* # .S^^t / THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES -«*-V!l TH6 CHAMPION OF CYRUS: A DRAMA, IN FIVE ACTS: pr Z.UKE BOOKER, LL. D.-P. R. S. 1., due. Fallitor egregio quisqiiis sub Principe credit Servitium. Nunquam Libertas gratior extat Quam sub Rege pio, Claudian. Printed and sold at the Office of the late J. Hinton, FOR MESSRS. SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, LONDON. 1831. iV representations, when divested of every thing that might awaken censure, will justify my choice, to a discerning Public. May that Public approve the performance, as it will appreciate these stated Motives ! and may the pages be deemed worthy " a local habitation" within the walls of your princely Mansion at Stoke Edith ! the abode of Hospitality, seated amid woods, and plains, and happy cottages ; where Nature seems delighted to lavish her charms, as pro- fusely as the revered Possessor of the Scene dispenses his bounty. That you may long have the felicity of doing so, is the sincere wish of, dear Sir, Your respectful Servant, LUKE BOOKEK. DUDLEY VICARAGE, January 1, 1831. PREFATORY OBSERVATIONS. Although the author's name has been honoured with no inconsiderable portion of public approval for literary produc- tions of various kinds, he thinks it right to say, that the present Drama is the first effort of his Muse, in this species of composition. Whether it will also be the last, an en- liofhtened Public will determine. o It is right also that he state, by what Motives he has been stimulated to the effort : if effort that may be called, which was rather a pleasurable relaxation from more arduous studies : so pleasurable, that, during a few hours' walkiu^- exercise in the lovely scenes of Nature, he has often deposited in the cells of Memory, for transcription, from one to three hundred verses of the present performance. This was done, after a lapse of years ; first, in compliance with the suggestion of a no less competent dramatic Judge, than the late J. P. Kemble, Esq. ; to whose perusal, the first Scene of the Play was submitted by the author's Friend, the late Miles Peter Andrews, Esq. M. P. for Bewdley. The latter Gentleman being pleased with it, asked permission to show the MS. to Mr. Kemble ; who returned it to Mr. Andrews, with this flattering commendation : " Tell your friend, that if he will give continuity to the Scene, by extending it into a regular Drama, I will not only introduce it upon the Stage ; but shall be happy to sustain a Character i^i it." VI Notwithstanding the brief MS. with such an encouraging Opinion, was communicated to the author, he did not feel dis- posed then to proceed farther : nor would he since have done so, did he not think — that at a time, when a gloomy spirit is pervading the country, not only diminishing the stock of harmless enjoyments, but engendering a morbid taste, detri- mental also to elegant literature — a Drama might be con- structed, though not professedly of a sacred character, against which. Fanaticism itself should have no just cause to allege any objection. That there are not already such in existence, the present author by no means affirms. But, when he affirms this, he confesses there are dramatic works which have a direct tendency to demoralize mankind : and these demoralizing works have been produced at an era when mankind might be supposed incapable of hailing the bane with applause : thus enabling it to do more extensive mis- chief. — Two dramas, of this kind, were, some years ago, anathematized by the present writer, in these lines ; nor has he since had any reason to change his opinion : " Whatmai-vel that is sear'd the public mind ? That Beauty's cheek no soft suffusion knows. Resulting from the soul ? for, unconfin'd. The tide of Vice — a wasting deluge ! flows. — From prostituted Good the Evil grows : Lo ! teeming from the Press deistic lore. Exotic in its birth, pollutes the British shore. Imported thus, more wide the Scenic stage Spreads the corrupting curse, the moral bane. Embodying Vice to vieiv, the more to' engage Incautious Youth, and blanch Seduction's stain "With winning guise. There, see a specious train Attend the Libertine or Harlot vile, To sap connubial faith, and Virtue to beguile." Vll These lines point whatever of severity may be in them, against two of the most popular Plays on the British Stage—" The School for Scandal," and " The Stranger." On these dramas, which Fashion, Vice and Folly have chosen to honour, were not a Critique here out of place, the charge of their delinquency should be substantiated. — The prominent character in each of them is calculated to do more mischief, — and has done more mischief to public morals, by the specious amiabilities with which both characters are invested, than perhaps all the other objectionable Plays on the Stage. — That one of the pieces should be written, or imported from the German School, by a Clergyman, is to be lamented : and, perhaps, he lived to lament it himself, as a cii-cumstance, for which the highest and most exemplary clerical attainments were afterwards found insufficient to atone. — Respecting the other piece, a late learned Prelate,* who was an ornament to Religion, and to human nature, shall speak. — Alluding to such a character as the one that constitutes the hero of that piece, he says, " the very liberality and good nature of such a person only serve to render him the more hurtful. They throw a lustre over the criminal part of his character, and render him an object of admiration to the crowd of servile imitators, who, not having the- sense to separate his vices from his accomplishments, form their conduct upon his example in the gross ; and hope to become equally agreeable by being equally wicked. — And, as if it were not enough to have these patterns before our eyes in real life, they are served up to us in the pro- ductions of some modern writers, who, to the fond ambition of what they call copying after nature, sacrifice the interests of Virtue ; and lend a willing hand towards finishing the corruption of manners. Hence it is, that in several of our * Dr. Beilby Portcus, Bishop of London. VIll most popular works of Fanci/ and Amtisement, the principal Figure of the Piece is some professed Libertine, ivho he- cause he has a captivating address, and a certain amiable Generosity of disposition, has the privilege of committing H'hatever irregularities he thinks ^t ; and of excusing them, as the unavoidable effects of constitution, and the little foibles of a heart intrinsically good. Thus, while he delights the im- agination, and wins the affections, he never fails, at the same time, to corrupt principles : and young people, more especi- ally, instead of being inspired with a just detestation of Vice, are furnished with apologies for it, which they never forget ; and are even taught to consider it as a necessary part of an accomplished character." Sermon vi. Vol. 2. Many as are the redeeming qualities of this piece, — such as its keen sarcasms upon abominable Slander, and its just exposure of sanctimonious Hypocrisy — neither these, nor all the Cayenne Wit and Attic ISalt with which it is seasoned, will render it other than " a foetid carcase, "^ — offensive to Morality, and detrimental to Religion. Although, therefore, a Lord Chamberlain may not deem it expedient to exclude such productions from his licentiate indulgence, a