by Lord Byron
We were in an existence all apart
From heaven or earth — — And rather let me see
Death all than such a being!
Myr. And the end? 130
Sar. At last I sate, marble, as they, when rose
The Hunter and the Crone; and smiling on me —
Yes, the enlarged but noble aspect of
The Hunter smiled upon me — I should say,
His lips, for his eyes moved not — and the woman’s
Thin lips relaxed to something like a smile.
Both rose, and the crowned figures on each hand
Rose also, as if aping their chief shades —
Mere mimics even in death — but I sate still:
A desperate courage crept through every limb, 140
And at the last I feared them not, but laughed
Full in their phantom faces. But then — then
The Hunter laid his hand on mine: I took it,
And grasped it — but it melted from my own;
While he too vanished, and left nothing but
The memory of a hero, for he looked so.
Myr. And was: the ancestor of heroes, too,
And thine no less.
Sar. Aye, Myrrha, but the woman,
The female who remained, she flew upon me,
And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses; 150
And, flinging down the goblets on each hand,
Methought their poisons flowed around us, till
Each formed a hideous river. Still she clung;
The other phantoms, like a row of statues,
Stood dull as in our temples, but she still
Embraced me, while I shrunk from her, as if,
In lieu of her remote descendant, I
Had been the son who slew her for her incest.
Then — then — a chaos of all loathsome things
Thronged thick and shapeless: I was dead, yet feeling — 160
Buried, and raised again — consumed by worms,
Purged by the flames, and withered in the air!
I can fix nothing further of my thoughts,
Save that I longed for thee, and sought for thee,
In all these agonies, — and woke and found thee.
Myr. So shalt thou find me ever at thy side,
Here and hereafter, if the last may be.
But think not of these things — the mere creations
Of late events, acting upon a frame
Unused by toil, yet over-wrought by toil — 170
Such as might try the sternest.
Sar. I am better.
Now that I see thee once more, what was seen
Seems nothing.
Enter Salemenes.
Sal. Is the king so soon awake?
Sar. Yes, brother, and I would I had not slept;
For all the predecessors of our line
Rose up, methought, to drag me down to them.
My father was amongst them, too; but he,
I know not why, kept from me, leaving me
Between the hunter-founder of our race,
And her, the homicide and husband-killer, 180
Whom you call glorious.
Sal. So I term you also,
Now you have shown a spirit like to hers.
By day-break I propose that we set forth,
And charge once more the rebel crew, who still
Keep gathering head, repulsed, but not quite quelled.
Sar. How wears the night?
Sal. There yet remain some hours
Of darkness: use them for your further rest.
Sar. No, not to-night, if ‘tis not gone: methought
I passed hours in that vision.
Myr. Scarcely one;
I watched by you: it was a heavy hour, 190
But an hour only.
Sar. Let us then hold council;
To-morrow we set forth.
Sal. But ere that time,
I had a grace to seek.
Sar.’Tis granted.
Sal. Hear it
Ere you reply too readily; and ‘tis
For your ear only.
Myr. Prince, I take my leave.
[Exit Myrrha.
Sal. That slave deserves her freedom.
Sar. Freedom only!
That slave deserves to share a throne.
Sal. Your patience —
‘Tis not yet vacant, and ‘tis of its partner
I come to speak with you.
Sar. How! of the Queen?
Sal. Even so. I judged it fitting for their safety, 200
That, ere the dawn, she sets forth with her children
For Paphlagonia, where our kinsman Cotta
Governs; and there, at all events, secure
My nephews and your sons their lives, and with them
Their just pretensions to the crown in case — —
Sar. I perish — as is probable: well thought —
Let them set forth with a sure escort.
Sal. That
Is all provided, and the galley ready
To drop down the Euphrates; but ere they
Depart, will you not see — —
Sar. My sons? It may 210
Unman my heart, and the poor boys will weep;
And what can I reply to comfort them,
Save with some hollow hopes, and ill-worn smiles?
You know I cannot feign.
Sal. But you can feel!
At least, I trust so: in a word, the Queen
Requests to see you ere you part — for ever.
Sar. Unto what end? what purpose? I will grant
Aught — all that she can ask — but such a meeting.
Sal. You know, or ought to know, enough of women,
Since you have studied them so steadily, 220
That what they ask in aught that touches on
The heart, is dearer to their feelings or
Their fancy, than the whole external world.
I think as you do of my sister’s wish;
But ‘twas her wish — she is my sister — you
Her husband — will you grant it?
Sar.’Twill be useless:
But let her come.
