Читать книгу The Prince of Parthia - Godfrey Thomas - Страница 3

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. —