With purpos'd vengeance dark, I knew thee not;
But now breaks out the beauteous fun anew,
The gay Numidian fhines who warm'd me once,
Whofe love was glory. Vain ideas, hence!
Long fince, my heart, to nobler paffions known,
Has your acquaintance fcorn'd.
Maf. Oh, while you talk,
Enchanting fair-one! my deluded thought
Runs back to days of love; when fancy still
Found worlds of beauty, ever rifing new
To the tranfported eye; when flattering hope
Form'd endless profpects of increafing blifs,
And still the credulous heart believ'd them all,
Even more than love could promife. But the fcene
Is full of danger for a tainted eye;
I must not, dare not, will not look that way.
Oh, hide it, wisdom, glory, from my view!
Or in Tweet ruin I fhall fink again.
Difafter clouds thy cheek; thy colour
Retire, and from the troubles of the day
Repose thy weary foul, worn out with care,
And rough unhappy thought.
Soph. May Malinissa
Ne'er want the goodness he has fhewn to me.
Maf. The danger's o'er; I've heard the fyren's fong;
Yet ftill to glory hold my steady course.
I mark'd thy kind concern, thy friendly fears,
And own them juft; for fhe has beauty, Narva,
So full, fo perfect, with fo great a foul
Inform'd, fo pointed high with spirit,
As ftrikes like lightning from the hand of Jove,
And raises love to glory.
Too true, it is too true; her fatal charms
Are powerful, and to Mafiniffa's heart
But know the way too well. And art thou fure,
That the foft poifon, which within thy veins
Lay unextinguish'd, is not rouz'd anew?
Is not this moment working thro' thy foul?
Doft thou not love? Confefs.
Maf. What faid my friend,
Of poifon, love, of loving Sophonisba?
Yes, I admire her, wonder at her beauty;
And he who does not is as dulk as earth,
The cold, unanimated form of man,
Ere lighted up with the celestial fire.
Where'er fhe goes, ftill admiration gazes,
And liftens while fhe talks. Even thou thy felf,
Who faw't her with the malice of a friend,
Even thou thyfelf admir'st her. Doft thou not?
Say, fpeak fincerely.
Narva. She has charms indeed;
But has the charms like virtue? Tho' majestic,
Does the command us? Is her force like glory?
Maf. All glory's in her eye; Perfection thence
Looks from his throne; and on her ample brow
Sits Majefty. Her features glow with life,
Warm with heroic foul. Her mien! fhe walks,
As when a towering goddefs treads this earth.
But when her language flows, when fuch a one
Defcends to footh, to figh, to weep, to grafp
The tottering knee, Oh, Narva! Narva, Oh!
Expreffion here is dumb.
Is this the talk of fober admiration ?
Are these the fallies of a heart at ease?
Of Scipio's friend? And was it the calm fenfe
Of fair perfection, that, while fhe kneel'd
For what you rafhly promis'd, feiz'd your foul,
Stole out in fecret tranfports from your eye,
That writh'd you groaning round, and fhook your frame ?
Maf. I tell thee once again, too cautious man,
That when a woman begs, a matchless woman,
A woman once belov'd, a fallen queen,
A Sophonisba! when the twines her charms
Around our foul, and all her power of looks,
Of tears, of fighs, of foftness, plays upon us,
He's more or lefs than man who can refift her.
For me, my stedfaft foul approves, nay, more,
Exults in the protection it has promis'd:
And nought, tho' pligh:ed honour did not bind me,
Shall fake the happy purpose of my heart;
Nought, by th' avenging gods, who heard my vow,
And hear me now again.
Narva. And was it then
For this you conquer'd?
Maf. Yes, and triumph in it.
This was my fondeft with, the very point,
The plume of glory, the delicious prize
Of bleeding years. And I had been a brute,
A greater monster than Numidia breeds,
A horror to myself, if, on the ground,
Caft vilely from me, I th' illuftrious fair one
Had left to bondage, bitterness, and death.
Nor is there ought in war worth what I feel,
In
pomp and hollow state, like this sweet sense
Of infelt blifs, which the reflection gives me,
Of faving thus fuch excellence and beauty
From her fupreme abhorrence.
