WILSON 'Ph.D. 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 
 
PAUSANIAS 
 
PAUSANIAS 
 
 A DRAMATIC POEM 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES WILLIAM KENNEDY 
 JAMES SOUTHALL WILSON 
 
 New York and Washington 
 THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 1907 
 
: LifiKASY of CONGRESS 
 
 I JUN 23 I90f ^ ■^•^' 
 
 ' Ccpyrifrht Entry 
 
 IIlass; n. xxc, No, 
 
 COPY U. ' 
 
 Copyright, 1907, by 
 The Neale Publishing Company 
 
PAUSANIAS 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONAE 
 
 Pausanias, a commander of the Grecian forces in By- 
 zantium. 
 Lysias, a Byzantian youth, lover of Cleonice. 
 
 DyOfficers under Pausanias. 
 raca, J 
 
 4 ■ J. -J i-Commanders of the Athenian forces. 
 A rtsteides, J 
 
 Pleisanaxus, young son of Pausanias. 
 
 Phrania, waiting-maid to Cleonice. 
 
 Mother of Cleonice. 
 
 Cleonice, a Byzantian maiden. 
 
 A Persian messenger, officers, guards, attendants and 
 
 musicians. 
 
 Scene. — The Palace of Pausanias in Byzantium. 
 
ACT I 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 Pausanias' apartments in Byzantium. An audience 
 chamber near Pausanias' sleeping-room. The pillars 
 are of dark green marble and the hangings are of a deep 
 red. At the back are windows looking out on the streets 
 of Byzantium. There are a few heavy state chairs of 
 shining ebony, but for the greater part the room is marked 
 by a military simplicity. It is entered by doors to right 
 and left. 
 
 Between the windows at the rear is a balcony looking 
 out over the houses of Byzantium toward the distant hills. 
 A divan to the left is of ebony like the chairs. 
 
 Myron and Draca stand by the door at the left, 
 talking. 
 
 Draca. Methinks, good Myron, that upon thy brow 
 There hangs a darker gloom than huntsmen feel, 
 Who straying on Taygetus mountain seek 
 For game, but lose, deep in the forest shades. 
 Their way. Speak, Myron, wherefore art thou sad? 
 
 Myron. Ah, would I might put all my grief in words 
 So none of it were left within my heart! 
 This is a world that changes with the wind. 
 And in the affairs of men 'tis ever autumn. 
 
lo PAUSANIAS ACT 1 
 
 To-day the flowers bloom, the zephyrs stir 
 
 Soft as the breathing of a sleeping maid: 
 
 The air is full of gladness and of song, 
 
 Where leaf-embowered the birds are. Who would think 
 
 The night of such a day could other be 
 
 Than starry-eyed and lit by friendly moon-beams? 
 
 Cold from the north a blasting wind has come, 
 
 And white with hoar-frost are its shimmering wings. 
 
 It hovers like some giant death-moth o'er 
 
 The eaith, and sucks its honey-beauty from it. 
 
 The shivering birds are mute, the flowers gone; 
 
 And like the whisper of dead secrets sounds 
 
 The falling of the leaves among the trees. 
 
 Ah, Draca, thou art right. I am most sad. 
 
 Draca. Hadst thou in death some kinsman lost, yet still 
 It would behoove thee to receive it better. 
 Or has a mistress been to thee unkind? 
 
 Myron. Or kinsman or a mistress grieve me not. 
 'Tis something nearer, Draca. Has thine eye, 
 Dimmed from its olden brightness, not to see 
 Cause for a deeper sadness than I show? 
 
 Draca. Speak not in riddles: what thou dost unfold 
 Shall be thrice locked in my heart of hearts. 
 Friendship to thee and loj'alty to him 
 We serve and to the state: may not these bolts 
 Secure against all comers? Then be plain. 
 Meanst thou Pausanias? 
 
 Myron. Ay, in sooth, I do. 
 We knew him, Draca, when his fame was bright 
 As beaten gold beneath an Asian sun, 
 Fresh-forged on Plataea's hard-won field. 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS II 
 
 There like a war-god charging at his foes 
 
 He led his Spartans on. And after that 
 
 His glory like a twilight star yet grew 
 
 And still shone brightest through the clouds of war. 
 
 But now — Oh, Draca, thou hast seen the change. 
 
 A mist has risen and the star grows dim: 
 
 And if it set or rise we scarcely know. 
 
 Doubts and dark apprehensions make us dream 
 
 Of things we dare not speak on. Thou hast noted 
 
 The pleasant smile wax evil and the mouth, 
 
 Wont in Laconic firmness to be set, 
 
 Curl downwards day by day as if 'twere mocking 
 
 And scorning all things. Him we knew of old — 
 
 These snovv-y locks were black when first I knew him — 
 
 Too kind and modest to a fault, now grows 
 
 Puffed with unsoldier-like, disdainful pride, 
 
 Draca. Ay, and too oft of late the ruddy wine 
 Hath demon-like peered from his o'er-bright eyes. 
 
 Myron. Thou knowest also how a sudden love 
 Hath burnt him with unseemly passionate fire 
 For that Byzantian maiden Cleonice: 
 Which yet, I fear me, shall lead on to deeds 
 He must repent of. Hermione, chaste 
 As driven snow, his wife, whom once he deemed 
 As dearer than his soul, has he forgot ; 
 And all that binds him to his nobler self 
 Is now his son, the sweet youth, Pleisanaxus, 
 The darling of our camp. Would this were all! 
 But, Draca, hast thou heard no more than this 
 In muttered whisperings hovering o'er the camp, 
 
12 PAUSANIAS ACT I 
 
 Like black-winged birds that smell afar the prey, 
 And flap their wings in omen of mishap? 
 
 Draca. True: I have heard the whispers that thou 
 nam'st, 
 And seen a deeper dread within men's eyes: 
 But him I serve I trust, and I would spurn 
 The man who uttered aught about his name 
 That savored of dishonor, as a toad 
 E'en viler than the vermin that he feeds on. 
 Thou art not one, good Myron, who believest 
 The rumors of the camp? 
 
 Myron. That he hath aught 
 
 In common with King Xerxes? No. Nor shall 
 Believe it ever. Yet do I bewail 
 The time when such reports as this can spread 
 By subtle innuendoes, and yet find 
 Men who can e'en believe them. Oh, 'tis base! 
 Rumors like this, born of a great mistrust. 
 Have sneaked about the camp e'en while we slept. 
 Like black-browed thieves, and stolen from men's hearts 
 That treasure, dearer than gold or gem. 
 Mutual good-will, trust interlinked with trust. 
 Athenians and lonians both are moved 
 By vile suspicion of our Spartan hosts. 
 Nor Aristeides loveth nor our lord, 
 Nor Cimon do I rate Pausanias' friend. 
 All is awry. I fear me lest — But see! 
 Pausanias comes. 
 
 Enter Pausanias. 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS 13 
 
 Pausanias. Myron, take this at once 
 To my lieutenant, Bion. Bid him do 
 Its mandates quickly. Draca, have spread out 
 Within the council chamber charts of Persia. 
 
 \^Exeunt Myron and Draca.] 
 
 I feel three natures battling in my breast 
 
 And know not which shall conquer. Visions rise, 
 
 Three visions, diverse-faced, and beckon on. 
 
 The man within me, which o'ercomes the rest, 
 
 Shall follow after that which pleases him. 
 
 Ambition, Love, Fidelity — these three — 
 
 Divide my soul. One to the future points; 
 
 The clinging, passion-throbbing arms of one 
 
 Entwine the present; but the other stands 
 
 And coldly bids me to the past be true. 
 
 Oh, has it come to this! That ere I take 
 
 The path, which yet so plainly honor shows, 
 
 I must be racked with questionings? Oh, think, 
 
 Pausanias, on thy past, how men were wont 
 
 To point thee out, a cold and stainless star, 
 
 Still traveling on the road of honor, when 
 
 Mere fire-fly comets blazed themselves to atoms. 
 
 And is it thou who think'st on treason now? 
 
