Classic Poem

The Prince's Chamber — Antiochus discovered reclining on a Couch.

Enter S TRATONICE .

Str. Antiochus!
Ant. Ha! Is't a dream, a cruel mockery,
Shaped to deride my bosom's loneliness;
Or does Stratonice indeed stand there,
And smile on lost Antiochus? Oh! speak
One word.
Str. Antiochus!
Ant. Say on — say on. —
I know it is delusion; but 'tis sweeter
To dream of sounds like those, than wake and hear
Life's rarest harmony.
Str. These are wild words:
Call home thy wandering thoughts. I came to tell
Of tidings which I know will gladden thee:
To-morrow binds thy father's bliss and mine
Fast in the nuptial knot. — Would, would, Antiochus,
Thou could'st be present!
Ant. Would I were in my grave!
But pardon me — I pray thee pardon me —
My words sound harsh. Alas! there was a time,
When but to gaze into a lovely face
Had with the eloquence of high Olympus
Fired me. My heart is broken now, and, like
A shatter'd instrument, to the same touch
Which used to call its sweetest music up,
It vibrates nought but discord.
Str. From thy father
I came to visit thee.
Ant. Blessings be on him!
May thickest foliage crown that royal tree,
Nor leave room to regret the one sear'd leaf
Which now hangs drooping on the branch, and soon
Will pass away and perish!
Str. Send him not
So sorrowful a message. Tell him rather
What 'tis which wastes away thy young days thus,
And baffles our profoundest leeches' skill
To find or conquer.
Ant. They have yet to learn,
That there are maladies, whose seat is not
In the corporeal frame. The mind, which makes
Its own Elysium, has its own diseases;
And oh! when these have fasten'd on their prey,
Who shall restore its health? 'Twere easier
To bind up the green stalk when once 'tis snapp'd,
And bid it bear again.
Str. Alas! alas!
Is there no remedy?
Ant. Yes, one — one only —
But that's all-potent, like the spell which stills
The cries of weeping infancy; for when
The clouds of fortune gather blackest round us,
The quiet earth, like a kind-hearted mother,
Taking us, full of troubles, to her bosom,
Hides all our sorrow there.
Str. Tell me those sorrows:
To utter them will rob them of their power
To wound thee further. Grief is like the plant,
Which, laid bare to the sun's light, perishes:
But, buried in the secret shade, takes root,
And brings forth bitter blossoms.
Ant. Leave me — leave me! —
My eyes grow dim, my heart is failing — soon
Thy dangerous presence, mastering my intent,
Will rob me of the hoarded grief, which now
Lock'd in my heart's cell, like a captive tiger,
Can only tear its prison; but, let loose,
Will wreak unbounded ruin!
Str. Good Antiochus,
For my sake — for thy father's — for thy own,
Unburden thy sad secret. Men have charged thee
With airy sorrows, fanciful conceits
Bred in the brain, because nor look nor speech
Betrays thy bosom's guest, nor pains nor wisdom
Can trace thy cause of grief.
Ant. They little know
Man's heart, and the intenseness of its passions,
Who judge from outward symbols. Lightest griefs
Are easiest discern'd, as shallow brooks
Show every pebble in their troubled currents;
While deeper streams flow smooth as glass above
Mightiest impediments, and yield no trace
Of that which is beneath them.
Str. Still evading
All my inquiries! Nay, Antiochus,
Then thus I leave thee, not in anger — yet
With something more than sorrow.
Ant. Nay, stay — stay —
Thou shalt know all — though my heart bleed to tell,
And thine perchance to listen. Dear Stratonice!
I love thee! Do not start — for I am fleeting
Fast to the silent mansions of my fathers,
And all that's gross and guilty in that love
Is separating from it, as the dross
Parts from the melting ore. Soon, soon, 'twill be
The sinless passion of a guardian spirit,
Blessing and hovering round thee. When thy presence
First cheer'd our city, how the welkin echoed
Th' applause of myriads! how the air was peopled
With praises of thy charms! I spake no word —
Inferior joys live but by utterance,
But rapture is born dumb. I loved thee then,
And felt my heart's change, which had seem'd before
A treasury of waste affections — flowers
Run wild and withering. But then my soul
Glow'd, like an altar which has long been piled
For worship, when the sacred fire at once
Descends and kindles it. And need I tell
The sorrowful sequel? Need I paint my heart
When first I knew my father's destined bride?
Thou know'st that, with the many, grief soon heals,
And Love full often, like a peevish child,
Sleeps while its tears are wet. But thou behold'st
The thing I am. This 'tis to love as I
Have loved, and love thee still, Stratonice,
And must till death. This 'tis to let the heart
Be fed on by wild hopes, which, like the bee,
Murmur their treacherous songs, while they are rifling
All the flower's sweetness.
Str Oh! Antiochus,
Sink not the prey of sorrow. My heart long
Has been thy own, but that thy father's love,
And the affianced pledge of mine, from those
Who deem'd the bauble of too little worth
To learn my wishes, have conceal'd from all
The secret. But Seleucus' heart is generous: —
He loves his son, and even his love for me
Will teach him what is just.
Ant. New life is rushing
Through every vein: — my soul feels buoyant as
A vessel which has long been bound in shallows,
When the returning billows bear it up,
And point its mast to heaven.
Str. Restrain these raptures —
Demetrius comes — His keen eye will detect
Thy heart's whole history.

Enter D EMETRIUS .

Dem The king commands
Your presence, madam.
Str. Farewell, Prince.
Ant. Farewell!
My good Demetrius, give me leave, awhile:
I would compose my weary frame to rest.
Dem. 'Tis as I deem'd. The love-sick boy revives
Still at her presence, while her parting fills
His eyes with gushing tears; then solitude
And silence please him best. Now if my art
Can aught avail, it is upon the king
My skill must practise.