Sémiramis: O death! when wilt thou come with friendly shade To close these eyes that hate the light of day? Be shut, ye caves; horrible phantom, hence! Strike if thou wilt, but threaten me no more. Otanes, is Arsaces come?

Otanes: Ere morn Rose on the temple, madam, he was there.

Sémiramis: That dreadful voice, from heaven or hell I know not, Which in the dead of night so shakes my soul, Told me, my sorrows, when Arsaces came, Would soon be o’er.

Otanes: Rely then on the gods, And let the cheerful ray of hope dispel This melancholy.

Sémiramis: Is Arsaces here? Methinks, when I but hear his name, my soul Is less disturbed, and guilt sits lighter on me!

Otanes: O! quit, forever quit the sad remembrance: Let the bright days of great Sémiramis, Replete with glory, blot one moment out That broke the chain of thy ill-fated nuptials: Had Ninus driven thee from his throne and bed, All Babylon with thee had been destroyed; But happily for us, and for mankind, That wanted such distinguished virtues, you Prevented him; and fifteen years of toil, Spent in the service of thy country, lands Desert and waste made fertile by thy care, The savage tamed, and yielding to the laws, The useful arts, obedient to thy voice, Uprising still, the glorious monuments Of wealth and power, the wonder of mankind, And the loud plaudit of a grateful people, All plead thy cause before the throne of heaven; But if impartial justice hold the scale, If vengeance is required for Ninus’ death, Why thus should Assur brave the angry gods, And live in peace? He was more guilty far Than thou wert, yet the ruthless hand that poured The fatal draught never shakes with fear: he feels No stings of conscience, no remorse affrights him.

Sémiramis: Our duties different, different is our fate: Where ties are sacred, crimes are heavier far: I was his wife, Otanes, and I stand Without excuse; my conscience is my judge And my accuser: but I hoped the gods, Offended at my crimes, had punished me Enough, when they deprived me of my child; Hoped my successful toils, that made the earth Respect my name, had soothed the wrath of heaven: But months on months have passed in agony Since this dire spectre hath appalled my soul: My eyes forever see him, and my ears Still hear his cries: I get me to the tomb, But dare not enter: trembling I revere His ashes, and invoke his honored shade, Which only answers me in dismal groans. Some dread event is nigh: perhaps the time Is come to expiate the offence.