When you have spoken they’ll support your choice;
If not, with sword in hand within this shrine,
Cassander will your plighted faith require;
What he possessed he has a right to claim,
Though with just horror he inspires your soul.
olympia.
Enough, your apprehensions I conceive,
My soul shall never to complaint give way:
To fate I yield, you all its rigor know. . . . .
My choice already in my heart is made:
I have resolved.—
the hierophants.
—Then shall Antigones
Be happy, and your plighted faith receive?
olympia.
Howe’er that be, this juncture, Sir, ill suits
With such engagements; you yourself must own
The fatal day on which a mother died,
Should quite engross a daughter’s every thought. . .
Must you not bear her to the funeral pile?
the hierophants.
’Tis ours that mournful duty to perform:
All that remains of her an urn shall hold;
Her ashes to deposit be your care.
olympia.
Alas! her guilty daughter caused her death,
Something that daughter owes her injured shade.
the hierophants.
All things I’ll now prepare.—
olympia.
—Say, do your laws
Permit me to behold her on the pile?
May I approach the funeral pomp, and shed
Tears on her body while the flames ascend?
the hierophants.
It is your duty, we partake your grief.
You’ve naught to dread, those armed rivals now
Will not presume your sorrows to disturb.
Present perfumes, your veils and locks of hair,
And a libation, offering sad, but pure.
[The priestesses lay these offerings on the altar.
olympia.
[To the Hierophants.
This is the only favor I require.
[To the inferior priestess.
You who attended her in this abode
Of death, and shared the horrors of her fate,
Return and give me notice when the fire
Is ready to consume those loved remains:
Since ’tis permitted, let my last farewell
Her manes satisfy.—
priestess.
I shall obey.
[Exit.
olympia.
[To the Hierophants.
Go, holy priest, the sacred pile erect,
Prepare the wreaths of cypress and the urn:
Bid the two rivals to the pile repair,
I in their presence will explain myself
Before my mother’s corpse, and in the sight
Of holy priestesses, who to my woes
And to my promises can witness bear,
My sentiments, my choice shall be declared;
You must approve them, though perhaps you’ll grieve.
the hierophants.
You still are mistress of your destiny:
This day expired, your freedom will be o’er.
[Exit with the priests.
SCENE IV.
olympia.
[At the front of the stage, the priestesses in a semi-circle at the bottom.]
olympia.
Oh thou who to my shame dost still enslave
My heart, which has deliberately made choice;
Who o’er Statira dead dost triumph still,
O’er Alexander and their hapless race!
O’er earth and heaven against thee both conspired.
Reign, hapless lover, o’er my tortured sense:
If you still love me, which I scarce can wish,
Your fatal victory will cost you dear.
SCENE V.
olympia, cassander, the priestesses.
cassander.
Your wishes to fulfil, I hither come;
This fatal pile shall with my blood be stained.
Accept my death; the only hope I’ve left
Is that your pity, not you vengeance, asks it.
olympia.
Cassander!
cassander.
Dearest wife!
olympia.
Ah, cruel man!
cassander.
No pardon for this criminal remains,
The hapless slave of cruel destiny;
To be a parricide was still my fate:
Still I am thy husband: Spite of all my crimes,
My soul Olympia idolizes still.
Although you hate me, Hymen’s rites respect:
You have no tie on earth except to me:
’Tis death alone can separate our fates;
I must, in dying, see you and adore.
[He throws himself at her feet.
Wreak vengeance on my guilty head, my crimes
Severely punish, but forsake me not.
Hymen’s more sacred are than nature’s ties.
olympia.
Rise, rise, the funeral rites profane no more,
No more profane the ashes of the dead.
Whilst on the dreadful pile the flames consume
My mother’s body, don’t pollute the gifts
Which here I at the funeral pile present:
Do not approach, but at a distance hear me.
SCENE VI.
olympia,