so high and blest? Sal.‍Blest! Zar.‍He hath been So gentle with me, that I cannot think Of quitting. Sal.‍So—this feminine farewell Ends as such partings end, in no departure. I thought as much, and yielded against all My better bodings. But it must not be. Zar. Not be? Sal.‍Remain, and perish—— Zar.‍With my husband—— Sal. And children. Zar.‍Alas! Sal.‍Hear me, sister, like My sister:—all's prepared to make your safety Certain, and of the boys too, our last hopes;370 'Tis not a single question of mere feeling, Though that were much—but 'tis a point of state: The rebels would do more to seize upon[87] The offspring of their sovereign, and so crush—— Zar. Ah! do not name it. Sal.‍Well, then, mark me: when They are safe beyond the Median's grasp, the rebels Have missed their chief aim—the extinction of The line of Nimrod. Though the present King Fall, his sons live—for victory and vengeance. Zar. But could not I remain, alone? Sal.‍What! leave380 Your children, with two parents and yet orphans— In a strange land—so young, so distant? Zar.‍No— My heart will break. Sal.‍Now you know all—decide. Sar. Zarina, he hath spoken well, and we Must yield awhile to this necessity. Remaining here, you may lose all; departing, You save the better part of what is left, To both of us, and to such loyal hearts As yet beat in these kingdoms. Sal.‍The time presses. Sar. Go, then. If e'er we meet again, perhaps390 I may be worthier of you—and, if not, Remember that my faults, though not atoned for, Are ended. Yet, I dread thy nature will Grieve more above the blighted name and ashes Which once were mightiest in Assyria—than—— But I grow womanish again, and must not; I must learn sternness now. My sins have all Been of the softer order——hide thy tears— I do not bid thee not to shed them—'twere Easier to stop Euphrates at its source400 Than one tear of a true and tender heart— But let me not behold them; they unman me Here when I had remanned myself. My brother, Lead her away. Zar.‍Oh, God! I never shall Behold him more! Sal. (striving to conduct her). Nay, sister, I must be obeyed. Zar. I must remain—away! you shall not hold me.[88] What, shall he die alone?—I live alone? Sal. He shall not die alone; but lonely you Have lived for years. Zar.‍That's false! I knew he lived, And lived upon his image—let me go!410 Sal. (conducting her off the stage). Nay, then, I must use some fraternal force, Which you will pardon. Zar.‍Never. Help me! Oh! Sardanapalus, wilt thou thus behold me Torn from thee? Sal.‍Nay—then all is lost again, If that this moment is not gained. Zar.‍My brain turns— My eyes fail—where is he? [She faints. Sar. (advancing).‍No—set her down; She's dead—and you have slain her. Sal.‍'Tis the mere Faintness of o'erwrought passion: in the air She will recover. Pray, keep back.—[Aside.] I must Avail myself of this sole moment to420 Bear her to where her children are embarked, I' the royal galley on the river.

[Salemenes bears her off.

Sar. (solus).‍This, too— And this too must I suffer—I, who never Inflicted purposely on human hearts A voluntary pang! But that is false— She loved me, and I loved her.—Fatal passion! Why dost thou not expire at once in hearts Which thou hast lighted up at once? Zarina![ah] I must pay dearly for the desolation Now brought upon thee. Had I never loved430 But thee, I should have been an unopposed Monarch of honouring nations. To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves! [89] Enter Myrrha.