 Ye gods! Tut! How I speak in children's prattle. 
 
 Shall I yet trust in gods — I, who long since. 
 
 Had there been gods, had shamed them with my thoughts 
 
 To nothingness; and yet I prosper still. 
 
 The Past — Oh, haunt me not, ye phantom eyes, 
 
 I have not yet betrayed you. Wait until 
 
 The deed is done — if it indeed be done. 
 
14 PAUSANIAS ACT i 
 
 Oh, Hermione, I am true to thee 
 
 In all save thought — And yet I never loved 
 
 Thee in my hottest youth as now I love 
 
 This cold Byzantian maid. Methinks I see 
 
 Thy mild eyes stare in wonder, and thy hands, 
 
 That oft I fondled in my playful hours, 
 
 Clutch in amazement, so to see thy lord. 
 
 Whom thou hast honored as thy household god, 
 
 So lost in thought to honor. Ah, 'tis well ' 
 
 Thou mayest not read my musings, for mayhap 
 
 Thou and thy kindred, should I yield and fail, 
 
 Might save me yet, believing me still true. 
 
 And yet, thou art the mother of my boy: 
 
 Him whom I hold e'en as my higher self. 
 
 If false to thee, then false to him: thy soul 
 
 Yet looketh on me with his eyes — who knocks? 
 
 [Knocking without.^ 
 
 Enter Myron. 
 Well, Myron? 
 
 Myron. Lord Pausanias, as thou badest, 
 Thy will hath been fulfilled. 
 
 Pans. Thou hast done well. 
 
 The Lady Cleonice is attended 
 In state at her apartments? 
 
 Myron. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Paus. Eyes half so bright, Myron, have lit the sparks 
 That o'er great cities built tall spires of flame; 
 And crimson billows, fathoms deep, have flowed 
 For lips not half so red: do thou, then, see 
 She be entreated royally, yet guarded. 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS 15 
 
 With little ostentation held secure: 
 And charm her senses with delight. 
 
 Myron. My lord, 
 
 I will. 
 
 [Exit.l 
 
 Pans. E'en now the scornful Cleonice, 
 Wholly within my power, waits my word. 
 To do whate'er I list. Oh, how her eyes 
 Yet charm me with their scorn; her burnished hair 
 Might be a war-god's fetters. Am I more 
 In might than Ares — that I can resist 
 A ten times more than Aphrodite? 
 I feel the heat of passion melt away 
 The armor Faith and Honor clothed me in, 
 And leave me naked man; — so weak and frail 
 A blind child's dart may prick me through and through. 
 But then — should I win Cleonice's love — 
 What's then to do? For Hermione waits 
 At home, and I unto the Persian king 
 Have offered to become his son-in-law, 
 And leader of his troops, if he shall grant 
 Me worthy them. How slow the time drags on! 
 I marvel that no further message comes 
 From Cleonice or from Xerxes. All 
 The plans are ready for the one; and I 
 Am ready for the other. [He pours out a glass of wine 
 and lifts it to the light before drinking it.'\ Wine 
 grows pale 
 Between thy lips, O Cleonice, yet 
 
i6 PAUSANIAS ACT i 
 
 'Twill make me brave to woo thee, till thy scorn 
 
 Change into passion, thy repulses faint 
 
 With weakness and become embraces — Hark! 
 
 A step; can it be she, at last? Ye gods 
 
 Of love, I would it were, but fear too much 
 
 To think it. Who comes, Draca? 
 
 Enter Draca. 
 
 Draca. One, my lord, 
 
 A helot, sends this feather to my lord. 
 I know not what his humor is, but he 
 Is held in custody without. 
 
 Pans. Enough. 
 
 Admit him, Draca, and guard well the door, 
 See thou no other enter while we speak. 
 
 Enter Persian Messenger, disguised as a Grecian helot. 
 
 Messenger. Greetings, my lord-commander of our 
 troops ; 
 From Xerxes, King of Persia. 
 
 Pans. Well: what says 
 
 Your lord? 
 
 Messenger. That to Pausanias he doth send 
 An eagle's pinion, and if he would soar, 
 He grants him strength to soar with: all he asks. 
 
 Pans. 'Tis well. What I have here gives reason full 
 Unto your lord, to know me honest. Look 
 Thou guardest it well. My soul, my honor 'tis; 
 And it shall prove the victory of thy king. 
 Do thou convey it unto him, and he 
 Most surely shall reward thee greatly. Wait ! 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS 17 
 
 Art thou well guarded? Is there aught to fear 
 For thee in going? I would fain my troops 
 Might to the border guide thee, still unknown. 
 
 Mess. 'Twere safer, lord, I go even as I came, 
 Disguised an humble helot. None shall know, 
 Nor harm me. 
 
 Fare thee well. [Exit Messenger.^ 
 
 Paus. Farewell. 'Tis done — 
 
 I must go on. — Oh, golden realm of dreams 
 That lieth in the East! What is there left 
 I may not be, I may not call mine own. 
 If I do join, as now I think I can. 
 This power of mine with Persia's? Let me wait, 
 Then, to adjust all things. For who would dare, 
 Or Cleonice or my wife, to spurn 
 What I can offer. I may yet be lord 
 Of each, when I am lord of Persia's throne. 
 I should not then unfaithful be to thee, 
 My Pleisanaxus. Thou shalt be mine heir. 
 Not son of Xerxes nor another: mine 
 Shall be the hand to clear for thee the throne. 
 Oh glorious is the vision ! I will join 
 The Spartan sword unto the Persian gold, 
 And nought in Heaven or earth shall be above me. 
 If there be gods I scorn them: all things run 
 In concord to my glory. There shall be 
 One god, and one alone, and he on earth. 
 Accept my offerings, O thou God Pausanias ! 
 
 [He drains the wine-glass as if drinking a health.^ 
 2 
 
ACT I 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Pausanias' apartments as before. Pausanias gazing 
 out over balcony to the hills. Pleisanaxus on the divan. 
 
 Son. Father. 
 
 Pausanias. What is it, boy? 
 
 Son. Shall we not soon 
 
 Return again to Sparta? Many months 
 Have passed, and I do long to see my mother. 
 I dreamed last night that she did come and stand 
 Beside my bed and gazed upon me long, 
 And kissed my lips. 
 
 Paus. I cannot tell, my boy, , 
 
 How soon my stay may end and we may turn 
 Once more unto the shores of Greece. 
 
 Son. My father, 
 
 Do you not think my mother must be lonely 
 With both of us away? She used to say 
 She could not live without us. In the night 
 I long to feel her kisses, and I wish 
 That I were home in Sparta, though I know 
 The army is a school where I must learn 
 To be a warrior that, when I am grown, 
 I, too, may bear a shield and wield a sword 
 And fight for Greece as you do. 
 
20 PAUSANIAS ACT I 
 
 Pans. Ah, my son, 
 
 What mind may read the riddle of the world? 
 Years vanish with the drifting of dead leaves, 
 And all the voices of the spring of life 
 Die on the winds of autumn. All the gods 
 That ruled us in the summer of the world 
 Have tottered from their thrones, and we must worship 
 The memory of our dreams. While thou art young 
 Choose thee a sword and with it rule thy life. 
 Guard righteousness and justice as a treasure; 
 Cut from thy heart all sores that fester there; 
 Cling to the tender yearning of thy youth: 
 Then in the days to come no memories 
 Will burn their imprint on thy fevered mind, 
 Nor any agony of dull remorse 
 Wail for dead hopes, or curse the hot desires 
 That will not die. 
 
 Son. My mother oft has told me 
 
 That I must strive to be in all things noble, 
 So that thy name in Sparta may live on 
 Unstained in after years. 
 
 Pans. \^Aside.~\ Alas! To-night 
 
 I cannot bear the prattle of the lad. 
 Go, my son, unto the armourer. 
 There you may play until I send for thee. 
 The hours are heavy with alifairs of state. 
 
 {Exit Pleisanaxus.] 
 
 "And. fight for Greece as you do" ! So, alas, 
 All men do think of me as one who strives 
 
SCENE 11 PAUSANIAS 21 
 
 To keep the ancient glory of our state! 
 
