Sem. Sir, I am Assyria!
Khos. Nay, but Menones’ daughter! She whose heart
I touched—
Sem. You touched?
Khos. Ere taint of pride or power
Or mad ambition had laid a canker there!
When she was maiden still, and knew no thought
She might not whisper in her father’s ear!
Gentle as Spring when hushing the young dove,
But strong from virgin battle, with the flush
Of valorous purpose pure as goddess’ dream
Starting the noble war-blood in her cheek!
’Tis she I speak to now—she that I love—
Not the proud queen grown bold in blood and triumph!
Love me, Semiramis! You shall have peace!
Not this sick peace that turns your heart to hate,
But peace that charms the beauty back to life
And new dreams to the soul! O, no more war!
Then lilies springing in thy steps shall say
What fairer grace went by! These fingers shall
Forget the sword whose music is men’s groans,
And on sweet strings draw out the heart of love
To give the world the key of melody!
Ah, you shall war no more—
Sem. Sir, you forget!
These Ghecs—
Khos. Will not revolt if I become
Assyria’s head! They trust me as their—
Sem. You!
Assyria’s head! You! you! O, now I see!
I ’m not yet blind, although my heart was fast
Upstealing to my eyes to make me so!
Khos. O clear thy sight a second time, my queen,
And read me true!
Sem. And you had almost moved me!
Khos. Melt, stony eyes—