discreet Manager should ; and, if he consult his own Interest, a discreet Manager icill. Knowing that there are many who decry the Drama, on account of impurities which spotted it, in an age less fastidious than the present, he ought not to tolerate any thing, of modern growth, that has an impure tendency. Thus he ought to act, upon moral considerations, inde- pendently of interested ones, that modern Fastidiousness may have no pretext to keep aloof from the Theatre, nor justly restrain a Wife, a Sister, or a Daughter from going thither. Nay, he should proceed still farther. From dramatic produc- lions, of more ancient growth, — even from those of our inimitable Shakespeare, lie should expunge, in the represen- tation, every demoralizing passage, — every indelicate word ; nor allow any thing to be uttered on his Stage, which a Husband, a Brother, and a Father would think it wrong- to speak in the bosom of their family. Under such Regulations, which Licentiousness alone can condemn, the Drama would become the handmaid of Religion, and, in one respect, possess an advantage over the teachers of Religion themselves, — the manifest advantage of person- ating Character; of making Virtue stand confessed in her own image, with all her loveliness about her ; and of exposing Vice, in all its horrible defonnities, haunted and chastised, as by real fiends and furies. In the present performance, its author does not presmne to say that, in so high and meritorious an aim, he has succeeded : the Public, on that point will pronounce its own judgments. Yet, so long as Patriotism, Loyalty, and Valour shall be held in estimation, — the amiable Charities of domestic life be revered, and Beautiful Nature awaken pleasurable emotion in the mind ; — nay, so long as virtuous Principle shall be applauded by the wise and good, — and whatever is base shall be reprobated by them, — he will not tremble at the verdict which may be pronounced on this work. That difficulties, and those of no common kind, obstruct Perfection in such perfoiTnances, must be acknowledged : the author means difficulties with respect to a rigid observance of the great Stagyrite's stipulations for a faultless Drama. At least, every candid person will admit these difficulties, after reading the following Sentiments of Dryden, on the sub- ject.—— Alluding to dramatic Poesy, and to what both Aristotle and Horace have written concerning it— that more modern Rfaster-Spirit says, " What the French call, des trois Unitez, or the three Unities, ought to be observed in every regular Play ; namely. Time, Place, and Action. The Unity of Ti7ne they comprehend in twenty-four hours, — the compass of a natural Day ; or as near it as can be contrived : and the Reason of it is obvious to every one, that the Time of the feigned Action, or Fable of the Play, should be proportional, as near as can be, to the duration of that time in which it is represented : since all Plays, being acted in a space of time, much within the compass of twenty-four hours, that Play is to be thought the nearest imitation of Nature, whose Plot or Action is confined tvithin that time. It is also the poet's duty to take care that no Act be imagined to exceed the Time during which it is represented on the Stage ; nor any Intei'val between the Acts, be supposed too long for what is to follow." Such is the opinion of this great Patron of the Drama, with respect to one of the three Essentials to constitute a perfect Play, Time. Respecting the second, — Place — he says, "The Scene ought to be continued, through the Play, where it was laid in the beginning. For, the Stage, on which it is repre- sented, being but one and the same place, it were unnatural to conceive it many, and those far distant from each other." Respecting the third Essential — Action, he says, " the poet should aim at one that is great and complete : to the carrying on of which, all things, in his play, — even the very obstacles, are to be subservient. Yet this cannot be brought to pass, but by many other imperfect Actions which conduce to it, and hold the audience in a delightful suspense of what will be. " If, by these Rules," says he, we were to judge our modern Plays, 'tis probable that few of them would endure the trial. That which should be the business of a Day, takes up, in some of them, an Age. Instead of one Ac- tion, they are the Epitomps of a man's Life ; and, for one XI Spot* of ground (which the Stage should represent) we are sometimes in more Countries than the Map can shew us." If the present Play, however, be tried according to this severe— classical Ordeal — whatever may be its other Im- perfections — a violation of these stipulated Essentials will not be found among the number, f Wherefore, possessing, as it does, the Unities, its author, with more confidence, pro- ceeds to say a few woi'ds on its Subject. That is his own. Cyrus has been made its Foundation, with no other view than to use, magni nominis sub umbra, a few Incidents, reputed to belong to his history. Whether those Incidents have Truth or no for their sanction, is not of much consequence. On that head, Herodotus and Xenophon are at variance : nor is the author of the drama, in any way concerned to enquire which of them is right. — Of that extraordinary man, — most justly denominated " Great," it may be said, without any profane application of language, that he is "as unknown, and yet well-known." — Extraordinary he was, having been fore- told centuries antecedently to his birth : and " GreaV he proved himself to be by his Actions. The word foretold, implies that he had something of sacredness about his cha- racter or destination : and that this was really the case, any one may be convinced, by adverting to those passages in the sacred volume, which are referred to below. J Yet that part of his character is left untouched, in the present work, * The Spot, or its immediate Vicinity must here be meant ; otherwise striking and beautiful scenic changes would be introduced to no purpose : such, for instance, as are required in this drama. •f- Of the anachronisms, consisting of allusions to the telescope, and Magnet, in Scene the 2nd of the 3d Act, and in Scene the 3d of the 4th Act, the author was well aware, when he wrote them. He trusts, for the sake of the illustrations they afford, the^' will be par- doned. + 2Chron. xxxvi. 22, 23. Ezra, i. 1,2,— iv. 5— Isaiah xli. 2. etseq. :iliv. 28.— xlv, 1, et seq. xlvi. 11.