_Sar._ There comes For ever something between us and what We deem our happiness: let me remove The barrier which that hesitating accent Proclaims to thine, and mine is sealed.
_Myr._ My Lord!--
_Sar._ My Lord--my King--Sire--Sovereign; thus it is-- For ever thus, addressed with awe. I ne"er Can see a smile, unless in some broad banquet"s Intoxicating glare, when the buffoons 440 Have gorged themselves up to equality, Or I have quaffed me down to their abas.e.m.e.nt.
Myrrha, I can hear all these things, these names, Lord--King--Sire--Monarch--nay, time was I prized them; That is, I suffered them--from slaves and n.o.bles; But when they falter from the lips I love, The lips which have been pressed to mine, a chill Comes o"er my heart, a cold sense of the falsehood Of this my station, which represses feeling In those for whom I have felt most, and makes me 450 Wish that I could lay down the dull tiara, And share a cottage on the Caucasus With thee--and wear no crowns but those of flowers.
_Myr._ Would that we could!
_Sar._ And dost _thou_ feel this?--Why?
_Myr._ Then thou wouldst know what thou canst never know.
_Sar._ And that is----
_Myr._ The true value of a heart; At least, a woman"s.
_Sar._ I have proved a thousand--A thousand, and a thousand.
_Myr._ Hearts?
_Sar._ I think so.
_Myr._ Not one! the time may come thou may"st.
_Sar._ It will.
Hear, Myrrha; Salemenes has declared-- 460 Or why or how he hath divined it, Belus, Who founded our great realm, knows more than I-- But Salemenes hath declared my throne In peril.
_Myr._ He did well.
_Sar._ And say"st _thou_ so?
Thou whom he spurned so harshly, and now dared[g]
Drive from our presence with his savage jeers, And made thee weep and blush?
_Myr._ I should do both More frequently, and he did well to call me Back to my duty. But thou spakest of peril Peril to thee----
_Sar._ Aye, from dark plots and snares 470 From Medes--and discontented troops and nations.
I know not what--a labyrinth of things-- A maze of muttered threats and mysteries: Thou know"st the man--it is his usual custom.
But he is honest. Come, we"ll think no more on"t-- But of the midnight festival.
_Myr._ "Tis time To think of aught save festivals. Thou hast not Spurned his sage cautions?
_Sar._ What?--and dost thou fear?
_Myr._ Fear!--I"m a Greek, and how should I fear death?
A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom? 480
_Sar._ Then wherefore dost thou turn so pale?
_Myr._ I love.
_Sar._ And do not I? I love thee far--far more Than either the brief life or the wide realm, Which, it may be, are menaced;--yet I blench not.
_Myr._ That means thou lovest nor thyself nor me; For he who loves another loves himself, Even for that other"s sake. This is too rash: Kingdoms and lives are not to be so lost.
_Sar._ Lost!--why, who is the aspiring chief who dared a.s.sume to win them?
_Myr._ Who is he should dread 490 To try so much? When he who is their ruler Forgets himself--will they remember him?
_Sar._ Myrrha!
_Myr._ Frown not upon me: you have smiled Too often on me not to make those frowns Bitterer to bear than any punishment Which they may augur.--King, I am your subject!
Master, I am your slave! Man, I have loved you!-- Loved you, I know not by what fatal weakness, Although a Greek, and born a foe to monarchs-- A slave, and hating fetters--an Ionian, 500 And, therefore, when I love a stranger, more Degraded by that pa.s.sion than by chains!
Still I have loved you. If that love were strong Enough to overcome all former nature, Shall it not claim the privilege to save you?
_Sar._ _Save_ me, my beauty! Thou art very fair, And what I seek of thee is love--not safety.
_Myr._ And without love where dwells security?
_Sar._ I speak of woman"s love.
_Myr._ The very first Of human life must spring from woman"s breast, 510 Your first small words are taught you from her lips, Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighs Too often breathed out in a woman"s hearing, When men have shrunk from the ign.o.ble care Of watching the last hour of him who led them.
_Sar._ My eloquent Ionian! thou speak"st music: The very chorus of the tragic song I have heard thee talk of as the favourite pastime Of thy far father-land. Nay, weep not--calm thee.
_Myr._ I weep not.--But I pray thee, do not speak 520 About my fathers or their land.
_Sar._ Yet oft Thou speakest of them.
_Myr._ True--true: constant thought Will overflow in words unconsciously; But when another speaks of Greeks, it wounds me.
_Sar._ Well, then, how wouldst thou _save_ me, as thou saidst?
_Myr._ By teaching thee to save thyself, and not Thyself alone, but these vast realms, from all The rage of the worst war--the war of brethren.
_Sar._ Why, child, I loathe all war, and warriors; I live in peace and pleasure: what can man 530 Do more?
_Myr._ Alas! my Lord, with common men There needs too oft the show of war to keep The substance of sweet peace; and, for a king, "Tis sometimes better to be feared than loved.
_Sar._ And I have never sought but for the last.
_Myr._ And now art neither.
_Sar._ Dost _thou_ say so, Myrrha?
_Myr._ I speak of civic popular love, _self_-love, Which means that men are kept in awe and law, Yet not oppressed--at least they must not think so, Or, if they think so, deem it necessary, 540 To ward off worse oppression, their own pa.s.sions.
A King of feasts, and flowers, and wine, and revel, And love, and mirth, was never King of Glory.
_Sar._ Glory! what"s that?