He hath wronged his people-still he is their sovereign—
And I must be his friend as well as subject:

He must not perish thus. I will not see
The blood of Nimrod and Semiramis
Sink in the earth, and thirteen hundred years
Of Empire ending like a shepherd's tale;
He must be roused. In his effeminate heart
There is a careless courage which Corruption
Has not all quenched, and latent energies,
Repressed by circumstance, but not destroyed-
Steeped, but not drowned, in deep voluptuousness.
If born a peasant, he had been a man

To have reached an empire: to an empire born,
He will bequeath none; nothing but a name,
Which his sons will not prize in heritage :-
Yet-not all lost-even yet-he may redeem
His sloth and shame, by only being that
Which he should be, as easily as the thing
He should not be and is. Were it less toil
To sway his nations than consume his life?
To head an army than to rule a harem ?
He sweats in palling pleasures, dulls his soul,"

And saps his goodly strength, in toils which yield not
Health like the chase, nor glory like the war—
He must be roused. Alas! there is no sound

ΙΟ

20

[Sound of soft music heard from within. To rouse him short of thunder. Hark! the lute

The lyre-the timbrel; the lascivious tinklings
Of lulling instruments, the softening voices
Of women, and of beings less than women,
Must chime in to the echo of his revel,

While the great King of all we know of earth
Lolls crowned with roses, and his diadem
Lies negligently by to be caught up

By the first manly hand which dares to snatch it.
Lo, where they come ! already I perceive

30

i. He sweats in dreary, dulled effeminacy.—[MS. M. erased.] his opinion, should cover the infamy of his scandalous and effeminate life. He ordered a pile of wood to be made in his palace, and, setting fire to it, burnt himself, his eunuchs, his women, and his treasures.Diod. Sic., Bibl. Hist., lib. ii. pag. 78, sqq., ed. 1604, p. 109.]

The reeking odours of the perfumed trains,
And see the bright gems of the glittering girls,"
At once his Chorus and his Council, flash
Along the gallery, and amidst the damsels,
As femininely garbed, and scarce less female,
The grandson of Semiramis, the Man-Queen.-
He comes! Shall I await him? yes, and front him,
And tell him what all good men tell each other,
Speaking of him and his. They come, the slaves
Led by the monarch subject to his slaves.

40

SCENE II.

Enter SARDANAPALUS effeminately dressed, his Head crowned with Flowers, and his Robe negligently flowing, attended by a Train of Women and young Slaves.

Sar. (speaking to some of his attendants). Let the pavilion over the Euphrates

Be garlanded, and lit, and furnished forth

For an especial banquet; at the hour

Of midnight we will sup there: see nought wanting,
And bid the galley be prepared. There is

A cooling breeze which crisps the broad clear river:
We will embark anon. Fair Nymphs, who deign

i. And see the gewgaws of the glittering girls.—[MS. M. erased.]

1. ["The words Queen (vide infra, line 83) and pavilion occur, but it is not an allusion to his Britannic Majesty, as you may tremulously (for the admiralty custom) imagine. This you will one day see (if I finish it), as I have made Sardanapalus brave (though voluptuous, as history represents him), and also as amiable as my poor powers could render him. So that it could neither be truth nor satire on any living monarch."-Letter to Murray, May 25, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 299.

Byron pretended, or, perhaps, really thought, that such a phrase as the "Queen's wrongs" would be supposed to contain an allusion to the trial of Queen Caroline (August-November, 1820), and to the exclusion of her name from the State prayers, etc. Unquestionably if the play had been put on the stage at this time, the pit and gallery would have applauded the sentiment to the echo. There was, too, but one "pavilion" in 1821, and that was not on the banks of the Euphrates, but at Brighton. Qui s'excuse s'accuse. Byron was not above "paltering" with his readers "in a double sense."]

To share the soft hours of Sardanapalus,
We'll meet again in that the sweetest hour,
When we shall gather like the stars above us,
And you will form a heaven as bright as theirs ;
Till then, let each be mistress of her time,
And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha,1 choose;
Wilt thou along with them or me?