Sar. You here! Who called you? Myr.‍No one—but I heard Far off a voice of wail and lamentation, And thought—— Sar.‍It forms no portion of your duties To enter here till sought for. Myr.‍Though I might,440 Perhaps, recall some softer words of yours (Although they too were chiding), which reproved me, Because I ever dreaded to intrude; Resisting my own wish and your injunction To heed no time nor presence, but approach you Uncalled for:—I retire. Sar.‍Yet stay—being here. I pray you pardon me: events have soured me Till I wax peevish—heed it not: I shall Soon be myself again. Myr.‍I wait with patience, What I shall see with pleasure. Sar.‍Scarce a moment450 Before your entrance in this hall, Zarina, Queen of Assyria, departed hence. Myr. Ah! Sar.‍Wherefore do you start? Myr.‍Did I do so? Sar. 'Twas well you entered by another portal, Else you had met. That pang at least is spared her! Myr. I know to feel for her. Sar.‍That is too much, And beyond nature—'tis nor mutual[ai] Nor possible. You cannot pity her, Nor she aught but—— Myr.‍Despise the favourite slave? Not more than I have ever scorned myself.460 Sar. Scorned! what, to be the envy of your sex, And lord it o'er the heart of the World's lord? Myr. Were you the lord of twice ten thousand worlds— As you are like to lose the one you swayed[90]— I did abase myself as much in being Your paramour, as though you were a peasant— Nay, more, if that the peasant were a Greek. Sar. You talk it well—— Myr.‍And truly. Sar.‍In the hour Of man's adversity all things grow daring Against the falling; but as I am not470 Quite fall'n, nor now disposed to bear reproaches, Perhaps because I merit them too often, Let us then part while peace is still between us. Myr. Part! Sar.‍Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present one day part? Myr. Why? Sar.‍For your safety, which I will have looked to, With a strong escort to your native land; And such gifts, as, if you had not been all A Queen, shall make your dowry worth a kingdom. Myr. I pray you talk not thus. Sar.‍The Queen is gone:480 You need not shame to follow. I would fall Alone—I seek no partners but in pleasure. Myr. And I no pleasure but in parting not. You shall not force me from you. Sar.‍Think well of it— It soon may be too late. Myr.‍So let it be; For then you cannot separate me from you. Sar. And will not; but I thought you wished it. Myr.‍I! Sar. You spoke of your abasement. Myr.‍And I feel it Deeply—more deeply than all things but love. Sar. Then fly from it. Myr.‍'Twill not recall the past—490 'Twill not restore my honour, nor my heart. No—here I stand or fall. If that you conquer, I live to joy in your great triumph: should Your lot be different, I'll not weep, but share it. You did not doubt me a few hours ago.[91] Sar. Your courage never—nor your love till now; And none could make me doubt it save yourself. Those words—— Myr.‍Were words. I pray you, let the proofs Be in the past acts you were pleased to praise This very night, and in my further bearing,500 Beside, wherever you are borne by fate. Sar. I am content: and, trusting in my cause, Think we may yet be victors and return To peace—the only victory I covet. To me war is no glory—conquest no Renown. To be forced thus to uphold my right Sits heavier on my heart than all the wrongs[aj] These men would bow me down with. Never, never Can I forget this night, even should I live To add it to the memory of others.510 I thought to have made mine inoffensive rule An era of sweet peace 'midst bloody annals, A green spot amidst desert centuries, On which the Future would turn back and smile, And cultivate, or sigh when it could not Recall Sardanapalus' golden reign. I thought to have made my realm a paradise, And every moon an epoch of new pleasures. I took the rabble's shouts for love—the breath Of friends for truth—the lips of woman for520 My only guerdon—so they are, my Myrrha: [He kisses her. Kiss me. Now let them take my realm and life! They shall have both, but never thee! Myr.‍No, never! Man may despoil his brother man of all That's great or glittering—kingdoms fall, hosts yield, Friends fail—slaves fly—and all betray—and, more Than all, the most indebted—but a heart That loves without self-love! 'Tis here—now prove it. [92] Enter Salemenes.

