By the strange visiting of hope, pressed round him!
But, by his head erect and fiery glance,
I know that he is well, and that he bears
A message which shall shake the tyrant. [Shouts without.] See!
The throng is tending this way—now it parts
And yields him to thy arms.
Medon. Welcome, my Phocion
Long waited for in Argos; how detained
Now matters not, since thou art here in joy.
Hast brought the answer of the god ?*
Pho. I have:
Now let Adrastus tremble!
Medon. May we hear it?
Pho. I am sworn first to utter it to him.
Ctes. But it is fatal to him!—say but that!
Pho. Ha, Ctesiphon !-I marked thee not before;
How fares thy father?
Ion [to PHOCION.] Do not speak of him.
Ctes. [overhearing ION.] Not speak of him! Dost think
When common things eclipse the burning thought
Of him and vengeance?
Pho. Has the tyrant's sword
Ctes. No, Phocion; that were merciful and brave
Compared to his base deed; yet will I tell it
To make the flashing of thine eye more deadly,
And edge thy words that they may rive his heart-strings.
The last time that Adrastus dared to face
The sages of the state, although my father,
Yielding to nature's mild decay, had left
All worldly toil and hope, he gathered strength,
In his old seat to speak one word of warning.
Thou know'st how bland with years his wisdom grew,
And with what phrases, steeped in love, he sheathed
The sharpness of rebuke; yet, ere his speech
Was closed, the tyrant started from his throne,
And with his base hand smote him;-'t was his death-stroke! The old man tottered home, and only once
* Phocion had been dispatched to consult the oracle of Apollo, on what remedy might be found for the plague which was desolating Argos.
Pho. Thou wert absent? Yes! The royal miscreant lives.
Ctes. Had I beheld
That sacrilege, the tyrant had lain dead,
Or I had been torn piecemeal by his minions.
But I was far away; when I returned,
I found my father on the nearest bench
Within our door, his thinly silvered head
Supported by wan hands, which hid his face,
And would not be withdrawn; no groan, no sigh
Was audible, and we might only learn,
By short convulsive tremblings of his frame,
That life still flickered in it-yet at last,
By some unearthly inspiration roused,
He dropped his withered hands, and sat erect
As in his manhood's glory-the free blood
Flushed crimson through his cheeks, his furrowed brow
Expanded clear, and his eyes opening full,
Gleamed with a youthful fire;-I fell in awe
Upon my knees before him-still he spake not,
But slowly raised his arm untrembling; clenched
His hand as if it grasped an airy knife,
And struck in air: my hand was joined with his
In nervous grasp my lifted eye met his
In steadfast gaze-my pressure answered his
We knew at once each other's thought; a smile
Of the old sweetness played upon his lips,
And life forsook him. Weaponless I flew
To seek the tyrant, and was driven with scoffs
From the proud gates which shelter him. He lives—
And I am here to babble of revenge!
Pho. It comes, my friend-haste with me to the king!
Ion. Even while we speak, Adrastus meets his council,
There let us seek him: should ye find him touched
With penitence, as happily ye may,
Oh, give allowance to his softened nature!
Ctes. Show grace to him!-Dost dare?—I had forgot.
Thou dost not know how a son loves a father!
Ion. I know enough to feel for thee; I know
Thou hast endured the vilest wrongs that tyranny
In its worst frenzy can inflict;-yet think,
O think! before the irrevocable deed
Shuts out all thought, how much of power's excess
Is theirs who raise the idol :-do we groan
Beneath the personal force of this rash mar,
Who forty summers since hung at the breast
A playful weakling; whom the heat unnerves;
The north-wind pierces; and the hand of death
May, in a moment, change, to clay as vile
As that of the scourged slave whose chains it severs?
No! 'tis our weakness gasping, or the shows
Of outward strength that builds up tyranny,
And makes it look so glorious :-If we shrink
Faint-hearted from the reckoning of our span.
Of mortal days, we pamper the fond wish
For long duration in a line of kings:
If the rich pageantry of thoughts must fade,
All unsubstantial. as the regal hues
Of eve which purpled them, our cunning frailty
Must robe a living image with their pomp,
And wreathe a diadem around its brow,
In which our sunny fantasies may live
Empearled, and gleam, in fatal splendor, far
On after ages.
We must look within
For that which makes us slaves ;-on sympathies
Which find no kindred objects in the plain
Of common life-affections that aspire
In air too thin-and fancy's dewy film
Floating for rest: for even such delicate threads,
Gathered by fate's engrossing hand, supply
The eternal spindle whence she weaves the bond
Of cable strength in which our nature struggles!
Ctes. Go, talk to others, if thou wilt;-to me
All argument, save that of steel, is idle.
Medon. No more ;-let's to the council-there, my son, Tell thy great message nobly; and for thee,
Poor orphaned youth, be sure the gods are just! [Exeunt.]
Ex. CCXLI.-SCENE FROM KING JOHN-ACT II.
KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, and CITIZENS OF ANGIERS.
K. John. You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects,K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, Our trumpet called you to this gentle parle.
K. John. For our advantage;-Therefore hear us first.
These flags of France, that are advanced here
Before the eye and prospect of our town,
Have hither march'd to your endamagement:
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath;
And ready mounted are they to spit forth
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls:
All preparation for a bloody siege,
And merciless proceeding by these French,
Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates;
And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones
That as a waist do girdle you about,
By the compulsion of their ordinance
By this time from their fixed beds of lime
Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
But, on the sight of us, your lawful king,—
Who painfully with much expedient march,
Have brought a countercheck before your gates,
To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks,—
Behold, the French, amazed, vouchsafe a parle :
And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
To make a shaking fever in your walls,
They shout but calm words, folded up in smoke,
To make a faithless error in your ears:
Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
And let us in, your king; whose labor'd spirits,
For-wearied in this action of swift speed,
Crave harborage within your city walls.
K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us both: Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet;
Son to the elder brother of this man,
And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys:
For this down-trodden equity, we tread
In warlike march these greens before your town,
Being no further enemy to you,
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal,
In the relief of this oppressed child,
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
To pay that duty, which you truly owe,
To him that owes it; namely, this young prince,
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up;
Our cannon's malice vainly shall be spent
Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven;
And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd,
We will bear home that lusty blood again,
Which here we came to spout against your town,
And leave your children, wives, and you in peace.
But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls
Can hide you from our messengers of war:
Though all these English, and their discipline,
Were harbor'd in their rude circumference.
Then, tell us, shall our city call us lord,
In that behalf which we have challenged it?
Or shall we give the signal to our rage,
And stalk in blood to our possession?
1st Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's subjects; For him, and in his right we hold this town.
K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in.
1st Cit. That can we not: but he that proves the king, To him will we prove loyal; till that time,
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.
K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove the king? And, if not that, I bring you witness,
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,—
1st Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both.
K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls,
That to their everlasting residence,
Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet,
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!
K. Phi. Amen! Amen!-Mount, chevaliers, to arms!
Ex. CCXLII.-SCENE FROM KING RICHARD II.
KING RICHARD, BOLINGBROKE, and NORFOLK,
Boling. First, (Heaven be the record to my speech!)
In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from misbegotten hate,
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