The Prince's Chamber.
A NTIOCHUS solus .
Ant. Oh! night, night, night — beautiful, matchless night!
Thy charms are all divine, far, far beyond
The gaudy glare of day; and ye, fair stars,
Soft, silent, bright, how beautiful are you,
Ye gorgeous wanderers through the pathless skies,
Conducting heaven's own light to our dim sphere,
And from your bountiful and shining urns
Raining the happy night-dews down on earth,
Till her full cup o'erflows with blessedness!
Beautiful! beautiful! Morn's orient hues —
(The dewy morn, which, like a new-born babe,
Visits our world in tears;) — noon's purple pomp,
When the day-god rides highest, and his steeds
Shake from their bright manes light ineffable; —
And evening, so adorn'd with loveliness,
That Phaebus yields to her; yet, ere he parts,
Prints on her lovely cheek a kiss so warm,
That the deep blush is long seen mantling there
After his flight is ta'en: — all, all of these
Sink into insignificance, compared
With this — this gathering of the worlds, this harvest
Ripe with immortal light, in lines of gold
Waving through heaven's wide field. Yes, ye bright
Even to the ignorant eye ye seem divine;
But how much more to his, who in you sees
The glittering links of that resplendent chain
Which fate has drawn around our world to bind
The destinies of man. Alas! in vain
I read, with anxious eye, your page for aught
That tells of love, or of Stratonice:
Still ye speak peace and softness, and my mind
Feels your sweet influence, like a lake, whose bosom
By day reflects nought but the hurrying clouds
Driven by unruly winds, yet now is fill'd with
The calm, bright images which ye impress
Upon its tranquil mirror. My wild harp!
Thou hast hung mute and idle long, and if
Now tempted by this holy silent hour
Once more I wake thee, mournful must the strain be;
For I have strung thy warbling wires so oft
To notes of woe, that mirth's vain melodies
Find no vibration there.
Oh! Time is like a river, gliding
Away — away!
And in its gloomy billows hiding
Joys bright as day;
And with its restless current wearing
Man's heart to clay;
And life's best hopes, like base weeds, bearing
Away — away!
And Life is like a dew-drop, smiling
For one short hour;
With fair and glittering show beguiling,
Yet sun and shower
O'er its frail essence each prevailing,
Shorten its stay;
Tremulous, restless, and exhaling
Away — away!
And I, a tree by lightning stricken,
Am sinking fast;
Sorrows, like clouds, around me thicken,
T' o'erwhelm at last;
Past joys are like dead branches, aiding
Their root's decay;
And hopes long loved, like sear'd leaves, fading
Away — away!
Enter S ELEUCUS .
Sel. Antiochus!
Ant. My father!
Sel. This is a mournful lay.
Ant. 'Tis one which suits
The current of my thoughts.
Sel. Alas! my son,
Thou know'st not how I love thee.
Ant. Do not gaze
Thus strangely on me.
The kind yet wild expression of thy eye
Pleases, yet troubles me.
Sel. Oh, my best child,
Thou shalt not die! I know thy cause of grief:
All, all's reveal'd.
Ant. What mean'st thou? Do not mock me.
There is no bitterness in death: — but oh!
To live, and be a jest to those we love,
Is aconite and wormwood.
Sel. Thou shalt live —
Shalt live — be happy — and Stratonice
Shall be thy bride.
Ant. Ha! do my ears deceive me?
Those sounds were like the music which my heart
Danced to, when love and hope made joyful concord;
But that was false and treacherous.
Sel. This is truth.
And oh! mar not thy soul's full bliss by deeming
The heart which now resigns so much for thee
Breaks with the effort. No, no — I am happy —
Am very happy. Tears will steal into
Joy's wildest laughter. They're the dew of mirth.
Bless thee, my child! Oh! Gods, take pity on me!
Ant. What means this, sire? I fear my woes have enter'd
Too deeply in thy soul. Alas! my father,
Thine is a heart too finely wrought for grief
To dwell in long. The poison which would rest
Stagnant in vessels form'd from baser mould,
At once breaks that fine metal.
Sel. Peace! 'tis past —
The storm is past — and all the ruin made
Is, that a time-worn tower, long tottering,
Sinks to the earth at last.
Enter S TRATONICE , D EMETRIUS , Courtiers,
Attendants, &c .
She comes. Oh! mark
The dazzling brightness of that full, dark eye,
Which sparkles now, as though the whole soul sat
Throned on its orb of light: mark those jet tresses
Which float a moment on the breeze, and then
Sink on her snowy breast, as though they scorn'd
Th' embrace of Zephyr for that resting-place
Of purity and beauty: mark that face,
Oh! passing fair! o'er which those glossy locks
Fall in dark ringlets, like a raven's wings
Shading a nest of doves: — mark these, and name
Her fitting doom.