— See also Josephus, Lib. ii. Cap, 2. XII for i-easous which need not be specified. — Passing- over, here, the days of his infancy and early youth, which are slightly noticed in the Drama, his seculuj- glories, as the Conqueror of Asia Minor, were briefly these : the most for- midable nation of that vast region were the Lydians ; whose king, Croesus, for the purpose of attacking Cyrus, assembled an army consisting of 480,00(f men, near the river Pactolus. The Persian monarch, with an army of 190,000, advanced to meet him ; but, observing how much farther the front of his enemy extended, than his own, he halted, and formed his forces into a solid square. Croesus, also, ordered his centre to halt, and the two wings to advance, with a view of enclos- ing the Persians, and then to commence a general attack, on all sides upon them. Xenophon describes the two armies as two immense squares, yet the smaller of the two hemmed in by the larger one. Undismayed, however, by so perilous a situation, Cyrus gave the signal for his troops suddenly to face about, and attack, in flank, those forces which were about to fall upon his rear. This unexpected movement threw that part of the army of Croesus into disorder : when a squadron of camels advancing against the other wing, which consisted chiefly of cavalry, affrighted the horses by their strange appearance, — unseated the riders, and trod them under foot : at the same time, chariots, armed with scythes, being furiously driven in among them, they were entirely routed. Having thus thrown his enemy's wings into disorder, Cyrus directed a desperate attack to be made on the centre ; but that bold measure not being attended with the desired success, its failure cost him, in officers and troops, many valuable men ; among whom was his favourite General, Abradates. For awhile, the tide of battle was turned against him, and he himself in imminent danger of being captured or slain, — his horse having sunk under him when surrounded ^111 hy his enemies. Then did his army evince its fidelity and attachment. A simultaneous effort of prompt and deter- mined valour rescued him, succeeded by such an extensive slaughter of the enemy, that Victory, at last, assigned her palm in his favour. So rapid was his march of conquest afterwards, that, in the course of two days, he possessed himself of Sardis. Thence he proceeded to beseige Babylon ; which he reduced in the extraordinary manner related by historians, — especially by Herodotus. Having settled the civil government of the conquered kingdoms, he reviewed his forces ; which amounted to 600,000 foot,— 120,000 horse, and 2000 chariots, armed with scythes. With these he extended his dominion over all the nations, to the confines of ^Ethiopia, and to the red sea. Afterwards, his vast empire, for the most part, continued in peace till his death ; which happened about 529 years before the Christian era. These Particulars are here given to show that no Gran- deur of Scenery, or Magnificence of Costume, in the repre- sentation of any Drama, connected with that Prince, can be deemed excessive : and no small portion of such Grandeur and Magnificence, Imagination may introduce into the present performance. Were it represented on the Stage, perhaps a curtailment of some of its parts would be necessary ; especi- ally in the first Scene of the last Act. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA, IN THE ORDER OF THEIR APPEARANCE MEN. Cyrus, Kiitg of Persia Artaxes, a favoured kinsman of Cyrus Courtier, a chief Satrap, in attendance Ahmed, a brave and accomplished Soldier Abbas, a Persian Priest, of high estimation in the Court of Cyrus Kerazmin, a Rebel Chief Sad I, ditto ditto Hermit, in a bordering Forest Banditti — 1 Mirza. 2 Abdallah. 3 Hassan Allah, a chief General under Cyrus A SECOND General, under ditto A CHIEF Senator under ditto Azdriel, a powerful Rebel Prince Zeb, a faithful attendant on the Hermit WOMEN. Mandane ZuLEiKA, a confidential Lady H I N D A , Mother of Mandane Commencing time of the Drama, early In the Morning : concluding Time, soon after Sun-set. ILCT 1. SCENE 1. A Tent near a fortified Castle : Cyrus king of Persia, seated on a gorgeous throne, attended by Artaxes and Satraps. Occasion : Artaxes having been overcome, in an equestrian race, by Ahmed, a young private Soldier, — Cyrus per- ceives his dejection, and thus addresses him : CYRUS. Forbear repinings, Prince! another time Thou raay'st contend and win the envied prize. Remember, thou vvert second at the goal : An honour thatf amid competitors So eminent and many. When again The lists are enter'd, thou niay'st be the first. ARTAXES. Ah, never Sire ! if the same Youth contend That was victorious in the race to-day : And shou'd he not contend, say what renown Wou'd follow conquest ? — How his high-bred Steed Obedient to his master's skilful hand, Flew, swift as light, along the sounding plain ! 10 Still does my mind the graceful Stranger see In ev'ry thing. — What native dignity ! And yet what modesty, did, he display, When, conquering me the second time, he bow'd Before Mandane ; while her snowy hand Braided around his curly-tressed temples The laurel-wreath, his Prize ! CYRUS. Thy praise is generous ; And thus in praising him, thou prov'st thyself Magnanimous, and amiable as he. For, who thus speaks of a victorious rival, That, in the field of Glory, has surpass'd him. Must have a noble soul : and this inspires, My more than wonted love, Artaxes, for thee. But I wou'd see the youth, who from thee won The prize; and, what is more, who from thee wins Such admiration. COURTIER. That, my liege, thou may'st. And instantly : for him, ere while I saw. As if unbuoy'd with aught of vanity, Fast by the Tent. CYRUS. Conduct him in, my lord. — \^Courtier departs, — and Artaxes seems about to retire^ Say, whither goest thou ? 17 ARTAXES. To hide myself behind thee ; lest he see My cheek, by shame, with blushes deep suffus'd COURTIER, {re-entering, follorved by Ahmed ; who, ivearing the Chaplety is attired in the plain Uniform of a common Persian Soldier. ) Lo ! Ahmed, Sire ! I found him with his Comrades, Distributing", in equal shares, among- them, The hundred golden pieces he had won. CYRUS, {to Ahmed) Was that well done ? — and wherefore done ? I pray. The prize I gave : — dost thou despise my gift. As deem'd a guerdon, all-inadequate To thy suppos'd, — thy se//'-suppos'd deservings? AHMED. No, my too-generous liege ! The prize out-went My poor deserts. This laurel 1 retain, [modestli/ taking it from his head, and laying it at the feel of Cyrus^ And hold it dear ; — so dear, — that, aught besides I deem of little worth. For — [iJe stops short] CYRUS. Why that pause ? Speak freely, Soldier j nor let modesty Frustrate the purpose of thy timid tongue. 18 AHMED. For Fame alonCf great Sire ! I did contend ; And that I gain'd : Was it not therefore, just, That all beyond the prize at which I aini'd. My fellow-Soldiers equally shou'd share ? CYRUS. Most noble-minded youth ! how widely err Those slanderers of mankind, who idly think Greatness of soul can only dwell with Grandeur ! Whereas, like yonder Sun, whose rays benign Pervade all nature, throwing into shade Our mimic State, true dignity of mind Glows in the breasts of millions, who but pant For some propitious hour, — some fit occasion To summon forth its energies sublime, And wake a kingdom's wonder. That bright sun Views, in his course diurnal, no thron'd king, Boasting a nation bravely-good as mine is. If I have many Subjects, such as thou. — — But I have somewhat, on a minor theme. To ask, that passes my credulity; Which, Ahmed, thou wilt answer like a Youth That is not marr'd by artful sophistry. Man knows, — or ought to know, as the High Priest Of that Creation, where, o'er creatures dumb (Yet gifted with fine instincts) he is placed, To minister for their short temp'ral comfort, — He knows, I say, that rage-subduing Kindness, 19 Like oil sufFiis'd o'er Ocean's foaming billows. Will mould, to soft Docility's obedience. The fiercest natures. — Soldier ! I am told Thou so hast taught and discijjlin'd the steed Which bore thee on so gallantly to Triumph, That he evinces, for thee, such attachment. As does the dog, — oft man's most faithful friend. For his lov'd master. — Is this rumour truth ? AHMED. Most gracious