by Lord Byron
Making a desert of fertility. —
I’ll think no more. — Within there, ho!
Enter an Attendant.
Sar. Slave, tell
The Ionian Myrrha we would crave her presence. 420
Attend. King, she is here.
Myrrha enters.
Sar. (apart to Attendant). Away!
(Addressing Myrrha.)Beautiful being!
Thou dost almost anticipate my heart;
It throbbed for thee, and here thou comest: let me
Deem that some unknown influence, some sweet oracle,
Communicates between us, though unseen,
In absence, and attracts us to each other.
Myr. There doth.
Sar. I know there doth, but not its name:
What is it?
Myr. In my native land a God,
And in my heart a feeling like a God’s,
Exalted; yet I own ‘tis only mortal; 430
For what I feel is humble, and yet happy —
That is, it would be happy; but — — [Myrrha pauses.
Sar. There comes
For ever something between us and what
We deem our happiness: let me remove
The barrier which that hesitating accent
Proclaims to thine, and mine is sealed.
Myr. My Lord! —
Sar. My Lord — my King — Sire — Sovereign; thus it is —
For ever thus, addressed with awe. I ne’er
Can see a smile, unless in some broad banquet’s
Intoxicating glare, when the buffoons 440
Have gorged themselves up to equality,
Or I have quaffed me down to their abasement.
Myrrha, I can hear all these things, these names,
Lord — King — Sire — Monarch — nay, time was I prized them;
That is, I suffered them — from slaves and nobles;
But when they falter from the lips I love,
The lips which have been pressed to mine, a chill
Comes o’er my heart, a cold sense of the falsehood
Of this my station, which represses feeling
In those for whom I have felt most, and makes me 450
Wish that I could lay down the dull tiara,
And share a cottage on the Caucasus
With thee — and wear no crowns but those of flowers.
Myr. Would that we could!
Sar. And dost thou feel this? — Why?
Myr. Then thou wouldst know what thou canst never know.
Sar. And that is — —
Myr. The true value of a heart;
At least, a woman’s.
Sar. I have proved a thousand — A
thousand, and a thousand.
Myr. Hearts?
Sar. I think so.
Myr. Not one! the time may come thou may’st.
Sar. It will.
Hear, Myrrha; Salemenes has declared — 460
Or why or how he hath divined it, Belus,
Who founded our great realm, knows more than I —
But Salemenes hath declared my throne
In peril.
Myr. He did well.
Sar. And say’st thou so?
Thou whom he spurned so harshly, and now dared
Drive from our presence with his savage jeers,
And made thee weep and blush?
Myr. I should do both
More frequently, and he did well to call me
Back to my duty. But thou spakest of peril
Peril to thee — —
Sar. Aye, from dark plots and snares 470
From Medes — and discontented troops and nations.
I know not what — a labyrinth of things —
A maze of muttered threats and mysteries:
Thou know’st the man — it is his usual custom.
But he is honest. Come, we’ll think no more on’t —
But of the midnight festival.
Myr.’Tis time
To think of aught save festivals. Thou hast not
Spurned his sage cautions?
Sar. What? — and dost thou fear?
Myr. Fear! — I’m a Greek, and how should I fear death?
A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom? 480
Sar. Then wherefore dost thou turn so pale?
Myr. I love.
Sar. And do not I? I love thee far — far more
Than either the brief life or the wide realm,
Which, it may be, are menaced; — yet I blench not.
Myr. That means thou lovest nor thyself nor me;
For he who loves another loves himself,
Even for that other’s sake. This is too rash:
Kingdoms and lives are not to be so lost.
Sar. Lost! — why, who is the aspiring chief who dared
Assume to win them?
Myr. Who is he should dread 490
To try so much? When he who is their ruler
Forgets himself — will they remember him?
Sar. Myrrha!
Myr. Frown not upon me: you have smiled
Too often on me not to make those frowns
Bitterer to bear than any punishment
Which they may augur. — King, I am your subject!
Master, I am your slave! Man, I have loved you! —
Loved you, I know not by what fatal weakness,
Although a Greek, and born a foe to monarchs —
A slave, and hating fetters — an Ionian, 500
And, therefore, when I love a stranger, more
Degraded by that passion than by chains!
Still I have loved you. If that love were strong
Enough to overcome all former nature,
Shall it not claim the privilege to save you?
Sar. Save me, my beauty! Thou art very fair,
And what I seek of thee is love — not safety.
Myr. And without love where dwells security?
Sar. I speak of woman’s love.
Myr. The very first
Of human life must spring from woman’s breast, 510
Your first small words are taught you from her lips,
Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighs
Too often breathed out in a woman’s hearing,
When men have shrunk from the ignoble care
Of watching the last hour of him who led them.
