SCENE I.

Zelm. THROUGH the wide camp 'tis awful solitude!

On every tent, which, at the morning's dawn,
Rung with the din of arms, deep silence sits,
Adding new terrors to the dreadful scene!
My heart dies in me!-hark! with hideous roar
The turbulent Araxes foams along,
And rolls his torrent through yon depth of woods!
'Tis terrible to hear!--who's there?-Zopiron !
Enter ZOPIRON.

Zelm. My lord; my husband!—help me; lend your aid!

Zop. Why didst thou leave thy tent?-Why

thus afflict

Thy anxious breast, thou partner of my heart? Why wilt thou thus distract thy tender nature With groundless fears? Ere yonder sun shall visit

The western sky, all will be hushed to peace.

Zelm. The interval is horrid; big with woe, With consternation, peril, and dismay! And oh! if here, while yet the fate of nations,

Suspended, hangs upon the doubtful sword,
If here the trembling heart thus shrink with
horror,

Here in these tents, in this unpeopled camp,
Oh! think, Zopiron, in yon field of death,
Where numbers soon in purple heaps shall
bleed,

What feelings there must throb in every breast?
How long, ambition, wilt thou stalk the earth,
And thus lay waste mankind!-

Zop. This day, at length,
The warlike king, victorious Pharasmanes,
Closes the scene of war. The Roman bands
But ill can cope with the embattled numbers
Asia pours forth, a firm, undaunted host!
A nation under arms! and every bosom
To deeds of glory fired!-Iberia then-

Zelm. Perish Iberia !-may the sons of Rome
Pour rapid vengeance on her falling ranks,
That he, who tramples on the rights of nature,
May see his vassals overwhelmed in ruin,
May from yon field be led in sullen chains,
Το
grace the triumph of imperial Rome,
And from the assembled senate humbly learn
The dictates of humanity and justice!

And check the rising ardour that inflames thee! The tyrant spares nor sex nor innocence.

Zelm. Indignant of controul, he spurns each law,

Each holy sanction, that restrains the nations, And forms 'twixt man and man the bond of peace.

Zop. This is the tyger's den; with human gore For ever floats the pavement; with the shrieks Of matrons weeping o'er their slaughtered sons, The cries of virgins, to the brutal arms Of violation dragged, with ceaseless groans Of varied misery, for ever rings

The dreary region of his cursed domain.

Zelm. To multiply his crimes, a beauteous captive,

The afflicted Ariana-she-for her,

For that fair excellence my bosom bleeds!
She, in the prime of every blooming grace,
When next the glowing hour of riot comes,
Shall fall a victim to his base desires-

Zop. The bounteous gods may succour virtue still!

In this day's battle, which perhaps ere now The charging hosts have joined, should Roman valour

Prevail o'er Asia's numbers

Zelm. That event

Support her; help her;-lo! the attendant train
Have caught her in their arms!-Assist her,
Heaven,

Assuage the sorrows of her gentle spirit!
Her fluttering sense returns;-and now this way
The virgins lead her. May the avenging gods,
In pity of the woes such virtue feels,
In pity of the wrongs a world endures,
With power resistless arm the Roman legions,
That they may hurl, in one collected blow,
Assured destruction on the tyrant's head!

Enter ZENOBIA, leaning on two attendants. Zen. A little onward, still a little onward Support my steps

For others' woes. Methinks, with strength renewed,

I could adventure forth again.

Second attend. "Twere best Repose your wearied spirits-we will seek Yon rising ground, and bring the swiftest tidings Of all the mingled tumult.

Zen. Go, my virgins;

Watch well each movement of the marshalled

field;

Each turn of fortune;-let me know it all;
Each varying circumstance.

Zel. And will you thus,

Be doomed for ever, Ariana, thus
A willing prey to visionary ills,
The self-consuming votarist of care?

Zen. Alas! I'm doomed to weep-the wrath of
Heaven,

With inexhausted vengeance, follows still,
And each day comes with aggravated woes.
Zel. Yet, when Iberia's king, when Pharasmaacs,
With all a lover's fondness-

Zen. Name him not!

Name not a monster horrible with blood,
The widow's, orphan's, and the virgin's tears!
Zel. Yet, savage as he is, at sight of thee
Each fiercer passion softens into love.
Το you he bends; the monarch of the east,
Dejected, droops beneath your cold disdain,
And all the tyranny of female pride.

Zen. That pride is virtue; virtue, that abhors
The tyrant reeking from a brother's murder!
Oh, Mithridates! ever honoured shade!
Peaceful he reigned, dispensing good around him,
In the mild eve of honourable days!
Through all her peopled realm Armenia felt
His equal sway: The sunset of his power,
With fainter beams, but undiminished glory,
Still shone serene; while every conscious subject,
With tears of praise, beheld his calm dechne,
And blessed the parting ray!—yet then, Zeimura,
Oh, fact accursed!-yes, Pharasmanes then-
Detested perfidy! nor ties of blood,

Nor sacred laws, nor the just gods, restrain himIn the dead midnight hour, the fell assassin Rushed on the slumber of the virtuous man; His life blood gushed! The venerable king Waked, saw a brother armed against his lifeForgave him, and expired!