king ! it is : and my success Perhaps in the late Contest, at the Circus, Was owing to that cause. My gen'rous Steed, Accustom'd to my kindness and my bidding. Knows what 1 wish ; and more from Love than Fear, Strains ev'ry sinew of his agile frame To give me pleasure. For, what will not Love, Fiven in brutes, perform for those, whose hand Is gentle to them ? — 'Tis a grievous error. Too prevalent in Persia, to account (Because impure for food) the noble horse An animal degraded. Wiser they. Who, for its useful properties, regard The willing slave with kindness and compassion. CYRUS. Then tell me, tho' thou prize that Wreath so highly, As aught beside to deem of little worth, !20 Wou'dst thou the Steed, that bore thee to pos- sess it, Barter for Gold ? AHMED. The Steed, g"reat Prince ! is thine, As [ am : yet, if thy all-potent Word Dissever our companionship, — my joys And his are ended. For, the docile creature. Instinctively, without Coercion's spur. Obeys me, as the humble rudder guides The else-controlless ship. The king's decree. That may divorce us, would our lot consign To misery. CYRUS. Yet if. Soldier ! not for Gold, — Wou'dst thou resign him to another's' hand For such a station, in my conquering armies, — As, more congenial with thy high-born soul, May thee enable more to serve thy country ? Wou'd that console thy parting ? AHMED. No ; nor realms: Yet, wou'd I to a Friend, who knows his worth. And him wou'd treat with kindness, for my sake. Without a sigh resign him : if, while Life Flow thro' these veins, to nerve my arm for battle In Persia's Cause, I may sometimes caress him. 21 ARTAXES. (jushing from behind the throne^ to embrace Ahmed with open arms) Then let that friend be me, I do conjure thee ! — < Embrace, — embrace me, O thou first of men ! AHMED, How willing-ly ! if thou wert not a Prince : But, as thou art, I dare not. \^Retreating'\ ARTAXES. What! too high for thee ? Take half my Province : then we shall be equals. The gain will all be mine, in gaining Thee. I do beseech, embrace me. AHMED, (^continuing to retreat from him) I dare not : For thou art my Commander, — far above me. Besides — forgive me — to become a prince I cannot venture, I, who find, too oft, No Ruler in myself, how sliou'd I learn To govern others ? CYRUS, (starting, in rapture, from his throne) Oh, how poor am I ! Have I , in all my vast and rich dominions. Enough to recompense so great a Soul ? — Warrior! henceforward, in the field of battle, — To stimulate or stay, — fight thou beside me. This, Cyrus, as thy Sovereign, now ordains : And, to embrace Artaxes and myself, Thy king commands. D 22 AHMED, {falling on one knee, and placing his right hand on his hearty after embracing^ to Cyrus) True Gratitude is silent. [to Artaxesy after respectfully embrac- ing hinfi\ Ingenuous Prince ! my warm Esteem accept, Till, of thy Friendship I am worthy found. —Behold the Pledge ! [dividing the Laurel- Chaplef] The half of this be thine ! Thou, nearest me, didst reach the envied goal. ARTAXES. Most welcome Pledge from thee! From olhet hands, Scorn'd as an insult, — as a proffer'd boon Bestow'd in pity, what I could not win. — Thus, art thou, every way my Conqueror, — Turning the ;:assions of my wayward nature Into the course of Virtue — Thy Esteem My bosom treasures, and will ever prize. More' than the smiles and flatteries of the world. How valued, then, thy Friendship, but withold, Till I can win it from thee by such deeds As dignify mankind, and make them bless'd ! These — having interchange of mind with thee — Must, as Camelions oft derive their hue From objects near, soon, by thee, be inspired. Exalted, theuj most truly by thy Friendship, 23 One mighty Soul pervading" our two natures, Thro' the thick ranks of Persia's foes, our swords, Shall, like the bolts of dread Olympian Jove, Spread devastation. CYRUS, Prince ! thy ready zeal Merits applause : but if my earnest prayer Ascend high-heaven — soon, soon, wide-vt^asting war, FoUow'd by Widow's shrieks, and Orphans' cries, Will cast away her garments, steep'd in blood, And cease, by deeds abhorr'd of frowning Heaven, To desolate the lovely scenes of Nature ! Oh, were my Power accordant with my Wish, For universal Peace ! the' ensanguin'd Sword Shou'd soon the rustic ploughshare's form assume : The barbed spear, transform'd by smiling Art, Wou'd, to the shepherd's gentle hand consign'd. Become a crook to guard his fieecy charge : The trumpet's clangor, to the lute's soft sound, Wou'd yield, thro' all the nations j and mankind, In union sweet, walk down the vale of life. As Children of one Father, who delights To witness their Felicity, — their Love. Haste to the banquet, which awaits our presence : And, happy all, in adding to our train This generous youth, there fill the goblet high For this libation — Peace to all the World ! 24 SCISNi: 2. — A Garden. Enter Mandane and Zuleika. MANDANE. I am not well, Zuleika, and wou'd fain, Amid these breathing essences, lind health For that part, most susceptive of disease, — The tender Mind. — Philosophers aver There is a property in plants and flowers. To cure each corp'ral ill : and if these sages Interpret rightly thus great Nature's volume. In what concerns the' ignohler part of man. That will, when death arrests it, fall to dust, — I do infer that his immortal part, Th' etherial soul, — may be imbued with vigour By what may well be term'd the souls of flow'rs. Their viewless odours. Like the soul they soothe. These, tho' invisible, do prove their being To our perceptions, by their secret power. — • Hence, do I love a Garden, e'en at night : And, frequentj here, while, mid her starry train, The Moon perambulates, alone I stray. My perishable frame, to shield from cold, I wrap in ermine ; while delighted sense. Connected with my immaterial Spirit, That is impassive of external ill. Revels in ambient fragrance. To my sight It is not, yet 'tis there, I feel its presence. 25 Swaying", so like a deity, my purpose. That holy Fear, in thought, as well as act. Prevents transgression. It doth seem a part Of him who form'd it ; whose transpiercing Eye All things surveys, yet is himself unseen. As is the passing wind. We hear, — we feel That constant Miracle ; which yet eludes The finest visual sense of earthly Man. A Garden is the scene for meditation On such high wonders. There, the myriad-tribes Of nature breathe a species of dumb worship. Which Man might emulate, and find it bliss. ZULEIKA. My honour'd Friend ! whose gentle soul is pure As the sweet tribes thus eulogiz'd so finely, And whose diversified rich dyes transcend The pomp of princes, — I do much admire Thy charming artlessness, concealing art. In thus attracting my delighted ear To dissertation on the properties Of plants and flow'rs ; lest I, a different theme Shou'd start to thine, unwilling to receive it, — Of soft impressions, suddenly inspir'd By fitful Chance ; and which, when dawn'd this day, Had no existence in thy guileless bosom. — Thou hast discours'd of Nature's potency In ailments of her children, if applied By skill judicious, to their varying cases. 