Perhaps the tyrant at thy flight enrag'd,
Demands thy rated life--A spotless chief Must sometimes bleed to save the guilty prince.
Forgetting princes in these happier climes,
I am forgotten too-I fear them not.
We'll perish all, ere this indignant stranger
Shall offer insult to my more than father.
Whoe'er he be, I shall not shun his walks :
If bold, chastise; if exil'd, we'll protect him.
Let him come on-he shall not cloud our joys;
A Scythian's heart is steel'd 'gainst panic terrors.
Prepare the altar for th' approaching nuptials;
Place round it ev'ry gift of bounteous Nature,
And there present the hand that combats for thee;
[to SEYFEL.
No cares intrude; and may th' immortal Gods
Bending from high to hear our plighted vows,
Propitious smile on this important hour,
That gilds or darkens all my future days.
BUT what are your resolves?
And pass my days in this wild savage desart.
They shall not see me wearied with an effort
To wait the death of a determin'd father;
Nor irritate a power which condemns him.
When to these climes our flight was first propos'd,
A thousand horrid fears besieg'd my fancy;
But time has reconcil'd these drear abodes:
'Tis no more Zobeide at a court ador'd,
No more the Persians, jealous of my smiles,
Pursue the footsteps of declining beauty;
I've sworn a total change of life and manners,
My only pride to emulate a father.
Your virtue far surpasses your misfortunes;
In your abasement I behold your grandeur;
I must admire you all;-is your heart fixt
To shun the climes where nature gave you birth?
When dangers threaten, or when ills impend,
We shun the country which disturbs our quiet;
But soon, the clouds dispers'd, we feel regret,
We feel for pleasures which we never knew,
And nature triumphs o'er our vanquish'd fears.
From the loud raging of a vengeful storm
Heav'n grants this gloomy shelter—here, my friend,
Now all-resign'd, awhile I will endure,
Nor shall you longer share my adverse fortunes :
Among those friends, who have abandon'd me,
You'll find some mind compassionate enough
To recompense the gratitude I owe you.
Go, my dear Sulma, leave me to my fate-
Review proud Ecbatan's most happy people,
And in these desarts leave your faithful Zobeide.
Rather let sudden death pursue such perfidy,
If ever I conceive the base design,
Remote from you to court ignoble grandeur :
I forfeit all for you:-your destiny,
E'en to the tomb, is closely link'd with mine:
But yet I own, with horror and surprize,
I see those charms, which monarchs should adore,
Ignobly lavish'd on a Scythian peasant.
When I reflect on the indignant outrage
Done to my youth, my family, and name,
A fatal offspring of th' immortal Cyrus ;
Banish'd for ever from the Persian court,
For ever bound to curse the faithless Athamand;
When these fell woes are summon'd to my view. All human things are equal to my eyes;
Do those deep sighs betray a tranquil mind ?
Cease to disturb the vows I've sworn to heav'n;
I never will review my native land;
If my frail heart would swerve from duty's path,
It must be bound in chains which can't be broken.
Th' unhappy father's voluntary victim,
With what reproaches can you load your mind?
With none. Gods! I renew my vows-never-Ye never shall behold the guilt of Zobeide.
[The back scene opens and discloses the altar. My happier friends, without regret, prepare Those fatal chains, which bind these hands for ever.
Where is the lovely bride?—the rites await—
Impatience chides the tardiness of age,
Whose frozen foot imprints the rocky soil!
O let me hear thee speak!-read in those eyes
That I'm the happy object of thy choice!
Marriage with us is as a link of nature
Form'd between souls most liberal and pure :
A warlike youth entreats a warrior's daughter;
Will she partake his travels and his fortunes,
Attend his combats, or avenge his death?
Shall Scythia rival Persia in her pride,
And I receive the world's best gift in Zobeide ?
I know thy virtues, and esteem thy valour,
Thy open candour, and thy generous heart;
I promise thee, I've promis'd too my father-
His choice and mine are sureties for the treaty.
You speak a language foreign to my
And whilst you make me blest, destroy the blessing. "Tis said within the walls of Ecbatan,
Those eyes have spread a lustre through the court;
But tell me, Zobeide-is it my misfortune,
Did heav'n ordain thee to adorn a throne?
It is not thy misfortune-it is mine
My memory retraces not my glory-
I have forgotten all.
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