Strew'd to receive them, still I like it
not -- 560 My soul seems lukewarm; but when I set on them,
Though they were piled on mountains, I would have
A pluck at them, or perish in hot blood! --
Let me then charge!
Sal. You talk like a young soldier.
Sar. I am no soldier, but a man: speak not
Of soldiership, I loathe the word, and those
Who pride themselves upon it; but direct me
Where I may pour upon them.
Sal. You must spare
To expose your life too hastily; 't is not
Like mine or any other subject's breath:
The whole wax turns upon it -- with it;
this 571 Alone creates it, kindles, and may quench it --
Prolonp, it -- end it.
Sar. Then let us end both!
'T were better thus, perhaps, than prolong either;
I'm sick of one, perchance of both.
[A trumpet soundi without.
Sar. Let us
Reply, not listen.
Sal. And your wound!
Sar. 'T is bound --
'T is heal'd -- I had forgotten it. Away!
A leech's lancet would have scratch'd me deeper;
The slave that gave it might be well
ashamed 579 To have struck so weakly.
Sal. Now, may none this hour
Strike with a better aim!
Sar. Ay, if we conquer;
But if not, they will only leave to me
A task they might have spared their king.
Upon them I [Trumpelsounds again.
Sal. I am with you.
Sar. Ho, my arms I again, my arms!
The same Hall in the Palace.
HYRRHA and BALEA.
Myr. (at a window). The day at last has
broken. What a night
Hath usher'd it! How beautiful in heaven!
Though varied with a transitory storm,
More beautiful in that variety.
How hideous upon earth! where peace and hope,
And love and revel, in an hour were trampled
By human passions to a human chaos,
Not yet resolved to separate elements --
'T is warring still! And can the sun so rise,
So bright, so rolling back the clouds into
Vapours more lovely than the unclouded
sky, 11 With golden pinnacles, and snowy moun-tains,
And billows purpler than the ocean's, making
In heaven a glorious mockery of the earth,
So like we almost deem it permanent;
So fleeting, we can scarcely call it aught
Beyond a vision, 't is so transiently
Scatter'd along the eternal vault: and yet
It dwells upon the soul, and soothes the soul,
And blends itself into the soul, until 20 Sunrise and sunset form the haunted epoch
Of sorrow and of love; which they who mark not,
Know not the realms where those twin genii
(Who chasten and who purify our hearts,
So that we would not change their sweet rebukes
For all the boisterous joys that ever shook
The air with clamour) build the palaces
Where their fond votaries repose and breathe
Briefly; but in that brief cool calm inhale
Enough of heaven to enable them to bear 30 The rest of common, heavy, human hours,
And dream them through in placid suffer-ance;
Though seemingly employ'd like all the rest
Of toiling breathers in allotted tasks
Of pain or pleasure, two names for one feel-ing,
Which our internal, restless agony
Would vary in the sound, although the sense
Escapes our highest efforts to be happy.
Bal. You muse right calmly: and can
you so watch 39
The sunrise which may be our last?
Myr. It is