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Say it.

SARDANAPALUS.

MYRRHA.

It is that no kind hand will gather

The dust of both into one urn.

SARDANAPALUS.

The better!

Rather let them be borne abroad upon
The winds of heaven, and scatter'd into air,
Than be polluted more by human hands
Of slaves and traitors; in this blazing palace,
And its enormous walls of reeking ruin.
We leave a nobler monument than Egypt
Hath piled in her brick mountains, o'er dead kings,
Or kine, for none know whether those proud piles
Be for their monarch, or their ox-god Apis:
So much for monuments that have forgotten
Their very record!

MYRRHA.

Then farewell, thou earth!
And loveliest spot of earth! farewell Ionia?
Be thou still free and beautiful, and far
Aloof from desolation! My last prayer

MYRRHA.

'Tis fired! I come.

[AS MYRRHA Springs forward to throw herself into the flames, the Curtain falls.

NOTES.

Note 1. Page 291, line 19.

And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha.

«The Jonian name had been still more comprehensive, having included the Achaians and the Baotians, 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, vol. i. p. 199.

Note 2. Page 294, line 1.
Sardanapalus,

The king, and son of Anacyndarases,

In one day built Anchialus and Tarsus.

Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip..

<< For this expedition he took not only a small chosen body of the phalanx, but all his light troops. In the first day's march he reached Anchialus, a town said to have been founded by the king of Assyria, Sardanapalus. The fortifications, in their magnitude and extent, still in Arrian's time, bore the character of greatness, which the Assyrians appear singularly to have affected in works of the kind. A monument representing Sardanapalus was found there, warranted by an inscription in Assyrian characters, of course in the old Assyrian language, which the Greeks, whether well or ill, interpreted thus: «Sardanapalus, son of Anacyndaraxes, in one day founded Anchialus and Tarsus. Eat, drink, play all other human joys are not worth a fillip.» Supposing this version nearly exact (for Arrian says it was not quite so), whether the purpose has not been to invite to civil order | a people disposed to turbulence, rather than to recommend immoderate luxury, may perhaps reasonably be

Was for thee, my last thoughts, save one, were of thee! questioned. What, indeed, could be the object of

And that?

SARDANAPALUS.

MYRRHA.

Is yours.

king of Assyria in founding such towns in a country so distant from his capital, and so divided from it by an immense extent of sandy deserts and lofty mountains, and, still more, how the inhabitants could be at once in

{The trumpet of PANIA sounds without. circumstances to abandon themselves to the intemperate,

SARDANAPALUS.

Hark!

MYRRHA.
Now!
SARDANAPALUS.

Adien, Assyria! I loved thee well, my own, my fathers' land, And better as my country than my kingdom.

joys which their prince has been supposed to have recommended, is not obvious; but it may deserve observation that, in that line of coast, the southern of Lesser Asia, ruius of cities, evidently of an age after Alexander, yet barely named in history, at this day astonish the adventurous traveller by their magnificence and elegance. Amid the desolation which, under a singularly barbarian government, has for so many centuries been daily spreading in the finest countries of the globe, whether

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MARCO MEMMO, a Chief of the Forty.

BARBARIGO, a Senator.

But the poor wretch has suffer'd beyond nature's Most stoical endurance.

His crime.

LOREDANO.

Without owning

BARBARIGO.

Perhaps without committing any. But he avow'd the letter to the Duke

Other Senators, the council of Ten, Guards, Attend- Of Milan, and his sufferings half atone for

ants, etc. etc.

Such weakness.

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JACOPO FOSCARI.

Limbs! how often have they borne me
Bounding o'er yon blue tide, as I have skimm'd
The gondola along in childish race,

And, masqued as a young gondolier, amidst
My gay competitors, noble as I,

Raced for our pleasure in the pride of strength,
While the fair populace of crowding beauties,
Plebeian as patrician, cheer'd us on
With dazzling smiles, and wishes audible,
And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands,
Even to the goal!-How many a time have I
Cloven with arm still lustier, breast more daring,
The wave all roughen'd; with a swimmer's stroke
Flinging the billows back from my drench'd hair,
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine,
Which kiss'd it like a wine-cup, rising o'er
The waves as they arose, and prouder still
The loftier they uplifted me; and oft,
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down
Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making
My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen
By those above, till they wax'd fearful; then
Returning with my grasp full of such tokens
As show'd that I had search'd the deep; exulting,
With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep
The long-suspended breath, again I spurn'd
The foam which broke around me, and pursued
My track like a sea-bird.—I was a boy then.

GUARD.

Be a man now: there never was more need
Of manhood's strength.

JACOPO FOSCARI (looking from the lattice).
My beautiful, my own,
My only Venice-this is breath! Thy breeze,
Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans face!
my
Thy very winds feel native to my veins,
And cool them into calmness! How unlike
The hot gales of the horrid Cyclades,
Which howl'd about my Candiote dungeon, and
Made my heart sick.

GUARD.

I see the colour comes

Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear What more may be imposed!--I dread to think on't.

JACOPO FOSCARI.

They will not banish me again?-No-no, Let them wring on; I am strong yet.

GUARD.

Confess,

And the rack will be spared you.

JACOPO FOSCARI.

I confess'd

Once-twice before: hoth times they exiled me.

GUARD.

And the third time will slay you.

JACOPO FOSCARI.

Let them do so,

So I be buried in my birth-place; better
Be ashes here than aught that lives elsewhere.

GUARD.

And can you so much love the soil which hates you?

JACOPO FOSCARI.

The soil-Oh no, it is the seed of the soil Which persecutes me; but my native earth Will take me as a mother to her arms.

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