Classic Poem

SCENE XII.

Go, bid the priests prepare the sacrifice;
This ev'ning shall the fragrance of devotion
Smoak in our temples, and perfume the skies.
Phraortes shall attend the solemn rites,
To pay his grateful thanks in songs of joy.
Astarbe , come. — One glance of those bright eyes
Dispells all care, and empires are forgot.
In what is man superior to the brute?
Brutes eat, drink, sleep; like us, have all the senses.
The male and female meet, then coldly part,
Part with indifference, and desire is cloy'd.
In love alone we feel th' immortal part,
And that celestial fire refines the heart.