Myr.

My Lord

ΙΟ

Sar. My Lord!-my Life! why answerest thou so coldly?

It is the curse of kings to be so answered.

Rule thy own hours, thou rulest mine-say, wouldst thou Accompany our guests, or charm away

The moments from me?

Myr.

The King's choice is mine.

Sar. I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy
Is to contribute to thine every wish.

I do not dare to breathe my own desire,
Lest it should clash with thine; for thou art still
Too prompt to sacrifice thy thoughts for others.
Myr. I would remain: I have no happiness
Save in beholding thine; yet-

Sar.

Yet! what YET?

Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier
Which ever rises betwixt thee and me.

Myr. I think the present is the wonted hour
Of council; it were better I retire.

20

30

Sal. (comes forward and says) The Ionian slave says

well let her retire.

Sar. Who answers? How now, brother?

Sal.

The Queen's brother,

And your most faithful vassal, royal Lord.

Sar. (addressing his train). As I have said, let all dispose their hours

Till midnight, when again we pray your presence.

[The court retiring.

I. "The Ionian name had been still more comprehensive; having included the Achaians and the Boeotians, who, together with those to whom it was afterwards confined, would make nearly the whole of the Greek nation; and among the Orientals it was always the general name for the Greeks."--MITFORD's Greece, 1818, i. 199.

i.

(To MYRRHA, who is going.) Myrrha! I thought thou

I know each glance of those Ionic eyes,ii.
Which said thou wouldst not leave me.

Myr.
Sire! your brother-
Sal. His Consort's brother, minion of Ionia !
How darest thou name me and not blush?

Sar.

40

Not blush!

Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her crimson Like to the dying day on Caucasus,

Where sunset tints the snow with rosy shadows,

And then reproach her with thine own cold blindness, Which will not see it. What! in tears, my Myrrha ?

Sal. Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one,

And is herself the cause of bitterer tears.

50

Sar. Curséd be he who caused those tears to flow! Sal. Curse not thyself-millions do that already. Sar. Thou dost forget thee: make me not remember I am a monarch.

Sal. Myr.

Would thou couldst !

My sovereign,

I pray, and thou, too, Prince, permit my absence.
Sar. Since it must be so, and this churl has checked

Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect

That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose

Thou wilt lose both-and both for ever!

Sar.

[Exit MYRRHA.

It may be,

Brother!

60

I can at least command myself, who listen
To language such as this: yet urge me not
Beyond my easy nature.

Sal.

'Tis beyond

That easy-far too easy-idle nature,

Which I would urge thee. O that I could rouse thee!

i. To Byblis -.—[MS. M.]

ii. I know each glance of those deep Greek-souled eyes.—[MS. M. erased.]

VOL. V.

C

Though 'twere against myself.

Sar.

The man would make me tyrant.

By the god Baal!

So thou art.

Sal.
Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that
Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice,
The weakness and the wickedness of luxury,
The negligence, the apathy, the evils

Of sensual sloth-produce ten thousand tyrants,
Whose delegated cruelty surpasses

The worst acts of one energetic master,
However harsh and hard in his own bearing.
The false and fond examples of thy lusts
Corrupt no less than they oppress, and sap
In the same moment all thy pageant power

And those who should sustain it; so that whether
A foreign foe invade, or civil broil

Distract within, both will alike prove fatal:

The first thy subjects have no heart to conquer;

The last they rather would assist than vanquish.

70

80

Sar. Why, what makes thee the mouth-piece of the people?

Sal. Forgiveness of the Queen, my sister wrongs; A natural love unto my infant nephews;

Faith to the King, a faith he may need shortly,

In more than words; respect for Nimrod's line;
Also, another thing thou knowest not.

Never was word yet rung so in my ears

Worse than the rabble's shout, or splitting trumpet:
I've heard thy sister talk of nothing else.

90

Sal. To change the irksome theme, then, hear of vice. Sar. From whom?

Sal.

Even from the winds, if thou couldst listen

Unto the echoes of the Nation's voice.

Sar. Come, I'm indulgent, as thou knowest, patient,