Sal. I sought you—How! she here again? Sar.‍Return not Now to reproof: methinks your aspect speaks530 Of higher matter than a woman's presence. Sal. The only woman whom it much imports me At such a moment now is safe in absence— The Queen's embarked. Sar.‍And well? say that much. Sal.‍Yes. Her transient weakness has passed o'er; at least, It settled into tearless silence: her Pale face and glittering eye, after a glance Upon her sleeping children, were still fixed Upon the palace towers as the swift galley Stole down the hurrying stream beneath the starlight;540 But she said nothing. Sar.‍Would I felt no more Than she has said! Sal.‍'Tis now too late to feel. Your feelings cannot cancel a sole pang: To change them, my advices bring sure tidings That the rebellious Medes and Chaldees, marshalled By their two leaders, are already up In arms again; and, serrying their ranks, Prepare to attack: they have apparently Been joined by other Satraps. Sar.‍What! more rebels? Let us be first, then. Sal.‍That were hardly prudent550 Now, though it was our first intention. If By noon to-morrow we are joined by those I've sent for by sure messengers, we shall be In strength enough to venture an attack, Aye, and pursuit too; but, till then, my voice Is to await the onset. Sar.‍I detest That waiting; though it seems so safe to fight Behind high walls, and hurl down foes into Deep fosses, or behold them sprawl on spikes[93] Strewed to receive them, still I like it not—560 My soul seems lukewarm; but when I set on them, Though they were piled on mountains, I would have A pluck at them, or perish in hot blood!— Let me then charge. Sal.‍You talk like a young soldier. Sar. I am no soldier, but a man: speak not Of soldiership, I loathe the word, and those Who pride themselves upon it; but direct me Where I may pour upon them. Sal.‍You must spare To expose your life too hastily; 'tis not Like mine or any other subject's breath:570 The whole war turns upon it—with it; this Alone creates it, kindles, and may quench it— Prolong it—end it. Sar.‍Then let us end both! 'Twere better thus, perhaps, than prolong either; I'm sick of one, perchance of both.

[A trumpet sounds without.

Sal.‍Hark! Sar.‍Let us Reply, not listen. Sal.‍And your wound! Sar.‍'Tis bound— 'Tis healed—I had forgotten it. Away! A leech's lancet would have scratched me deeper;[ak] The slave that gave it might be well ashamed To have struck so weakly. Sal.‍Now, may none this hour580 Strike with a better aim! Sar.‍Aye, if we conquer; But if not, they will only leave to me A task they might have spared their king. Upon them!

[Trumpet sounds again.

Sal. I am with you. Sar.‍Ho, my arms! again, my arms!

[Exeunt.

[94] ACT V. Scene I.-The same Hall in the Palace.

Myrrha and Balea.

Myr. (at a window)[28] The day at last has broken. What a night Hath ushered it! How beautiful in heaven! Though varied with a transitory storm, More beautiful in that variety! How hideous upon earth! where Peace and Hope, And Love and Revel, in an hour were trampled By human passions to a human chaos, Not yet resolved to separate elements— 'Tis warring still! And can the sun so rise, So bright, so rolling back the clouds into10 Vapours more lovely than the unclouded sky, With golden pinnacles, and snowy mountains, And billows purpler than the Ocean's, making In heaven a glorious mockery of the earth, So like we almost deem it permanent; So fleeting, we can scarcely call it aught[95] Beyond a vision, 'tis so transiently Scattered along the eternal vault: and yet It dwells upon the soul, and soothes the soul, And blends itself into the soul, until20 Sunrise and sunset form the haunted epoch Of Sorrow and of Love; which they who mark not, Know not the realms where those twin genii[al] (Who chasten and who purify our hearts, So that we would not change their sweet rebukes For all the boisterous joys that ever shook The air with clamour) build the palaces Where their fond votaries repose and breathe Briefly;—but in that brief cool calm inhale Enough of heaven to enable them to bear30 The rest of common, heavy, human hours, And dream them through in placid sufferance, Though seemingly employed like all the rest Of toiling breathers in allotted tasks[am] Of pain or pleasure, two names for one feeling, Which our internal, restless agony Would vary in the sound, although the sense Escapes our highest efforts to be happy. Bal. You muse right calmly: and can you so watch The sunrise which may be our last? Myr.‍It is40 Therefore that I so watch it, and reproach Those eyes, which never may behold it more, For having looked upon it oft, too oft, Without the reverence and the rapture due To that which keeps all earth from being as fragile As I am in this form. Come, look upon it, The Chaldee's God, which, when I gaze upon, I grow almost a convert to your Baal. Bal. As now he reigns in heaven, so once on earth He swayed. Myr.‍He sways it now far more, then; never50[96] Had earthly monarch half the power and glory Which centres in a single ray of his. Bal. Surely he is a God! Myr.‍So we Greeks deem too; And yet I sometimes think that gorgeous orb Must rather be the abode of Gods than one Of the immortal sovereigns. Now he breaks Through all the clouds, and fills my eyes with light That shuts the world out. I can look no more. Bal. Hark! heard you not a sound? Myr.‍No, 'twas mere fancy; They battle it beyond the wall, and not60 As in late midnight conflict in the very Chambers: the palace has become a fortress Since that insidious hour; and here, within The very centre, girded by vast courts And regal halls of pyramid proportions, Which must be carried one by one before They penetrate to where they then arrived, We are as much shut in even from the sound Of peril as from glory. Bal.‍But they reached Thus far before. Myr.‍Yes, by surprise, and were70 Beat back by valour: now at once we have Courage and vigilance to guard us. Bal.‍May they Prosper! Myr.‍That is the prayer of many, and The dread of more: it is an anxious hour; I strive to keep it from my thoughts. Alas! How vainly! Bal.‍It is said the King's demeanour In the late action scarcely more appalled The rebels than astonished his true subjects. Myr. 'Tis easy to astonish or appal The vulgar mass which moulds a horde of slaves;80 But he did bravely. Bal.‍Slew he not Beleses? I heard the soldiers say he struck him down. Myr. The wretch was overthrown, but rescued to[97] Triumph, perhaps, o'er one who vanquished him In fight, as he had spared him in his peril; And by that heedless pity risked a crown. Bal.‍Hark! Myr. You are right; some steps approach, but slowly. Enter Soldiers, bearing in Salemenes wounded, with a broken javelin in his side: they seat him upon one of the couches which furnish the Apartment.

