She,
The haughty mistress of the Palmy City,
Whom great Aurelian and the arms of Rome
Scarce bow'd, no more shall fill Fame's brazen trump,
That shall devote alone to Margarita
The fulness of its sound.
Doth not Olybius, great Olybius,
The Emperor's second self, the Lord of Asia,
Whose triumphs gild our late degenerate days
With splendour worthy elder Rome; whose form
Were fittest by imperial Juno's side
To walk the clouds, her chosen mate; to lacquey
Whose royal state barbaric monarchs vie-
Hath he not deign'd to call thee bride!
Thou know'st the way I'm going, and canst lead me.
Whither, my child? Are not these chambers thine,
That with their splendour load my unwonted eyes?
Is not the banquet and the couch of rest
Prepared?
It is the prisoner's bitter bread, And earth-strewn couch.
Hath he deceived me, then?
No; thou'st deceived thyself.
No bridal pomp, no hymenean song!
Oh yes, my father, I shall wed to-morrow,
And made this dim confusion in my brain,
And hence such strange things seem to be and are
Come, I'll go with thee where thou wilt; I know
Old doting age should be obedient. Thou
Wilt tell me what this hurrying alternation
Of light and gloom, and palaces and prisons,
Of nuptials and of murders, means:-in truth,
I do begin to hope it is a dream.
Life's dying flame, they say, like waning lamps,
Casts oft unreal shadows, that perplex
The parting soul-But this is certain; yet
I have not lost thee, for I feel thine hand
Trembling and warm in my cold palm. Go on,
But hold me thus, I'll follow thee for ever.
Put out those dazzling lights, nor weary me
With that incessant music.
Cruel Fates!
Have ye thus pamper'd my insatiate soul,
Preventing all my wishes by fulfilment ;
And led me step by step unto the Capitol
Of man's felicity, to laugh me there
To scorn, by setting up a golden crown
Of all my toils, that withers in my grasp?
Th' inured to misery are inured to suffering;
But he on whom Success hath ever waited,
The thunder-bearing eagle of his war,
In peace his busy minister of pleasure,
To him the thought of one thing unpossess'd
Casts back a gloomy shadow, that o'erclouds
All his pass'd tract of glory and of bliss.
Oh! that the barren earth had borne to me
But shame and sorrow's bitter fruits.
That boasted in my single soul to centre
The rigid virtues of old Rome, myself
But with no earthly bridegroom; songs there will be, The nobler Scipio of a looser age,
Am I thus sunk? There were in elder days
Who from the bottom of their hearts have pluck'd
Rooted affection, and have proudly worn
Their lives, thus self-despoil'd of their best treasures-
Fathers have led their gallant sons to th' axe-
Oh! but to doom that neck, round which I thought
Mine arms should grow, upon the block;—that face
Which oft my dreams presented me, composed
In loving rest upon my slumbering bosom,
Convulsed!- The heavens and earth shall fal
together
Ere this shall be!-But how to save her-how-
And must Olybius stoop to means beyond
His own high will?
This pale and false Vopiscus
Hath from great Probus wrung his easy mandate:
Him Asia owns her Prefect, if Olybius
Obey not this fell edict.—I must plunge
It was the truth they spake. The world in civil strife, uplift the banner
Of arm'd rebellion 'gainst mine Emperor,
Well, then!-Ah, now 't is clear-'t is age hath crazed The father of my fortunes-trample down
My solemn oaths sworn to th' assembled people—
The purple dawn begins To tip with light the misty eastern hills.
Already doth the wakeful people throng
In gay and holiday attire; even now
I heard the clamour of the baser sort,
In merry conflict, for their foremost seats
In the Amphitheatre, and around the piles
On which the Christians are to burn.
"T is time, Great Prefect, that we too prepare. Olybius Were doubtless loth to check the people's zeal, That shout for death on every Christian head.
When I am bow'd beneath thy rule, mine acts
Shall render their accompt to thee.
Beseech thee hear me these few words apart.
Whom thou wouldst save, I know, nor speak of it
But in officious love-But, on thy life,
I pray thee.
This night I have heard
Along the streets and in the noisy taverns,
All Antioch, madden'd by the angry priests,
Even thine own soldiers, swear to glut their eyes
With the apostate maiden's blood. Shouldst thou,
All loved, and fear'd, and honour'd as thou art,
Outspread thy purple mantle over her,
Thou, Macer, stay with me.
To each and all, till morn hath broken, farewell!
Oh Lord! thou oft hast sent thy plumed angels,
And with their silent presence they have awed
The Heathen's violence to a placid peace.
The ravening beasts have laid their fawning heads
In love upon the lap of him, whom man
Had cast them for their prey: and fires have burn'd,
Unharming, like the glory of a star,
Round the pale brows of maidens; and the chains
Have dropt, like wither'd flax, from galled limbs;
And whom the infuriate people led to death,
They have fallen down, and worshipp'd as a deity.
But thou hast sent a kindlier boon to me,
A soft prophetic peace, that soothes my soul,
Like music, to an heavenly harmony.
For in my slumber a bright being came,
And with faint steps my father follow'd him,
Up through the argent fields, and there we met
And felt the joy of tears without the pain.
What's here? the bridal vestments, and the veil
Of saffron, and the garland flowers. Olybius,
Dost think to tempt me now, when all my thoughts,
Like the soft dews of evening, are drawn up
To heaven, but not to fall and taint themselves
With earth again? My inmost soul last night
Was wrung to think of our eternal parting;
But now my voice may tremble, while I say,
“God's will be done!" yet I have strength to say it.