Sar. My eloquent Ionian! thou speak’st music:
The very chorus of the tragic song
I have heard thee talk of as the favourite pastime
Of thy far father-land. Nay, weep not — calm thee.
Myr. I weep not. — But I pray thee, do not speak 520
About my fathers or their land.
Sar. Yet oft
Thou speakest of them.
Myr. True — true: constant thought
Will overflow in words unconsciously;
But when another speaks of Greeks, it wounds me.
Sar. Well, then, how wouldst thou save me, as thou saidst?
Myr. By teaching thee to save thyself, and not
Thyself alone, but these vast realms, from all
The rage of the worst war — the war of brethren.
Sar. Why, child, I loathe all war, and warriors;
I live in peace and pleasure: what can man 530
Do more?
Myr. Alas! my Lord, with common men
There needs too oft the show of war to keep
The substance of sweet peace; and, for a king,
‘Tis sometimes better to be feared than loved.
Sar. And I have never sought but for the last.
Myr. And now art neither.
Sar. Dost thou say so, Myrrha?
Myr. I speak of civic popular love, self-love,
Which means that men are kept in awe and law,
Yet not oppressed — at least they must not think so,
Or, if they think so, deem it necessary, 540
To ward off worse oppression, their own passions.
A King of feasts, and flowers, and wine, and revel,
And love, and mirth, was never King of Glory.
Sar. Glory! what’s that?
Myr. Ask of the Gods thy fathers.
Sar. They cannot answer; when the priests speak for them,
‘Tis for some small addition to the temple.
Myr. Look to the annals of thine Empire’s founders.
Sar. They are so blotted o’er with blood, I cannot.
But what wouldst have? the Empire has been founded.
I cannot go on multiplying empires. 550
Myr. Preserve thine own.
Sar. At least, I will enjoy it.
Come, Myrrha, let us go on to the Euphrates:
The hour invites, the galley is prepared,
And the pavilion, decked for our return,
In fit adornment for the evening banquet,
Shall blaze with beauty and with light, until
It seems unto the stars which are above us
Itself an opposite star; and we will sit
Crowned with fresh flowers like —
Myr. Victims.
Sar. No, like sovereigns,
The Shepherd Kings of patriarchal times, 560
Who knew no brighter gems than summer wreaths,
And none but tearless triumphs. Let us on.
Enter Pania.
Pan. May the King live for ever!
Sar. Not an hour
Longer than he can love. How my soul hates
This language, which makes life itself a lie,
Flattering dust with eternity. Well, Pania!
Be brief.
Pan. I am charged by Salemenes to
Reiterate his prayer unto the King,
That for this day, at least, he will not quit
The palace: when the General returns, 570
He will adduce such reasons as will warrant
His daring, and perhaps obtain the pardon
Of his presumption.
Sar. What! am I then cooped?
Already captive? can I not even breathe
The breath of heaven? Tell prince Salemenes,
Were all Assyria raging round the walls
In mutinous myriads, I would still go forth.
Pan. I must obey, and yet — —
Myr. Oh, Monarch, listen. —
How many a day and moon thou hast reclined
Within these palace walls in silken dalliance, 580
And never shown thee to thy people’s longing;
Leaving thy subjects’ eyes ungratified,
The satraps uncontrolled, the Gods unworshipped,
And all things in the anarchy of sloth,
Till all, save evil, slumbered through the realm!
And wilt thou not now tarry for a day, —
A day which may redeem thee? Wilt thou not
Yield to the few still faithful a few hours,
For them, for thee, for thy past fathers’ race,
And for thy sons’ inheritance?
Pan.’Tis true! 590
From the deep urgency with which the Prince
Despatched me to your sacred presence, I
Must dare to add my feeble voice to that
Which now has spoken.
Sar. No, it must not be.
Myr. For the sake of thy realm!
Sar. Away!
Pan. For that
Of all thy faithful subjects, who will rally
Round thee and thine.
Sar. These are mere fantasies:
There is no peril: — ’tis a sullen scheme
Of Salemenes, to approve his zeal,
And show himself more necessary to us. 600
Myr. By all that’s good and glorious take this counsel.
Sar. Business to-morrow.
Myr. Aye — or death to-night.
Sar. Why let it come then unexpectedly,
‘Midst joy and gentleness, and mirth and love;
So let me fall like the plucked rose! — far better
Thus than be withered.
Myr. Then thou wilt not yield,
Even for the sake of all that ever stirred
A monarch into action, to forego
A trifling revel.
Sar. No.
Myr. Then yield for mine;
For my sake!
Sar. Thine, my Myrrha!
Myr.’Tis the first 610
Boon which I ever asked Assyria’s king.
Sar. That’s true, and, wer’t my kingdom, must be granted.
