as one day, In the state's service, I have still my dowry, Of such. Well, sirs, your will be done! Marina. Ay, they are fatherless, I thank you. Chief of the Ten. We Cannot comply with your request. His relics Shall be exposed with wonted pomp, and follow'd Unto their home by the new Doge, not clad As Doge, but simply as a senator. Marina. I have heard of murderers, who have interr'd Their victims; but ne'er heard, until this hour, Of so much splendour in hypocrisy tears Alas! I have shed some- always thanks to you! I've heard of heirs in sables-you have left none To the deceased, so you would act the part trust, Heaven's will be done too! Chief of the Ten. Know you, lady, To whom ye speak, and perils of such speech? Marina. I know the former better than yourselves; The latter-like yourselves; and can face both. Wish you more funerals? Barb. Heed not her rash words; Her circumstances must excuse her bearing. Chief of the Ten. We will not note them down. Barb. (turning to Loredano, who is writing upon his tablets) What art thou writing, With such an earnest brow, upon thy tablets? Lored. (pointing to the Doge's body) That he has paid me! Chief of the Ten. owe you? What debt did he SARDANAPALUS, A TRAGEDY. TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS GÖTHE. A stranger presumes to offer the homage of a literary vassal to his liege-lord, the first of existing writers, who has created the literature of his own country and illustrated that of Europe. The unworthy production which the author ventures to inscribe to him is entitled SARDANAPALUS. PREFACE. For the historical foundation of the compositions in question, the reader is referred to the Notes. The Author has in one instance attempted to preserve, and in the other to approach the unities; conceiving that with any very distant departure from them, there may be poetry, but can be no drama. He is aware of the unpopularity of this notion in present English literature; but it is not a system of his own, being merely an opinion, which, not very long ago, was the law of literature throughout the world, and is still so in the more civilized parts of it. But "Nous avons changé tout cela," and are reaping the advantages of the change. The writer is far from conceiving that any thing he can adduce by personal precept or example can at all approach his regular, or even irregular, predecessors: he is merely giving a reason why he preferred the more regular formation of a structure, however With regard to my own private feelings, feeble, to an entire abandonment of all rules as it seems that they are to stand for no-whatsoever. Where he has failed, the faithing, I shall say nothing. lure is in the architect,—and not in the art. In publishing the Tragedies of Sardanapalus, and of The Two Foscari, I have only to repeat that they were not composed with the most remote view to the stage. On the attempt made by the Managers in a former instance, the public opinion has been already expressed. born, To have reach'd an empire; to an empire | We'll meet again in that the sweetest hour, When we shall gather like the stars above us, And you will form a heaven as bright as theirs ; He will bequeath none; nothing but a name, Which his sons will not prize in heritage: Yet, not all lost, even yet he may redeem His sloth and shame, by only being that Which he should be, as easily as the thing He should not be and is. Were it less toil To sway his nations than consume his life? To head an army than to rule a harem? He sweats in palling pleasures,dulls his soul, And saps his goodly strength, in toils which yield not Health like the chase, nor glory like the Lo, where they come! already I perceive The reeking odours of the perfumed trains, And see the bright gems of the glittering girls, Who are his comrades and his council, flash Along the gallery, and amidst the damsels, As femininely garb'd, and scarce less female, The grandson of Semiramis, the man-queen. He comes! Shall I await him? yes, and front him, And tell him what all good men tell each other, Speaking of him and his. They come, the slaves, Led by the monarch subject to his slaves. Till then, let each be mistress of her time, And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha, choose, Wilt thou along with them or me? Myrrha. My lord Sard. My lord! my life, why answerest thon so coldly? It is the curse of kings to be so answered. The moments from me? Myrrha. The king's choice is mine. Sard. I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy Is to contribute to thine every wish. Too prompt to sacrifice thy thoughts for others. Myrrha. I would remain: I have no happiness Save in beholding thine; yet - Sard. Yet, what YET? Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier Which ever rises betwixt thee and me. Myrrha. I think the present is the wonted hour Of council; it were better I retire. said, let all dispose their hours Till midnight, when again we pray your presence. [The court retiring. (To Myrrha, who is going) Myrrha! I thought thou wouldst remain. Myrrha. Great king, Thou didst not say so. Sard. But thou lookedst it; SCENE II.-Enter SARDANAPALUS effeminately dressed, his Head crowned with Flow-know each glance of those Ionic eyes, ers, and his Robe negligently flowing, attended by a Train of Women and young Slaves. Sardanapalus (speaking to some of his Let the pavilion over the Euphrates And bid the galley be prepared. There is A cooling breeze which crisps the broad clear river: We will embark anon. Fair nymphs, who deign Which said thou wouldst not leave me. Myrrha, Sire! your brother— Sal. His consort's brother, minion of Ionia! How darest thou name me and not blush? Sard. Not blush! Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her crimson Like to the dying day on Caucasus, Where sunset tints the snow with rosy shadows, And then reproach her with thine own cold blindness, Which will not see it. What, in tears, my Myrrha? Sal. Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one, To share the soft hours of Sardanapalus, And is herself the cause of bitterer tear Thinkst thou there is no tyranny but that Whose delegated cruelty surpasses A foreign foe invade, or civil broil conquer; The last they rather would assist than vanquish. Sard. Why what makes thee the mouthpiece of the people? Sal. Forgiveness of the queen my sister's wrongs; A natural love unto my infant nephews; Sal. To thee an unknown word. I love to learn. Sal. Virtue. Beyond his palace-walls, or if he stirs Beyond them, 'tis but to some mountainpalace. Till summer-heats wear down. O glorious Baal! Who built up this vast empire, and wert made A god, or at the least shinest like a god Through the long centuries of thy renown, This, thy presumed descendant, ne'er beheld As king the kingdoms thou didst leave as hero, Won with thy blood, and toil, and time, and peril! For what? to furnish imposts for a revel, Or multiplied extortions for a minion. Sard. I understand thee-thou wouldst Sal. Why, like a man—a hero; baffled, but | And skirts of these our realms lie not, Not vanquish'd. With but twenty guards, she made Good her retreat to Bactria. Sard. And how many Left she behind in India to the vultures? Sard. Then I will say for them— Have fled to Bactria, leaving to the ravens, And wolves, and men-the fiercer of the three, Her myriads of fond subjects. Is this glory? Then let me live in ignominy ever. Sal. All warlike spirits have not the Semiramis, the glorious parent of Brought Persia, Media, Bactria, to the realm Which she once sway'd—and thou mightst| sway. Sard. I sway them- That they will need her sword more than your sceptre. Sard. There was a certain Bacchus, was there not? I've heard my Greek girls speak of suchthey say He was a god, that is, a Grecian god, Thou prat'st of, where Semiramis was vanquish'd. Sal. I have heard of such a man; and thou perceiv'st That he is deem'd a god for what he did. Sard. And in his godship I will honour him Not much as man. What, ho! my cupbearer! Enter Cupbearer. say. this Bacchus Conquer'd the whole of India, did he not? few columns, Which may be his, and might be mine, if I Thought them worth purchase and con veyance, are The landmarks of the seas of gore he shed, The realms he wasted, and the hearts he broke. But here, here in this goblet is his title To gladden that of man, as some atonement I Sal. For all thy realms would not so blaspheme our country's creed. Sard. That is to say, thou thinkest him a hero, That he shed blood by oceans; and no god, Because he turn'd a fruit to an enchantment, Which cheers the sad,revives the old,inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls. Well, then, I pledge thee And him as a true man, who did his utmost In good or evil to surprise mankind. [Drinks. Sal. Wilt thou resume a revel at this hour? Sard. And if I did, 'twere better than a trophy, Being bought without a tear. But that is not My present purpose: since thou wilt not pledge me, Continue what thou pleasest. [Exit Cupbearer. Sal. I would but have recall'd thee from thy dream: Better by me awaken'd than rebellion. Sard. Who should rebel? or why? what cause? pretext? I am the lawful king, descended from Sal. Of what thou hast done to me, speak not. Sard. But Thou thinkst that I have wrong`d the queen: is't not so? Sal. Think! Thou hast wrong'd her! |