26 She has a bahn, we know, in ev'ry plant, For ev'ry malady that wrings the frame With mortal anguish : but what anodyne Have flow'rs, and all the essences they breathe, To yield an unction to the gentle Heart That Love has wounded ? Rather will their scent, Delicious tho' it be, increase the ailment. For, by such sweet delusion do we blend All that is precious in creative Fancy, That, with whate'er is exquisite in nature We do invest the more than mortal image Of one we truly love. — If 'tis the Rose That sighs its odours as we softly pass it, — We straight assimilate the freighted breeze To whisper'd accents, at some treasur'd moment, Of him we value; as he does the hue Of that bright flower, to the ambrosial lip Of her he doats on, — If the wanton wind Rifle the lily, in its vagrant flight. To feast his ravish'd sense, — her snow'y breast. He fondly fancies, heav'd with soft emotion. Is like that spotless flower. — Then, I conjure thee, Stay not in such a witching scene as this. To be unthrall'd from Love. MANDANE. It is not Love, Zuleika, that inspired what thou dost smile at, — 27 My simple lecture, on the floral tribe : And yet, so like Love is the pang" I feel. That, tho' unhappy, since I felt its anguish, I would not cease to feel it. ZULEIKA. Lo ! Artaxes. [Zuleika retires] ARTAXES. Mandane ! I have sought thee, as the bird Seeks her^ at vernal-tide, whose plighted faith Makes all his little labours sweet, while he From earliest dawn, to evening's dusky hour. Tries his best skill, to form the mossy nest That is to lodofe and shelter her from cold. — 'Tis true, I sought thee not in scenes like this. Resembling thy fair nature. Here, my Love! Art thou surrounded by a blooming throng, Each vying to possess some charm that lives In thee. Sut, dear One ! to my anxious eye. That snow-white flower, — [pointing to a lili/'] the scepter'd lily, seems. Since last I saw thee, to have spread its paleness Where, sole, should reign the rose. Say, Gentle ! say, Is my Heart's empress ill ? BIANDANE. Too highly paints Thy glowing fancy those ephemeral charms, — 28 If charms they be, which deck Mandane's form 5 And when they fade beneath Time's withering touch, Will leave no trace behind, that once they were. — If these, alone, have won thy pleas'd regard, 1 fear it will take wing, as flies the bee From the declining flow'r. ARTAXES. No, my lov'd friend ! When revered Age shall thy now-polish'd brow, Than Parian marble smoother and more white. Indent with wrinkles, — turn thy jetty locks. Which emulate the raven's glossy wing. To snowy whiteness, — and, from thy soft cheek. That might 'wake envy in this new-blown rose, Purloin the blush then, then, will my warm Heart Still closer press thee : — and, when it shall cease To beat with fond and true affection for thee. May its pulsations cease to beat for ever ! MANDANE. This, Prince ! is Love ; the Love, alone, that Heaven Will sanction with its smile : because its flame Lights him who feels it far beyond the bounds Of days and years, to those transcendent mansions Where Mind will never die. ARTAXES. O matchless Maid ! A Mortal, till this moment, did I deem 29 The beauteous Object of my youthful passion : But, by herself enlightened, now I see That the transcendent being- whom 1 love Will be my Love for ever.- My Mandane ! Oh let me ratify th' eternal bond Thou hast unfolded to my mental vision With this [cidvancingt to salute her] MANDANE, (^retreating y and giving her hand, with a smile, sags) Artaxes ! soon enough the morn May shine on our espousals, when the pledge, Now sought, will be thine undisputed claim. — There, — there, is freely giv'n Mandane's hand ; Nor is her Heart far distant. [he kisses her hand, in a very impassi- oned wmwwer] ARTAXES. Neither be The morn that keeps me from thy ruby lips! — For, Dearest ! e'en within this passing hour. When his great heart was open to his kinsman^ I gain'd the ear of Cyrus ; who, the more Pour'd kindness on me, for my late defeat ; And, at his royal bidding, that extended To whatsoe'er I will'd — I promptly ask'd The Monarch's leave to lead thee to the altar. Gracious, he said, " To-morrow, if thou wilt, 30 '* And our fair Guest be willing-. Guest? — thou know'st, *' Named after her to whom I owe my being", " Mandane have I view'd as 1 do thee, " Somewhatof mineownkindred. — But, Artaxes! " My free consent thou hast to wed the maid, " On this condition that her gentle hand " In presence of her fond indulgent Mother, " / do present to thine." From thee, to her, Oh let me instant find my ready way : Or, rather, lock'd thy faithful arm in mine. Let me go doubli/ -sure of her approval. MANDANE. Artaxes ! misinterpret not my meaning : But lead me not thus sudden to my Mother : Nor press compliance, with thy uttered wish. To-morrow. Be our bridal day left open ! I will, in fitting- hour, my widow'd parent Inform of this concurrence, whose high will *Tis ours and every Subject's sacred duty, To rev'rence and obey. Another time, — Perchance ere Vesper light her brilliant Star, We will confer together : — now farewell ! [she departs^ somewhat abruptly^ ARTAXES. (alone) I like not this delay ; nor do I like The Vestal-icyness of her demeanor, — So ill-assorting with the wonted frankness That sway'd, till now, her nature. Yet, methinks 31 She's faithful. Whence, then, comes the pallid hue That now o'erspreads her features ? When I last Beheld her, at the circus, — and how few The hours, since then, which have abridg-'d our being" ! — She blush'd in loveliness. Perhaps she blush'd The more that eyes unnumber'd were fix'd on her: And, as the brightest meteor soonest dies. Her more than usual beauty blaz'd and vanish'd. From maiden modesty. Wou'd it were so ! And yet, methoug-ht when Ahmed's manly eye Met hers, — ere round his temples she entwin'd The Victor-laurel, that undue emotion Her look betray'd — and long-er did her hand Rest on his brow, than claim'd the proud occa- sion. O doubly-hated conquest ! By the Conqueror To be o'ercome was, to my honest pride. Disgrace enough ! but to behold the prize At which I aim'd, with all a Lover's ardour, Placed by Mandane, on my Conqueror's brow, — And that same conqueror perhaps my rival — Death to my hopes, and honour's just ambition! But, hitherward, he yonder bends his way. In converse with the king and few attendants. My solitary heart now feels no wish To join e'en such society. [Ae departs dejectedly^ 32 SCENS 3— A Royal Apartment. Enter Cyrus and Ahmed, 5fc. the latter wearing in his bosotn the Laurel. CYRUS, (to attendants) Withdraw ; And tarry near, till we, anon, require Your ready service. Soldier ! thou art here By our appointment : for I fain wou'd know Whence thou dost come ; and somewhat of thy kindred. AHMED. Great King ! replies to these all-gracious ques- tions. It is not mine to give. 1 am unconscious Both of my natal place, and of my parents : Nor do I know that from my mother's breast I ever drew infantile nutriment ; Or that her smile, soft-blended with my father's. E'er beam'd upon me. CYRUS. Whence, then, were derived Thy Succour, — and the knowledge of those arts In which thou dost excel ? For, not alone Is martial science thine, but classic lore (So are we told) and other rich acquirements, Which mark the gifted Scholar. I do feel, 33 Young man ! the deeper interest for thy welfare, Because, on some points, we are on a level. Thou know'st (if not, I tell thee) that like thine. On my first moments and succeeding" years Thro' boyhood, up to youth, — no parent's hand Sustain'd me, — save that One, whose Care be- nignant Shelters, beneath His wide-embracing- arms. All His defenceless Children. — Rustic sports, — Such as