Mitranes: He seldom sees the queen: in solitude Obscure he lives: his holy ministry Engrosses all his care; without ambition, Fearless, and void of art: is always seen Within the temple, never at the court: Never affects the pride of rank and title, Nor his tiara near the diadem Immodest wears: the less he seeks for greatness, The more is he admired, the more revered: I have access to every avenue Of his retirement in this sacred place, And can this moment talk to him in secret; Ere day’s too far advanced I’ll bring him hither.

SCENE II.

Arsaces: [Alone.] Immortal gods! for what am I reserved? Make known your will: why did my dying father Thus send me to the sanctuary, me A soldier, bred amidst the din of arms? A lover, too? How can Arsaces serve The gods of the Chaldæans?—Ha! what voice From yonder tomb in plaintive accents strikes My frighted ear, and makes my hair to stand On end with horror! Near this place I’ve heard The spirit of Ninus dwells—again it shrieks— It shocks my soul—Ye dark and dreary caves, And thou, the shade of my illustrious master, Thou voice of heaven, what wouldst thou with Arsaces?

SCENE III.

Arsaces, Oroes, the High Priest, the Magi Attending Him, Mitranes.

Mitranes: [Speaking to Oroes.] He’s here, my lord, and waits to give you up Those precious relics.

Arsaces: Most revered father, Permit a soldier to approach your presence, Pleased to fulfil a father’s last command, One whom you deigned to love; thus at your feet, Obedient to his will, I here resign them.

Oroes: Welcome! thou brave and noble youth! that God Who governs all, and not a father’s will, Guided thee here: Phradates was my friend; Dear is his memory to me; thou shalt know Perhaps hereafter how I love his son: Where are the gifts he sent me?

Arsaces: [The slaves deliver the coffer to two of the magi, who place it on an altar.]

Here, my lord.

Oroes: [Opening the coffer, bowing reverentially to it, and seeming greatly affected.]

Ye sacred relics! do these eyes at length Behold you! O, I weep for joy to press These monuments of woe, whilst tears recall My solemn oath: Mitranes, let no ear Profane disturb our holy mystery: We would be private. [The magi retire.] Mark this seal, Arsaces: ’Tis that which to the laws of Ninus gave Their public force, and kept the world in awe: The letter, too, which with his dying hand He wrote: Arsaces, view the wreath that crowned His royal brows, and his victorious sword: The vanquished Medes and Persians felt its power: It comes at last to vindicate its master, And to revenge him; useless instrument Against base treachery, and destructive poison, Whose mortal—

Arsaces: Heaven! what sayest thou?