Sal. I go. [Exit Salemenes.
Sar. We have lived asunder
Too long to meet again — and now to meet!
Have I not cares enow, and pangs enow,
To bear alone, that we must mingle sorrows, 230
Who have ceased to mingle love?
Re-enter Salemenes and Zarina.
Sal. My sister! Courage:
Shame not our blood with trembling, but remember
From whence we sprung. The Queen is present, Sire.
Zar. I pray thee, brother, leave me.
Sal. Since you ask it.
[Exit Salemenes.
Zar. Alone with him! How many a year has passed,
Though we are still so young, since we have met,
Which I have worn in widowhood of heart.
He loved me not: yet he seems little changed —
Changed to me only — would the change were mutual!
He speaks not — scarce regards me — not a word, 240
Nor look — yet he was soft of voice and aspect,
Indifferent, not austere. My Lord!
Sar. Zarina!
Zar. No, not Zarina — do not say Zarina.
That tone — That word — annihilate long years,
And things which make them longer.
Sar.’Tis too late
To think of these past dreams. Let’s not reproach —
That is, reproach me not — for the last time — —
Zar. And first, I ne’er reproached you.
Sar.’Tis most true;
And that reproof comes heavier on my heart
Than — — But our hear
ts are not in our own power. 250
Zar. Nor hands; but I gave both.
Sar. Your brother said
It was your will to see me, ere you went
From Nineveh with — — (He hesitates.)
Zar. Our children: it is true.
I wish to thank you that you have not divided
My heart from all that’s left it now to love —
Those who are yours and mine, who look like you,
And look upon me as you looked upon me
Once — — but they have not changed.
Sar. Nor ever will.
I fain would have them dutiful.
Zar. I cherish
Those infants, not alone from the blind love 260
Of a fond mother, but as a fond woman.
They are now the only tie between us.
Sar. Deem not
I have not done you justice: rather make them
Resemble your own line than their own Sire.
I trust them with you — to you: fit them for
A throne, or, if that be denied — — You have heard
Of this night’s tumults?
Zar. I had half forgotten,
And could have welcomed any grief save yours,
Which gave me to behold your face again.
Sar. The throne — I say it not in fear — but ‘tis 270
In peril: they perhaps may never mount it:
But let them not for this lose sight of it.
I will dare all things to bequeath it them;
But if I fail, then they must win it back
Bravely — and, won, wear it wisely, not as I
Have wasted down my royalty.
Zar. They ne’er
Shall know from me of aught but what may honour
Their father’s memory.
Sar. Rather let them hear
The truth from you than from a trampling world.
If they be in adversity, they’ll learn 280
Too soon the scorn of crowds for crownless Princes,
And find that all their father’s sins are theirs.
My boys! — I could have borne it were I childless.
Zar. Oh! do not say so — do not poison all
My peace left, by unwishing that thou wert
A father. If thou conquerest, they shall reign,
And honour him who saved the realm for them,
So little cared for as his own; and if — —
Sar. ‘Tis lost, all Earth will cry out, “thank your father!”
And they will swell the echo with a curse. 290
Zar. That they shall never do; but rather honour
The name of him, who, dying like a king,
In his last hours did more for his own memory
Than many monarchs in a length of days,
Which date the flight of time, but make no annals.
Sar. Our annals draw perchance unto their close;
But at the least, whate’er the past, their end
Shall be like their beginning — memorable.
Zar. Yet, be not rash — be careful of your life,
Live but for those who love.
Sar. And who are they? 300
A slave, who loves from passion — I’ll not say
Ambition — she has seen thrones shake, and loves;
A few friends who have revelled till we are
As one, for they are nothing if I fall;
A brother I have injured — children whom
I have neglected, and a spouse — —
Zar. Who loves.
Sar. And pardons?
Zar. I have never thought of this,
And cannot pardon till I have condemned.
Sar. My wife!
Zar. Now blessings on thee for that word!
I never thought to hear it more — from thee. 310
Sar. Oh! thou wilt hear it from my subjects. Yes —
These slaves whom I have nurtured, pampered, fed,
And swoln with peace, and gorged with plenty, till
They reign themselves — all monarchs in their mansions —
Now swarm forth in rebellion, and demand
His death, who made their lives a jubilee;
While the few upon whom I have no claim
Are faithful! This is true, yet monstrous.
Zar.’Tis
Perhaps too natural; for benefits
Turn poison in bad minds.
Sar. And good ones make 320
Good out of evil. Happier than the bee,
Which hives not but from wholesome flowers.
Zar. Then reap
The honey, nor inquire whence ‘tis derived.