 God, that men should cast away their fame, 
 And sell their dearest honor for a price. 
 
 No wounds are like the sorrows of the heart, 
 Self-bruised and weary, till the silent nights 
 Are turned to endless tortures of remembrance. 
 Last night I waked in the cold morning hours, 
 As the pale moon sank down behind the hills. 
 And all my heart was numb remembering 
 That I have put behind me friends and home, 
 The rivers and the sunlight in the valleys, 
 The winds that sing their message to the sea. 
 The friendly smile and whispered word of praise. 
 No weary knocking on the doors of life 
 Will ever ope the portals I have closed. 
 But in the Persian state I still may climb 
 Till on the steps I stand before the throne; 
 And if the throne be empty, who may say 
 
 1 shall not reign? Here do I now begin 
 A new existence, using all my power, 
 Striving with every might until I coin 
 My dreams into realities, my hopes 
 
 Into the very substance that shall make 
 My slightest will the ruler of the world. 
 
 Enter Cleonice. 
 
 Cleonice. You sent for me, my lord? 
 
 Pans. Ah, Cleonice, 
 
 I would that thou hadst come without my sending. 
 I would I might behold the Icy scorn 
 
22 PAUSANIAS ACT I 
 
 That flashes from your eyes, transformed to gladness, 
 And in the dancing sunlight of your smile 
 Behold a world new-born. 
 
 Cleon. Alas, my lord, 
 
 My heart is full of memories of the j^ears 
 When all my life was free as is the bird 
 That circles from the mountains to the sea. 
 My days are stifled in this palace-prison, 
 And how may I be glad? 
 
 Pans. My Cleonice, 
 
 Thou shalt be free. Nay, power beyond dreams 
 Shall wait upon thy slightest frown, if thou 
 Wilt grant me but thy love. Thou shalt be noble ; 
 Thy hair shall flash with burning gold and jewels; 
 Thy sleep shall come upon thee in the night 
 'Neath precious silks and linens softly swaying 
 In drowsy clouds of incense, curling up 
 In fragrant spirals to the jeweled ceiling. 
 Thy chambers shall be paved with curious glass. 
 And all the costly carving of the East 
 Shall gleam about thee. And unnumbered slaves, 
 With eagerness to do thy least command, 
 Shall serve thee as their queen. Ah, Cleonice, 
 The very winds shall softly blow upon thee. 
 No icy blast from out the desolate North 
 Shall blow his frozen breath upon thy beauty; 
 Thy fair exquisite limbs that softly slumber 
 Girt round about in purple. The golden sun 
 Shall warmly smile upon thee but to see 
 Thy tender answering smile. 
 
SCENE II PAUSANIAS 23 
 
 Cleon. Indeed, my lord, 
 
 I may not listen to these promises. 
 Ah, good my lord, why wilt thou not be true 
 Unto thyself, and be as in past days 
 When thou didst first invest Byzantium? 
 I well recall that hour when first I saw 
 The Grecian army winding through our streets, 
 The sun white-flashing on thy shield. All men 
 Did murmur of thy honor and thy prowess. 
 Thy truth and faith and gentle courtesy; 
 And many that did hate the Greeks, loved thee 
 Because of thy fair fame. But now, my lord, 
 Thou art a traitor to thy better self, 
 And in my heart, which once did honor thee, 
 Softness is dead. 
 
 Paus. Thy words as a white mist 
 
 Bring echoes that do stir within my heart. 
 Dim memories that hide among the shadows, 
 And half-remembered voices that are dead. 
 My Cleonice, since that wondrous day 
 When first I gazed into thy peerless eyes 
 And watched the winds caress thy golden hair, 
 The world is but a realm of splendid perils. 
 And thou art all in all. Thou art the hope 
 The yearning winds have whispered to the sea: 
 The silent stars through all the centuries 
 Have dreamed of thee; the nightingale hath sung 
 Of thee alone, and all the summer nights 
 Are full of fragrant hopes and mad desires 
 Of thee; Cleonice, let me plead my love. 
 And I will make all cloistered moon-lit visions 
 
24 PAUSANIAS ACT i 
 
 Grow pale and fade, till in my arms thou shalt 
 Forget slow time and death and all things else 
 Save my love only. 
 
 Cleon. Lord Pausanias, 
 
 Thy words within mine ears do sting and burn 
 Till all my woman's heart cries out on thee. 
 And though I honored thee for what thou wast, 
 I scorn thee and despise thee now and more — 
 For that thou hast compelled me hear thy words 
 I hate thee — hate thee — hate thee! 
 
 Pans. Even hate 
 
 Is dearer than the coldness thou wast wont 
 To use me with. My love is as a flame. 
 The silent night with silver light of stars 
 Washing the world with beauty brings no peace. 
 The cool green of the myriad-leafed wood 
 Is passionate with memories of thee. 
 I cannot live without thee, Cleonice. 
 But be my wife and I will turn my sword 
 Against the world, and thou shalt sit at last 
 Upon a golden throne and wield a sceptre 
 So mighty that the shadow of its glory 
 Shall stretch across the world. 
 
 Cleon. Good my lord, 
 
 I may not be your wife. My love is given 
 To one who wooed me gently many years. 
 His love more greatly honors me than all 
 The beauty and the splendor of the East, 
 And in this love even now am I a queen. 
 
 Pans. I would mine eyes had never seen thy face! 
 Thou art a madness burning in my blood; 
 
SCENE II PAUSANIAS 25 
 
 Provoke me not too far or I may find 
 A freedom in thy death. 
 
 Cleon. I fear it not. 
 
 Indeed, my lord, 'tis but a sleep that knows 
 No sad awakening; a land of peace and stillness. 
 No cold winds sigh across its leafless plains; 
 No weary waters tumbling to the sea; 
 No fragrant breath of any spicery, 
 But in the silence and the dusky twilight 
 Year follows year and centuries steal away 
 Into the mist, and hope and doubt and fear. 
 Sorrow and joy and hate are past forever. 
 And peace is over all. Those that remember 
 That I did live and strove to keep my faith, 
 To be not all unworthy, for his sake 
 Whose love was in my heart, with gentle kindness 
 May think of me and I shall be content. 
 
 Pans. Thou art beyond my power — Go in peace, 
 And think not harshly of my burning words. 
 Indeed, I love thee madly, and at times 
 I know not what I do. 
 
 Cleon. Lord Pausanias, 
 
 But cast this baser passion from thy heart. 
 And in the power of thy manhood thou 
 Shalt gain a greater happiness than I 
 Could ever bring. Farewell. 
 
 \_Exit Cleonice.] 
 
 Paus. Ah, Love, thou art a yearning and a sorrow; 
 A frenzy of despair; a star of hope. 
 
26 PAUSANIAS ACT i 
 
 All my slow days do wither at the root 
 Ere they have life because thou wilt not die. 
 Ye Gods! send sleep to heal the aching wounds 
 That will not close. If I may sleep, perchance 
 The morrow's sun may find me stro'nger. [Throws him- 
 self on couch.l 
 
ACT II 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 Cleonice^S apartments in Pausanias^ palace. A 
 large room of white marble entered by a door to the right. 
 A wide, low window at the back of the stage overlooking 
 the sea. On the left is a door leading to Cleonice's bed- 
 room. The walls are hung with purple silks, — and 
 quaintly carven gold lamps, standing on high bronze col- 
 umns, shed a subdued light. The floor is made up of in- 
 tricate designs in blue mosaic on luhite ground. High- 
 backed ebony chairs, inlaid ivith gold, over one of which 
 is thrown an embroidered robe. A low divan in the cor- 
 ner between the door on left and the luindow at the back, 
 above which are suspended purple hangings and a bronze 
 lamp. 
 
 Curtain rises ivith Cleonice sitting half turned to 
 the window, looking toward the sea, while Phrania ar- 
 ranges her hair. 
 
 Cleonice. Phrania, do I look pale? 
 Phrania. Indeed, my lady, 
 
 Unwonted pallor rests upon thy cheek; 
 But yet thine eyes are bright and very fair. 
 
