Myr. (solus). Why do I love this man? My country's daughters Love none but heroes. But I have no country!

The slave hath lost all save her bonds. I love him;

And that's the heaviest link of the long chain

To love whom we esteem not. Be it so:

The hour is coming when he'll need all love,

And find none. To fall from him now were baser
Than to have stabb'd him on his throne when highest
Would have been noble in my country's creed:
I was not made for either. Could I save him,
I should not love him better, but myself;
And I have need of the last, for I have fallen
In my own thoughts, by loving this soft stranger:
And yet methinks I love him more, perceiving
That he is hated of his own barbarians,

The natural foes of all the blood of Greece.
Could I but wake a single thought like those
Which even the Phrygians felt when battling long

'Twixt Ilion and the sea, within his heart,

He would tread down the barbarous crowds, and triumph.
He loves me, and I love him; the slave loves

Her master, and would free him from his vices.
If not, I have a means of freedom still,
And if I cannot teach him how to reign,

May show him how alone a king can leave
His throne. I must not lose him from my sight.

[Exit.1

1 [There are two of Lord Byron's characteristic excellences which he never leaves behind, and which he has accordingly brought into his new domain of classic tragedy. One of these is his intense feeling of the loveliness of women. The other is his comprehensive sympathy with the vastest objects in the material universe. There is scarcely any pure description of individual scenes in all his works; but the noblest allusions to the grandeurs of earth and heaven. The moon, the stars, the ocean, the mountain desert, are endowed by him with new "speech and language," and send to the heart their mighty voices.-ANON.]

Sar.

What is thy motive,

Myr. Thy safet

Could urge the

Thus much fr

Ar

Sar. And Myr. T

Sar.

M

من

rtal of the same Hall of the Palace.

The sun goes down: methinks he sets more

look of Assyria's empire.

amongst those deepening clouds,
he predicts. If not in vain,
sinkest, and ye stars which rise,
watch a ye, reading ray by ray

1ts of your orbs, which make Time tremble
For what he brings the nations, 'tis the furthest

Hour of

Assyria's

years. And yet how calm! arthquake should announce so great a fall— A summer's sun discloses it.

An

Yon disk,

Its everlasting page the end of what
To the star-read Chaldean, bears upon

Seem'd everlasting; but oh! thou true sun!
The burning oracle of all that live,

As fountain of all life, and symbol of

Him who bestows it, wherefore dost thou limit.
Thy lore unto calamity? Why not
Unfold the rise of days more worthy thine
All-glorious burst from ocean? why not dart
A beam of hope athwart the future years,
As of wrath to its days? Hear me! oh, hear me !
I am thy worshipper, thy priest, thy servant-
I have gazed on thee at thy rise and fall,
And bow'd my head beneath thy mid-day beams,
When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watch'd
For thee, and after thee, and pray'd to thee,
And sacrificed to thee, and read, and fear'd thee,
And ask'd of thee, and thou hast auswer'd-but
Only to thus much: while I speak, he sinks—

gone-and leaves his beauty, not his knowledge, the delighted west, which revels in

Arb.

es of dying glory. Yet what is

o it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset;
als may be happy to resemble
but in decay.

Enter ARBACES by an inner door.

Beleses, why

So wrapt in thy devotions? Dost thou stand
Gazing to trace thy disappearing god
Into some realm of undiscover'd day?
Our business is with night-'tis come.
Bel.
Gone.

Arb. Let it roll on-we are ready.
Bel.

Would it were over!

Arb.

But not

Yes.

Does the prophet doubt,
To whom the very stars shine victory ?

Bel. I do not doubt of victory—but the victor.
Arb. Well, let thy science settle that. Meantime
I have prepared as many glittering spears
As will out-sparkle our allies-your planets.
There is no more to thwart us. The she-king,
That less than woman, is even now upon
The waters with his female mates. The order
Is issued for the feast in the pavilion.

The first cup which he drains will be the last
Quaff'd by the line of Nimrod.

Bel.

"Twas a brave one.

-'tis worn out-we'll mend it.

Arb. And is a weak one—'
Bel. Art sure of that?

Arb.

Its founder was a hunter

I am a soldier-what is there to fear?

Bel. The soldier.

:

Arb.
And the priest, it may be but
If you thought thus, or think, why not retain
Your king of concubines? why stir me up?

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The Portal of the same Hall of the Palace.

Beleses (solus). The sun goes down: methinks he sets more slowly,

Taking his last look of Assyria's empire.

How red he glares amongst those deepening clouds,

Like the blood he predicts. If not in vain,

Thou sun that sinkest, and ye stars which rise,
I have outwatch'd ye, reading ray by ray

The edicts of your orbs, which make Time tremble
For what he brings the nations, 'tis the furthest
Hour of Assyria's years. And yet how calm!
An earthquake should announce so great a fall—
A summer's sun discloses it. Yon disk,
To the star-read Chaldean, bears upon
Its everlasting page the end of what
Seem'd everlasting; but oh! thou true sun!
The burning oracle of all that live,
As fountain of all life, and symbol of

Him who bestows it, wherefore dost thou limit
Thy lore unto calamity? Why not
Unfold the rise of days more worthy thine
All-glorious burst from ocean? why not dart
A beam of hope athwart the future years,
As of wrath to its days? Hear me! oh, hear me!
I am thy worshipper, thy priest, thy servant-
I have gazed on thee at thy rise and fall,
And bow'd my head beneath thy mid-day beams,
When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watch'd
For thee, and after thee, and pray'd to thee,
And sacrificed to thee, and read, and fear'd thee,
And ask'd of thee, and thou hast auswer'd-but
Only to thus much: while I speak, he sinks—

Is gone-and leaves his beauty, not his knowledge,
To the delighted west, which revels in

Its hues of dying glory. Yet what is
Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset ;
And mortals may be happy to resemble

The gods but in decay.

So wrapt in thy devotions? Dost thou stand
Gazing to trace thy disappearing god
Into some realm of undiscover'd day?
Our business is with night-'tis come.

Bel. Gone.

Arb. Let it roll on-we are ready.
Bel.

Would it were over!

Arb.

But not

Yes.

Does the prophet doubt,
To whom the very stars shine victory?

Bel. I do not doubt of victory-but the victor.
Arb. Well, let thy science settle that. Meantime

I have prepared as many glittering spears

As will out-sparkle our allies-your planets.
There is no more to thwart us. The she-king,
That less than woman, is even now upon
The waters with his female mates. The order
Is issued for the feast in the pavilion.

The first cup which he drains will be the last
Quaff'd by the line of Nimrod.

Bel.

'Twas a brave one.

Arb. And is a weak one-' -'tis worn out-we'll mend it. Bel. Art sure of that?

Arb.

Its founder was a hunter

I am a soldier-what is there to fear?

Bel. The soldier.

:

Arb.
And the priest, it may be but
If you thought thus, or think, why not retain
Your king of concubines? why stir me up?