of the midnight festival.

_Myr._ 'Tis time
To think of aught save festivals. Thou hast not
Spurned his sage cautions?

_Sar._ What?--and dost thou fear?

_Myr._ Fear!--I'm a Greek, and how should I fear death?
A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom? 480

_Sar._ Then wherefore dost thou turn so pale?

_Myr._ I love.

_Sar._ And do not I? I love thee far--far more
Than either the brief life or the wide realm,
Which, it may be, are menaced;--yet I blench not.

_Myr._ That means thou lovest nor thyself nor me;
For he who loves another loves himself,
Even for that other's sake. This is too rash:
Kingdoms and lives are not to be so lost.

_Sar._ Lost!--why, who is the aspiring chief who dared
Assume to win them?

_Myr._ Who is he should dread 490
To try so much? When he who is their ruler
Forgets himself--will they remember him?

_Sar._ Myrrha!

_Myr._ Frown not upon me: you have smiled
Too often on me not to make those frowns
Bitterer to bear than any punishment
Which they may augur.--King, I am your subject!
Master, I am your slave! Man, I have loved you!--
Loved you, I know not by what fatal weakness,
Although a Greek, and born a foe to monarchs--
A slave, and hating fetters--an Ionian, 500
And, therefore, when I love a stranger, more
Degraded by that passion than by chains!
Still I have loved you. If that love were strong
Enough to overcome all former nature,
Shall it not claim the privilege to save you?

_Sar._ _Save_ me, my beauty! Thou art very fair,
And what I seek of thee is love--not safety.

_Myr._ And without love where dwells security?

_Sar._ I speak of woman's love.

_Myr._ The very first
Of human life must spring from woman's breast, 510
Your first small words are taught you from her lips,
Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighs
Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing,
When men have shrunk from the ignoble care
Of watching the last hour of him who led them.

_Sar._ My eloquent Ionian! thou speak'st music:
The very chorus of the tragic song
I have heard thee