 Cleon. My heart is sad: a terror weighs upon me. 
 {Singing.'] 
 
 The joys of Youth are dead to-night; 
 The laurel crown, the whispered praise. 
 
28 PAUSANIAS ACT ii 
 
 The dreams of Youth are dead to-night, 
 And all the unlived happy days. 
 The years of quietude and peace, 
 The silent noon — the evening light; 
 Years die away and visions cease. 
 The hopes of Youth are dead to-night. 
 Phran. [Aside. Gathering up the embroidered robe 
 
 and a scarf.} I would I might unloose the bonds of sorrow 
 
 That shadow all the sunshine and the gladness 
 
 Within my mistress' heart. 
 Cleon. \^Singing.~\ 
 
 The eyes of Youth are dim to-night, 
 And all the phantoms of the mist. 
 The voice of Youth is still to-night. 
 The songs unsung — the lips unkissed. 
 The summer's rose hath blown away. 
 And all the paths of Time are white. 
 Ah, Winter whisper it to May — 
 The heart of Youth is dead to-night. 
 Phran. [^Approaching with robe.} 
 
 Wilt thou have on this 'broidered robe, my lady? 
 Cleon. No, Phrania, I will not put it on — 
 
 I say I will not. [Snatches the pearls from her hair.} 
 These jeweled mockeries 
 
 I will not wear. Bring me a robe of darkness. 
 
 Unbind my hair and let it close me in 
 
 From all the world. Mine eyes are very weary. 
 
 All night I lie awake and may not sleep; 
 
 The silent silver arrows of the moon 
 
 Fall with a slow, remorseless radiance 
 
 Upon my couch; grow wan and melt away 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS 29 
 
 When the slow flaming of the crimson East 
 Proclaims another day. The silent night 
 Brings me no peace. 
 
 Phran. My lady, I have news, 
 
 If good or bad I know not. In the palace 
 There's one I think thine eyes have yearned to see. 
 
 Cleon. Whom dost thou mean? 
 
 Phran. One of Byzantium 
 
 Who long has held thy friendship, Cleonice. 
 
 Cleon. Tell me whom thou dost mean. 
 
 Phran. 'Tis Lysias. 
 
 Cleon. Lysias? How came he here? He must not 
 linger, 
 For if Pausanias learn he is within 
 I fear me for his life. He must be gone. 
 
 Phran. He has taken service in the guard, my lady, 
 And in his Greek disguise his life is safe. 
 Even now he is without, and if thou wish 
 I'll send him unto thee. But wilt thou not 
 First wxar the jeweled mantle I laid out? 
 
 Cleon. This sober sadness better fits my mood. 
 But for one moment send him unto me. 
 And thou keep guard without. Haste thee away. 
 
 {Exit Phrania.] 
 
 He comes. The budding summer's drowsy heat 
 Blows like a baleful drug upon my heart 
 Till all my sense is numb. I may not strive 
 Against the forces that enmesh my life. 
 
30 PAUSANIAS act ii 
 
 Enter Lysias. 
 
 Lysias. Cleonice ! 
 
 Cleon. O my Lysias, art thou come? 
 Art thou not still a dream even as when 
 Thy face did steal upon me in my slumbers, 
 Thine arms enfolded me in their embrace. 
 And all the whispers of the summer leaves 
 Shaped themselves into thy words of love; 
 And all the myriad odors of the night 
 Commingled with thy kisses ? 
 
 Lysias. My dear love, 
 
 These were but visions. Now reality 
 Is come to cast into a golden mould 
 Thy dreaming. 
 
 Cleon. [In his arms.li Lysias, my lover! 
 
 Lysias. Cleonice, let us fly. 
 
 Cleon. Dear heart, it may not be; the doors are 
 guarded — 
 And all this sumptuous palace but a prison. 
 The effort were but vain. 
 
 Lysias. A shadow falls 
 
 Across the world where'er the wings of Fate 
 Circle and sweep. And when that bitter darkness 
 May pass between him and the kindly sun, 
 Touching his life with a cold deadly wind, 
 No man may know. Therefore we may but strive 
 Until the hour of doom. Once past the gate 
 In the glad sunlight of the boundless world. 
 Together we will fare beyond the borders 
 Of Persian power, until in Thessaly 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS 31 
 
 We two shall build a home where whispering trees 
 
 Stir in the fragrance of the summer wind. 
 
 Where never foot may fall or voice may echo 
 
 Save thine or mine, or those the gods may send 
 
 To be a stay unto our later years. 
 
 There slowly we shall pass the happy days. 
 
 And after all the joy and toil of life 
 
 Our sleep shall come upon us as one sees 
 
 From a high mountain ships upon the sea, 
 
 Sailing toward the west where sinks the sun, 
 
 Staining the waves with glory. Sails grow small 
 
 And oars more dimly flash, until at last 
 
 All sight is lost and eye may only see 
 
 A crimson ocean and a dying sun. 
 
 Clean. My dearest love, this dream may never be. 
 These palace walls do daily grow more narrow. 
 Shutting me in until I scarce can breathe. 
 And taking from me all save memory. 
 Oh, Lysias, my heart has leaped to think 
 Of days and nights when still thou mightst be near 
 To calm each dread, and comfort me when phantoms 
 Steal in from out the darkness ; and a dream 
 Of little hands entangled in my hair. 
 And wondering eyes smiling in innocence. 
 Has never long been absent from my heart. 
 But now — 
 
 Enter Phrania. 
 
 Phran. Cleonice, Pausanias comes! 
 
 Clean. Hide thee in this closet — Quick! 
 
32 PAUSANIAS ACT ii 
 
 Lysias. Dear heart, 
 
 I will not hide; for thou art still my love, 
 And I have done no wrong. [Enter Pausanias. A 
 startled pause. "[ 
 
 Pausanias. What man art thou? 
 
 Lysias. A guardsman of the palace, lord. 
 
 Paus. Art thou 
 
 That man who came in Grecian garb and sought 
 But yesterday to join the palace guard? 
 
 Lysias. I am, my lord. 
 
 Paus. What dost thou here? 
 
 Lysias. I came 
 
 To speak unto the Lady Cleonice, 
 Who is betrothed to me. 
 
 Paus. [To Cleonice. ~\ Does he speak truth? 
 
 Clean. He does, my lord. 
 
 Paus. I see a sudden light. 
 
 I understand why thou dost spurn my suit; 
 For, with a lover in the palace guard. 
 Thou dost not lack for opportunity, 
 Or one to make soft dalliance in thy bed. 
 
 Lysias. [Drawing.^ Thou liest! 
 
 Paus. Ho, guards! [Enter guards.^ 
 
 Conduct this valiant youth 
 Beyond the palace gate. If he be found 
 Ever again wnthin the outer wall. 
 Kill him. 
 
 [As the guards drag out Lysias, Pausanias turns 
 to Cleonice in scorn.l 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS 33 
 
 And thou, O fairest Cleonice, 
 It were a pity that thy lover's place 
 Should not be filled, and all these summer nights 
 Made lonely for thee. I will think awhile, 
 And doubt it not but thou shalt hear again 
 Of this affair. 
 
 [Exit Pausanias.] 
 
 Cleon. The end — the end has come. 
 Oh, all ye gods, whatever gods there be, 
 Have pity on me. I do not ask for life ; 
 'Tis but an endless striving, endless failure, 
 And I am weary. Make strong my wavering hand, 
 That I may go in triumph to my rest. 
 Though roses bloom above me and scented winds 
 Caress the yellow grass, and on the shore 
 Resounds the endless music of the sea; 
 These things I shall not miss. In the cool earth 
 Eternal silence steals upon the heart. 
 And all the weary fever of my life 
 Shall be forgotten. 
 
ACT II 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Pausanias' apartments. The audience chamber as in 
 Act Ij Scene I. The room is brilliantly lighted and set 
 for a rich banquet. Pausanias, Cimon, Aristeides^ 
 Myron, and other officers at the feast. 
 
 In the background attendants and lute-players. 
 