Myr. Oh, Jove! Bal.‍Then all is over. Sal.‍That is false. Hew down the slave who says so, if a soldier. Myr. Spare him—he's none: a mere court butterfly,90 That flutter in the pageant of a monarch. Sal. Let him live on, then. Myr.‍So wilt thou, I trust. Sal. I fain would live this hour out, and the event, But doubt it. Wherefore did ye bear me here? Sol. By the King's order. When the javelin struck you, You fell and fainted: 'twas his strict command To bear you to this hall. Sal.‍'Twas not ill done: For seeming slain in that cold dizzy trance, The sight might shake our soldiers—but—'tis vain, I feel it ebbing! Myr.‍Let me see the wound;100 I am not quite skilless: in my native land 'Tis part of our instruction. War being constant, We are nerved to look on such things.[an] Sol.‍Best extract The javelin. Myr.‍Hold! no, no, it cannot be. Sal. I am sped, then! Myr.‍With the blood that fast must follow The extracted weapon, I do fear thy life. Sal. And I not death. Where was the King when you Conveyed me from the spot where I was stricken?[98] Sol. Upon the same ground, and encouraging With voice and gesture the dispirited troops110 Who had seen you fall, and faltered back. Sal.‍Whom heard ye Named next to the command? Sol.‍I did not hear. Sal. Fly, then, and tell him, 'twas my last request That Zames take my post until the junction, So hoped for, yet delayed, of Ofratanes, Satrap of Susa. Leave me here: our troops Are not so numerous as to spare your absence. Sol. But Prince—— Sal.‍Hence, I say! Here's a courtier and A woman, the best chamber company. As you would not permit me to expire120 Upon the field, I'll have no idle soldiers About my sick couch. Hence! and do my bidding!

[Exeunt the Soldiers.

Myr. Gallant and glorious Spirit! must the earth So soon resign thee? Sal.‍Gentle Myrrha, 'tis The end I would have chosen, had I saved The monarch or the monarchy by this; As 'tis, I have not outlived them. Myr.‍You wax paler. Sal. Your hand; this broken weapon but prolongs My pangs, without sustaining life enough To make me useful: I would draw it forth130 And my life with it, could I but hear how The fight goes. Enter Sardanapalus and Soldiers.

Sar.‍My best brother! Sal.‍And the battle Is lost? Sar. (despondingly). You see me here. Sal.‍I'd rather see you thus!

[He draws out the weapon from the wound, and dies.

