Hus. Nay, go! But go alone—on foot—and through
A hostile country!
Sem. Ah!
Hus. That subject who
Shall give thee food or drink dies in the act!
Proclaim it, all!... Come, friends, we ’ve not yet held
The feast of victory. The slighted gods
Will snatch away their favor if we long
Delay our revels. Though we ’ll miss one face,
(Suppresses a groan)
We ’ll know this much—there ’ll be no traitor there!
(All leave the tent but Semiramis)
Sem. Alone ... on foot ... and through a hostile country!
I ’ll overtake thee, Khosrove, ere thou ’st reached
Thy throne among the stars! Thou goest from love,
And wilt look back and weep from every cloud;
I on thy track shall pause not till our wings
Stir the same air and lock in kisses flying!
... So pay my scorn? How then hadst loved if heart
Had brought to heart its swelling measure? Then
Our rosy hours had been the pick of time,
And hung a flower ’mong withered centuries
When every age had brought its reckoning in!
O, why will we, some cubits high, pluck at
The sun and moon, when we have that within
Makes us the soul and centre of Heaven itself?
Ambition, thou hast played away my crown
And life. That I forgive thee, but not this—
Thou ’st robbed me of the memory of his kiss.
... Go, world! The conqueror’s trump that closed my ears
Unto the angel in a lover’s voice
Dies to a moan that fills but one lone heart.
And soon ’tis silent. Ah, though woman build
Her house of glory to the kissing skies,
And the proud sun her golden rafters lay,
And on her turrets pause discoursing gods,
Let her not dare forget the stanchion truth—
Immortal writ in every mortal face—
“Thou art the wife and mother of the world!”
(Sees Khosrove’s cloak upon the floor, and kneels by it, taking it in her hands)
My Khosrove!... Methought a god struck off my chains
So strong and fair he seemed, yet strove to hide
The beauty of his act, as might a star
Shrink in its own sweet light!
(Buries her face in the folds of the cloak)