The Works of Lord Byron Volume V Part 18

_Sal._ Is power Omnipotent o'er such a heart as his: Exert it wisely. [_Exit_ SALEMENES.

_Sar._ Myrrha! what, at whispers With my stern brother? I shall soon be jealous.

_Myr._ (_smiling_).

You have cause, Sire; for on the earth there breathes not A man more worthy of a woman's love, A soldier's trust, a subject's reverence, A king's esteem--the whole world's admiration!

_Sar._ Praise him, but not so warmly. I must not 430 Hear those sweet lips grow eloquent in aught That throws me into shade; yet you speak truth.

_Myr._ And now retire, to have your wound looked to, Pray lean on me.

_Sar._ Yes, love! but not from pain.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--SARDANAPALUS _discovered sleeping upon a Couch, and occasionally disturbed in his slumbers, with_ MYRRHA _watching_.

_Myr._ (_sola, gazing_).

I have stolen upon his rest, if rest it be, Which thus convulses slumber: shall I wake him?

No, he seems calmer. Oh, thou G.o.d of Quiet!

Whose reign is o'er sealed eyelids and soft dreams, Or deep, deep sleep, so as to be unfathomed, Look like thy brother, Death,[23]--so still, so stirless-- For then we are happiest, as it may be, we Are happiest of all within the realm Of thy stern, silent, and unwakening Twin.

Again he moves--again the play of pain 10 Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust Crisps the reluctant lake that lay so calm[ac]

Beneath the mountain shadow; or the blast Ruffles the autumn leaves, that drooping cling Faintly and motionless to their loved boughs.

I must awake him--yet not yet; who knows From what I rouse him? It seems pain; but if I quicken him to heavier pain? The fever Of this tumultuous night, the grief too of His wound, though slight, may cause all this, and shake 20 Me more to see than him to suffer. No: Let Nature use her own maternal means, And I await to second, not disturb her.

_Sar._ (_awakening_).

Not so--although he multiplied the stars, And gave them to me as a realm to share From you and with you! I would not so purchase The empire of Eternity. Hence--hence-- Old Hunter of the earliest brutes! and ye,[ad]

Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes!

Once b.l.o.o.d.y mortals--and now bloodier idols, 30 If your priests lie not! And thou, ghastly Beldame!

Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on The carca.s.ses of Inde--away! away!

Where am I? Where the spectres? Where--No--that Is no false phantom: I should know it 'midst All that the dead dare gloomily raise up From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha!

_Myr._ Alas! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops Gather like night dew. My beloved, hush-- Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world, 40 And thou art lord of this. Be of good cheer; All will go well.

_Sar._ Thy _hand_--so--'tis thy hand; 'Tis flesh; grasp--clasp--yet closer, till I feel Myself that which I was.

_Myr._ At least know me For what I am, and ever must be--thine.

_Sar._ I know it now. I know this life again.

Ah, Myrrha! I have been where we shall be.

_Myr._ My lord!

_Sar._ I've been i' the grave--where worms are lords And kings are----But I did not deem it so; I thought 'twas nothing.

_Myr._ So it is; except 50 Unto the timid, who antic.i.p.ate That which may never be.

_Sar._ Oh, Myrrha! if Sleep shows such things, what may not Death disclose?

_Myr._ I know no evil Death can show, which Life Has not already shown to those who live Embodied longest. If there be indeed A sh.o.r.e where Mind survives, 'twill be as Mind All unincorporate: or if there flits A shadow of this c.u.mbrous clog of clay.

Which stalks, methinks, between our souls and heaven, 60 And fetters us to earth--at least the phantom, Whate'er it have to fear, will not fear Death.

_Sar._ I fear it not; but I have felt--have seen-- A legion of the dead.

_Myr._ And so have I.

The dust we tread upon was once alive, And wretched. But proceed: what hast thou seen?

Speak it, 'twill lighten thy dimmed mind.

_Sar._ Methought----

_Myr._ Yet pause, thou art tired--in pain--exhausted; all Which can impair both strength and spirit: seek Rather to sleep again.