Sar. And thus I will be seen; unless the succour, The last frail reed of our beleagured hopes,[99] Arrive with Ofratanes. Myr.‍Did you not Receive a token from your dying brother, Appointing Zames chief? Sar.‍I did. Myr.‍Where's Zames? Sar. Dead. Myr.‍And Altada? Sar.‍Dying. Myr.‍Pania? Sfero? Sar. Pania yet lives; but Sfero's fled or captive.140 I am alone. Myr.‍And is all lost? Sar.‍Our walls, Though thinly manned, may still hold out against Their present force, or aught save treachery: But i' the field—— Myr.‍I thought 'twas the intent Of Salemenes not to risk a sally Till ye were strengthened by the expected succours. Sar. I over-ruled him. Myr.‍Well, the fault's a brave one. Sar. But fatal. Oh, my brother! I would give These realms, of which thou wert the ornament, The sword and shield, the sole-redeeming honour,150 To call back——But I will not weep for thee; Thou shall be mourned for as thou wouldst be mourned. It grieves me most that thou couldst quit this life Believing that I could survive what thou Hast died for—our long royalty of race. If I redeem it, I will give thee blood Of thousands, tears of millions, for atonement, (The tears of all the good are thine already). If not, we meet again soon,—if the spirit Within us lives beyond:—thou readest mine,160 And dost me justice now. Let me once clasp That yet warm hand, and fold that throbless heart

[Embraces the body.

To this which beats so bitterly. Now, bear The body hence. Sol.‍Where?[100] Sar.‍To my proper chamber. Place it beneath my canopy, as though The King lay there: when this is done, we will Speak further of the rites due to such ashes.

[Exeunt Soldiers with the body of Salemenes.

Enter Pania.

Sar. Well, Pania! have you placed the guards, and issued The orders fixed on? Pan.‍Sire, I have obeyed. Sar. And do the soldiers keep their hearts up? Pan.‍Sire?170 Sar. I am answered! When a king asks twice, and has A question as an answer to his question, It is a portent. What! they are disheartened? Pan. The death of Salemenes, and the shouts Of the exulting rebels on his fall, Have made them—— Sar.‍Rage—not droop—it should have been. We'll find the means to rouse them. Pan.‍Such a loss Might sadden even a victory. Sar.‍Alas! Who can so feel it as I feel? but yet, Though cooped within these walls, they are strong, and we180 Have those without will break their way through hosts, To make their sovereign's dwelling what it was— A palace, not a prison—nor a fortress. Enter an Officer, hastily.

Sar. Thy face seems ominous. Speak! Offi.‍I dare not. Sar.‍Dare not? While millions dare revolt with sword in hand! That's strange. I pray thee break that loyal silence Which loathes to shock its sovereign; we can hear Worse than thou hast to tell. Pan.‍Proceed—thou hearest.[101] Offi. The wall which skirted near the river's brink Is thrown down by the sudden inundation190 Of the Euphrates, which now rolling, swoln From the enormous mountains where it rises, By the late rains of that tempestuous region, O'erfloods its banks, and hath destroyed the bulwark. Pan. That's a black augury! it has been said For ages, "That the City ne'er should yield To man, until the River grew its foe." Sar. I can forgive the omen, not the ravage. How much is swept down of the wall? Offi.‍About Some twenty stadia.[29] Sar.‍And all this is left200 Pervious to the assailants? Offi.‍For the present The River's fury must impede the assault; But when he shrinks into his wonted channel, And may be crossed by the accustomed barks, The palace is their own. Sar.‍That shall be never. Though men, and gods, and elements, and omens, Have risen up 'gainst one who ne'er provoked them, My father's house shall never be a cave For wolves to horde and howl in. Pan.‍With your sanction, I will proceed to the spot, and take such measures210 For the assurance of the vacant space As time and means permit. Sar.‍About it straight, And bring me back, as speedily as full And fair investigation may permit, Report of the true state of this irruption Of waters. [Exeunt Pania and the Officer. Myr.‍Thus the very waves rise up Against you. Sar.‍They are not my subjects, girl, And may be pardoned, since they can't be punished. Myr. I joy to see this portent shakes you not. Sar. I am past the fear of portents: they can tell me220[102] Nothing I have not told myself since midnight: Despair anticipates such things. Myr.‍Despair! Sar. No; not despair precisely. When we know All that can come, and how to meet it, our Resolves, if firm, may merit a more noble Word than this is to give it utterance. But what are words to us? we have well nigh done With them and all things. Myr.‍Save one deed—the last And greatest to all mortals; crowning act Of all that was, or is, or is to be—230 The only thing common to all mankind, So different in their births, tongues, sexes, natures, Hues, features, climes, times, feelings, intellects,[ao] Without one point of union save in this— To which we tend, for which we're born, and thread The labyrinth of mystery, called life. Sar. Our clue being well nigh wound out, let's be cheerful. They who have nothing more to fear may well Indulge a smile at that which once appalled; As children at discovered bugbears. Re-enter Pania.

