ZENOBIA. 



513 



A glorious halo of sun-gilded sand. 

 She ends her speech. Swords leap from every thigh. 

 Each lance is couch'd. Each battle-axe is rear'd. 

 And the plain lightens with the steely blaze. 

 Tamara. Hark ! What a shout was that ! 

 Arsaces. Yes. She returns 



Amidst the lances and the acclamations 

 Of Parthia's kindled warriors. Phlegethon, 



The gallant barb, proudly curvets beneath her. 



As if the beast were conscious that he bore 



An empress on his back. She comes at last. 



Press not upon her, warriors, ye forget 



In your too rough though honest zeal her rank. 



Oh sun-light of my eyes, 



Hope's day returns to them when thou return'st. 

 Zenob. Deign me, Arsaces, 



A moment's ear. 

 Arsaces. Ear, hand, and heart are thine. 



Zenob. The matter, prince, is desperate ; but yet 



Sometimes the best of counsellors is despair. 



And hope by risking saved — lost when unrisk'd. 



This is my plan — with half the Parthian troop 



I and Dejoces, by a sudden onset. 



Will occupy the Romans ; while yourself, 



Tamara, and my women, and the rest 



Take 'vantage of the strife to cross the fords 



At Zelebi.* That done, I'll swiftly follow. 



Nay, not a word. Bethink ye that Tamara, 



Perhaps the future mother of my sons. 



The secret guards of their secure asylum. 



Check not my steed, repress him not, Arsaces. 



C Caressing Phlegethon' s neck.) 



I'd trust the gallant barb to cross a flood 



Of twice the breadth and height which this opposes. 



Is it not so, brave beast .> See how he licks 



My hand. 

 Arsaces. But tears are rolling from his eyes. 



It is an omen. Ne'er shall it be said. 



Ne'er will I quit thy side in life or death. 



Into the struggle where you go I go. 

 Zenob. Be it so, if it must. Let Datis, then. 



And half the troop accompany my sister. 



No time remains for question. See ! it moves — 



The ambuscade. I mark the archers straining 



Their bows already, and the velites. 



The legion's foremost rank, are in full line. 



Behind the palms the steel-clad oplites 



E'en now evolve, and close their serrate files. 



No time to lose. — On to the charge at once. 



On, Phlegethon ! 

 Arsaces. Follow, warriors all ! 



Upon them ere the unsettled phalanx close 



The pathless rampart of its iron wall ; 



And effort be in vain. 

 Zenub. (patting her horse's neck). To thee I've trusted 



My fame in brighter days, white Phlegethon. 



The spot is still called Zelst)i Z^nobia. 