Ant. Oh! she is wondrous fair,
Worthy a monarch's love.
Sel. Thou say'st it. She
Shall wed th' imperial lord of Babylon.
The diadem shall glitter on her brow;
The virgins shall strew flowers before her feet;
Timbrel and dulcimer shall hymn her praise,
When I have — —
Ant. Clasp'd her to thy heart! — —
Sel. Have sunk
Into my grave — tranquilly, gently, like
An agitated wave, when furious winds
Have done their worst with it, subsiding softly
Into its natural stillness.
Ant. Ha! those words
Came o'er my soul like a dark summer cloud,
Saddening the fields it bless'd.
Sel. Ye know, Assyrians,
The day is dawning, when Stratonice
Shall wed the king.
1 st Cour. 'Tis known to all, sire — known,
And grateful to all hearts.
Sel. And now I loose
This tedious sceptre from my grasp, and put
The regal purple from me, and lay down
Honour, and power, and diadem, too long
The bane of him they crown'd — and now, Assyrians,
Behold your king!
1 st Cour. What means this rash resolve?
2 nd Cour. 'Tis passing strange!
Sel. And thou, Stratonice,
Thy destined bridegroom. How thy timid heart
Flutters 'twixt hope and fear, like a young bird
Just loosen'd from its cage. Oh! ye were made
For love, and for each other. Deem'd you I
Would let this shatter'd heart's black shadow darken
The splendour of your joys? No — thus I join
Your hands. And now, why should I linger here?
I did but wish to link your hearts in bliss,
And then to die — like the torch, burning bright
To light you to your bridal bed, and then
Extinguish'd.
Ant. Oh! my father, do not breathe
So sorrowful a blessing.
Sel. Sorrow dwells
In no heart here, and yet, Stratonice,
There is a holy calmness in this hour,
A placid brightness, and methinks to die
Now, were to mingle with yon brilliant orbs,
And live and shine for ever.
Str. Nay, nay, thou
Wilt grace our happy marriage.
Sel. Like yon stars,
I will look smiling down from heaven upon it,
And bless it. — Oh! my soul is putting off
These gross habiliments of mortal clay.
Weep not; 'tis but a slumber sound and sweet,
Through a dark, dreamless night, and when I wake,
Heaven's sunshine will be round me. Ah! I feel
This world reel from me. Clasp me — clasp me — nearer —
That what I last feel here may be the throbbings
Of your kind bosoms. Oh! how sweet is death!
A NTIOCHUS solus .
Ant. Oh! night, night, night — beautiful, matchless night!
Thy charms are all divine, far, far beyond
The gaudy glare of day; and ye, fair stars,
Soft, silent, bright, how beautiful are you,
Ye gorgeous wanderers through the pathless skies,
Conducting heaven's own light to our dim sphere,
And from your bountiful and shining urns
Raining the happy night-dews down on earth,
Till her full cup o'erflows with blessedness!
Beautiful! beautiful! Morn's orient hues —
(The dewy morn, which, like a new-born babe,
Visits our world in tears;) — noon's purple pomp,
When the day-god rides highest, and his steeds
Shake from their bright manes light ineffable; —
And evening, so adorn'd with loveliness,
That Phaebus yields to her; yet, ere he parts,
Prints on her lovely cheek a kiss so warm,
That the deep blush is long seen mantling there
After his flight is ta'en: — all, all of these
Sink into insignificance, compared
With this — this gathering of the worlds, this harvest
Ripe with immortal light, in lines of gold
Waving through heaven's wide field. Yes, ye bright
Even to the ignorant eye ye seem divine;
But how much more to his, who in you sees
The glittering links of that resplendent chain
Which fate has drawn around our world to bind
The destinies of man. Alas! in vain
I read, with anxious eye, your page for aught
That tells of love, or of Stratonice:
Still ye speak peace and softness, and my mind
Feels your sweet influence, like a lake, whose bosom
By day reflects nought but the hurrying clouds
Driven by unruly winds, yet now is fill'd with
The calm, bright images which ye impress
Upon its tranquil mirror. My wild harp!
Thou hast hung mute and idle long, and if
Now tempted by this holy silent hour
Once more I wake thee, mournful must the strain be;
For I have strung thy warbling wires so oft
To notes of woe, that mirth's vain melodies
Find no vibration there.
Oh! Time is like a river, gliding
Away — away!
And in its gloomy billows hiding
Joys bright as day;
And with its restless current wearing
Man's heart to clay;
And life's best hopes, like base weeds, bearing
Away — away!
And Life is like a dew-drop, smiling
For one short hour;
With fair and glittering show beguiling,
Yet sun and shower
O'er its frail essence each prevailing,
Shorten its stay;
Tremulous, restless, and exhaling
Away — away!