Pan.‍'Tis240 As was reported: I have ordered there A double guard, withdrawing from the wall, Where it was strongest, the required addition To watch the breach occasioned by the waters. Sar. You have done your duty faithfully, and as My worthy Pania! further ties between us Draw near a close—I pray you take this key:

[Gives a key.

It opens to a secret chamber, placed Behind the couch in my own chamber—(Now Pressed by a nobler weight than e'er it bore—250 Though a long line of sovereigns have lain down Along its golden frame—as bearing for[103] A time what late was Salemenes.)—Search The secret covert to which this will lead you; 'Tis full of treasure;[30] take it for yourself And your companions:[ap] there's enough to load ye, Though ye be many. Let the slaves be freed, too; And all the inmates of the palace, of Whatever sex, now quit it in an hour. Thence launch the regal barks, once formed for pleasure,260 And now to serve for safety, and embark. The river's broad and swoln, and uncommanded, (More potent than a king) by these besiegers. Fly! and be happy! Pan.‍Under your protection! So you accompany your faithful guard. Sar. No, Pania! that must not be; get thee hence, And leave me to my fate. Pan.‍'Tis the first time I ever disobeyed: but now—— Sar.‍So all men Dare beard me now, and Insolence within Apes Treason from without. Question no further;270 'Tis my command, my last command. Wilt thou Oppose it? thou! Pan.‍But yet—not yet. Sar.‍Well, then, Swear that you will obey when I shall give The signal. Pan.‍With a heavy but true heart, I promise. Sar.‍'Tis enough. Now order here Faggots, pine-nuts, and withered leaves, and such Things as catch fire and blaze with one sole spark; Bring cedar, too, and precious drugs, and spices, And mighty planks, to nourish a tall pile; Bring frankincense and myrrh, too, for it is280 For a great sacrifice I build the pyre![104] And heap them round yon throne. Pan.‍My Lord! Sar.‍I have said it, And you have sworn. Pan.‍And could keep my faith Without a vow. [Exit Pania. Myr.‍What mean you? Sar.‍You shall know Anon—what the whole earth shall ne'er forget. Pania, returning with a Herald.

Pan. My King, in going forth upon my duty, This herald has been brought before me, craving An audience. Sar.‍Let him speak. Her.‍The King Arbaces—— Sar. What, crowned already?—But, proceed. Her.‍Beleses, The anointed High-priest—— Sar.‍Of what god or demon?290 With new kings rise new altars. But, proceed; You are sent to prate your master's will, and not Reply to mine. Her.‍And Satrap Ofratanes—— Sar. Why, he is ours. Her. (showing a ring). Be sure that he is now In the camp of the conquerors; behold His signet ring. Sar.‍'Tis his. A worthy triad! Poor Salemenes! thou hast died in time To see one treachery the less: this man Was thy true friend and my most trusted subject. Proceed. Her.‍They offer thee thy life, and freedom300 Of choice to single out a residence In any of the further provinces, Guarded and watched, but not confined in person, Where thou shalt pass thy days in peace; but on Condition that the three young princes are Given up as hostages.[105] Sar. (ironically).‍The generous Victors! Her. I wait the answer. Sar.‍Answer, slave! How long Have slaves decided on the doom of kings? Her. Since they were free. Sar.‍Mouthpiece of mutiny! Thou at the least shalt learn the penalty310 Of treason, though its proxy only. Pania! Let his head be thrown from our walls within The rebels' lines, his carcass down the river. Away with him! [Pania and the Guards seizing him. Pan.‍I never yet obeyed Your orders with more pleasure than the present. Hence with him, soldiers! do not soil this hall Of royalty with treasonable gore; Put him to rest without. Her.‍A single word: My office, King, is sacred. Sar.‍And what's mine? That thou shouldst come and dare to ask of me320 To lay it down? Her.‍I but obeyed my orders, At the same peril if refused, as now Incurred by my obedience. Sar.‍So there are New monarchs of an hour's growth as despotic As sovereigns swathed in purple, and enthroned From birth to manhood! Her.‍My life waits your breath. Yours (I speak humbly)—but it may be—yours May also be in danger scarce less imminent: Would it then suit the last hours of a line Such as is that of Nimrod, to destroy330 A peaceful herald, unarmed, in his office; And violate not only all that man Holds sacred between man and man—but that More holy tie which links us with the Gods? Sar. He's right.—Let him go free.—My life's last act Shall not be one of wrath. Here, fellow, take

[Gives him a golden cup from a table near.

