Dramas, Translations, and Occasional Poems. Volume I.

]> Dramas, Translations, and Occasional Poems. Volume I.Dacre, Barbarina, Lady, 1767‐1854Leigh Rios,creation of electronic text.Electronic edition288KbBritish Women Romantic Poets ProjectShields Library, University of California, Davis, California 956162002DacrBDramaI

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Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series109Nancy Kushigian,General EditorCharlotte Payne,Managing EditorDramas translations and occasional poemsDacre, Barbarina, Lady John MurrayLondon, 1821

NOT PUBLISHED.

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[Title Page]

DRAMAS TRANSLATIONS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS.BYBARBARINA LADY DACRE.IN TWO VOLUMES.VOLUME I."Per desio di LodeNon canto io, no; ben per chi m'ama e m'ode."VITTORIA COLONNA.LONDONJOHN MURRAYMDCCCXXI.NOT PUBLISHED.CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.GONZALVO OF CORDOVA, a Romance dramatized1PEDRARIAS, a tragic Drama . . . . . . . . 81DUE CANZONI DEL PETRARCA, with trans‐ ␣␣␣␣␣lations . . . . . . . . . . . . .205SONETTI DEL PETRARCA, with translations . 225TO MY FRIENDS.

IN putting these attempts at dramatic composition into a legible form, I must remind my friends, that they were all composed before any of those by Mr. Maturin and Mr. Shiel, which have been so successful at our two great theatres in the hands of Miss O'Neill and Mr. Kean; I might otherwise be suspected of plagiarism, as I observed in them some points of resemblance to mine, especially in one written for Miss O'Neill.

I have left the title of Tragedy to "Ina," because it was first printed with it; but being deeply impressed with the mighty promise implied in that word, and feeling that whatever designation we see affixed to such productions of human intellect as Macbeth, and Othello, ought to be sacred to such works alone, I have forborne giving that title to any other of my poems. Indeed, had I known, as I now do, the tremendous difficulty of dramatic composition, I should never have attempted it; but children are scarcely more ignorant of the art of government, when they play at kings and queens, than I was of all the requisites for writing tragedy when I began, nearly eleven years since, to dramatise a part of the little novel of "Gonzalve du Cordoue." As the difficulties of the undertaking gradually unfolded, so the fascination of the pursuit obtained a firmer hold on me; and I appeal to all who have blindly ventured like myself, whether that fascination is not irresistible.

I had at that period other inducements too, which, in the eyes of those friends who are acquainted with them, may form a still better excuse for my temerity.

I am at length convinced that tragedy is not the field for female powers. Its province is to portray those violent and terrible passions, which must be treated with a boldness beyond the courage, and a force above the strength of woman; and which, some of them at least, demand a coarseness from which she naturally shrinks. Tenderness, whose every variety she might, perhaps, succeed in expressing, is a feeling in which the Tragic Muse must sparingly indulge. I would, therefore, as soon recommend the profession of arms to my countrywomen, because there has been one Maid of Saragossa, as tragedy to my sister scribblers, because there exists one Joanna Baillie.

After what I have said, I ought, perhaps, to throw my manuscripts into the fire; but, I confess, the destruction of what has cost me so much pains, and afforded me so much amusement at a less happy period of my life, would give me pain: and although I am sensible these poems are not worthy to meet the public eye, I should be ungrateful, if, after the indulgence they have already experienced, I supposed them unfit for that of friendship.

For you then, my friends, I print a few copies of my plays, translations, and other trifling compositions, that if ever you should be disposed to look at them again, the second perusal may at least be less troublesome than the first.

The Hoo, April 10, 1821.GONZALVO OF CORDOVA,A ROMANCE DRAMATIZED.

THIS first attempt at dramatic composition was made in the year 1810, without any previous study or reflection. The subject was taken by mere accident; yet on revising the piece after so many years, I am struck with the situation of the hero as one capable of great interest in more able hands. I am aware how little the Gonzalvo of the drama is the "great captain" of history, but I must plead in my excuse, that I took him from Mons. de Florian's novel.

I beg the indulgence of my friends for the weakness which induces me to retain a sort of dedication, in the form of a sonnet, to my late aunt, Mrs. Ogle. Many of those whom I address remember her piety, her goodness, her touching animation, and even youthful cheerfulness in extreme old age, under great infirmity, and after thirty years of total blindness: these will not wonder that the recollection of her having shed tears over this poem should give it a value in my eyes of which I feel unwilling to divest it.

