Читать книгу The Prince of Parthia - Godfrey Thomas - Страница 9

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Scene I. The Temple of the Sun.

Gotarzes and Phraates.

Gotarzes.

He comes, Arsaces comes, my gallant Brother

(Like shining Mars in all the pomp of conquest)

Triumphant enters now our joyful gates;

Bright Victory waits on his glitt'ring car,

And shews her fav'rite to the wond'ring croud;

While Fame exulting sounds the happy name

To realms remote, and bids the world admire.

Oh! 'tis a glorious day:—let none presume

T'indulge the tear, or wear the gloom of sorrow;

This day shall shine in Ages yet to come,

And grace the Parthian story.

Phraates.

Glad Ctes'phon

Pours forth her numbers, like a rolling deluge,

To meet the blooming Hero; all the ways,

On either side, as far as sight can stretch,

Are lin'd with crouds, and on the lofty walls

Innumerable multitudes are rang'd.

On ev'ry countenance impatience sate

With roving eye, before the train appear'd.

But when they saw the Darling of the Fates,

They rent the air with loud repeated shouts;

The Mother shew'd him to her infant Son,

And taught his lisping tongue to name Arsaces:

E'en aged Sires, whose sounds are scarcely heard,

By feeble strength supported, tost their caps,

And gave their murmur to the gen'ral voice.

Gotarzes.

The spacious streets, which lead up to the Temple,

Are strew'd with flow'rs; each, with frantic joy,

His garland forms, and throws it in the way.

What pleasure, Phraates, must swell his bosom,

To see the prostrate nation all around him,

And know he's made them happy! to hear them

Tease the Gods, to show'r their blessings on him!

Happy Arsaces! fain I'd imitate

Thy matchless worth, and be a shining joy!

Phraates.

Hark! what a shout was that which pierc'd the skies!

It seem'd as tho' all Nature's beings join'd,

To hail thy glorious Brother.

Gotarzes.

Happy Parthia!

Now proud Arabia dreads her destin'd chains,

While shame and rout disperses all her sons.

Barzaphernes pursues the fugitives,

The few whom fav'ring Night redeem'd from slaughter;

Swiftly they fled, for fear had wing'd their speed,

And made them bless the shade which saf'ty gave.

Phraates.

What a bright hope is ours, when those dread pow'rs

Who rule yon heav'n, and guide the mov'ments here,

Shall call your royal Father to their joys:

In blest Arsaces ev'ry virtue meets;

He's gen'rous, brave, and wise, and good,

Has skill to act, and noble fortitude

To face bold danger, in the battle firm,

And dauntless as a Lion fronts his foe.

Yet is he sway'd by ev'ry tender passion,

Forgiving mercy, gentleness and love;

Which speak the Hero friend of humankind.

Gotarzes.

And let me speak, for 'tis to him I owe

That here I stand, and breath the common air,

And 'tis my pride to tell it to the world.

One luckless day as in the eager chace

My Courser wildly bore me from the rest,

A monst'rous Leopard from a bosky fen

Rush'd forth, and foaming lash'd the ground,

And fiercely ey'd me as his destin'd quarry.

My jav'lin swift I threw, but o'er his head

It erring pass'd, and harmless in the air

Spent all its force; my falchin then I seiz'd,

Advancing to attack my ireful foe,

When furiously the savage sprung upon me,

And tore me to the ground; my treach'rous blade

Above my hand snap'd short, and left me quite

Defenceless to his rage; Arsaces then,

Hearing the din, flew like some pitying pow'r,

And quickly freed me from the Monster's paws,

Drenching his bright lance in his spotted breast.

Phraates.

How diff'rent he from arrogant Vardanes?

That haughty Prince eyes with a stern contempt

All other Mortals, and with lofty mien

He treads the earth as tho' he were a God.

Nay, I believe that his ambitious soul,

Had it but pow'r to its licentious wishes,

Would dare dispute with Jove the rule of heav'n;

Like a Titanian son with giant insolence,

Match with the Gods, and wage immortal war,

'Til their red wrath should hurl him headlong down,

E'en to destruction's lowest pit of horror.

Gotarzes.

Methinks he wears not that becoming joy

Which on this bright occasion gilds the court;

His brow's contracted with a gloomy frown,

Pensive he stalks along, and seems a prey

To pining discontent.

Phraates.

Arsaces he dislikes,

For standing 'twixt him, and the hope of Empire;

While Envy, like a rav'nous Vulture, tears

His canker'd heart, to see your Brother's triumph.

Gotarzes.