Zel. Yet wherefore open

it

closed?

This day confirms the sceptre in his hand

Zen. Confirms his sceptre-his !—indignant gods!

Will no red vengeance, from your stores of wrath, Burst down to crush the tyrant in his guilt? 1 His sceptre, saidst thou? -urge that word no

more

The sceptre of his son!--the solemn right
Of Rhadamistus! Mithridates' choice,
That called him to his daughter's nuptial bed,
Approved him lineal heir; consenting nobles,
The public will, the sanction of the laws,
All ratified his claim-yet curst ambition,
Deaf to a nation's voice, a nation's charter,
Not satisfied to fill Iberia's throne,
Made war, unnatural war, against a son,
Usurped his throne, and, with remorseless rage,
Pursued his life!

neck,

With all the vehemence of prayers and shrieks,
Implored the only boon he then could grant,
To perish with him in a fond embrace!
The foe drew near-time pressed-no way was
left-

He clasped me to his heart-together both,
Locked in the folds of love, we plunged at once,
And sought a requiem in the roaring flood.
Zel.—This wondrous tale-this sudden burst
of passion—

Zen. Ha! whither has my frenzy led me!— hark!

That sound of triumph! lost, for ever lost!
Ruined Armenia-oh! devoted race!

[A flourish of trumpets.

Enter TIGRANES, Soldiers, and some Prisoners. Zen. Thy looks, Tigranes, indicate thy purpose!

The armies met, and Pharasmanes conquered; Is it not so?

Tig. As yet with pent up fury

ing heart!

Poor lost Zenobia!

Zen. And do her misfortunes

Awaken tender pity in your breast?

Zel. Ill-fated princess! in her vernal bloom By a false husband murdered !—from the stem A rose-bud torn, and in some desert cave Thrown by, to moulder into silent dust!

Zen. You knew not Rhadamistus!--Pharas

manes

Knew not the early virtues of his son.
As yet an infant, in his tenderest years
His father sent him to Armenia's court,
That Mithridates' care might form his mind
To arts, to wisdom, and to manners, worthy
Armenia's sceptre, and Zenobia's love.

The world, delighted, saw each dawning virtue,
Each nameless grace, to full perfection rising!-
Oh! he was all the fondest maid could wish-
All truth, all honour, tenderness and love!
Yet from his empire thrown! with merciless fury
His father following-slaughter raging round,
What could the hero in that dire extreme!
Zel. Those strong impassioned looks!-some
fatal secret

Works in her heart, and melts her into tears.

With eager speed we urged our rapid march,
To where the Romans, tented in the vale,
With cold delay protract the lingering war.
At our approach their scanty numbers form
Their feeble lines, the future prey of vengeance.
Zen. And wherefore, when thy sword demands

its share

Of havock in that scene of blood and horror, Wherefore returnest thou to this lonely camp? Tig. With cautious eye as I explored the forest,

Which rises thick near yonder ridge of mountains,

And stretches o'er the interminable plain,
I saw these captives in the gloomy wood,
Seeking, with silent march, the Roman camp.
Impaled alive 'tis Pharasmanes' will
They suffer death in misery of torment.

Zen. Unhappy men! and must they ha? that face,

That aged mien! that venerable form! Immortal powers! is it my more than father! -Is that Megistus?

Meg. Ariana here!

Gods! could I ever hope to see her more? Thou virtuous maid! thou darling of my age!

Zen. It is it is Megistus! once again, Thus let me fall and clasp his reverend knee, Print the warm kiss of gratitude and love Upon this trembling hand, and pour the tears, The mingled tears of wonder and of joy!

Meg. Rise, Ariana, rise-almighty gods! The tide of joy and transport pours too fast Along these withered veins-it is too much For a poor weak old man, worn out with grief And palsied age, it is too much to bear! Oh! Ariana, daughter of affliction,

Zen. Thou best of men!

These joys our tears and looks can only speak. Meg. Yet they are cruel joys-mysterious heaven!

You bid the storm o'ercast our darksome ways; You gild the cloud with gleams of cheering light;

Then comes a breath from you, and all is vanished!

Zen. Wherefore dejected thus

Meg. Alas! to meet thee

But for a moment, and then part for ever!
To meet thee here, only to grieve thee more,
To add to thy afflictions, wound that bosom
Where mild affection, where each virtue
dwells,

Just to behold thee, and then close my eyes
In endless night, while you survey my pangs
In the approaching agony of torment-

Zen. Talk not of agony; 'tis rapture all!
And who has power to tear thee from my heart?
Meg. Alas! the charge of vile imputed guilt-
Zen. I know thy truth, thy pure exalted

mind

Thy sense of noble deeds-imputed guilt!
Oh! none will dare-hast thou, Tigranes? what,
What is his crime? blush, foul traducer, blush!
Oh! [to Meg.] the wide world must own thy
every virtue.