The Hoo, April 25, 1821.TO MY AUNT, WITH A COPY OF GONZALVO OF CORDOVA.ALTHOUGH Time's heavy hand thy form may bow,And leaving Earth's low cares, be fix'd on highThy graver thought, youth's every energyForgets not in thy boundless heart to glow:Those orbs that Heaven's gay light no longer know,Nor meet with kindred beam affection's eye,(Long, long denied each grateful ministry),Still own the tear that flows for others' woe;Nor flows o'er sad reality alone:Ev'n for the fabled ill the Muse portraysThe sacred drop upon thy cheek has shone.Be thine the lay so graced, and so endeared!Thou, as the sainted author of my days,Alike from earliest years beloved, revered!Hampton Court Palace, January 27th, 1812.PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.SPANIARDS.FERDINAND, king of Aragon.GONZALVO of Cordova, prince of Venusa.LARA, his friend.PEDRO, his servant.GARCIA, ALVAREZ, and other Spanish nobles.ISABELLA, queen of Castile, married to Ferdinand.Ladies of her train, &c.MOORS.MULEY HASSAN, late king of Granada, having abdicated ␣␣␣␣␣his throne in favour of Abdoulah, his eldest son.ALMANZOR, his youngest son, leader of the Moors.OMAR, SELIM, and other Moors.ZELIMA, daughter of Muley Hassan.Moorish damsels of her train.Chorus of Moors, Messengers, &c.The SCENE lies in and near Granada.GONZALVO OF CORDOVA.ACT I.—SCENE I.A Wood.

Moors employed in preparing tents or pavilions for the Princess. A distant view of Granada, and on the further hills the Spanish camp.—OMAR and SELIM employed in the front of the stage.