 Pausanias. Cimon, thou lookest foolish as a babe. 
 What was it made thee so? 
 
 Cimon. The wine, my lord; 
 
 Not nature. 
 
 Pans. An she had she would not claim you. 
 
 Cimon. Nature was kind to tell Pausanias so. 
 
 Paus. Most kind to prattle on so light a theme. 
 
 Cimon. And with her own fool, too. 
 
 Aristeides. Fie, fie, my lords. 
 
 Ye wax too witty for so young a night. 
 [Aside.] 'Tis but in wine a man unmasks himself. 
 [To an officer.] We soon must go. Pausanias grows 
 inflamed. 
 
 Paus. [To lute-players.] 
 Ye'U play yourselves to Hades with such strumming. 
 Canst thou not sing? Hast thou no voice to bawl with 
 That thou must still be strumming? 
 
36 PAUSANIAS act ii 
 
 Musician. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Pans. Then sing ! Let it be tripping-light and mad. 
 Or I'll be mad and send you tripping light 
 With empty pockets. Sing! Sing! 
 
 Mus. Ay, my lord. 
 
 [Singing.'] 
 
 Hearts be gay, hearts be glad: 
 Wine may banish all your troubles. 
 Drink and growing winsome mad. 
 Griefs shall pass like bursting bubbles. 
 
 From golden cups of ruddy wine 
 His victim's health young Cupid sips, 
 And swears no nectar so divine 
 To a lover's or a love-god's lips. 
 'Twas long ago he learned its charm, 
 When Psyche was disdainful yet. 
 Upon a mossy bank and warm. 
 Of fragrant violet, 
 
 Cupid aweary slept, and there 
 Sly Psyche, fearful of his art, 
 His magic arrows stole, and where 
 Each was, replaced a harmless dart; 
 But Cupid guessed the fraud and dipped 
 Each arrow into blood-red wine, 
 Singing, "My darts are passion-tipped: 
 Sweet Psyche shall be mine." 
 
SCENE II PAUSANIAS 37 
 
 Hearts be gay, hearts be glad: 
 Cupid made sweet Psyche woo him ; 
 For the wine-tipped arrows had 
 Magic power to win her to him. 
 
 An Officer. An excellent song, my lord, and most 
 
 well sung. 
 Paus. Nay. 'Tis a poor song. Thou shouldst hear 
 me sing. 
 I have a voice to win cold Artemis 
 To be my paramour, an she could hear me. 
 Oh, I can sing — 
 
 Cimon. My lord, we must be going. 
 
 Paus. Thou scornst to hear me sing! Thou mockst 
 me so? 
 By Zeus — 
 
 Arist. Nay, but he means no harm, Pausanias. 
 
 Another time we shall delight to hear — 
 Peace, Cimon, peace — thee sing: but now, my lord, 
 Pleasure must yield to labor. There is much 
 That doth demand our speedy care. So then 
 We still must go. Good night, Pausanias. 
 
 [Exeunt Arist.^ Cimon^ and Officers.] 
 Paus. [To AIus.] Go, fellows! I am weary of your 
 strumming. 
 
 [Exeunt Musicians and Attendants.] 
 
 Ye gods! I thought to while away the hours 
 With mirth, not wear them out with idle discord. 
 Myron, are all the fools gone? 
 
38 PAUSANIAS act ii 
 
 Myron. All, my lord, 
 
 Paus. Thanks to tKe gods for ridding us of fools. 
 
 Now who shall dare dispute I look a king? 
 
 I'll blot the stars from heaven if they rebel. 
 
 I'll bid the northern lights to take their places, 
 
 And dazzle with their glory. Ay, I will! 
 
 Shall I be king and have my power disputed? 
 
 The winds shall blow but where I list, the waves 
 
 Shall lift themselves like suppliant hands to me. 
 
 Who says I am not king ? Who ? Who ? Was't thou ? 
 Myron. I did not speak, my lord. 
 Paus. Then get thee hence! 
 
 Thou'rt drunk and canst not stand. Get hence! 
 Myron. My lord — 
 
 Paus. Nay, answer not. Do I not see thee drunk? 
 
 Yet wait, — I have somewhat for thee to do, — 
 
 Send thou my Lady Cleonice hither 
 
 Within the hour to me. Dost understand? 
 
 [Exit Myron.] 
 
ACT II 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 Pausanias' bedroom. In the rear to the right Pau- 
 SANIAS is lying upon his couch in a dazed slumber. A 
 single bronze lamp burns dimly on the table. Through 
 the window to the left of the couch can be seen the lights 
 of Byzantium glimmering below. On the walls of the 
 room the armor and weapons of Pausanias reflect back 
 very faintly the flickering light, while the scant furniture 
 seems scarcely more than a mass of dark shadows. 
 Cleonice is led into the room by guards who leave her 
 and withdraw, closing the door, outside of which they 
 take their station. 
 
 Cleonice. Pausanias sleeps! Gods make his sleep 
 eternal ! 
 The stars dream on in silver loveliness; 
 The waves are hushed to slumber and the winds 
 Are still. The world is sunk in peaceful shadow, 
 And life scarce stirs in the embrace of night. 
 I would drink deep of sleep as of a wine; 
 Behold the rush and fever of the world 
 Subside and fade and softly pass away, 
 Till sight and sound exist no more forever, 
 Only a fragrant coolness and a darkness. 
 He stirs! Ye gods who far above the world 
 Lean from the dimness in pity over man, 
 Grant me your strength. A woman is but frail; 
 
40 PAUSANIAS act ii 
 
 Made not to rule or greatly to engage 
 
 In striving. All her duty is to grow 
 
 In peaceful ness and purity of heart. 
 
 Yet shall my soul grow brave, my hand grow strong, 
 
 And with this hidden dagger I will pry 
 
 The iron gates of Death until they open — 
 
 If Pausanias do attempt me. Who can tell 
 
 When Fate may bend and kiss us into sleep? 
 
 A still, cold wind along remembered paths, 
 
 A little rustle in familiar leaves — 
 
 A sudden voice of moaning on the hills, 
 
 And as we turn there Fate stands close beside. 
 
 With eyes that we remember or have dreamed ; 
 
 A face we knew but never understood. 
 
 He stirs again — Oh, Gods, he will awake! 
 
 I will put out the light and hide in darkness. 
 
 [Cleonice goes to the table and bends to put out 
 the light. As she does so her draperies are blown 
 against the lamp and caught. The lamp falls 
 to the floor with a crash. Darkness. Pausanias 
 is aroused by the noise but is still dazed-l 
 Paus. What noise is that? Some one has put out the 
 light! 
 
 \^He draws his short-sivord and advances.1 
 What vision of the night in dimness clad ? 
 Who art thou? Speak! No word? Then shalt thou 
 fight. 
 
 \^Hurls his short-sword into the shadow and it 
 pierces Cleonice's breast.~\ 
 Cleon. My heart! Gods let me not die in pain! 
 
SCENE III PAUSANIAS 41 
 
 Paus. Cleonice's voice ! Ho, lights ! What deed is this. 
 [Guards rush in bringing torches, which flicker 
 upon Cleonice luounded unto death. Pausanias 
 bends over her.^ 
 Cleonice, O Cleonice, speak to me! 
 Thou art not deeply hurt. Oh, say thou art not ! 
 Speak to me, speak! 
 
 Cleo. [Faintly.] My Lord Pausanias, 
 
 I do — forgive thee — for thou hast loved me — 
 After thy kind. I feel the summer's warmth — 
 A fragrance — There are voices in mine ears — 
 Sleep comes. [She dies.] 
 
 A Guard. My lord, the Lady Cleonice 
 
 Is dead. 
 
