The din of factions, the intrigues of courts,
The passions that distract the human soul
Have never troubled our obscure retreats;
We lift pure hands unto the God we serve.
Contests of kings too much to discord prone
We learn but with intention to compose:
And of their greatness we should never hear
Did they not often need our friendly prayers.
I go, my lord, to invoke the immortal gods
For you, Olympia, and for many more.
cassander.
Olympia!
the hierophantes.
This moment to the temple she returns.
Try if she still will own you for her lord.
I leave you.
[He goes out, and the temple opens.
SCENE III.
cassander, sosthenes, statira, olympia.
cassander.
By heaven she trembles! and I quake all o’er;
You cast upon the ground your streaming eyes!
You turn aside that face where nature’s hand
With the most strong expression traced at once
The noblest and the tenderest of souls!
olympia.
[Throwing herself into her mother’s arms.
Ah cruel man! ah madam!
cassander.
Speak, explain
This agitation. Wherefore do you fly me?
Whose arms do you run into? What means this?
Why must my anxious soul be thus alarmed?
Who is’t attends and bathes you with her tears?
statira.
[Unveiling and turning towards Cassander.
Hast thou forgot me?—
cassander.
—At that voice, those looks
My blood runs cold. Where am I? What means this?
statira.
That thou’rt a villain—
cassander.
Is Statira here?
statira.
Behold, thou wretch, the widow of thy lord,
Olympia’s mother.—
cassander.
Oh you bolts of Jove,
Against my guilty head point all your rage.
statira.
Thou shouldst have sooner for destruction prayed,
Eternal enemy of me and mine,
If ’twas the will of heaven that both my throne
And husband to thy rage should owe their fall,
If amidst carnage, in that day of crimes
Thy cowardice and cruelty was such,
That thou couldst pierce a woman’s breast, and plunge
Her body in the flood of gore she shed,
Leave me what of that hapless blood remains.
Must you be ever fatal to my peace?
Tear not my daughter from my heart, my arms,
Deprive me not of her whom heaven restores,
Respect the place of refuge which I’ve chosen,
That from earth’s tyrants I might live retired.
Monster to crimes inured, cease, cease at length
In sacred tombs to persecute the dead.
cassander.
Less dread the voice of thunder would inspire;
I dare not prostrate kiss the ground before you;
I own I am made unworthy by my crimes,
If in excuse war’s horrors I should urge,
If I should say I was imposed upon
When the illustrious hero was cut off;
That I to serve my sire took arms against you,
I should not pacify your angry soul.
You’ll no excuse admit, though I might say
I saved your daughter whom my soul adores;
That at your feet I lay my crown and realms.
All makes against me, no defence you’ll hear,
Soon to my wretched life I’ll put an end,
A life whose punishment outweighs its guilt,
If your own child, spite of herself and me,
Did not attach me to detested life.
Your daughter I brought up with tender care,
And to her friends’ and father’s place supplied;
She has my every wish, my heart; the gods
Perhaps have made us in this temple meet,
That we by Hymen’s sacred ties might change,
The horrors of our destiny to bliss.
statira.
Heavens! what a match. Could you the villain wed
Who slew your sire, and would have murdered me?
olympia.
No, no, extinguished ever be the torch,
The guilty torch of nuptials so accursed:
Blot from my heart the shocking memory
Of those dire bands which were to join our hands.
My soul prefers, you’ll wonder at the choice,
Your ashes to the sceptre he bestows.
I must not hesitate; in your kind arms,
Let me forget his love, and all his crimes.
Your daughter loving him partook his guilt.
Forgive me, my dire sacrifice accept:
Think not his villainies involve my heart,
But keep me, keep me ever from his sight.
statira.
Thou showest a spirit worthy of thy race,
These sentiments revive my drooping soul.
Eternal gods, could you have then decreed
That with these hands I should Olympia give
To the most barbarous of the human race?
Can you exact it of me? Such a deed
The priestess and the mother both disclaim.
You pitied me, it was not your design
That I so dire a duty should perform . . . .
Villain, no more the altar and the throne
Insult, the walls of Babylon you stained
With this heart’s blood, but I would rather see
That blood shed now by such a parricide,