_Sar._ Not now--I would not 70 Dream; though I know it now to be a dream What I have dreamt:--and canst thou bear to hear it?

_Myr._ I can bear all things, dreams of life or death, Which I partic.i.p.ate with you in semblance Or full reality.

_Sar._ And this looked real, I tell you: after that these eyes were open, I saw them in their flight--for then they fled.

_Myr._ Say on.

_Sar._ I saw, that is, I dreamed myself Here--here--even where we are, guests as we were, Myself a host that deemed himself but guest, 80 Willing to equal all in social freedom; But, on my right hand and my left, instead Of thee and Zames, and our customed meeting, Was ranged on my left hand a haughty, dark, And deadly face; I could not recognise it, Yet I had seen it, though I knew not where: The features were a Giant's, and the eye Was still, yet lighted; his long locks curled down On his vast bust, whence a huge quiver rose With shaft-heads feathered from the eagle's wing, 90 That peeped up bristling through his serpent hair.[ae]

I invited him to fill the cup which stood Between us, but he answered not; I filled it; He took it not, but stared upon me, till I trembled at the fixed glare of his eye: I frowned upon him as a king should frown; He frowned not in his turn, but looked upon me With the same aspect, which appalled me more, Because it changed not; and I turned for refuge To milder guests, and sought them on the right, 100 Where thou wert wont to be. But---- [_He pauses_.

_Myr._ What instead?

_Sar._ In thy own chair--thy own place in the banquet-- I sought thy sweet face in the circle--but Instead--a grey-haired, withered, b.l.o.o.d.y-eyed, And b.l.o.o.d.y-handed, ghastly, ghostly thing, Female in garb, and crowned upon the brow, Furrowed with years, yet sneering with the pa.s.sion Of vengeance, leering too with that of l.u.s.t, Sate:--my veins curdled.[24]

_Myr._ Is this all?

_Sar._ Upon Her right hand--her lank, bird-like, right hand--stood 110 A goblet, bubbling o'er with blood; and on Her left, another, filled with--what I saw not, But turned from it and her. But all along The table sate a range of crowned wretches, Of various aspects, but of one expression.

_Myr._ And felt you not this a mere vision?

_Sar._ No: It was so palpable, I could have touched them.

I turned from one face to another, in The hope to find at last one which I knew Ere I saw theirs: but no--all turned upon me, 120 And stared, but neither ate nor drank, but stared, Till I grew stone, as they seemed half to be, Yet breathing stone, for I felt life in them, And life in me: there was a horrid kind Of sympathy between us, as if they Had lost a part of death to come to me, And I the half of life to sit by them.

We were in an existence all apart From heaven or earth----And rather let me see Death all than such a being!

_Myr._ And the end? 130

_Sar._ At last I sate, marble, as they, when rose The Hunter and the Crone; and smiling on me-- Yes, the enlarged but n.o.ble aspect of The Hunter smiled upon me--I should say, His lips, for his eyes moved not--and the woman's Thin lips relaxed to something like a smile.

Both rose, and the crowned figures on each hand Rose also, as if aping their chief shades-- Mere mimics even in death--but I sate still: A desperate courage crept through every limb, 140 And at the last I feared them not, but laughed Full in their phantom faces. But then--then The Hunter laid his hand on mine: I took it, And grasped it--but it melted from my own; While he too vanished, and left nothing but The memory of a hero, for he looked so.

_Myr._ And was: the ancestor of heroes, too, And thine no less.

_Sar._ Aye, Myrrha, but the woman, The female who remained, she flew upon me, And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses; 150 And, flinging down the goblets on each hand, Methought their poisons flowed around us, till Each formed a hideous river. Still she clung; The other phantoms, like a row of statues, Stood dull as in our temples, but she still Embraced me, while I shrunk from her, as if, In lieu of her remote descendant, I Had been the son who slew her for her incest.[25]

Then--then--a chaos of all loathsome things Thronged thick and shapeless: I was dead, yet feeling-- 160 Buried, and raised again--consumed by worms, Purged by the flames, and withered in the air!