OMAR.AFTER our long day's travel, here, my friends,The princess wills we rest us for the night.Spread her pavilion; for beneath this shadeShe will await her royal father's coming.SELIM.The good old king! and shall he thus receiveHis rescued daughter from the stranger's hand?'Mong woodland wilds!—not on Granada's throne?OMAR.Peace! 'twas to stay the civil strife he placedThe diadem on King Abdoulah's brow.SELIM.True! for we thought a younger king, forsooth,Should lead us forth to certain victory—Mistaken men!— OMAR.But only in the chiefShould lead us forth, for victory is oursSince Prince Almanzor leads Granada's forces,And since the hero of Castile, Gonzalvo,In Africa is stay'd by Seïd's arts.Assist thou our companions. I will seekThe Princess Zelima: on yonder heightShe waits th' approach of royal Muley Hassan.SELIM (significantly).And by her side, I ween, the gallant stranger.OMAR.Ev'n so.—But from his follower I learnThe noble youth now purposes departure,Resigning to a father's care his charge.'Tis pity, Selim, they should e'er be sever'd;And sure the man who singly rescued herMight claim her favour.SELIM.Nay, I will be sworn,Brave though he be, of courtesy unmatch'd,He is not nobly born: else why concealHis name and lineage?OMAR.Peace, Selim, peace! the noble stranger comes—Assist thou yonder—We but lose the hour.[SELIM goes back to assist, and exit OMAR.Enter GONZALVO and PEDRO, in Moorish habits.PEDRO.Why thus disturb'd, my lord?—Beware, beware,That you betray not 'tis Gonzalvo's browConceal'd beneath that turban's folds!—Your arms,The terror of the Moor, the Spaniard's boast,Brought by a faithful hand at evening's close,Will wake your soul to war and victory!To‐morrow! and Gonzalvo is himself!GONZALVO.Oh Pedro! Pedro! never wilt thou seeGonzalvo bear himself as he was wont.PEDRO.Rouse you, my lord, to meet your sov'reign's favour:The gracious Isabel your coming waitsWith Ferdinand, her spouse. Attain'd the objectOf your high embassy, and thus escapedFrom Seïd's snares, oh! judge with what full joy!Brave Lara, too, your earliest, dearest friend,You glory's partner——GONZALVO (with momentary joy).To‐morrow I shall graspMy Lara's glowing hand!—But oh! I shrinkFrom friendship's searching eye.PEDRO.What says my lord?GONZALVO.Pedro, this fatal habit has unmann'd me.PEDRO.This Moorish garb, my lord, has done you service:Beneath it you escaped from Afric's coast,Although beset by Seid's base assassins,And on this hostile shore, possess'd by Moors,It lull'd suspicion:—throw it off with thanks.GONZALVO.Oh! that Gonzalvo ne'er had stoop'd to wearThis base disguise! then Zelima had knownHer country's foe, and honour had withheldHer gentle hands that medicined my wounds;And the sweet accents, far more powerful,That bade me live—bade her preserver live!PEDRO.Behold! she leads her royal father on—Avoid her eye, she must not see you thus. [Exeunt.ZELIMA appears among the trees, conducting MULEY HASSAN, ALMANZOR, and train. They advance with expressions of joy and affection.MULEY HASSAN.My child! my child! beyond all hope restored!What joy to clasp thee thus! and can it beGladness once more should visit my sad age?Oh! what is loss of empire to me now?Thou art my all![He embraces ZELIMA, and appears overcome.ZELIMA.My father! my dear father![Turning to ALMANZOR.My brother too! my ever loved Almanzor! [They embrace.And do I hold thee to my heart again?Avenger of Granada's injured realm!How sweet to hear thy name through all the land,Lisp'd even by babes, as guardian of their home!ALMANZOR.And this blest day will doubly nerve my arm,Which the sad loss of thee had half unstrung.ZELIMA (returning to her father).My father, you look pale and worn with sorrow!Was it the loss of your poor Zelima?Oh yes, it was!—But I am yours again,Thanks to the generous stranger, of whose deedsMy messengers gave something to your ear.But no—it was not for their tongues to tell,How, rushing on the Ethiopian ruffians,Who bore me shrieking to the sea‐beat shore,As though his hand had grasp'd the thunderer's bolt,He dealt destruction! How, with desperate strength,Though bleeding, cover'd o'er with wounds himself,He bore me—nobly bore me—till he sunk,O'erspent with toil, and weltering in his gore.MULEY HASSAN.May Heaven reward his valour!—Where is he? ZELIMA.Haste, Selim, and entreat the stranger's presence.[Exit SELIM.ALMANZOR.Say, since he rescued thee, my Zelima,How hast thou fared?ZELIMA.Trust me, most royally.Soon as the thronging multitudes had learntMy high condition, and my piteous tale,I was provided by their humble dutyWith all things both for service and delight.The stranger's wounds, so grievous, ask'd the 'tendanceOf gentlest skill; and happy! oh, thrice happy!These hands unwearied minister'd relief,Until restored to health, my brave preserverMight safe conduct me to my father's arms!And let thy fancy picture, my Almanzor,A simple people's love, devising everHonours uncouth, but prompted by the heart,To grace the generous stranger as he pass'd.My travel through the realm has been as 'twereA fair delightful vision, and the waking,Oh! 