This golden goblet, let it hold your wine,[106] And think of me; or melt it into ingots, And think of nothing but their weight and value. Her. I thank you doubly for my life, and this340 Most gorgeous gift, which renders it more precious. But must I bear no answer? Sar.‍Yes,—I ask An hour's truce to consider. Her.‍But an hour's? Sar. An hour's: if at the expiration of That time your masters hear no further from me, They are to deem that I reject their terms, And act befittingly. Her.‍I shall not fail To be a faithful legate of your pleasure. Sar. And hark! a word more. Her.‍I shall not forget it, Whate'er it be. Sar.‍Commend me to Beleses;350 And tell him, ere a year expire, I summon Him hence to meet me. Her.‍Where? Sar.‍At Babylon. At least from thence he will depart to meet me. Her. I shall obey you to the letter. [Exit Herald. Sar.‍Pania!— Now, my good Pania!—quick—with what I ordered. Pan. My Lord,—the soldiers are already charged. And see! they enter. Soldiers enter, and form a Pile about the Throne, etc.[31]

Sar.‍Higher, my good soldiers, And thicker yet; and see that the foundation[107] Be such as will not speedily exhaust Its own too subtle flame; nor yet be quenched360 With aught officious aid would bring to quell it. Let the throne form the core of it; I would not Leave that, save fraught with fire unquenchable, To the new comers. Frame the whole as if 'Twere to enkindle the strong tower of our Inveterate enemies. Now it bears an aspect! How say you, Pania, will this pile suffice For a King's obsequies? Pan.‍Aye, for a kingdom's. I understand you, now. Sar.‍And blame me? Pan.‍No— Let me but fire the pile, and share it with you.370 Myr. That duty's mine. Pan.‍A woman's! Myr.‍'Tis the soldier's Part to die for his sovereign, and why not The woman's with her lover? Pan.‍'Tis most strange! Myr. But not so rare, my Pania, as thou think'st it. In the mean time, live thou.—Farewell! the pile Is ready.[108] Pan.‍I should shame to leave my sovereign With but a single female to partake His death. Sar.‍Too many far have heralded Me to the dust already. Get thee hence; Enrich thee. Pan.‍And live wretched! Sar.‍Think upon380 Thy vow:—'tis sacred and irrevocable. Pan. Since it is so, farewell. Sar.‍Search well my chamber, Feel no remorse at bearing off the gold; Remember, what you leave you leave the slaves Who slew me: and when you have borne away All safe off to your boats, blow one long blast Upon the trumpet as you quit the palace. The river's brink is too remote, its stream Too loud at present to permit the echo To reach distinctly from its banks. Then fly,—390 And as you sail, turn back; but still keep on Your way along the Euphrates: if you reach The land of Paphlagonia, where the Queen Is safe with my three sons in Cotta's court, Say what you saw at parting, and request That she remember what I said at one Parting more mournful still. Pan.‍That royal hand! Let me then once more press it to my lips; And these poor soldiers who throng round you, and Would fain die with you! The Soldiers and Pania throng round him, kissing his hand and the hem of his robe.

Sar.‍My best! my last friends!400 Let's not unman each other: part at once: All farewells should be sudden, when for ever, Else they make an eternity of moments, And clog the last sad sands of life with tears. Hence, and be happy: trust me, I am not Now to be pitied; or far more for what Is past than present;—for the future, 'tis In the hands of the deities, if such[109] There be: I shall know soon. Farewell—Farewell.

[Exeunt Pania and Soldiers.