And yet Vardanes owes that hated Brother

As much as I; 'twas summer last, as we

Were bathing in Euphrates' flood, Vardanes

Proud of strength would seek the further shore;

But ere he the mid-stream gain'd, a poignant pain

Shot thro' his well-strung nerves, contracting all,

And the stiff joints refus'd their wonted aid.

Loudly he cry'd for help, Arsaces heard,

And thro' the swelling waves he rush'd to save

His drowning Brother, and gave him life,

And for the boon the Ingrate pays him hate.

Phraates.

There's something in the wind, for I've observ'd

Of late he much frequents the Queen's apartment,

And fain would court her favour, wild is she

To gain revenge for fell Vonones' death,

And firm resolves the ruin of Arsaces.

Because that fill'd with filial piety,

To save his Royal Sire, he struck the bold

Presumptuous Traitor dead; nor heeds she

The hand which gave her Liberty, nay rais'd her

Again to Royalty.

Gotarzes.

Ingratitude,

Thou hell-born fiend, how horrid is thy form!

The Gods sure let thee loose to scourge mankind,

And save them from an endless waste of thunder.

Phraates.

Yet I've beheld this now so haughty Queen,

Bent with distress, and e'en by pride forsook,

When following thy Sire's triumphant car,

Her tears and ravings mov'd the senseless herd,

And pity blest their more than savage breasts,

With the short pleasure of a moment's softness.

Thy Father, conquer'd by her charms (for what

Can charm like mourning beauty), soon struck off

Her chains, and rais'd her to his bed and throne.

Adorn'd the brows of her aspiring Son,

The fierce Vonones, with the regal crown

Of rich Armenia, once the happy rule

Of Tisaphernes, her deceased Lord.

Gotarzes.

And he in wasteful war return'd his thanks,

Refus'd the homage he had sworn to pay,

And spread Destruction ev'ry where around,

'Til from Arsaces' hand he met the fate

His crimes deserv'd.

Phraates.

As yet your princely Brother

Has scap'd Thermusa's rage, for still residing

In peaceful times, within his Province, ne'er

Has fortune blest her with a sight of him,

On whom she'd wreck her vengeance.

Gotarzes.

She has won

By spells, I think, so much on my fond father,

That he is guided by her will alone.

She rules the realm, her pleasure is a law,

All offices and favours are bestow'd,

As she directs.

Phraates.

But see, the Prince, Vardanes,

Proud Lysias with him, he whose soul is harsh

With jarring discord. Nought but madding rage,

And ruffian-like revenge his breast can know,

Indeed to gain a point he'll condescend

To mask the native rancour of his heart,

And smooth his venom'd tongue with flattery.

Assiduous now he courts Vardanes' friendship,

See, how he seems to answer all his gloom,

And give him frown for frown.

Gotarzes.

Let us retire,

And shun them now; I know not what it means,

But chilling horror shivers o'er my limbs,

When Lysias I behold.—

Scene II. Vardanes and Lysias.

Lysias.

That shout proclaims

[Shout.

Arsaces' near approach.

Vardanes.

Peace, prithee, peace,

Wilt thou still shock me with that hated sound,

And grate harsh discord in my offended ear?

If thou art fond of echoing the name,

Join with the servile croud, and hail his triumph.

Lysias.

I hail him? By our glorious shining God,

I'd sooner lose my speech, and all my days

In silence rest, conversing with my thoughts,

Than hail Arsaces.

Vardanes.

Yet, again his name,

Sure there is magic in it, Parthia's drunk

And giddy with the joy; the houses' tops

With gaping spectators are throng'd, nay wild

They climb such precipices that the eye

Is dazzl'd with their daring; ev'ry wretch

Who long has been immur'd, nor dar'd enjoy

The common benefits of sun and air,

Creeps from his lurking place; e'en feeble age,

Long to the sickly couch confin'd, stalks forth,

And with infectious breath assails the Gods.

O! curse the name, the idol of their joy.

Lysias.

And what's that name, that thus they should disturb

The ambient air, and weary gracious heav'n

With ceaseless bellowings? Vardanes sounds

With equal harmony, and suits as well

The loud repeated shouts of noisy joy.

Can he bid Chaos Nature's rule dissolve,

Can he deprive mankind of light and day,

And turn the Seasons from their destin'd course?

Say, can he do all this, and be a God?

If not, what is his matchless merit? What dares he,

Vardanes dares not? blush not, noble Prince,

For praise is merit's due, and I will give it;

E'en 'mid the croud which waits thy Brother's smile,

I'd loud proclaim the merit of Vardanes.

Vardanes.

Forbear this warmth, your friendship urges far.

Yet know your love shall e'er retain a place

In my remembrance. There is something here—

[Pointing to his breast.

Another time and I will give thee all;

But now, no more.—

Lysias.