'tis more joyous still!Enter GONZALVO—ZELIMA meets him eagerly and joyfully.ZELIMA.Say why, my friend,Breaking so sudden from my side, you shunTo witness happiness yourself dispense?MULEY HASSAN (to ALMANZOR).This joy tumultuous pains my aged breast. [ZELIMA presents GONZALVO to her father.Words are but poor to speak a father's thanks,And as a father only can I thank thee.Were I a monarch still, brave youth, I mightIn some sort prove my heart's deep gratitude,But beggar'd as I am, my prayers and blessingsAre all I can return.GONZALVO (embarrassed).Spare me, good king;Bred in the tented field, I am unusedTo gentle words like these.MULEY HASSAN.Give me thy hand!Let these tears speak.GONZALVO.Oh! never—never yetHas such a tear as thine been shed for me;The widow's and the orphan's tears are thoseMy deeds have caused to flow.ZELIMA (tenderly).Nay, say not so!ALMANZOR.Your arm, brave youth, has won us to your love:I thank you, as a soldier thanks a soldier,And hope, when, fellows in the field, we striveWith the insulting foe who threats Granada,By open deeds my pleasing debt to quit.Forgive me, sir, that yet I know not howTo name the stranger, whom henceforth I holdBrother in arms, t' avenge Granada's wrongs.GONZALVO.Prince, I am one mark'd in so strange a sortBy Fortune's hand—(happy alone in thatMy favour'd sword has done your sister service),That my distemper'd mind, at war within,Sees evil in each good men value most.My name in Fame's proud record is enroll'd,Yet would I fain erase it from her page;Forgive me, then, if I pronounce it not.ZELIMA (who has been talking apart with her father).Oh! my loved father, you are too much moved.Come and repose beneath yon canopy,There will I paint to you my dangers past;It will be grateful to retrace them now—Your happy daughter will support your steps.[She leads her father to the Pavilion, looking back at GONZALVO, who watches her as if lost in admiration.ALMANZOR (observing them).Ha! that soft interchange of mutual looks![He follows slowly, looking with keen suspicious glances at GONZALVO.GONZALVO (alone).How my soul sickens to dissemble thus!To bear myself as midnight murderers use,To hang the head, and stammer some quaint phrase,Obscure and vague, not gender'd in the heart:Detested fraud! Oh! one must love as I do,And be, like me, just object of the hateOf her he loves, expect her utter scornIf he throw off this serpent's slough, and yetDisdain to wear it from his very soulAs I do, but to guess at what I feel.Enter OMAR, from the Pavilion.OMAR.Brave youth, the king requests some conference.GONZALVO.I obey.[Follows to the Pavilion, from whence ALMANZOR and ZELIMA advance.ALMANZOR (aside).Ha! why are we dismiss'd? and why aloneWould our good father entertain the stranger?I like it not.ZELIMA.How sweet the evening airs!Almanzor, while they fan thy war‐worn brow,I will recount the noble stranger's deeds.ALMANZOR (sarcastically).My Zelima, methinks the pleasing themeWearies thee not.ZELIMA.And can the pleasing themeOf benefits received be wearisome?Brother, your heart was wont to beat in unisonWith mine.ALMANZOR (kindly).And ever will!—but now, my sister,I must away; for in such haste I flew,When first the happy tidings reach'd my earThat thou wert safe, I, heedless, gave no thoughtTo matters of high import.—Ere we part,Declare, who is this youth to whom you oweYour honour and your life, and in whose praiseYou are so eloquent?—There is a somethingMy spirit brooks not in this stranger's bearing:Noble his air, right haughty too, and yetFaltering his speech.ZELIMA.He may be languid still,Newly restored from wounds received for me.ALMANZOR.But why that air of woe?ZELIMA.Alas! I know not;Some sorrow sure had labour'd in his breastEre I beheld him; yet I mark'd it notTill hitherward we journey'd day by day,And as each evening closed, methought his griefHad ta'en a deeper hold. It was not so,With looks averted, he was wont to speak,His brow was open as th' expanse of heaven,Candour and truth sat ever on his lips.ALMANZOR.Hold, Zelima! this truth, this candour—whereWere they when you sought to know his name?ZELIMA (embarrassed).He still besought me—spare him sad remembranceOf what he would forget—I knew his deeds!The name of one who had so nobly wroughtCould nothing add to my strong gratitude.ALMANZOR (after musing).Sister, I think he to your hand aspires.Nay, blush not thus. Yes, this