 Paus. [Still bending over her.] Thou art not dead. 
 'Tis but a sleep, 
 That steals upon thee softly. Speak to me! 
 Oh, say thou art not dead! Shake ofE this dream, 
 This evil, torturing dream! Have pity on me! 
 Thou art not she; thou art a wild illusion 
 Bred in my brain by vapors of the night. 
 I'll close mine eyes and straight thou wilt depart. 
 Silent? And still? No voice or little movement? 
 Then thou art dead. My love hath slain 
 The beauty and the music of the world. 
 No wind shall ever blow without a moaning; 
 No rose shall bloom but in its heart a tear, 
 And all the varied thunders of the sea 
 Shall be from now an everlasting dirge, 
 Through all the empty years. My love hath been 
 
42 PAUSANIAS ACT ii 
 
 An evil hope, a crimson, deadly flame. 
 And I have waked to see the thing I loved 
 Fade to eternal silence. Henceforth forever 
 There shall be darkness blotting out the sun, 
 And evil voices chanting in mine ears. 
 Memory shall live and twine about my life. 
 Slow days shall grow to years and years shall be 
 An agony of hopeless, vain regret. 
 But yesterday my life was in the making ; 
 Now like a fair, unfinished, carven vase 
 It lies in broken fragments at my feet. 
 
 [Pausanias bends over Cleonice and kisses her lips.'\ 
 Ah! Beautiful in death! Gods grant thee peace! 
 The sleep thou didst not fear hath come upon thee. 
 Carry the Lady Cleonice to her chamber. 
 And have her decked in splendor for the grave. 
 
 '[Guards go out, carrying Cleonice slowly to her 
 apart ments.~\ 
 Paus. [Pressing his hands over his eyesJ] 
 That measured tread will linger in mine ears 
 Above the beat of myriad marching feet. 
 
ACT III 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 Pausanias' apartments as in Act I, Scene I. Morning. 
 Pausanias, Myron, Pleisanaxus, Messenger^ At- 
 tendants. Later, Draca and Mother of Cleonice. 
 
 Pans. Your master Cimon sends for me? 
 
 Messenger. He doth, 
 
 My lord. Matters of greatest moment wait 
 Thy care. He bade me say didst thou not come 
 At once, he would attend thee here. 
 
 Pans. Tell Cimon 
 
 When Pausanias takes from him commands, 
 Then may he look to see me; not before. 
 
 Enter Draca, attempting to keep back MoTHER of 
 Cleonice. 
 
 Draca. Back, woman, or I swear I — 
 
 Mother. Lord Pausanias! 
 
 Draca. Thou must not enter. 
 
 Mother. Nay, I will. The power 
 
 That drives me hither stronger is than thou, 
 And will not let me stay. Out of my way! 
 I seek my Lord Pausanias, not his minion! 
 
44 PAUSANIAS act hi 
 
 Draca. Woman, I warn you: enter at your peril! 
 Though courtesy and manhood shame me for it, 
 Yet movest thou another step, my hand 
 Shall force thee back. 
 
 Mother. Pausanias! Lord Pausanias! 
 
 Help! 
 
 Draca. Hither, guards! Come and take this woman out. 
 
 Pans. What is the tumult? Draca, what means this? 
 Who called upon me now? 
 
 Draca. A woman, lord, 
 
 Clamors to see thee, calls upon thy name 
 With most unseemly uproar. 
 
 Paus. Let her in. 
 
 Draca. My lord, she is — 
 
 Paus. I bade thee let her in! 
 
 What wilt thou, woman, that thou breakest thus 
 Upon my councils? Knowest thou no seasons? 
 
 Mother. My lord, a broken reed, whereon the sighs 
 Of sorrow play sad strains, recks not of seasons. 
 Sorrow seeks not occasion, for all hours 
 Are hers. 
 
 Paus. Sad music 'tis that sorrow makes, 
 
 Methinks, upon a broken reed. 
 
 \_To Tfiessenger.l Hast thou 
 Aught else to say? 
 
 Mess. I spoke my message, lord. 
 
 Paus. Then go. [Exit Mess.] 
 
 Now, woman, tell me freely, why 
 Thy wailing hath disturbed me here. 
 
 Mother. My lord, 
 
 I had not come untimely thus, had not 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS 45 
 
 Occasion urged it. I did seek all night 
 Admittance. None might enter if they wore 
 Not festive garments. Yet I weary watched, 
 Hoping that chance might lead thee to pass by, 
 That I might fall before thee there to ask 
 A boon, in pleading for mine own, my daughter, 
 The dearest jewel of my heart! My lord. 
 Oh grant me back my darling Cleonice! 
 
 Pans. Art thou her mother? 
 
 Mother. Ay, twice-told her mother; 
 
 For I have travailed for her with the pangs 
 Of spirit sharper than the pains of flesh! 
 Oh, Lord Pausanias, hadst thou felt the touch 
 Of baby-fingers stealing o'er thy face, 
 And soft, warm lips pressed lovingly to thine; 
 If prattled whispers ever in thine ears 
 Grew sweeter than the honied dew of flowers, 
 Thou couldst not now be dumb to my appeal. 
 
 Pans. Woman, thy pleadings are but vain — 
 
 Mother. Nay, lord. 
 
 Take not from me the sunlight of my life, 
 My little Cleonice, whom I love! 
 
 \^She throws herself on her knees before Pausanias.^ 
 Oh, turn not thou so coldly from my face, 
 But look with pity on me! She is yet 
 No more than baby in her innocence. 
 Oh, sir, thou hast a wife and were she here 
 Her heart would bleed with mine! Oh, Lord Pausanias, 
 The frenzied fears of things I dread to name 
 Drive me to madness ! Oh, have pity, lord ! 
 Spare thou the lily-whiteness of her soul ! 
 
46 PAUSANIAS act hi 
 
 Pans. Curb thou thy wild and frenzied ravings, 
 woman. 
 I would that I might grant thy prayer ; but — 
 
 Mother. Oh, do not turn away from my entreaties! 
 Lord, hast thou never watched thy child at play. 
 Followed its flitting figure with thine eyes, 
 Or strained thine ears to hear its foots'teps fall? 
 Or knelt in silence o'er its baby sleep. 
 And wept because it seemed so like to death ? 
 Hast thou not hungered for an absent form. 
 And when thou hadst it back again, with arms 
 That ached with love didst strain it to thy heart? 
 And pressed the little fingers till for pain 
 The loved one wept? Oh, how when one is gone 
 Whose kisses were the guerdon of our toil, 
 All nature cries the name that on our lips 
 Slumbers unspoken ! Sorrow flies at sunset 
 Upon the wings of crimson clouds: at noon 
 It rises like a mist and hideth heaven. 
 The waves that sob their sorrows on the sand, 
 The winds that whisper theirs unto the waves. 
 Are myriad tongues that tell the same sad tale. 
 Have I not moved thee that thou lookst so pale? 
 And wilt thou grant me my unspotted girl, 
 As maiden-pure as when thou hadst her from me? 
 
 Paus. Oh, woman, speak no more! Thy prayer is 
 granted. 
 When thou again shalt clasp to thee thy child. 
 Though she may give thee cruel thoughts of me. 
 Yet this I swear: I loved her with devotion 
 That drove me on to madness. From my hand 
 
SCENE I PAUSANIAS 47 
 
 She hath received no wilful harm, and I 
 Shall reverence her in memory till death. 
 Think not too harshly of me, for her sake. 
 Go to thy home and I will send her to thee, 
 As pure from stain as were her infant dreams. 
 
 Mother. Oh, my good lord — 
 
 Pans. Nay, thank me not. Farewell. 
 
 [^Exit Mother.] 
 
 Too soon thy joy shall change to wild-eyed sorrow, 
 
 And thy poor heart shall bleed and ache like mine. 
 
 Good Myron, thou shalt be my messenger 
 
 In this, and sad thy message is indeed. 
 
 Have thou upon a splendid litter borne 
 
 The Lady Cleonice to her home. 
 
 Her radiant head shall rest as though asleep 
 
 Upon a fragrant pillow of daphne bloom; 
 
 Her bier shall with pale roses all bestrewn 
 
 Rival the snow-white beauty of her soul. 
 
 Let spotless lilies on her bosom lie, 
 
 And let herself by maidens be arrayed 
 
 As rich as though she had been Xerxes' bride. 
 
 Then have thou writ the story of her death. 
 
