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'

Sfe.

Let us trace then, She cannot be fled far; and, found, she makes A richer prize to our soft sovereign Than his recover'd kingdom.

Baal himself

Alt. 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 The man's inscrutable. As sweeps the air and deluges the earth.

Sfe.

Bel. Ho! tyrant-I will end this war.
Sar.

Even so,
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 crush'd.

Bel.

But not by thee.

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,
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 flash'd a scimitar till now?
Myrrha, return, and I obey you, though
In disobedience to the monarch.
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.

[Exit PANIA.

If the king

Prove victor, as it seems even now he must, And miss his own Ionian, we are doom'd

[Exeunt,

Enter SALEMENES and Soldiers, &c.
The triumph is

Sal.
Flattering: they are beaten backward from the palace
And we have open'd regular access

To the troops station'd on the other side

Euphrates, who may still be true; nay, must be,
When they hear of our victory. But where
Is the chief victor? where's the king?

Enter SARDANAPALUS, cum suis, &c. and MYRRHA
Sar.

Sal. Unhurt, I hope. Sar.

Here, brother. Not quite; but let it pass.

We've clear'd the palace

Sal.

Our numbers gather; and I've ordered onward
And I trust the city.
A cloud of Parthians, hitherto reserved,
All fresh and fiery, to be pour'd upon them
In their retreat, which soon will be a flight.

Sar. It is already, or at least they march'd
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,

[They place a seal. A peasant's stool, I care not what: so-now I breathe more freely.

Ever had such an order: even 1,

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 learn'd to-night the price of the pure element.
Thrice have I drank of it, and thrice renew'd,
With greater strength than the grape ever gave me
My charge upon the rebels. Where's the soldier
Who gave me water in his heimet?

One of the Guards.
Slain, sire!
An arrow pierced his brain, while, scattering
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 siave!
Had he but lived, I would have gorged him with
Gold: all the gold of earth could ne'er repay
The pleasure of that draught; for I was parcn'd
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.

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!

Upon

Sleep show 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
Embodied longest. If there be indeed

A shore, where mind survives, 't will 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, 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 seenA legion of the dead.

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 dream'd myself
Here-here-even where we are, guests as we were,
Myself a host that deem'd himself but guest,
Willing to equal all in social freedom;
But, on my right hand and my left, instead

Of thee and Zames, and our accustom'd meeting,
Was ranged on my left hand a haughty, dark,
And deadly face—I could not recognize 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 curl'd down
On his vast bust, whence a huge quiver rose
With shaft-heads feather'd from the eagle's wing,
That peep'd up bristling through his serpent hair.
I invited him to fill the cup which stood
Between us, but he answer'd not-I fill'd it-
He took it not, but stared upon me, till
I trembled at the fix'd glare of his eye:
I frown'd upon him as a king should frown-
He frown'd not in his turn, but look'd upon me
With the same aspect, which appall'd me more,
Because it changed not; and I turn'd for refuge
To milder guests, and sought them on the right,
Were thou wert wont to be. But-

It was so palpable, I could have touch'd them.
I turn'd from one face to another, in
The hope to find at last one which I knew
Ere I saw theirs: but no-all turn'd upon me,
And stared, but neither ate nor drank, but stared
Till I grew stone, as they seem'd 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!

Sar. At last I sate marble, as they, when rose
The hunter, and the crew; 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 relax'd to something like a smile,
Both rose, and the crown'd 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,
And at the last I fear'd them not, but laugh'd
Full in their phantom faces. But then-then
The hunter laid his hand on mine: I took it,
And grasp'd it--but it melted from my own,
While he too vanish'd, and left nothing but
The memory of a hero, for he look'd so.
Myr. And was: the ancestor of heroes, too,
And thine no less.

Sar.
Ay, Myrrha, but the woman,
The female who remain'd, she flew upon me,
And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses,
And, flinging down the goblets on each hand,
Methought their poisons flow'd around us, till
Each form'd 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,
Then-then-a chaos of all loathsome things
Throng'd thick and shapeless: I was dead, yet feeling
Buried, and raised again--consumed by worms,
Purged by the flames, and wither'd in the air!

I can fix nothing further of my thoughts,
Save that I long'd 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 to toil, yet overwrought by toil
Such as might try the sternest.

Sar.
I am better.
Now that I see thee once mere, what was seen
Seems nothing.

I sought thy sweet face in the circle-but
Instead a gray-hair'd, wither'd, bloody-eyed,
And bloody-handed, ghastly, ghostly thing,
Female in garb, and crown'd upon the brow,
Furrow'd with years, yet sneering with the passion

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 among 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,
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 quell'd. 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't is not gone: methought

I pass'd hours in that vision.
Myr.

I watch'd by you: it was a heavy hour,

But an hour only.

Sar.

Scarcely one;

Let us then hold council;

Freedom only!

Your patience

How! of the queen?

That slave deserves to share a throne.
Sal.
'T is not yet vacant, and 't is of its partner
I come to speak with you.
Sar.
Sal. Even so. I judged it fitting for their safety,
That, ere the dawn, she sets forth with her children
For Paphlagonia, where our kinsman Cotta
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 thoughtLet them set forth with a sure escort.

To drop down the Euphrates; but ere they Depart, will you not see

Sar.

My sons? It may
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.
Sal. You know, or ought to know, enough of women,
Since you have studied them so steadily,
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 't was her wish-she is my sister-you
Her husband-wili you grant it?
Sar.

But let her come.

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 't is
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
Bravely—and, won, wear it wisely, not as 1
Have wasted down my royalty.

Zar.

They ne er

Sar.

Rather let them hear

[Erit SALEMENES. We have lived asunder

Too long to meet again—and now to meet!
Have I not cares enow, and pangs enow

So little cared for as his own; and if—

And I-let me say we-shall yet be happy.

And they will swell the echo with a curse.

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.

And who are they?

Sar.
A slave, who loves from passion-I'll not say
Ambition-she has seen thrones shake, and loves;
A few friends, who have revell'd 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.

"T is

Sar.
And good ones make
Good out of evil. Happier than the bee,
Which hives not but from wholesome flowers.
Zar.

The honey, nor inquire whence 't is derived.
Be satisfied-you are not all abandon'd.

Alas!

Then reap

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, wrong'd Zarina!
I am the very slave of circumstance
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 form'd
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 look'd like a chain for me or others,
(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
Upon a vein of virgin ore, discovering

That which avails him nothing: he hath found it,
But 't is 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, upturning
The sullen earth.

Zar.
Oh! if thou hast at length
Discover'd that my love is worth esteem,
I ask no more-but let us hence together,

What! leave Your children, with two parents and yet orphans→→ In a strange land-so young, so distant?

Zar.

My heart will break.

No

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, perhaps
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-'t were
Easier to stop Euphrates at its source
Than one tear of a true and tender heart-
But let me not behold them; they unman me
Here when I had remann'd myself. My brother,
Lead her away.

Zar. Behold him more!

Oh, God! I never shall

Sal. (striving to conduct her.) Nay, sister, I must be obey'd.

Zar. I must remain-away! you shall not hold me. What, shall he die alone?-I live alone?

Sal. He shall not die alone; but lonely you Have lived for years.