dissembler does.For that he rescued thee, I freely thank him;Yet who had worn a sword and had not done it?His birth, his name unknown—I will not thinkThou couldst so much forget what thou wert bornAs brook the suit of such a wanderer.ZELIMA.Nay, wrong him not, Almanzor, by these thoughts.He has not breathed a vow I might not hear,Nor will he, till his deeds proclaim his birth,And blazon forth that name he has conceal'd.ALMANZOR.I will believe thee—Pardon thou, my sister,A brother's jealous fears. Granada's fateSits heavy at my heart. Abdoulah, lostIn the soft slothful luxuries of empire,Disgraces much our father's yielded sceptre—I must away—inquire not wherefore.ZELIMA.Nay,Thou shalt not break discourteous thus awayFrom our loved father's presence.—Yonder seeA faithful peasant train to hail our joys!Come, lead them on; their rustic courtesyWill smooth thy careful brow—Refuse me not.[She leads him out gaily.Re‐enter MULEY HASSAN with GONZALVO.MULEY HASSAN.Youth, I have read thy heart, and joy to findMy daughter's image there. Nay, start not thus.Yes, friend, the varying brow, the deep‐drawn sigh,The quick emotions flushing on thy cheek,Are nature's language, and not strange to me.I, too, have known how 'tis that young hearts feel,Nor have forgot how dear I held her mother.Haste, then, brave youth, and win my daughter's handOn yonder plain—Relieve besieged Granada,And Zelima is thine.GONZALVO (aside).My tortured soul!Good reverend king! you know not what you say.While thus you speak heaven opens to my view,Then sudden closes with a tenfold gloom.That I do love and honour your fair daughterI will confess; but spare me, spare me, king,The agony to think I may not hope.MULEY HASSAN. Thou art too modest, youth; thy worth and valour Are not so lost on Zelima.ZELIMA and ALMANZOR enter with a train of peasants, bearing fruits, &c.ZELIMA.My father,Behold the offerings of simple dutyCourt your acceptance.[The peasants present their offerings.Oh! you know not halfThe joy that fills this bosom![Observing GONZALVO'S emotion, while her father is employed in expressions of gracious acceptance towards the peasants.Why, my friend,Art thou disturb'd?—If I might see thee smile,Nothing on earth were blest as Zelima.GONZALVO.Yes, at thy bidding I would veil with smilesThoughts fraught with nameless bitterness—but no,It will not be—Give all thy gentle soulTo innocent joy, and heed me not.ALMANZOR (observing them, aside).AgainThose earnest looks! again those tender tones!MULEY HASSAN (to the peasants).Thanks! thanks, my friends! (To ZELIMA and ALMANZOR).My children! Oh, how sweetAffection's tribute, howe'er rude and humble!Trust me, no feast in gorgeous vessels served,With all the pomp of the Alhambra palace,While yet I fill'd the throne, was half so gratefulAs this repast of simple fruits, thus sharedIn full confiding love.Enter a MESSENGER.Good Muley Hassan,And Prince Almanzor, thou our matchless chief!'Tis meet ye know that through Granada's hostStrange consternation spreads, for that 'tis rumour'd,Escaped from Afric, to the Spanish campGonzalvo, styled of Cordova, returns. [All start with terror: ZELIMA presses closer to her father, as if for protection. GONZALVO, apart, betrays contending passions. ALMANZOR.Shall consternation seize our host for this?Shame on the dastard slaves! Have they forgotAlmanzor leads them? Have I led them onOften to victory, never to defeat,And shall they—dare they doubt me? Go,Tell them their leader pledges here his faithTo rid them of their terror—Yes, to‐morrowShall their Almanzor fall in single combat,Or he shall bite the dust, my glory's rival,Proud Spain's Gonzalvo!GONZALVO (starting from his reverie, and laying his hand on his sword).Does the Moor AlmanzorThus rush on certain fate?ALMANZOR (with contempt)."On certain fate!"Haply to thee 't were so.GONZALVO (trembling with indignation, his hand on his sword).Insulting Moor!ZELIMA (seizing his arm, and looking earnestly in his face).Why, why that terrible brow? that sword why grasp'd?[He looks tenderly at her, and drops his hand.Was it to save the wretched ZelimaOnce more in her Almanzor?—Yes, 'twas so![To her father, with exultation.Oh, trust these eyes, my father, that beheldThe prodigies of valour which redeem'dYour Zelima, if this brave youth go forthUnmatch'd no longer vaunts the dread Gonzalvo.ALMANZOR (with irony and disdain).Haply this arm is palsied! so, it seems,A sister would infer. As for yon stranger,Yon fortunate unknown, whose maiden swordHas done some service to Granada's princess,I marvel not his new‐blown valour suddenlyAspires to deeds in arms, of other sortThan to chastise the Ethiop ravisher.MULEY HASSAN.My son, repress thy ardour, and attendA father's counsel.ALMANZOR.Lend me rather, sir,A patient hearing, and I will unfoldReasons of state.