And view with joy the festive rites that wait us;
I from thy hand this happy day receive
A gift more precious than the throne of Cyrus:
What age of service can repay such goodness!
I cannot speak the feelings of my heart.
Witness, ye Gods!-not Hermodon more shares
My duty or my love:-Ah! whence those sighs?
They flow from tenderness and former cares:
If, amidst all my griefs, this faithful union
Should heal some wound which rankles near my
The scar would still remain-For blessings oft
Recal to mind the evils we have suffered.
O! speak the fatal source of each misfortune;
If not redress, we may at least infuse
The sacred balm of sympathizing pity.
For all the friendship we have firmly sworn,
Thou ow'st this tribute to us.
Zobeide, thou know'st, submits, her will to mine;
She is the only good the gods have left me:
I wish this marriage-I'll advise, persuade,
But cannot strain the bond of rightful sway,
The soft authority of friend and parent.
Go, thou dear hope of my declining age,
I would some private conf'rence here-Meanwhile,
Artless as native truth, still urge thy suit,
Obtain her promise, and depend on mine.
Ere I begin the story of my life,
Let me gaze round with grateful rapture here; Believe me, Hermodon-these rocks, these trees, To me seem nobler than the Persian court.
Thy griefs, pent up, have prey'd upon thy heart:
I do not hate the great-I love the Persians;
Their laws and noble manners I admire ;
Tho' all mankind at first were equal born,
I strictly hold that subjects should obey
Those whom their gods make delegates of power:
Simplicity's soft charms, in this republic,
Are no fit lessons for monarchic states.
Could'st thou suppose that I was less attach'd
Because in Scythia-
The source of my misfortunes-pardon me,
Pardon a parent's doubts-I'd lost my all:
My child here wander'd friendless-unprotected-
I fear'd the foul disgraces of her father
Would fall on her, and stain her rising glory.
Know then, that under Cyrus
I carried terror to th' affrighted nations.
Hircania bow'd her neck unto my yoke,
Hircania free till then.
HERMODON.
Most harsh the chains
Which gall the stubborn neck of liberty!
Oppression's arts, unworthy of the brave,
To be the Prince's slave, t'enslave his people,
To crouch, or cruelly exact obedience,
Dazzled awhile-but now demand repentance.
The noble Cyrus, with a lavish hand,
Would heap on me full measure of rewards;
I ever was the partner of his counsels-
But Cyrus died-and I was soon forgotten.
Cambyses I abandon'd-impious man!
Unworthy successor of such a father!
Ecbatan, as yet the abode of Media's Prince,
At her new court concealed my hoary head,
Till Smerdis, governing the Median realm,
Smerdis, who sought the ruin of the virtuous,
Gave a decisive blow to all my hopes;
The unbridled Athamand, his sister's son,
In firm alliance with a noble princess,
Whom Persia's court had destin'd to his love,
(His tyrant passions brooking no controul,)
Demanded Zobeide as despotic master.
And did his life repay the glaring outrage?
Thrice arm'd with innocence, th’undaunted fair
Compell'd our flight into this distant land;
By me alone she was deliver'd from him ;
The monsters, who surround the impious Smerdis,
More than their common arts employ'd against us;
With fairest colours hid the worst designs,
And couch'd the dagger, lab'ring to destroy us,
In Media it is treason, as at Babylon,
To brand the prince who next must fill the throne,
O dire effects of hell-born servitude!
Is then complaint a crime in Persia's court? you regret the loss of basest grandeur?
There you awake the thought which wrings my heart.
Smerdis proscrib'd my life-they seiz'd-they shar'd
Employments-wealth-the price of all my service.
My faithful child accompanied my flight;
With patient steps we labour'd up the steep
Of Taurus' craggy cliffs, whose o'erhung brow
Indignant frowns upon the boist'rous main.
Wearied by toils-thanks to the pitying gods!
In these fair climes we found unhoped-for peace:
Would I had here been born! All my regret
Is to have run a desperate mad career
In courts and camps, attendant upon kings.
But I perceive my child shut up in desarts,
Regrets the pleasures of her former life;
And much I fear that reason, filial duty,
Combat too weakly each delusive vision :
Courts and their pomp will fascinate our eyes
Ere bitter ills annoy the sick'ning soul.
What ills await you here? ah! what regret?
With us she's free, appluaded-honour'd—
No lurking dangers taint this hallow'd soil;
Here liberty has fixt her blest abode,
And looks with pity down upon the great.
Oh! I should die content, if my dear child
Hated, like me, the perfidy of courts :
But let not my inquietudes repress
The dawning joys that beam upon thy son.
Conceal them from him.
The blooming maid accepts my earnest suit; Let not my father or his generous friend Frown on my fate, and I am blest indeed!
Our wish, my son, is to behold thee happy.
Auspicious hour! I feel my life renew;
A second spring shoots through my aged veins, And makes me hope return of better days.
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