My friend, my royal Lord! alas, you flide,
You fink from virtue! On the giddy brink
Of fate you ftand. One step, and all is loft.
Maf. No more, no more! If this is being loft,
If this, miftaken! is forfaking virtue,
And rushing down the precipice of fate,
Then down I go, far, far beyond the din
Of fcrupulous, dull precaution. Leave me, Narva;
I want to be alone, to find fome shade,
Some folitary gloom, there to flake off
This weight of life, this tumult of mankind,
This fick ambition, on itfelf recoiling,
And there to liften to the gentle voice,
The figh of peace, fomething, I know not what,
That whifpers tranfport to my heart. Farewel
Narva. Struck, and he knows it not.
Elate in heart, the warrior fcorns to vield,
The streaming blood can fearce convince his eyes,
Nor will he feel the wound by which he dies.
N vain I wander through the shade for peace;
That there the goddess talks-But in my breaft
Some bufy thought, fome fecret-eating pang,
Throbs inexpreffible; and rowls from-What?
From charm to charm, on Sophonisba still
Earneft, intent, devoted all to her.
Oh, it must out!-'Tis love, almighty love!
Returning on me with a ftronger tide.
I'll doubt no more, but give it up to love.
Come to my breaft, thou rofy-fmiling god!
Come unconfin'd! bring all thy joys along,
All thy foft cares, and mix them copious here.
But why invoke I thee? Thy power is weak,
To Sophoniiba's eye; thy quiver poor,
To the refiftless lightning of her form;
And dull thy bare infinuating arts,
To the fweet mazes of her flowing tongue.
Quick, let me fly to her; and there forget
This tedious abfence, war, ambition, noise,
Even friendship's felf, the vanity of fame,
And all but love, for love is more than all !
Welcome again, my friend-Come nearer, Narva;
Lend me thine arm, and I will tell thee all,
Unfold my fecret heart, whofe every pulfe
With Sophonisba beats.-Nay, hear me out-
Swift, as I mus'd, the conflagration spread;
At once too ftrong, too general, to be quench'd.
I love, and I approve it, doat upon her,
Even think these minutes loft I talk with thee.
Heavens! what emotions have poffefs'd my foul!
Snatch'd by a moment into years of paffion.
Nar. Ah, Mafiniffa !
Maf. Argue not against me.
Talk down the circling winds that lift the defart;
And, touch'd by Heaven, when all the forests blaze,
Talk down the flame, but not my stronger love.
I have for love a thousand thousand reafons,
Dear to the heart, and potent o'er the foul.
My ready thoughts all rifing, restless all,
Are a perpetual fpring of tenderness;
Oh, Sophonifba! Sophonisba, Oh!
Nar. Is this deceitful day then come to nought?
This day, that fet thee on a double throne?
That gave thee Syphax chain'd, thy deadly foe?
With perfect conqueft crown'd thee, perfect glory?
Is it fo foon' eclips'd? and does yon fun,
Yon fetting fun, who this fair morning faw thee
Ride through the ranks of long extended war,
As radiant as himself; with every glance
Wheeling the pointed files; and, when the form
Began, beheld thee tread the rifing furge
Of battle high, and drive it on the foe;
Does he now, blushing, fee thee funk fo weak?
Caught in a fmile? the captive of a look?
I cannot name it without tears.
I'm fick of war, of the destroying trade,
Smooth'd o'er and gilded with the name of glory.
Thou need'st not spread the martial field to me;
My happier eyes are turn'd another way,
Behold it not; or, if they do, behold it
Shrunk up, far off, a visionary scene;
As to the waking man appears the dream.
Nar. Or rather as realities appear,
The virtue, pomp, and dignities of life,
In fick diforder'd dreams.
Maf. Think not I scorn
The talk of heroes, when oppreffion rages,
And lawless violence confounds the world.
Who would not bleed with transport for his country,
Tear ever dear relation from his heart,
And greatly die to make a people happy,
Ought not to taste of happiness himself,
And is low-foul'd indeed But fure, my friend,
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