Well, for thy sake, I yield me. Pania, hence!
Thou hear’st me.
Pan. And obey. [Exit Pania.
Sar. I marvel at thee.
What is thy motive, Myrrha, thus to urge me?
Myr. Thy safety; and the certainty that nought
Could urge the Prince thy kinsman to require
Thus much from thee, but some impending danger.
Sar. And if I do not dread it, why shouldst thou?
Myr. Because thou dost not fear, I fear for thee. 620
Sar. To-morrow thou wilt smile at these vain fancies.
Myr. If the worst come, I shall be where none weep,
And that is better than the power to smile.
And thou?
Sar. I shall be King, as heretofore.
Myr. Where?
Sar. With Baal, Nimrod, and Semiramis,
Sole in Assyria, or with them elsewhere.
Fate made me what I am — may make me nothing —
But either that or nothing must I be:
I will not live degraded.
Myr. Hadst thou felt
Thus always, none would ever dare degrade thee. 630
Sar. And who will do so now?
Myr. Dost thou suspect none?
Sar. Suspect! — that’s a spy’s office. Oh! we lose
Ten thousand precious moments in vain words,
And vainer fears. Within there! — ye slaves, deck
The Hall of Nimrod for the evening revel;
If I must make a prison of our palace,
At least we’ll wear our fetters jocundly;
If the Euphrates be forbid us, and
The summer-dwelling on its beauteous border,
Here we are still unmenaced. Ho! within there! 640
[Exit Sardanapalus.
Myr. (solus).
Why do I love this man? My country’s daughters
Love none but heroes. But I have no country!
The slave hath lost all save her bonds. I love him;
And that’s the heaviest link of the long chain —
To love whom we esteem not. Be it so:
The hour is coming when he’ll need all love,
And find none. To fall from him now were baser
Than to have stabbed him on his throne when highest
Would have been noble in my country’s creed:
I was not made for either. Could I save him, 650
I should not love him better, but myself;
And I have need of the last, for I have fallen
In my own thoughts, by loving this soft stranger:
And yet, methinks, I love him more, perceiving
That he is hated of his own barbarians,
The natural foes of all the blood of Greece.
Could I but wake a single thought like those
Which even the Phrygians felt when battling long
‘Twixt Ilion and the sea, within his heart,
He would tread down the barbarous crowds, and triumph. 660
He loves me, and I love him; the slave loves
Her master, and would free him from his vices.
; If not, I have a means of freedom still,
And if I cannot teach him how to reign,
May show him how alone a King can leave
His throne. I must not lose him from my sight. [Exit.
ACT II
Scene I. — The Portal of the same Hall of the Palace.
Beleses (solus).
The Sun goes down: methinks he sets more slowly,
Taking his last look of Assyria’s Empire.
How red he glares amongst those deepening clouds,
Like the blood he predicts. If not in vain,
Thou Sun that sinkest, and ye stars which rise,
I have outwatched ye, reading ray by ray
The edicts of your orbs, which make Time tremble
For what he brings the nations, ‘tis the furthest
Hour of Assyria’s years. And yet how calm!
An earthquake should announce so great a fall — 10
A summer’s sun discloses it. Yon disk,
To the star-read Chaldean, bears upon
Its everlasting page the end of what
Seemed everlasting; but oh! thou true Sun!
The burning oracle of all that live,
As fountain of all life, and symbol of
Him who bestows it, wherefore dost thou limit
Thy lore unto calamity? Why not
Unfold the rise of days more worthy thine
All-glorious burst from ocean? why not dart 20
A beam of hope athwart the future years,
As of wrath to its days? Hear me! oh, hear me!
I am thy worshipper, thy priest, thy servant —
I have gazed on thee at thy rise and fall,
And bowed my head beneath thy mid-day beams,
When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watched
For thee, and after thee, and prayed to thee,
And sacrificed to thee, and read, and feared thee,
And asked of thee, and thou hast answered — but
Only to thus much: while I speak, he sinks — 30
Is gone — and leaves his beauty, not his knowledge,
To the delighted West, which revels in
Its hues of dying glory. Yet what is
Death, so it be but glorious? ‘Tis a sunset;
And mortals may be happy to resemble
The Gods but in decay.
Enter Arbaces by an inner door.
Arb. Beleses, why
So wrapt in thy devotions? Dost thou stand
Gazing to trace thy disappearing God
Into some realm of undiscovered day?
Our business is with night — ’tis come.
Bel. But not 40
Gone.
Arb. Let it roll on — we are ready.
Bel. Yes.
Would it were over!
Arb. Does the prophet doubt,
To whom the very stars shine Victory?
Bel. I do not doubt of Victory — but the Victor.
Arb. Well, let thy science settle that. Meantime