 And round about it close her maiden fingers. 
 
 So send her to her mother ; beautiful 
 
 As goes a queen unto her bridal chamber. 
 
ACT III 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Pausanias' apartments. An audience chamber as in 
 Act I J Scene I. 
 
 In the foreground to the left Myron and DraCA con- 
 verse in low tones; opposite to them a group of other 
 officers are seen talking; behind them to the right stand 
 three messengers from S\parta and several attendants. In 
 the rear of the stage there are a number of soldiers of 
 Pausanias' body-guard laughing and talking. Their 
 voices gradually become louder till they are heard above 
 the lower tones of the officers in the foreground. 
 
 Myron. I fear me Lord Pausanias is not well. 
 'Tis not his wont to be so lost in thought 
 As he to-day hath been : nor all alone 
 To keep his room ; save when affairs of state 
 Have filled his brooding mind with silent thoughts. 
 
 Draca. This morn he rose as from a sleepless couch ; 
 Sad was his mien and o'er his eyes, methought, 
 Still hung the darkest shades of midnight's gloom. 
 He seemed aweary and his step was slow ; 
 Mayhap he seeks the sleep he lost last night. 
 
 An Officer. [To a Spartan 7nessenger.~\ Thou comest 
 new from Sparta? 
 4 
 
50 PAUSANIAS act hi 
 
 Messenger. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Officer. Then tell us that our city yet is strong 
 With all its bulwarks standing as of yore. 
 Our ears are hungry for such tales of home 
 And will not tire though oft they be retold. 
 
 Another Officer. Ay, speak. Though all thou tellest 
 be well-known, 
 Yet shall we joy to hear it more than tales 
 Of strange and wondrous note. The very names 
 Of things in Sparta fill our ears like soft 
 And pleasing echoes of sweet melodies. 
 Each Spartan, like Achilles, is but weak 
 In one peculiar spot — his love for Sparta. 
 Speak, man, and be no mute. 
 
 Mess. I bring good tidings of good times, my lord, 
 For all is well in Sparta. All men long 
 To greet again my Lord Pausanias home, 
 And pay to him the honor due his fame — 
 
 {There is a shout of laughter from the soldiers at 
 the back of the room and the messenger's words 
 are lost in their voices.^ 
 
 1st Soldier. Thou hast him there; see how he tries to 
 
 smile. 
 Jove blast his simple cunning! 
 
 2nd Soldier. Nay, but I — 
 
 3rd Soldier. Tut, man, deny it not! She'd none of 
 
 thee. 
 2nd Soldier. Thou art not just to say so. It was I — 
 1st Soldier. Nay, come, let him confess; and didst 
 
 thou win her? 
 
SCENE II PAUSANIAS 51 
 
 2nd Soldier. I will deny It not: why should I so? 
 She was most fair and could I but be fain? 
 'Tis not a thing for me to brag about ; 
 There's many a way to win a maid and I 
 Have learned — 
 
 1st Soldier. Hush, man, the general comes! 
 
 Myron. [To Draca.'] Look thou! 
 
 A new-born vigor fills his mighty frame. 
 And fresh life darteth from his flashing eye. 
 
 Draca. Mayhap he rested and is strong. But hush, 
 He comes. 
 
 Enter Pausanias. 
 
 Pans. Are messengers from Sparta come? 
 
 Myron. They wait thy will, my lord. 
 
 Pans. Then let them speak. 
 
 Mess. Great leader of our Spartans: Greetings, lord, 
 From all thy fellow-citizens of Sparta. 
 We bring dispatches from the city here; 
 And here a letter from thy noble spouse. 
 The Lady Hermione. 
 
 Pans. Hast thou seen 
 My wife in person ? Is she well ? And are all things 
 At Sparta in prosperity and peace? 
 
 Mess. Thy lady, lord, is still the paragon 
 Of sweet nobility and quiet virtue. 
 And daily grows in beauty and in grace. 
 All is at peace in Sparta and no grief 
 Assails the city's mind save that my lord 
 Must still be absent on these foreign wars. 
 
52 PAUSANIAS ACT iii 
 
 Nor shall there come of danger or of fear 
 While yet so great a soldier is our chief. 
 
 Paus. I thank you, friends, and while Pausanias lives 
 Still shall his word and services remain 
 Strong in defense of Sparta and her allies. 
 Good Draca, lead thou forth these worthy men, 
 Our fellow-citizens, and have prepared 
 Entreatment suited to their noble worth. 
 Road-weary men, perhaps, they long for rest. 
 But after, give them fitting entertainment. 
 
 [Exeunt Draca and Spartan Messengers.] 
 Give room, good friends, that I alone may read 
 These welcome tidings from our Spartan home. 
 
 [Exeunt save Pausanias and Myron.] 
 Good Myron, stay. 
 
 [He opens and reads the letters. 1 
 What wouldst thou say to me? 
 Myron. A Persian messenger in Persian garb. 
 My lord, awaits thy pleasure, close without. 
 
 Paus. Let him come in — nay, stay. And call again 
 All them who late were in attendance here. 
 
 [Exit Myron.] 
 
 Even the gods, they say, may not recall 
 
 The spoken word — or make undone the deed 
 
 Accomplished. Yet Pausanias shall — 
 
 Enter Myron with Persian messenger, officers, at- 
 tendants, etc., as before. 
 
 [To Messenger.] Thou comest from the Persian king 
 With messages to Pausanias? 
 
SCENE II PAUSANIAS 53 
 
 P. Mess. Ay, my lord, 
 
 Paus. Then speak. 
 
 P. Mess. [Looks about him guestioningly.l My lord? 
 
 Paus. Hast thou no message then? 
 
 P. Mess. I come upon a secret embassage. 
 My lord, I pray thee have thy men withdraw. 
 
 Paus. 'Twixt Xerxes and Pausanias there can be 
 No secret that my Spartans may not hear. 
 
 P. Mess. Then I will speak. My lord, the mighty king, 
 The glorious Sovereign of Persia, 
 In fear the messenger whom late he sent 
 Might fail perchance by some mishap 
 To reach thee here, hath sent me after him 
 With that same message wherewith he was charged: 
 Greetings from Xerxes, mighty King of Persia, 
 Unto my Lord Commander of his troops 
 Pausanias, son-to-be unto himself. 
 This eagle pinion sends he to my lord 
 That would he soar he may have strength to soar with. 
 
 Paus. Thy king, methinks, aspires the poet's role 
 And speaks in riddles hard to understand. 
 But take this message to thy king from me: 
 Tell him thou sawest here a mighty bird, 
 An eagle proud of flight and fain of prey, 
 That fixed his war-like eyes on Persia's throne 
 As on a sheep-fold easy of access. 
 And in that eagle's mighty wings outspread 
 Each feather is a Spartan strong to fight. 
 And every quill a sharp and piercing spear. 
 Go — speed thou ; tell that languorous braggart king 
 
54 PAUSANIAS act hi 
 
 The fire his words enkindle in my breast 
 Shall purge with flame the kingdom he pollutes 
 And burn to ash the glory of his pride ! 
 This pinion that he sends yet shall I keep 
 Wherewith to trim the arrow that shall give 
 Fit answer to his insolence! Depart! 
 
 [Exit Messenger.] 
 So yet shall Xerxes learn the Spartan mind; 
 In time so shall he know the Spartan steel. 
 I thank you, friends. Forgive my angry mood. 
 
 [Exeunt save Pausanias.] 
 Now must I change the plans which late I sent 
 By that first messenger to Persia's king: 
 So shall I pluck again my name unstained 
 From foul dishonor's hand, and hold it bright 
 A beacon to my country and a shrine 
 Whereat my people's love may worship still. 
 True to my wife and boy and true to thee, 
 O glorious city of my hope and dreams. 
 Thou Sparta, cradle of my youth, and crown 
 To be, throughout my years of honored age. 
 One step awry had hurled a lesser man 
 To depths of shame and ignominy whence 
 Nor strength of arm nor power of will might 'vail 
 To draw him forth. But I have plucked from shame 
 A stronger strength, and in the fresher might 
 Of virtue tried and faith that tempered is 
 By great temptation of misfaith, I stand 
 Still firm and leal to that I hold most dear; 
 And all the splendid dreams of Eastern gain 
 Have flashed in flames of seven-times-heated might 
 
SCENE II PAUSANIAS 55 
 
 And left mine honor forged like fine steel, 
 To fight for virtue, love, and Sparta still. 
 Enter hurriedly Myron. 
 