Tig. If in the conscious forest I beheld
Their dark complottings-

Zen. Peace, vile slanderer, peace! Thou knowest who captivates a monarch's heart

'Tis I protect him--Ariana does it!-
Thou, venerable man! in my pavillion
I'll lodge thee safe from danger- -oh! this joy,
This best supreme delight the gods have sent,
In pity for whole years of countless woe.

[Exit Zen. with Meg. Tig. With what wild fury her conflicting pas

sions

Rise to a storm, a tempest of the soul!
I know the latent cause-her heart revolts,
And leagues in secret with the Roman arms.

Zel. Beware, Tigranes! that excess of joy,
Those quick, those varied passions strongly speak
The stranger has an interest in her heart.
Besides, thou knowest o'er Pharasmanes' will
She holds supreme dominion-

Tig. True, she rules him With boundless sway——

Zel. Nay, more to wake thy fears— The youthful prince, the valiant Teribazus, In secret sighs, and feels the ray of beauty Through every sense soft-thrilling to his heart. He too becomes thy foe.

Tig. Unguarded man!

Whate'er he loves or hates, with generous warmth, As nature prompts, that dares he to avow,

Such too is Ariana; bold and open,
She kindly gives instructions to her foe,
To mar her best designs.

Zel. Her foe, Tigranes!

That lovely form enshrines the gentlest virtues,
Softest compassion, unaffected wisdom,
To outward beauty lending higher charms,
Adorning and adorned! the generous prince,
He too-full well thou knowest him-he unites
In the heroic mould of manly firmness,
Each mild attractive art-oh! surely none
Envy the fair renown that's earned by virtue.
Tig. None should, Zelmira. Ha!" those war-
like notes!

prince,

Spare an old man, whose head is white with a Nor let them wound me with the sharpest pay That ever tortured a poor bleeding heart!

Ter. Arise, my fair; let not a storm of grie Thus bend to earth my Ariana's beauties; Soon shall they all revive

Zen. They brought him fettered, Bound like a murderer! Tigranes, he, This is the author of the horrid chargeHe threatens instant death-but oh! protect, Protect an innocent, a good old man, Or stretch me with him on the mournful bier!

Ter. By Heaven, whoe'er he is, since dear to

you,

He shall not suffer-quick, direct me to him— My guards shall safe inclose him.

Zen. In my pavillion

He waits his doom

Ter. Myself will bear the tidings
Of life, of joy, and liberty restored.-
And thou, artificer of ill, thou false,

Thou vile defamer! leave thy treacherous arts,
Nor dare accuse whom Ariana loves. [Exit Ter.
Zen. Zelmira, this is happiness supreme!
Oh! to have met with unexampled goodness,
To owe my all, my very life itself,
To an unknown but hospitable hand,
And thus enabled by the bounteous gods,
To pay the vast, vast debt-'tis ecstacy
That swells above all bounds, till the fond heart
Ache with delight, and thus run o'er in tears.

Zel. What must Zelmira think? at first, your tongue

Grew lavish in the praise of Rhadamistus,
With hints obscure touching your high descent;
And now, this hoary sage- -is he your father?

My mind is lost in wonder and in doubt.
Zen. Then, to dispel thy doubts, and tell, at

once,

What deep reserve has hid within my heart,

-I am Zenobia-I that ill-starred wretch! The daughter of a sceptered ancestry, And now the slave of Mithridates' brother! Zel. Long lost Zenobia, and restored at length!

I am your subject; oh! my queen! my sovereign!

Zen. Thou generous friend! rise, my Zelmira,
rise.

That good old man!-oh! it was he beheld me
Borne far away from Rhadamistus' arms,
Just perished, just lost!-

He dashed into the flood, redeemed me thence,
And brought me back to life. My opening eyes
Just saw the light, and closed again to shun it.
Each vital power was sunk; but he, well skilled
In potent herbs, recalled my fluttering soul.

Zel. May the propitious gods reward his care! Zen. With me he saved a dear, a precious boy, Then in the womb concealed; he saved my child

SCENE I.

Enter TIGRANES.

To trace his father's loved resemblance to me,
The dear, dear offspring of our bridal loves.
Zel. Oh! blessings on him, blessings on his
head!

Zen. Resigned and patient I since dwelt with
him,

Far in the mazes of a winding wood,
Midst hoary mountains, and deep caverned rocks.
But oh! the fond idea of my lord

Pursued me still, or in the caverned rock,
The mountain's brow, or pendent forest's gloom.
The sun looked joyless down; each lonely night
Heard my griefs echoing through the woodland
shade.

My infant Rhadamistus! he is lost;

He, too, is wrested from me !-Midst the rage,
And the wide waste of war, the hell-hound troops
Of Pharasmanes sought my lone retreat,
And, from the violated shades, from all
My soul held dear, the barbarous ruffians tore

[Exeunt.

A military procession. Enter PHARASMANES, &C. Phar. At length, the fame of Pharasmanes'

arms

Hath awed the nations round. Rome shrinks aghast

With pale dismay, recalls her trembling legions,
And deprecates the war. Oh! what a scene
Of glorious havoc had yon field beheld,
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