Myr. These men were honest: it is comfort still410 That our last looks should be on loving faces. Sar. And lovely ones, my beautiful!—but hear me! If at this moment,—for we now are on The brink,—thou feel'st an inward shrinking from This leap through flame into the future, say it: I shall not love thee less; nay, perhaps more, For yielding to thy nature: and there's time Yet for thee to escape hence. Myr.‍Shall I light One of the torches which lie heaped beneath The ever-burning lamp that burns without,420 Before Baal's shrine, in the adjoining hall? Sar. Do so. Is that thy answer? Myr.‍Thou shalt see.

[Exit Myrrha.

Sar. (solus). She's firm. My fathers! whom I will rejoin, It may be, purified by death from some Of the gross stains of too material being, I would not leave your ancient first abode To the defilement of usurping bondmen; If I have not kept your inheritance As ye bequeathed it, this bright part of it, Your treasure—your abode—your sacred relics430 Of arms, and records—monuments, and spoils, In which they would have revelled, I bear with me To you in that absorbing element, Which most personifies the soul as leaving The least of matter unconsumed before Its fiery workings:—and the light of this Most royal of funereal pyres shall be[aq] Not a mere pillar formed of cloud and flame, A beacon in the horizon for a day, And then a mount of ashes—but a light[ar]440 To lesson ages, rebel nations, and Voluptuous princes. Time shall quench full many[110] A people's records, and a hero's acts; Sweep empire after empire, like this first Of empires, into nothing; but even then Shall spare this deed of mine, and hold it up A problem few dare imitate, and none Despise—but, it may be, avoid the life Which led to such a consummation. Myrrha returns with a lighted Torch in one Hand, and a Cup in the other.

Myr.‍Lo! I've lit the lamp which lights us to the stars.450 Sar. And the cup? Myr.‍'Tis my country's custom to Make a libation to the Gods. Sar.‍And mine To make libations amongst men. I've not Forgot the custom; and although alone, Will drain one draught in memory of many A joyous banquet past. Sardanapalus takes the cup, and after drinking and tinkling the reversed cup, as a drop falls, exclaims—

And this libation Is for the excellent Beleses. Myr.‍Why Dwells thy mind rather upon that man's name Than on his mate's in villany? Sar.‍The other Is a mere soldier, a mere tool, a kind460 Of human sword in a friend's hand; the other Is master-mover of his warlike puppet; But I dismiss them from my mind.—Yet pause, My Myrrha! dost thou truly follow me, Freely and fearlessly? Myr.‍And dost thou think A Greek girl dare not do for love, that which An Indian widow braves for custom?[as][111] Sar.‍Then We but await the signal. Myr.‍It is long In sounding. Sar.‍Now, farewell; one last embrace. Myr. Embrace, but not the last; there is one more.470 Sar. True, the commingling fire will mix our ashes. Myr. And pure as is my love to thee, shall they, Purged from the dross of earth, and earthly passion, Mix pale with thine. A single thought yet irks me. Sar. Say it. Myr.‍It is that no kind hand will gather The dust of both into one urn. Sar.‍The better: Rather let them be borne abroad upon The winds of heaven, and scattered into air, Than be polluted more by human hands Of slaves and traitors. In this blazing palace,480 And its enormous walls of reeking ruin, We leave a nobler monument than Egypt Hath piled in her brick mountains, o'er dead kings,[32] Or kine—for none know whether those proud piles Be for their monarch, or their ox-god Apis: So much for monuments that have forgotten Their very record! Myr.‍Then farewell, thou earth! And loveliest spot of earth! farewell, Ionia! Be thou still free and beautiful, and far Aloof from desolation! My last prayer490 Was for thee, my last thoughts, save one, were of thee! Sar. And that? Myr.‍Is yours. [The trumpet of Pania sounds without.[112] Sar.‍Hark! Myr.‍Now! Sar.‍Adieu, Assyria! I loved thee well, my own, my fathers' land, And better as my country than my kingdom. I sated thee with peace and joys; and this Is my reward! and now I owe thee nothing, Not even a grave. [He mounts the pile. Now, Myrrha! Myr.‍Art thou ready? Sar. As the torch in thy grasp.

[Myrrha fires the pile.

Myr.‍'Tis fired! I come. As Myrrha springs forward to throw herself into the flames, the Curtain falls.