the peasant loves, in life's blithe morn, Engag'd my idle, then-untutor'd mind; And rural duties claim'd my riper days. Such as might best beseem, what I suppos'd Myself to be, an honest Shepherd's Son. For I was foster'd by a lowly hind. Who had receiv'd, from my unnatural grand-sire. Strict orders to destroy me, soon as born. But Heav'n, who rules and sways the human heart. To me all-gracious, and to him all-just, — Mov'd the good man to be my kind preserver. Exposing, to deceive Astyages, (Such my stern grandsire's name) another child. Which his connubial mate, — a hapless mother, — Had, lifeless, borne to this precarious world. The guise humane succeeded ; and thou seest, In me, a monument of His kind care Which shields the friendless, who no other friend Have in the wide creation. Thou thyself, 34 Perhaps, like me and millions, art His debtor. Happy are they who Jeel the debt, and own The gracious hand that saves them ! When again We meet in leisure, if our foes permit, The pleasing theme may be renew'd. Mean- while Discreetly try to penetrate the cloud, In which thy origin and parentage Are now envelop'd : for it is my wish To serve thee. — Hither ward 1 see Artaxes wending his elastic step, As if he sought thee, to confirm the bonds Of amity, more kindly-close, between you. — Farewell. [Ahmed, in silence^ bows respeclfullyy while the king departs, and Artaxes ARTAXES. To find thee here, I do rejoice ; And in thy converse, Ahmed ! wou'd the time Beffuile delisfhted. "Vet, my new-found friend, I hdp'd, instead of thee, to see the king; Whose presence, freed from all affairs of state, I covet greatly. AHMED. Scarcely hadst thou come, When he departed. Grace so sweetly sits On his fine kingly brow, that, there a frown 35 Wou'd not iippejir, wer't thou to follow him; If what thou wishest appertain to good Of thee or others. ARTAXES. I believe thou'rt right. But they who make Urbanity the cause Of its possessor's cares and interruptions, Abuse the attribute they shou'd admire. 'Tis like presuming on Eternal Goodness, Because supremely good, by act of wrong, — Anticipating pardon too securely. No : thou art now, my friend, in the ascendant; And nought from thee will Cyrus deem amiss. Ml/ Star is in the wane. The glow-worm shines Like a bright jewel in the ear of Night, When summer Zephyr fans the sleeping Queen, On her soft emerald couch : but when comes forth The lusty Sun, to meet his blushing bride, Aurora, dight in crimson-tinctur'd sheen. The tiny worm's meek splendors fade away, And soon are seen no more. AHMED. Ingenuous prince ! Forbear all such allusions, T conjure thee. They sink me lower in the estimate I form of my poor merits. Cyrus' soul. Imbued with His benignancy, whose arms Embrace all nature, holds not thee the less In its esteem, by favouring me. Wide space, 36 Of g-en'roiis feeling and paternal love, Is there, for every warrior in his armies. Were each to blazon his particular Name By signal valour. / have wrought no deeds In arms to blazon mine : And I would wish The monarch's righteous orison were heard By Him whom Monarchs serve, That wars might cease ; And all the num'rous family of man. In amity and brotherhood might-walk Adown the vale of life, as brethren should, From Earth to heav'n.* — But if his foes, per- verse. Mistake his clemency Artaxes ! then This arm will not be idle : nor will thine. — Adieu, my prince ! I keep thee from thy pur- pose : May its fulfilment crown thy fondest hope ! Nor must I tarry. — When the truly-Great But intimate a 7vish that is benignant, 'Tis Honour's duty to perform the task That wish implies. Such duty, Sir, is mine. [ With his hand he salutes Artaxes, and retires^ ARTAXES. (solus) Somewhat, there seems, most singular in this. The king and he, in confidential parley ? * See page 23. 37 The Subject^ as he just avow'd, a wish Benig-nant, from the Sov'reign, to have done A task of Duty ? — Kind, the Royal wish ? To whom ? Kind, doubtless, to the ready-doer. — Well : it may have no reference to Mandane. And yet, the Prize, — at least the Yerdant portion His hand retain'd when sharing it with me. He still retains ; and wears it in his bosom. As 'twere a Token of Mandane's favour. — What ! with the prize, if I should lose Herself? She, with a woman's fickleness of soul. Preferring him that is my tried superior. In manly exercise and magnaminity ? For, I do fear, it is not in my Nature To bear myself, in Victory's palmy hour. As did this Soldier. — Whence has he derived. His various science, and his noble port ? For, were he garb'd, as is the humblest peasant. The rays of innate greatness would shine through The rustic vesture : while, — what are the tests Of true nobility adorn him too — A copiousness of speech most elegant. Yet simply-beautiful, as if his words. Were not selections of consummate Art, But promptings pure of Nature : and, in mien. He scorns embarrassment, e'en mid the blaze Of regal grandeur, such as Cyrus throws Around him, like yon monarch of the skies, That blesses while it shines. — Is he some prince, P 38 Veil'd in disguise, to rob me of my treasure, — My lov'd Mandane, — without whose soft smile I die, as would the plant without the sun ? Or is he some spell'd being-, whom 'tis vain To thwart by human ageney ? Ere long, Will 1 the full reality discover, Tho' Ruin blast me. — Who, and what he is. Ere day-light close, this anguish'd heart shall know. The king, perchance will at the interview I now solicit, ease my anxious mind, By some spontaneous and unask'd disclosure. If Ahmed be, as late profess'd, vay friend^ I need not, henceforth, dread him as a rival. Nor will I wrong Mandane by the thought, That she is versatile, or can forget Her plighted promise ; and a Stranger's vows Prefer to mine. But 1 must on, to Cyrus. \_As he departs at the side whither the king retired^ Ahmed re-enters at the other] AHMED, (solus) Artaxes gone, — and Abbas no where found ; I here may commune with my joyous Heart. And yet, is Joy the sweet presiding goddess That reigns within me ? Honour'd by my king, — Applauded by a mighty multitude. 39 And press' d in friendship by a gen'rous prince — Ah ! Ahmed, ask thy heart, if these be all The trophies thou wou'd'st proudly designate Thy glories of the day ? Is there not one, Who, like the Star that first appears in heav'n When day declines, shone fairest of the dames That hail'd thy triumph? She whose gentle hand. Instead of twining round my beating temples The verdant prize, fell, trembling, on my shoul- der ; And, resting there awhile,— mine eye survey'd A form so lovely, that an anchorite Wou'd glow with admiration to behold it? That Constellation of unrivall'd charms — First, of her sex, has wak'd a soft emotion, I know not what to name. Yet this I know — I wou'd expire a taou::;and deaths to serve her. Who is she ? And to whom cllied ? — Her name, Mandane, speaks her not of Persian race. — But was not that the namo cf ITer who bore The gracious Sovereign w'.o now deigns to bless me ? It was : and tht/ Mandane — mute ? proud thought ! Is one, whose radiant smile of Light divine Will ne'er on Ahmed's humble pathway shine, — Ahmed, who, till the present fateful hour, A stranger was to Fear's disheartening pow'r. 40 [T/ie last couplet to he addressed re- spectfully andfeelingly to the audience, as he retires'] Dispel it, Kindness! from this anxious breast; And bid the Trembler, here, subside to rest. END OE ACT THE FIRST. 