And I, a tree by lightning stricken,
Am sinking fast;
Sorrows, like clouds, around me thicken,
T' o'erwhelm at last;
Past joys are like dead branches, aiding
Their root's decay;
And hopes long loved, like sear'd leaves, fading
Away — away!
Enter S ELEUCUS .
Sel. Antiochus!
Ant. My father!
Sel. This is a mournful lay.
Ant. 'Tis one which suits
The current of my thoughts.
Sel. Alas! my son,
Thou know'st not how I love thee.
Ant. Do not gaze
Thus strangely on me.
The kind yet wild expression of thy eye
Pleases, yet troubles me.
Sel. Oh, my best child,
Thou shalt not die! I know thy cause of grief:
All, all's reveal'd.
Ant. What mean'st thou? Do not mock me.
There is no bitterness in death: — but oh!
To live, and be a jest to those we love,
Is aconite and wormwood.
Sel. Thou shalt live —
Shalt live — be happy — and Stratonice
Shall be thy bride.
Ant. Ha! do my ears deceive me?
Those sounds were like the music which my heart
Danced to, when love and hope made joyful concord;
But that was false and treacherous.
Sel. This is truth.
And oh! mar not thy soul's full bliss by deeming
The heart which now resigns so much for thee
Breaks with the effort. No, no — I am happy —
Am very happy. Tears will steal into
Joy's wildest laughter. They're the dew of mirth.
Bless thee, my child! Oh! Gods, take pity on me!
Ant. What means this, sire? I fear my woes have enter'd
Too deeply in thy soul. Alas! my father,
Thine is a heart too finely wrought for grief
To dwell in long. The poison which would rest
Stagnant in vessels form'd from baser mould,
At once breaks that fine metal.
Sel. Peace! 'tis past —
The storm is past — and all the ruin made
Is, that a time-worn tower, long tottering,
Sinks to the earth at last.
Enter S TRATONICE , D EMETRIUS , Courtiers,
Attendants, &c .
She comes. Oh! mark
The dazzling brightness of that full, dark eye,
Which sparkles now, as though the whole soul sat
Throned on its orb of light: mark those jet tresses
Which float a moment on the breeze, and then
Sink on her snowy breast, as though they scorn'd
Th' embrace of Zephyr for that resting-place
Of purity and beauty: mark that face,
Oh! passing fair! o'er which those glossy locks
Fall in dark ringlets, like a raven's wings
Shading a nest of doves: — mark these, and name
Her fitting doom.
Ant. Oh! she is wondrous fair,
Worthy a monarch's love.
Sel. Thou say'st it. She
Shall wed th' imperial lord of Babylon.
The diadem shall glitter on her brow;
The virgins shall strew flowers before her feet;
Timbrel and dulcimer shall hymn her praise,
When I have — —
Ant. Clasp'd her to thy heart! — —
Sel. Have sunk
Into my grave — tranquilly, gently, like
An agitated wave, when furious winds
Have done their worst with it, subsiding softly
Into its natural stillness.
Ant. Ha! those words
Came o'er my soul like a dark summer cloud,
Saddening the fields it bless'd.
Sel. Ye know, Assyrians,
The day is dawning, when Stratonice
Shall wed the king.
1 st Cour. 'Tis known to all, sire — known,
And grateful to all hearts.
Sel. And now I loose
This tedious sceptre from my grasp, and put
The regal purple from me, and lay down
Honour, and power, and diadem, too long
The bane of him they crown'd — and now, Assyrians,
Behold your king!
1 st Cour. What means this rash resolve?
2 nd Cour. 'Tis passing strange!
Sel. And thou, Stratonice,
Thy destined bridegroom. How thy timid heart
Flutters 'twixt hope and fear, like a young bird
Just loosen'd from its cage. Oh! ye were made
For love, and for each other. Deem'd you I
Would let this shatter'd heart's black shadow darken
The splendour of your joys? No — thus I join
Your hands. And now, why should I linger here?
I did but wish to link your hearts in bliss,
And then to die — like the torch, burning bright
To light you to your bridal bed, and then
Extinguish'd.
Ant. Oh! my father, do not breathe
So sorrowful a blessing.
Sel. Sorrow dwells
In no heart here, and yet, Stratonice,
There is a holy calmness in this hour,
A placid brightness, and methinks to die
Now, were to mingle with yon brilliant orbs,
And live and shine for ever.
Str. Nay, nay, thou
Wilt grace our happy marriage.
Sel. Like yon stars,
I will look smiling down from heaven upon it,
And bless it. — Oh! my soul is putting off
These gross habiliments of mortal clay.
Weep not; 'tis but a slumber sound and sweet,
Through a dark, dreamless night, and when I wake,
Heaven's sunshine will be round me. Ah! I feel
This world reel from me. Clasp me — clasp me — nearer —
That what I last feel here may be the throbbings
Of your kind bosoms. Oh! how sweet is death!