The Prince Of Parthia Part 22

VARDANES.

Ha! what? revenge for Artaba.n.u.s' death?-- 'Tis the curse of Princes that their counsels, Which should be kept like holy mysteries, Can never rest in silent secrecy.

Fond of employ, some cursed tattling tongue Will still divulge them.

LYSIAS.

Sure some fiend from h.e.l.l, In mischief eminent, to cross our views, Has giv'n th' intelligence, for man could not.

EVANTHE.

Oh! ever blest event!--All-gracious heav'n!

This beam of joy revives me.

SCENE III.

_VARDANES, EVANTHE, LYSIAS, to them, an OFFICER._

OFFICER.

Haste! my Lord!

Or all will soon be lost; tho' thrice repuls'd By your e'erfaithful guards, they still return With double fury.

VARDANES.

Hence, then, idle love-- Come forth, my trusty sword--curs'd misfortune!-- Had I but one short hour, without reluctance, I'd meet them, tho' they brib'd the pow'rs of h.e.l.l, To place their furies in the van: Yea, rush To meet this dreadful Brother 'midst the war-- Haste to the combat--Now a crown or death-- The wretch who dares to give an inch of ground Till I retire, shall meet the death he shun'd.

Away--away! delays are dang'rous now--

SCENE IV.

EVANTHE [_alone_].

Now heav'n be partial to Arsaces' cause, Nor leave to giddy chance when virtue strives; Let victory sit on his warlike helm, For justice draws his sword: be thou his aid, And let the opposer's arm sink with the weight Of his most impious crimes--be still my heart, For all that thou canst aid him with is pray'r.

Oh! that I had the strength of thousands in me!

Or that my voice could wake the sons of men To join, and crush the tyrant!--

SCENE V.

_EVANTHE and CLEONE._

EVANTHE.

My Cleone-- Welcome thou partner of my joys and sorrows.

CLEONE.

Oh! yonder terror triumphs uncontroul'd, And glutton death seems never satisfy'd.

Each soft sensation lost in thoughtless rage, And breast to breast, oppos'd in furious war, The fiery Chiefs receive the vengeful steel.

O'er lifeless heaps of men the soldiers climb Still eager for the combat, while the ground Made slipp'ry by the gushing streams of gore Is treach'rous to their feet.--Oh! horrid sight!-- Too much for me to stand, my life was chill'd, As from the turret I beheld the fight, It forc'd me to retire.

EVANTHE.

What of Arsaces?

CLEONE.

I saw him active in the battle, now, Like light'ning, piercing thro' the thickest foe, Then scorning to disgrace his sword in low Plebeian blood--loud for Vardanes call'd-- To meet him singly, and decide the war.

EVANTHE.

Save him, ye G.o.ds!--oh! all my soul is fear-- Fly, fly Cleone, to the tow'r again, See how fate turns the ballance; and pursue Arsaces with thine eye; mark ev'ry blow, Observe if some bold villain dares to urge His sword presumptuous at my Hero's breast.

Haste, my Cleone, haste, to ease my fears.

SCENE VI.

EVANTHE [_alone_].

Ah!--what a cruel torment is suspense!

My anxious soul is torn 'twixt love and fear, Scarce can I please me with one fancied bliss Which kind imagination forms, but reason, Proud, surly reason, s.n.a.t.c.hes the vain joy, And gives me up again to sad distress.

Yet I can die, and should Arsaces fall This fatal draught shall ease me of my sorrows.

SCENE VII.

CLEONE [_alone_].

Oh! horror! horror! horror!--cruel G.o.ds!-- I saw him fall--I did--pierc'd thro' with wounds-- Curs'd! curs'd Vardanes!--hear'd the gen'ral cry, Which burst, as tho' all nature had dissolv'd.

Hark! how they shout! the noise seems coming this way.

SCENE VIII.

_ARSACES, GOTARZES, BARZAPHERNES and OFFICERS, with VARDANES and LYSIAS, prisoners._

ARSACES.

Thanks to the ruling pow'rs who blest our arms, Prepare the sacrifices to the G.o.ds, And grateful songs of tributary praise.-- Gotarzes, fly, my Brother, find Evanthe, And bring the lovely mourner to my arms.

GOTARZES.

Yes, I'll obey you, with a willing speed. [_Exit GOTARZES._

ARSACES.

Thou, Lysias, from yon tow'r's aspiring height Be hurl'd to death, thy impious hands are stain'd With royal blood--Let the traitor's body Be giv'n to hungry dogs.