O, noble prince,
I might have kissed thy lips and not thy garment!
(Rises and wraps the cloak about her. Spurns with her foot her own robe which has been left trampled)
Thou purple rag, lie there! Love’s vesture shall
Enfold me as I go!
(Starts out) Alone ... on foot ...
But I ’ve not far to journey. Foes are kind....
The first one met ... well, I will thank him!... Cries?
It is the feast. A man may feast who had—
But has no son!... (Startled) ’Tis not the feast!... I know
That noise confused—hoarse shouts—shrieks—pawing steeds—
And rumbling chariots! Those are the tones
Of battle! O, the bloody work! ’Tis war!
Did it delight me once?... Assyrian cries!
My troops! my troops! They ’ve rallied! How they cheer!
What brave heart leads them on?
(Cries come nearer)
Poor creatures, they
Would save me knowing not I died with Khosrove.
I will not live—
(The rear of the tent is torn away by an onslaught. Assyrian troops enter, led by Artavan)
Art. Semiramis!
Sem. My brother!
You live!
Art. And you!