 Myron. My lord ! 
 
 Paus. Speak, Myron. 
 
 Myron. Lord, I scarce know how 
 
 To put in words the tidings that I bring. 
 Throughout the camp on wings of rumor swift 
 Hath spread abroad a dark report of thee. 
 The craven Cimon openly calls thee false, 
 And claims to hold a messenger thou sentest 
 With letters of betrayal, and to league 
 Thyself with Xerxes. 
 
 Paus. Ho, and doth he so! 
 
 {^There is a pause in which Pausanias sits thinking. 
 Then he starts up full of action and energy.^ 
 Myron, the moment calls for action! Quick! 
 Bid thou my officers attend me here. 
 Let not a breath be lost. Haste, Myron, haste! 
 
 [Exit Myron.] 
 
 Shall I then drink the poison I have brewed? 
 
 Or think the silent gods at last to speak 
 
 And shame me who have mocked them for their silence? 
 
 Nay, I am strong and shall be master still 
 
 Of fate. They shall not find me unprepared — 
 
 Why comes not Myron? Disaster I defy. 
 
 And if my men be true we shall prevail! 
 
 Hark! Heard I footsteps? Ay, at last they come! 
 
56 PAUSANIAS 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Enter Myron with officers. From time to time 
 other officers, attendants, and inessengers come 
 in excitedly. 
 
 My men, the false and crafty Cimon hath aspired 
 
 To grasp the higher office, and declares 
 
 A league prepared between your Lord and Xerxes. 
 
 It needs not that I make to you defense — 
 
 Yourselves have heard me answer Persia's king. 
 
 Choose whom you will to be your chief: 
 
 Pausanias still, or the Athenian, Cimon ? 
 
 {^Cries and shouts "Pausanias and Sparta!" mingled 
 with others of "Death to Cimon /"^ 
 
 I thank you, friends, and shall be still found true. 
 
 The time is urgent; speed my orders forth! 
 
 Make all in readiness to guard the palace! 
 
 There is no need of present fear, so leave 
 
 No guards about my door, but let all haste 
 
 With orders to the troops to gather here. 
 
 Go — go — with speed: each man bring here his force. 
 
 Where I shall wait the gathering of my troops. 
 
 They dare not meet the lion in his den! 
 
 Haste, Spartans, haste! We'll greet them at the gate! 
 [Exeunt all save Paus.] 
 
 Ay, even yet shall I be victor still. 
 
 While every Spartan stands unfaltering, true! 
 
 I'll hurl defiance back in Cimon's teeth! 
 
 The evil day has not yet come. A fool 
 
 Would call this fate and meekly yield him up, 
 
 And fondly deem it but the doom presaged 
 
 In last night's vision, when methought I saw 
 
 And heard to speak the maiden Cleonice, . 
 
SCENE II PAUSANIAS 
 
 57 
 
 With form clad in the garments of the dead, 
 When stern she spoke, "This day shall bring thy doom!" 
 Methought she seemed as fair as when in life, 
 Yet pale as moonlight on a frosted field. 
 And dreadful visaged as an angry Fury. 
 But dreams take color oft from waking thoughts, 
 And waking thoughts are haunted oft by dreams: 
 If dreams can be so like to truth, may truth 
 Not be a dream? Ay, and our lives so too. 
 And we but gods who slumber for a while. 
 Then wake to tell our dreams as curious tales? 
 They come not yet — How restless am I still! 
 Gods ! but I long for action ! Now at last 
 I shall have cause to lay proud Cimon low. 
 I have cut out the canker from my heart 
 And stand a man untarnished, pure from stain. 
 And in great Sparta's name shall vanquish all. 
 Enter Lysias. 
 
 What wilt thou here ? 
 
 Lysias. My Lord Pausanias. 
 
 Pans. Rash and most insolent fool! Guards! 
 
 Lysias. Nay, but 
 
 Thy guards are not without, else might I not 
 Have entered here. Mayhap, my lord, they sleep ; 
 Mayhap they seek fresh maidens for my lord. 
 
 Pans. Com'st thou here to taunt me, madman ? 
 
 Lysias. j^^^ 
 
 With sword-thrusts, not with words. Draw, or by Heaven 
 Thou shalt not have a hand to draw withal. 
 
58 PAUSANIAS 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Pans. Thou shalt not find me slow to fight with thee. 
 {They fight.-] 
 
 Thou hast it now! 
 
 Lysias. A scratch, my lord. 
 
 Pans. And that? 
 
 Lysias. Another such. \_Lysias drives him steadily 
 back.] But this shall scarcely fit 
 The name, my lord. \^He wounds Pausanias, who falls.] 
 Pans. Thou fightest well. But I — [He strives to 
 rise but falls back.] I must — stand — up. {He 
 falls again.] 
 
 I had not thought to die so soon. 
 \_He dies.] 
 \_As he speaks a great uproar sounds without. In 
 the distance cries of "Down with the traitor!"] 
 Lysias. And I shall follow thee, Pausanias. 
 This, rather than a death of infamy. [Stabs himself.] 
 Sweet Cleonice, through immortal groves 
 Methinks I see thee come. I go to meet thee. 
 
 Enter CiMON^ Aristeides^ and officers with Persian mes- 
 senger captive. 
 
 Cimon. Where is that gold-bought traitor, Lord Pau- 
 sanias ? 
 
 Lysias. Gone where the glint of gold no more can 
 reach him. 
 Art thou old Pluto come to judge the dead? 
 
 Cimon. And who art thou that speakest so? 
 
 Lysias. His death. 
 
SCENE II PAUSANIAS 59 
 
 Cimon. Then shalt thou suffer, though he was a traitor. 
 He was a lord, nor art thou murderer less. 
 Bind him. [Lysias throws open his breast, revealing the 
 death-wound. ~\ 
 
 Lysias. Nay, lord, but I have come before, 
 And played the judge. Death hastens even now 
 To take me out, 
 
 [He sways and is supported by Cimon s attend- 
 ants, who gently lay him down. Enter from 
 other side Myron, Draca, and other Spartan 
 officers^ "'^ 
 
 Cimon. Let us have peace, good Myron. 
 His hand hath slain Pausanias. 
 
 Lysias. [Dying.'] Cleonice! 
 
 Myron. How like a Spartan doth he go to rest: 
 A smile upon his face as if Death's cup 
 To him were sweet, and on his dying lips 
 The name he loved in life, still softly lingering. 
 
 [He crosses to where Pausanias^ body lies.] 
 O Lord Pausanias, art thou now so still, 
 Before whose august presence late all these 
 Were wont to cower? Those lips that should have hurled 
 Burning defiance on thy foes are hushed. 
 And all thy limbs grow cold. I loved him, lords; 
 A little child I rode him on my knee, 
 And told him tales of heroes, nymphs, and gods; 
 Then as a youth I taught him how to fight. 
 And as a man I served him. Now farewell, 
 Sweet Lord Pausanias. Peaceful be thy sleep ! 
 
 Cimon. Death hath put out the flickering flame of war 
 Which seemed to kindle in the heart of Greece. 
 
6o PAUSANIAS act hi 
 
 What are the lives of single men like these 
 If they have bought the safety of a nation? 
 
 [^The words of a funeral dirge float in at the 
 zvindozv.l 
 Arist. Whence is this music which so fitly steals 
 With cadenced softness on these dying ears? 
 
 An Attendant. [From the window-l 
 They bear, my lord, with solemn steps and slow, 
 The Lady Cleonice to her tomb. 
 
 [The sad strains of music fade gently away and 
 softly die upon the ears as the curtain falls.'\ 
 
JUN 
 
 190? 
 
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 015 908 793 1