Abbildungen der Seite

And from his honors struck him out for ever?
Yet if you doubt, a fearful proof remains.
When petty villains strike for paltry aims,
The blow unsure is rumour'd and forgotten,
But when a throne's the prize, not lengthen'd

time, Not e'en the grave can quite efface the wound.

Queen. Assur!

Arax. He tore my father's royal robe, Robb’d him of life and still pollutes his throne, He drove his son to perish in the waste, He stains his bed that he has won by blood. Queen. Spare me, oh spare-deceiving and

deceiv'd. Arax. Hence the just gods afflict the hearts

of men

With mighty fears and dreadful prodigies : Hence the portents that make the brave man

tremble, Spreading the monarch's crime o'er all the land.

Queen. My son !
Arax. But then to speed with most unhal-

low'd haste From that blest bed where you had given a

pledge Of holy love! though your

espoused saint" The pledge you gave could not receive on earth! Madly to rush into his murderer's arms, The sweet memorial from your heart erase, , And press the lips curs’d with the fell command That tore the infant innocence away,

To bang upon the reeking fratricide,
And make the worst of murders more deform'd
By an incestuous prize: shall crimes like these
Be unaton’d by penitence or deeds ?

Queen. Listen-oh Ninus-name for ever lov'd!

Arar. Will you persist in that detested course Fated to lead to the dread penalties Prepar'd for those who swear a virtuous love, Yet break their vows or impiously transfer them To him whose poniard cut the sacred tie? Queen. Speak—speak no more: I hate myself

and him: Tis you alone I love :

Arax. Pause, pause, my mother : So fatally deceiv'd suspect yourself : Spurn Assur from you and avenge great Ninus, Rise in the council and avow his son : My steps are watch'd and I must haste away; The holy father will supply my place With proofs how far beyond tlie reach of doubt! Remember the great race from which you

spring, How great her glory, who was wife of Ninus, Summon your virtue and redeem your fame, The wife and mother of a rightful king. Queen. Awak'd by you, my long-lost love

revives; For Ninus lives all perfect in his son.

Arar. Chastise the risings of a hasty passion And let the mother give her son his throne : The tyrant holds his sceptre but by you ;

In the great effort sinking ev'ry feeling,
Transfer that sceptre to the son of Ninus :
Then at your feet he'll humbly bow before you,
And filial tears reward a mother's blessing.

Going out. Queen. Stay-stay-nor leave me thus in so

litude; Victim of love, and anguish, and remorse.

Arax. I leave you to prepare for that one act, The sole atonement you can make to heav'n.

Exit. Queen. No son art thou, who cheat'st


fond affection And spurn'st thy bleeding mother from thy

heart : True-'twas the desert waste where thou wast

nurtur'd, 'Mid savage beasts less savage than thyself : Yes—I will meet you at the council, boy, And prove I can avenge the

I suffer.


the wrongs



SCENE I.-—The Templethe Tomb of NINUS





air breathes confidence, my friends, Our country's gods are active in our cause, And in these holy precincts, where they dwell, Around this sacred tomb, which they protect, Visions of glory pass before my eyes, Crowning the son who burns t'avenge his sire, And the tried friends who bless that son's

attempts. Mit. Perish the traitor-voice that speaks for

Assur! Oh that you met him in the field, my lord, He would acknowledge there the arm of Ninus, And yield a humble homage to it's strength.

Arax. Feel it he will, Mitranes, be assur'd: Where his detested life draws vital food, There will he own it :

Mit. Oh! may I be there! For I have seen you strike your country's foes !

Arax. But not, Mitranes, to avenge a father,

Not for a throne, not for a people's rights:
Shade of my father, hover round thy son,
Fix thy eternal diadem upon him,
Then if thou pleasest, take him to thyself !
Though victim, vanquisher; though dying,

crown'd, E’en on the grave's dark verge, give me that

moment, The next be thine!

Sethar. Accept the old man's prayer,
Immortal gods ! 'tis all the old man can :
Ere this grey head rests on it's kindred earth,
Oh ! let it bow in humble gratulations
To the thron'd son of Ninus: worthy is he
To sway your blessed sceptre on the earth,
And exercise the rights you gave his fathers.

Enter OROES.

Or. Mourn, mourn, oh friends! our great

designs are lost : Assur still reigns and Babylon is gone. Arar. Where is the tyrant ? where the hated

fiend? Mit. Now, sword, perform thy duty for thy

king. Or. The queen refuses to avow you, prince, She has no long arrears to pay her son, For name, for throne, for Babylon bereft, Her son, the son of Ninus, she rejects, And murd'rous Assur still insults mankind,

« ZurückWeiter »