41 ACT Z. SCENE la — Precincts of a Temple. Hinda and Abbas. HINDA. I am delighted with my Ahmed's triumph ; And yet afraid that it shou'd teem with evil. Unless some wise precaution be adopted. Which I cou*d wish had not now claim'd our care. Thou, who hast kindly, as his guardian-parent, Train'd him to virtue — at the recent scene Of his proud triumph, wast not a spectator. Duties, more suited to thy holy office, Detain'd thee in retirement : and my feet Wou'd there have lingered too, had not a wish, — So natural to a Mother, — led me forth To witness, in my Daughter, all that Grace For which she is distinguish'd, when her hand. Selected by the Monarch, was to give The laurel-prize, and on the victor's brow To place the trophy. ABBAS. Well, my honour'd Lady ! What cause in this, to thy maternal breast. For apprehended evil ? Did its warm, 42 Internal impulse, to the throng'd attendants Betray the Mother ? And e'en were it so, JMandane would, by ev'ry g-en'rous Mind, Be deem'd the spring that mov'd thee. — To behold One so belov'd and lovely, by thy side, Resembling thee, in ev'ry line and feature, So mark'd for proud distinction — that, each heart. Which beats with honest feeling, wouM surmise To be the Cause of thv undue emotion. For, truly thou liast said, Mandane's hand Was chosen by iier Sov'reign, as the fairest. To crown the Victor. HINDA. Yes ; but cou'd I think That Victor was ordain'd to be her Brother ? Thus overwhelming me with two-fold bliss. For, all-unknown to me was Ahmed's purpose Cf blending in the high equestrian List, His claim to be a bold competitor, Till 1 beheld him 'coutred on the spot, And heard his name (that pass'd all other ears. As flics ths wind along the traceless sand) Proclaimed, among the noblest Youths of Persia, A candidate for fame. ABBAS. That was, I grant, A spirit-stirring circumstance for thee To hear, — to know -, and yet, as rests the statue, 43 Exanimate and moveless on its base. For thee to show no soft expressive sign That he was of thy blood : — impossible ! — What kindred iibre wou'd, as if extinct. Have slept in those, most distantly allied ? While, in the Mother, — her, whose frame was his, — Whose flesh, and circling fluid that pervades it. Were fed and nnrtur'd by her fond endurance, — Whose womb encradled his unfinish'd limbs, Till Nature call'd him forth — for HeVf I say. To witness such a Portion of herself. So proudly stationed in the lists of Honour, Whom Fate had sever'd from her till that mo- ment, And yet evince no feeling —marble rocks Wou'd spurn the living thing that shou'd reprove her ! — But, pardon me: my speech, obtrusive, broke The chain of thy narration, that inspir'd A zealous friend's impatience for the sequel. Proceed I do intreat thee. HINDA. I had said. That Ahmed's name had reach'd his mother's ear. When gracefully, beside his conscious steed, WhicH^ed him, as the faithful dog his master^ He walk'd, and strok'd the finely-flowing mane That cloth'd its neck of thunder : — then, a pause. 44 As if all motion had, among' the crowd. Been stay'd by Miracle, one moment lasted : When, the loud signal- trumpets, — brazen- tongued — Proclaim'd for mounting, to the youthful rivals. That giv'n — elastic as the forest hart. Bounding, he vaulted on his fiery steed, That seem'd to wait him only, to rush on To certain Victory. — Oh! methought, that, therif I saw his Father's Spirit, on the courser ; So like he seem*d in person and in gesture. — Firm, — self-possess'd, and govern'd by dis- cretion, — His Form, so finely moulded, — and his eye. Beaming intelligence on all around, — While all around were breathless at the starting — — Arranged abreast, the coursers stood 3 if standing might be called The Station which they spurn'd, — with arched necks Champing, indignant, the restraining bit, And raking, with impatient hoof, the ground : — When, soon as wav'd the signal in the air. Away ! — as if but one impelling force All influenc'd — all, with simultaneous speed Shot forth ! Then, buzzing, intermingling sounds. Rather than voices, were distinctly heard. Yet, mid them, loudest questionings mine ear 45 Caught, from the noble Company about me — *' Who is the Youth, that, on the ebon steed, *' Seem'd born of air?- — for none, before, beheld him. ** Yonder he flies ! and every follower ** May catch as soon the light'ning's flame as pass him. Whence is he ? say ; and what the stranger's name ? " — I, my best Friend, alone cou'd have inform'd The curious throng : yet then my pallid lips Were clos'd : but short was agoniz'd Suspense : — For, as if rattling thunder had forsook The aerial regions, — and along the earth. Were rolling nearer, and, with quick'ning speed, Still nearer were advancing on the plain, Tow'rds our pavilion, — the loud tramp of horses Was then tremendous! ** Ahmed is the first!" Reiterated soon a thousand voices. " He's won ! he's won ! " shouted ten thousand more. Such was the cry below ; — while flocking on. As rushes through a mound, disrupted sudden, The floods of mighty waters — all the tide Of living beings, congregated there, Follow'd their favourite Victor to the goal. ABBAS. 1 marvel not, that thou shou'dst much be mov'd : G 46 And, now, I interrupt but thy narration A few short moments, that thy beating- heart May find a respite from its pleas'd exertion. The sequel let me hear another time, If wearied be my friend in charming me With such a picture. That it is not finish'd, The event has told me : yet in terms how tame, Compar'd with those of the admiring Mother ! HINDA. Consid'rate Abbas ! I had well-nigh done. When, for my weal, thy Friendship interpos'd.— — While rung the air with Ahmed's fav'rite name, Repeated by the multitude below, " And who is Ahmed ?" ask'd the courtly throng. Who stood around me. Still my tongue was chain'd In trembling silence; till the stirring scene. Becoming, for a mother, far too potent, I sank, o'erpower'd with pleasure; and was borne To the retiring chamber of my Sex, Who wish'd repose. Thither a gentle dame. Whose heart was tender as her rank was high. Soon foUow'd me ; and while beside my couch Assiduous tending — all compassionate — Surmis'd MandanCy trembling as the leaf Which Zephyr plays with on the aspen-bough , To be the cause of my then transient ailment. I thank'd her for her gracious Courtesy ; 47 Which, somewhat, had restor'd me, and, thence borne, In privacy to my attending Chariot, I left the busy scene, ere, from his steed. To greet, and to be greeted but with smiles. My Son alighted to receive the Prize, The royal guerdon of his victory ; Which by my daughter's hand was to be dealt him. For, as unthought-of Joy is oft as fatal As Sorrow's un-anticipated pang, I dar'd not trust my agitated heart With further rapture. Yet, as well thou know'st, *Tis rapture of despair. ABBAS. No more, I pray, My stricken penitent ! at this bright hour. Of what disturbs thy peace. We will, anon. Renew the mournful theme : when (grant it, Heav'n !) Thou mayst be profited, and feel the weight. That now oppresses thee, grown lighter. — Madam ! It is not that my heart prefers the beam Of prosperous fortune, that I say, farewell To thee, the troubled Mother, and resort To thy more-happy Son : for, I wou'd blend My moments with the wretched, to beguile The Sufferers of their woe, did such now call me. 48 My counsel, in thy case, thou know'st ; and soon Its truth or worthlessness will find a test. Meanwhile, my service to thy prosp'rous Son Is due : for, in Prosperity, our cares, By those we love, are needed. 