But thou, oh morn! the last that e'er shall dawn Through earthly mists on my sad eyes-Oh blue, And beautiful even here, and fragrant morn, Mother of gentle airs and blushing hues!
They'll pluck her hence, and rend her limb from That bearest, too, in thy fair hand the key
What! dare the rabble menace him whose wrath
The royal Parthian fled?
But yield thus far-
Let her be led forth with the rest; to me
Entrust the order that she suffer last.
My life upon 't she yields; the soul of woman
Fears not in thought the anguish, which, if seen,
Appals her back into her nature's softness;
They can defy the pain they cannot gaze on.
Excellent! excellent! my noblest friend,
To thee I trust my more than life.
To which the harmonious gates of Paradise
Unfold-bright opening of immortal day!
That ne'er shalt know a setting, but shalt shine
Round me for ever on the crystal floors
Where Blessed Spirits tread. My bridal morn,
In which my soul is wedded to its Lord,
I may not hail thee in a mourner's garb:
Mine earthly limbs shall wear their nuptial robes,
And my locks bloom once more with flowers that fade.
But I must haste, I hear the trumpet's voice,
Acclaiming thousands answer-yet I fear not.
Oh Lord! support me, and I shall not fear.
But hark! the maidens are abroad to hail
Their God; we answer through our prison grates
Hark!
CHORUS OF HEATHEN MAIDENS.
Now glory to the God, who breaks,
The monarch of the realms on high;
And with his trampling chariot shakes
The azure pavement of the sky.
The steeds, for human eyes too bright,
Before the yoke of chrysolite
Pant, while he springs upon his way,
Now glory to the God, that wakes
With vengeance in his fiery speed,
To wreak his wrath impatient breaks
On every guilty godless head;
Hasty he mounts his early road,
And pours his brightest beams abroad
And looks down fierce with jocund light
The beardless youth divine, who bathes the world in To see his fane avenged, his vindicated rite.
But this I know, 't were ill for him who wore
A face of sorrow in an hour like this;
"Twere treason 'gainst the tyrant of the day-
The assembled people.
My sleep is fled, but not my hideous dreams.
Ah! there they stand, their baskets full of flowers,
Back! fall back! the Prefect! The censers trembling in their timid hands,
All, all the dedicated maids, but one.
Hark, friends! as now the brazen clarions cease,
How sweetly shrill the silver trumpets pierce
The eager ear. Again that general shout
From all that vast and boundless multitude!
It peals up all the Amphitheatre,
And every court takes up and multiplies
The exulting clamour, like the thunders rolling
Amid the rugged mountains.
Would not Jove Now almost change his high immortal state, Where Gods before his footstool bow, to win The homage round the great Olybius pour'd?
"T were worth a life to be one hour as he is.
Behold! the priests of all the temples bear
Their Gods in state to see themselves avenged:
As they sweep on, the reverent crowd falls back.
Lo, first the loose-hair'd Bacchanals dance on
In wanton Thiasus, their cymbals catch
The radiant light, that falls in glancing flakes
Q'er their white robes, and freshening ivy wreaths.
Lo, now the beardless youths of Dyndymene!
Half timorous, the yoked lions drag along
Why doth he gaze around? he seems to seek
What he despairs of finding.
That taller than the rest draws all regards;
And if they touch their lyres, they will but wake,
With all their art, the memory of that voice
Which is not of their choir-
What! who art thou that dost presume to pity
The father of the peerless Margarita ?
I tell thee, insolent! even beside the stake
I shall be prouder of my single child
Than if my wife had teem'd like Niobe
With such as thine.
THIRD CITIZEN.
He hath no children, sir.
Would I were like him!-Ah, no-no,-my child!
I know that I'm come forth to see thee die
For this strange God, thy father never worshipp'd;
Yet all my wrath is gone, and half my sorrow,
The golden car, where sits the tower-crown'd Queen. But nothing of my love. Whate'er thou dost
Long retiring colonnades Crowded with the sacred maids: Io Paan! youth divine,
Opes not yet thy secret shrine?
Io Paan! 't is not vain;
Far be every foot profane!
Lo, the golden tripod shakes,
And the marble pavement quakes:
Spare, oh spare our dazzled sight,
Lo, unveil'd the Lord of Light!
The God! the God! behold him come
Down through the round and sky-like dome,
In one wide flood of radiant gold
O'er all the kindling statue roll'd;
From his unclouded throne on high
Rushes the effulgent Deity.
The God! the God! in every vein
The panting marble lives again :
The cheeks with beauteous anger glow,
And burns the high exulting brow:
The motion of the irradiate hair
Proclaims Latona's offspring there.
Io Paan! we adore thee,
Phoebus, low we bow before thee.
Io Pæan! Lycian king!
Syria's crowding myriads sing:
Io Paan! Heaven and earth
Mingle in our holy mirth.
Now lead the captives forth to hear their doomTo worship at yon sumptuous shrine, or die.
They come! they come! the universal yell
Of execration follows them along,
Deepening as it approaches, like the roar
Of thunders travelling up the cloudy heavens,
Till o'er our heads it bursts.
What sounds are these,
So melancholy, yet so full of joy,
Like songs of victory round some aged chief,
That in the war hath lost his only son?
The above. The Christians.
Oh Jesus! by the mortal pains we bear, And by the galling chains and garb of shame we wear, Sad son of Mary! are thy children known :And by our flesh with ruthless scourges torn, By unrelenting man's insatiate hate and scorn, Crucified Sufferer! are we not thine own? Oh man of sorrows! and with grief acquainted, Along the path of woe, like thine, our feet have fainted :
And anguish soon shall choke our parting breath, And soon our tortured limbs, like thine, be cold in
|