Be satisfied — you are not all abandoned.
Sar. My life insures me that. How long, bethink you,
Were not I yet a king, should I be mortal;
That is, where mortals are, not where they must be?
Zar. I know not. But yet live for my — that is,
Your children’s sake!
Sar. My gentle, wronged Zarina!
I am the very slave of Circumstance 330
And Impulse — borne away with every breath!
Misplaced upon the throne — misplaced in life.
I know not what I could have been, but feel
I am not what I should be — let it end.
But take this with thee: if I was not formed
To prize a love like thine, a mind like thine,
Nor dote even on thy beauty — as I’ve doted
On lesser charms, for no cause save that such
Devotion was a duty, and I hated
All that looked like a chain for me or others 340
(This even Rebellion must avouch); yet hear
These words, perhaps among my last — that none
E’er valued more thy virtues, though he knew not
To profit by them — as the miner lights
Upon a vein of virgin ore, discovering
That which avails him nothing: he hath found it,
But ‘tis not his — but some superior’s, who
Placed him to dig, but not divide the wealth
Which sparkles at his feet; nor dare he lift
Nor poise it, but must grovel on, upturning 350
The sullen earth.
Zar. Oh! if thou hast at length
Discovered that my love is worth esteem,
I ask no more — but let us hence together,
And I — let me say we — shall yet be happy.
Assyria is not all the earth — we’ll find
A world out of our own — and be more blessed
Than I have ever been, or thou, with all
An empire to indulge thee.
Enter Salemenes.
Sal. I must part ye —
The moments, which must not be lost, are passing.
Zar. Inhuman brother! wilt thou thus weigh out 360
Instants so high and blest?
Sal. Blest!
Zar. He hath been
So gentle with me, that I cannot think
Of quitting.
Sal. So — this feminine farewell
Ends as such partings end, in no departure.
I thought as much, and yielded against all
My better bodings. But it must not be.
Zar. Not be?
Sal. Remain, and perish — —
Zar. With my husband — —
Sal. And children.
Zar. Alas!
Sal. Hear me, sister, like
My sister: — all’s prepared to make your safety
Certain, and of the boys too, our last hopes; 370
‘Tis not a single question of mere feeling,
Though that were much — but ‘tis a point of state:
The rebels would do more to seize upon
The offspring of their sovereign, and so cru
sh — —
Zar. Ah! do not name it.
Sal. Well, then, mark me: when
They are safe beyond the Median’s grasp, the rebels
Have missed their chief aim — the extinction of
The line of Nimrod. Though the present King
Fall, his sons live — for victory and vengeance.
Zar. But could not I remain, alone?
Sal. What! leave 380
Your children, with two parents and yet orphans —
In a strange land — so young, so distant?
Zar. No —
My heart will break.
Sal. Now you know all — decide.
Sar. Zarina, he hath spoken well, and we
Must yield awhile to this necessity.
Remaining here, you may lose all; departing,
You save the better part of what is left,
To both of us, and to such loyal hearts
As yet beat in these kingdoms.
Sal. The time presses.
Sar. Go, then. If e’er we meet again, perhaps 390
I may be worthier of you — and, if not,
Remember that my faults, though not atoned for,
Are ended. Yet, I dread thy nature will
Grieve more above the blighted name and ashes
Which once were mightiest in Assyria — than — —
But I grow womanish again, and must not;
I must learn sternness now. My sins have all
Been of the softer order — — hide thy tears —
I do not bid thee not to shed them — ’twere
Easier to stop Euphrates at its source 400
Than one tear of a true and tender heart —
But let me not behold them; they unman me
Here when I had remanned myself. My brother,
Lead her away.
Zar. Oh, God! I never shall
Behold him more!
Sal. (striving to conduct her).
Nay, sister, I must be obeyed.
Zar. I must remain — away! you shall not hold me.
What, shall he die alone? — I live alone?
Sal. He shall not die alone; but lonely you
Have lived for years.
Zar. That’s false! I knew he lived,
And lived upon his image — let me go! 410
Sal. (conducting her off the stage).
Nay, then, I must use some fraternal force,
Which you will pardon.
Zar. Never. Help me! Oh!
Sardanapalus, wilt thou thus behold me
Torn from thee?
Sal. Nay — then all is lost again,
If that this moment is not gained.
Zar. My brain turns —
My eyes fail — where is he? [She faints.
Sar. (advancing). No — set her down;
She’s dead — and you have slain her.
Sal.’Tis the mere
Faintness of o’erwrought passion: in the air