You may command my services,

I'm happy to obey. Of late your Brother

Delights in hind'ring my advancement,

And ev'ry boaster's rais'd above my merit,

Barzaphernes alone commands his ear,

His oracle in all.

Vardanes.

I hate Arsaces,

Tho' he's my Mother's son, and churchmen say

There's something sacred in the name of Brother.

My soul endures him not, and he's the bane

Of all my hopes of greatness. Like the sun

He rules the day, and like the night's pale Queen,

My fainter beams are lost when he appears.

And this because he came into the world,

A moon or two before me: What's the diff'rence,

That he alone should shine in Empire's seat?

I am not apt to trumpet forth my praise,

Or highly name myself, but this I'll speak,

To him in ought, I'm not the least inferior.

Ambition, glorious fever! mark of Kings,

Gave me immortal thirst and rule of Empire.

Why lag'd my tardy soul, why droop'd the wing,

Nor forward springing, shot before his speed

To seize the prize?—'Twas Empire—Oh! 'twas Empire—

Lysias.

Yet, I must think that of superior mould

Your soul was form'd, fit for a heav'nly state,

And left reluctant its sublime abode,

And painfully obey'd the dread command,

When Jove's controuling fate forc'd it below.

His soul was earthly, and it downward mov'd,

Swift as to the center of attraction.

Vardanes.

It might be so—But I've another cause

To hate this Brother, ev'ry way my rival;

In love as well as glory he's above me;

I dote on fair Evanthe, but the charmer

Disdains my ardent suit, like a miser

He treasures up her beauties to himself:

Thus is he form'd to give me torture ever.—

But hark, they've reach'd the Temple,

Didst thou observe the croud, their eagerness,

Each put the next aside to catch a look,

Himself was elbow'd out?—Curse, curse their zeal—

Lysias.

Stupid folly!

Vardanes.

I'll tell thee, Lysias,

This many-headed monster multitude,

Unsteady is as giddy fortune's wheel,

As woman fickle, varying as the wind;

To-day they this way course, the next they veer,

And shift another point, the next another.

Lysias.

Curiosity's another name for man,

The blazing meteor streaming thro' the air

Commands our wonder, and admiring eyes,

With eager gaze we trace the lucent path,

'Til spent at length it shrinks to native nothing.

While the bright stars which ever steady glow,

Unheeded shine, and bless the world below.

Scene III. Queen and Edessa.

Queen.

Oh! give me way, the haughty victor comes,

Surrounded by adoring multitudes;

On swelling tides of praise to heav'n they raise him;

To deck their idol, they rob the glorious beings

Of their splendour.

Edessa.

My royal Lady,

Chace hence these passions.

Queen.

Peace, forever peace,

Have I not cause to hate this homicide?

'Twas by his cursed hand Vonones fell,

Yet fell not as became his gallant spirit,

Not by the warlike arm of chief renown'd,

But by a youth, ye Gods, a beardless stripling,

Stab'd by his dastard falchin from behind;

For well I know he fear'd to meet Vonones,

As princely warriors meet with open daring,

But shrunk amidst his guards, and gave him death,

When faint with wounds, and weary with the fight.

Edessa.

With anguish I have heard his hapless fate,

And mourn'd in silence for the gallant Prince.

Queen.

Soft is thy nature, but, alas! Edessa,

Thy heart's a stranger to a mother's sorrows,

To see the pride of all her wishes blasted;

Thy fancy cannot paint the storm of grief,

Despair and anguish, which my breast has known.

Oh! show'r, ye Gods, your torments on Arsaces,

Curs'd be the morn which dawn'd upon his birth.

Edessa.

Yet, I intreat—

Queen.

Away! for I will curse—

Oh! may he never know a father's fondness,

Or know it to his sorrow, may his hopes

Of joy be cut like mine, and his short life

Be one continu'd tempest; if he lives,

Let him be curs'd with jealousy and fear,

And vext with anguish of neglecting scorn;

May tort'ring hope present the flowing cup,

Then hasty snatch it from his eager thirst,

And when he dies base treach'ry be the means.

Edessa.

Oh! calm your spirits.

Queen.

Yes, I'll now be calm,

Calm as the sea when the rude waves are laid,

And nothing but a gentle swell remains;

My curse is heard, and I shall have revenge;

There's something here which tells me 'twill be so,

And peace resumes her empire o'er my breast.

Vardanes is the Minister of Vengeance;

Fir'd by ambition, he aspiring seeks

T'adorn his brows with Parthia's diadem;

I've fann'd the fire, and wrought him up to fury,

Envy shall urge him forward still to dare,

And discord be the prelude to destruction,

Then this detested race shall feel my hate.

Edessa.