The Works of Lord Byron | Page 9

railing drunkards! why, what would they have? Have they
not peace and plenty?
_Sal._ Of the first
More than is glorious: of the last, far less
Than
the King recks of.
_Sar._ Whose then is the crime,
But the false satraps, who provide no
better?
_Sal._ And somewhat in the Monarch who ne'er looks
Beyond his
palace walls, or if he stirs 110 Beyond them, 'tis but to some mountain
palace,
Till summer heats wear down. O glorious Baal!
Who built
up this vast empire, and wert made
A God, or at the least shinest like
a God
Through the long centuries of thy renown,
This, thy
presumed descendant, ne'er beheld
As king the kingdoms thou didst
leave as hero,
Won with thy blood, and toil, and time, and peril!
For
what? to furnish imposts for a revel,
Or multiplied extortions for a
minion. 120
_Sar._ I understand thee--thou wouldst have me go
Forth as a
conqueror. By all the stars
Which the Chaldeans read--the restless
slaves[e]
Deserve that I should curse them with their wishes,
And
lead them forth to glory.
_Sal._ Wherefore not?
Semiramis--a woman only--led
These our
Assyrians to the solar shores
Of Ganges.
_Sar._ Tis most true. And _how_ returned?
_Sal._ Why, like a _man_--a hero; baffled, but
Not vanquished. With
but twenty guards, she made 130 Good her retreat to Bactria.
_Sar._ And how many
Left she behind in India to the vultures?
_Sal._ Our annals say not.

_Sar._ Then I will say for them--
That she had better woven within
her palace
Some twenty garments, than with twenty guards
Have
fled to Bactria, leaving to the ravens,
And wolves, and men--the
fiercer of the three,
Her myriads of fond subjects. Is _this_ Glory?

Then let me live in ignominy ever.
_Sal._ All warlike spirits have not the same fate. 140 Semiramis, the
glorious parent of
A hundred kings, although she failed in India,

Brought Persia--Media--Bactria--to the realm
Which she once
swayed--and thou _mightst_ sway.
_Sar._ _I sway_ them-- She but subdued them.
_Sal._ It may be ere long
That they will need her sword more than
your sceptre.
_Sar._ There was a certain Bacchus, was there not?
I've heard my
Greek girls speak of such--they say
He was a God, that is, a Grecian
god,
An idol foreign to Assyria's worship, 150 Who conquered this
same golden realm of Ind
Thou prat'st of, where Semiramis was
vanquished.
_Sal._ I have heard of such a man; and thou perceiv'st
That he is
deemed a God for what he did.
_Sar._ And in his godship I will honour him--
Not much as man.
What, ho! my cupbearer!
_Sal._ What means the King?
_Sar._ To worship your new God
And ancient conqueror. Some wine,
I say.
_Enter Cupbearer_.
_Sar._ (_addressing the Cupbearer_).
Bring me the golden goblet

thick with gems,
Which bears the name of Nimrod's chalice. Hence,
160
Fill full, and bear it quickly.
[_Exit Cupbearer_.

_Sal._ Is this moment
A fitting one for the resumption of
Thy yet unslept-off revels?
_Re-enter Cupbearer, with wine_.
_Sar._ (_taking the cup from him_). Noble kinsman,
If these
barbarian Greeks of the far shores
And skirts of these our realms lie
not, this Bacchus
Conquered the whole of India,[8] did he not?
_Sal._ He did, and thence was deemed a Deity.[f]
_Sar._ Not so:--of all his conquests a few columns.[9]
Which may be
his, and might be mine, if I
Thought them worth purchase and
conveyance, are 170 The landmarks of the seas of gore he shed,
The
realms he wasted, and the hearts he broke.
But here--here in this
goblet is his title
To immortality--the immortal grape
From which
he first expressed the soul, and gave
To gladden that of man, as some
atonement
For the victorious mischiefs he had done.
Had it not
been for this, he would have been
A mortal still in name as in his
grave;
And, like my ancestor Semiramis, 180 A sort of semi-glorious
human monster.
Here's that which deified him--let it now
Humanise
thee; my surly, chiding brother,
Pledge me to the Greek God!
_Sal._ For all thy realms
I would not so blaspheme our country's
creed.
_Sar._ That is to say, thou thinkest him a hero,
That he shed blood by
oceans; and no God,
Because he turned a fruit to an enchantment,

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes

Weariness forget his toil, 190 And Fear her danger; opens a new world

When this, the present, palls. Well, then _I_ pledge thee And _him_
as a true man, who did his utmost
In good or evil to surprise mankind.
[_Drinks_.
_Sal._ Wilt thou resume a revel at this hour?
_Sar._ And if I did, 'twere better than a