Part 6 (1/2)
_Cal._ Through ev'ry street Despair and terror fly. A panic spreads From man to man, and superst.i.tion sees Jove arm'd with thunder, and the G.o.ds against us.
_Dio._ With sacred rites their wrath must be appeas'd.
Let instant victims at the altar bleed: Let incense roll its fragrant clouds to Heav'n, And pious matrons, and the virgin train, In slow procession to the temple bear The image of their G.o.ds.
The solemn sacrifice, the virgin throng, Will gain the popular belief, and kindle In the fierce soldiery religious rage.
Away, my friends, prepare the sacred rites.
[_Exeunt CALIPPUS, &c._
Philotas, thou draw near: how fares your pris'ner?
Has he yet breath'd his last?
_Phil._ Life ebbs apace; To-morrow's sun sees him a breathless corse.
_Dio._ Curse on his ling'ring pangs! Sicilia's crown No more shall deck his brow; and if the sand Still loiter in the gla.s.s, thy hand, my friend, May shake it thence.
_Phil._ It shall, dread sir; that task Leave to thy faithful servant.
_Dio._ Oh! Philotas, Thou little know'st the cares, the pangs of empire.
The ermin'd pride, the purple that adorns A conqueror's breast, but serves, my friend, to hide A heart that's torn, that's mangled with remorse.
Each object round me wakens horrid doubts; The flatt'ring train, the sentinel that guards me, The slave that waits, all give some new alarm, And from the means of safety dangers rise.
Ev'n victory itself plants anguish here, And round my laurels the fell serpent twines.
_Phil._ Would Dionysius abdicate his crown, And sue for terms of peace?
_Dio._ Detested thought!
No, though ambition teem with countless ills, It still has charms of pow'r to fire the soul.
Though horrors multiply around my head, I will oppose them all. The pomp of sacrifice, But now ordain'd, is mockery to Heav'n.
'Tis vain, 'tis fruitless; then let daring guilt Be my inspirer, and consummate all.
Where are those Greeks, the captives of my sword, Whose desperate valour rush'd within our walls, Fought near our person, and the pointed lance Aim'd at my breast?
_Phil._ In chains they wait their doom.
_Dio._ Give me to see 'em; bring the slaves before me.
_Phil._ What, ho! Melanthon, this way lead your prisoners.
_Enter MELANTHON, with GREEK OFFICERS and SOLDIERS._
_Dio._ a.s.sa.s.sins, and not warriors! do ye come, When the wide range of battle claims your sword, Thus do ye come against a single life To wage the war? Did not our buckler ring With all your darts, in one collected volley, Shower'd on my head? Did not your swords at once Point at my breast, and thirst for regal blood?
_G. Off._ We sought thy life. I am by birth a Greek.
An open foe in arms, I meant to slay The foe of human kind. With rival ardour We took the field; one voice, one mind, one heart; All leagu'd, all covenanted: in yon camp Spirits there are who aim, like us, at glory.
Whene'er you sally forth, whene'er the Greeks Shall scale your walls, prepare thee to encounter A like a.s.sault. By me the youth of Greece Thus notify the war they mean to wage.
_Dio._ Thus, then, I warn them of my great revenge.
Whoe'er in battle shall become our pris'ner, In torment meets his doom.
_G. Off._ Then wilt thou see How vile the body to a mind that pants For genuine glory. Twice three hundred Greeks Have sworn like us, to hunt thee through the ranks; Ours the first lot; we've fail'd; on yonder plain Appear in arms, the faithful band will meet thee.