'Tis a height,— r A dizzy promontory, upon whose brink The novice stands in peril, if some hand, Practis'd and school'd by sage Experience, Do stay him not, while all around he looks. At the bright scene, so novel to his view. So the young Eagle, from his eyry-rock. Ere plum'd for an excursive flight abroad. Delighted looks; and thence wou'd rush to ruin. Did not the prudent parent-bird restrain : And so the youth, that has our fondest care, Un tended, may surmise himself beyond The reach of danger ; and thence topple down From the proud eminence, where Fame has placed him, To rise no more. — Thy pardon, therefore, Lady ! Vouchsafe for thus departing. Yet, ere turn My footsteps from thee, let my tongue advise To lock, at present, in thy cautious bosom The secret from Mandane and her brother. Of their ill-fated Father, and the cause Why he has fled, alas ! we know not whither. The skies are opening, — so my heart wou'd augur— 49 With rays of sunshine for thy shaded house : And no one will more cordially rejoice To see them settle there, than he who leaves thee. \_He bows and retires, — Hindu remain- ing, — when Zuleika enters. HINDA. Zuleika, thou dost come in wish'd-for time. Just when I needed such a faithful stay, On whom to rest my heart. For, tho' bright cause Have I for thankfulness, from Ahmed's fortune, Still is that heart depress'd with anxious fears. Lest this event, which does indeed delight me, Shou'd, ere I am prepar'd, accelerate, To him and to Mandane, the divulging Of their — at present unknown kindred ties. — How fares my Child ? For, since the closing hour When she, as arbitress, adorn'd the circus, I have not seen her. Then, as well I ween'd. She was o'ercome by the august occasion ; And quietness, with thee, in her apartment. Was her best solace. — Tell me, good Zuleika, All that ensued, relating to her conduct. Thine eye, I know wou'd scan aright its bearing. ZULEIKA. The trying moment, Madame ! I remember When thou did'st quit the animating scene : 'Twas just as, from his proudly-conscious steed. Thy matchless son dismounted to receive 50 At thy fair daughters hand, the ready prize, For which, so many had so ardent strove. But ere his foot descended to the plain, Which, as thou saw*st, his courser in the race Scarce ever seem'd to touch, or only touch'd By choice, — not from necessity : and when Adniiring- crowds survey'd him, after victory, His finely-arched neck the generous creature Turn'd tow'rds that stirrup'd foot of his lov'd master. As if to kiss it, ere it left his side. To mount, invited, the august pavilion, Where stood Mandane, radiant but in charms ; For her attire was simple as the maid That hangs the garland on the shrine of May. She stood surrounded by the Dames of Persia, As stands the cedar 'mid inferior trees. The forest's noblest glory — when her hand Wav'd graceful its all-courteous intimation For Ahmed to approach. — With modest step. He soon advanced ; and then, on bended knee, Inclin'd before her : when the chaplet-branch She, instant might have dropt upon his brow. And bade him rise the happy conqueror : — Yet no : she paus'd ; and while his speaking eye Was fix'd on hers, as if to ask the cause Of hesitation, I did mark the blush Forsake her cheek, — and soon it came again With added lustre. Still the wreath she held Undesignated, as if all unwilling ol To let the object of her envied honours Leave her delighted presence : and, at last. When she did braid it with his curly locks. Her slender fingers were 'mid them entangled As if by Destiny to keep him hers. That heigh ten'd her confusion and her charms. I stood close by, admiring; and methought I heard a sigh burst from her heaving bosom : While, like a Lily stricken by the storm. Her arm fell on his shoulder. HINDA. If the act Were Nature's prompting, from the cordial-tide That flows thro' both their frames— all may be well. But if a sudden and erratic passion Beguile thy friend, exorcise thou her mind Of its delusion, — fraught with deadly ill, If undivested of its subtile poison, To her's, — to Ahmed's, — and Artaxes' peace* — Not easy is thine office ; since no word. Nor slightest intimation, to Mandane, Must yet escape thy lips, that she and Ahmed Are link'd already in those kindred ties Which brook not closer. ZULELRA. Madam, 1 depart With hopes to multiply my hours of bliss. By adding to the number of thine own. \_Exeuni nnd.l 52 SCENE 2.»Unchanged : Ahmed entering, as Hinda and Zuleika depart. AHMED, (solus) Yet unfulfiird is the urbane request — Command, it rather should be term'd, of Cyrus, " That I would try to penetrate the cloud, " In which my origin, and parentage " Are now envelop'd.'* Abbas have I sought In vain : and he alone the cloudy veil Can, for me, draw aside, to let me see Where dawnd my days, tho' not where I shall end them. And lo ! he comes. My scarcely utter'd wish Is gratified, O Sir ! by thy arrival. At this eventful time : [affectionately, yet respectfully saluting Aim] for, such it seems To me, an orphan, — left in the wide world AU-parentless, tho' not without a Friend, — Bless'd, as 1 have been with thy kind protection. ABBAS. What wou*d my Son ? Affectionate regard Thou hast, from Childhood, claim'd by upright conduct,— Gilding thy youthful days with somewhat more Than Youth is apt to promise ; and, since then, — 53 Between the spring of life, and summerM term Of ripening man, thy acts have, more and more, Expanded into virtues. To withhold My Love, then, from thee, when *tis most de- served, Wou'd brand me with dishonour. Name thy wish. AHMED. *Tis rather, gen'rous Sir, the wish of one. Whose wishes, on each Loyal Subject's heart, Are cogent as his Laws. Those, to fulfil — The Good are anxious, as, by strict observance, 2hese to obey. ABBAS. Thy Sov' reign thou dost mean ; Tho', with thy wonted modesty, no breath Has syllabled his Name. Unlike the herd Of parasites, on whom, if Greatness smile. Can talk of nothing else, — I do remark. Thou e'en art silent on the very theme That won the smile of Cyrus. But, my Son, From other tongues I've heard it ; and I praise Thy wisdom, crown'd, as now thou art with Victory, For wearing her fair coronal so seemly. — Who conquers others, may have strength or courage To be reputed muscular or brave : While he who vanquishes, within himself, H 54 In Victory's proud and dazzling hour, Vain- Glory, Merits the name of Hero. Such art Thou : And such, mid greater deeds, wilt thou, my Son! Continue. But, the Wish, — the royal wish Thou spak'st of? — As, 'tis Ahmed ! thy desire To rev'rence it ; so ought it to be mine. For, they who light the Altar's holy flame. Are bound to breathe their warmest orisons To that high Throne, whither the flame ascends, For Him \^\\o guards the Altar : and, to these. If added be not true AUes^iance, The aspirations and the Altar's flame Ascend in vain. What does the Monarch wish. That I or thou can furnish ? — Briefly speak : For Time now presses on me to depart For other scenes, which may concern thy weal. AHMED. Then, terms more brief, than what my Sov'reinn us'd -^ Cannot be pour'd into thy list'ning ear. They are thus measur'd : " Soldier! thou art here *.* By our appointment : for, 1 fain wou'd know