If built on settled thought, this constancy
Not idly flutters on a boastful tongue,
Why, when destruction rag'd around our walls,
Why fled this haughty heroine from the battle?
Why then did not this warlike Amazon
Mix in the war, and shine among the heroes?
Heav'n, when its hand pour'd softness on our limbs,
Unfit for toil, and polish'd into weakness,
Made passive fortitude the praise of woman :
Our only arms are innocence and meekness.
Not then with raving cries I fill'd the city;
But, while Demetrius, dear lamented name!
Pour'd storms of fire upon our fierce invaders,
Implor'd th' Eternal Pow'r to shield my country,
With silent sorrows, and with calm devotion.
O! did Irene shine the queen of Turkey,
No more should Greece lament those pray'rs rejected; Again should golden splendour grace her cities,
Again her prostrate palaces should rise,
Again her temples sound with holy musick :
No more should danger fright, or want distress.
The smiling widows, and protected orphans.
Be virtuous ends pursu'd by virtuous means,
Nor think th' intention sanctifies the deed:
That maxim, publish'd in an impious age,
Would loose the wild enthusiast to destroy,
And fix the fierce usurper's bloody title;
Then Bigotry might send her slaves to war,
And bid success become the test of truth:
Unpitying massacre might waste the world,
And persecution boast the call of Heaven.
Shall I not wish to cheer afflicted kings,
And plan the happiness of mourning millions?
Dream not of pow'r thou never canst attain:
When social laws first harmoniz'd the world,
Superiour man possess'd the charge of rule,
The scale of justice, and the sword of power,
Nor left us aught but flattery and state.
To me my lover's fondness will restore
Whate'er man's pride has ravish'd from our sex.
When soft security shall prompt the Sultan,
Freed from the tumults of unsettled conquest,
To fix his court, and regulate his pleasures,
Soon shall the dire seraglio's horrid gates
Close like th' eternal bars of death upon thee.
Immur'd, and buried in perpetual sloth,
That gloomy slumber of the stagnant soul,
There shalt thou view from far the quiet cottage,
And sigh for cheerful poverty in vain ;
There wear the tedious hours of life away,
Beneath each curse of unrelenting Heav'n,
Despair and slav'ry, solitude and guilt.
There shall we find the yet untasted bliss
Of grandeur and tranquillity combin❜d.
Tranquillity and guilt, disjoin'd by Heaven,
Still stretch in vain their longing arms afar;
Nor dare to pass th' insuperable bound.
Ah! let me rather seek the convent's cell;
There when my thoughts, at interval of pray'r,
Descend to range these mansions of misfortune,
Oft shall I dwell on our disastrous friendship,
And shed the pitying tear for lost Irene.
Go, languish on in dull obscurity;
Thy dazzled soul, with all its boasted greatness,
Shrinks at th' o'erpow'ring gleams of regal state,
Stoops from the blaze like a degenerate eagle,
And flies for shelter to the shades of life.
On me should Providence, without a crime,
The weighty charge of royalty confer ;
Call me to civilize the Russian wilds,
Or bid soft science polish Britain's heroes:
Soon should'st thou see, how false thy weak reproach.
My bosom feels, enkindled from the sky,
The lambent flames of mild benevolence,
Untouch'd by fierce Ambition's raging fires.
Ambition is the stamp impress'd by Heav'n
To mark the noblest minds; with active heat
Inform'd, they mount the precipice of pow'r,
Grasp at command, and tow'r in quest of empire;
While vulgar souls compassionate their cares,
Gaze at their height, and tremble at their danger.
Thus meaner spirits with amazement mark
The varying seasons, and revolving skies,
And ask, what guilty Pow'r's rebellious hand
Rolls with eternal toil the pond'rous orbs;
While some archangel, nearer to perfection,
In easy state presides o'er all their motions,
Directs the planets with a careless nod,
Conducts the sun, and regulates the spheres.
Well may'st thou hide in labyrinths of sound
The cause that shrinks from Reason's pow'rful voice.
Stoop from thy flight, trace back th' entangled
thought,
And set the glitt'ring fallacy to view.
Not pow'r I blame, but pow'r obtained by crime
Angelick greatness is angelick virtue.
Amidst the glare of courts, the shout of armies,
Will not th' apostate feel the pangs of guilt,
And wish, too late, for innocence and peace,
Curst as the tyrant of th' infernal realms,
With gloomy state and agonizing pomp?
A Turkish stranger, of majestick mien,
Asks at the gate admission to Aspasia,
Commission'd, as he says, by Cali Bassa.
Whoe'er thou art, or whatsoe'er thy message, [Aside. Thanks for this kind relief-With speed admit him.
He comes, perhaps, to separate us for ever;
When I am gone, remember, O! remember,
That none are great, or happy, but the virtuous.
[Exit Irene; enter Demetrius.
'Tis she-my hope, my happiness, my love!
Aspasia ! do I once again behold thee?
Still, still the same-unclouded by misfortune!
Let my blest eyes for ever gaze
|