—Apart from these were best.[Exeunt ALMANZOR and MULEY HASSAN.GONZALVO (aside).For what am I reserved?[Seeing ZELIMA still looking fearfully and wistfully in his face.Fear nothing, princess!For this poor arm were nerveless as a child'sTo wreak my wrongs on one who is thy brother.[After a pause, with assumed firmness.My dream of bliss is o'er—I must away,Imperious duty calls; but ere I goFor ever from thy sight—Oh yes, for ever—(For so thyself thou wilt pronounce my doom)Allow me in yon grove to say farewell,A last farewell to thee and happiness![Breaks from her in an agony, and leaves her thunderstruck.ZELIMA (alone).For ever, said he?—What! for ever part?A chilling horror creeps o'er all my frame.How happy! Oh how happy have I been!Alas! what made me so I cannot tell,Nor why I feel so wretched on the sudden.Was it that freed from cumbrous dignityI roam'd at large, restored to simple nature?Saw the sun rise, and heard the early birds,Breathed the pure morning airs o'er hill and dale,And quite forgot I was a wretched princess?Or was it (I tremble but to think 'twas so),That with the dawn I saw the stranger youth,Enjoy'd with him the early choristers,With him the morning gale!—Alas, for me!How could I hope it should be ever thus?Well might I sure have thought that one so braveWould to the field of fame, nor think of me.Did he not ask to speak a last farewell?Yes—I will seek him ere the evening close,And say—if so I can farewell for ever!ACT II.—SCENE I.Royal Tent in the Spanish Camp.Enter FERDINAND, ISABELLA, and Suite.FERDINAND.True, Isabel; when I received advicesThat thy Gonzalvo had escaped the snaresOf treacherous Seïd, I gave forth to all,That he, ere many suns should set, would joinThe glorious strife as he was wont. MethinksThy hero slackens in our cause, or elseWhy this delay?ISABELLA.We know not yet how manyDisastrous chances may beset his way.Thou dost not love the flower of my heroes,For that he still has borne the palm awayFrom those of Aragon. Yet, Ferdinand,Since he who conquer'd Cordova no longerFlames in the van of battle, the proud MoorHas borne himself right vauntingly; nay, oftWith such true mettle, that our knights of nameAre dash'd and crest‐fall'n. Of sicklier hueThe soldier's ardor.FERDINAND.Isabel, thou wrong'st me.Would he were here, so he might woo againThe truant Victory to smile on us!Enter LARA.Welcome, brave Lara! Ha! methinks thy mienBespeaks some joyful tidings.LARA.Yes, my liege,And gracious queen! These letters, from good Pedro,Announce Gonzalvo's coming. A faithful Moor(I know not how won to his service), bore them,And now conveys his arms, and gallant steed,To meet th' impatient chiefISABELLA.Oh! doubly welcome,For all the dangers past! How 'scaped he, Lara?LARA.He and his faithful Pedro, clad as Moors,In a frail fisher's boat put forth by night,And purposed, when at open sea, to joinThe ships that bore his train; but, tempest‐tost,The crazy, unresisting bark was driftedTowards the Moorish coast of Spain, where courteouslyThey were as Africans received, and sharedThe liberal rights of hospitality.FERDINAND.The moon has fill'd her horns and waned againSince he escaped, as our advices stated.LARA.A grievous sickness seized him, good my liege:And Pedro further adds, his lord not yetHas gain'd his wonted cheer.FERDINAND.The Moors are soft,And they have dark‐eyed maids, with wily speech.Methinks thy friend has loiter'd on his way,Till, haply, Moorish hospitalityHas won his soul from glory's love; and yetThe infatuated soldier, if he lead,Will rush, as 'twere, enamour'd ev'n of death,When met beneath his eye.LARA.My liege, what praiseSo great as that which from thy lips has fall'n,Though in contempt? The leader who is loved,Beneath whose eye 'tis glory but to fight,And deathless fame to fall, whate'er th' event,Leads on to what a soldier covets—honour!Nay Fortune, fickle Fortune, will foregoHer very nature; and, as 'twere, spell‐bound,Wait on his charmed sword.FERDINAND.Thou pleadest well,And art an honest, and an eager friend.Nay, 'twas but our impatience, Isabel,(To ISABELLA.)That chid Gonzalvo's stay. When may we hopeTo speak a joyous welcome?LARA.Ere the closeOf evening I dare swear he will appear,And by his wonted bearing, put to flightThe half form'd doubts that cloud the royal brow.Enter MESSENGER.MESSENGER.My liege, our outposts near the city wallsHave mark'd advancing heralds, with the wandThat speaks their office.FERDINAND.Ha! What may it be?We will receive them as befits our state.Come in, my queen: let all things be prepared.[Exeunt.SCENE II.The Wood.GONZALVO leaning against a tree, lost in thought. ZELIMA enters timidly; he starts, and meets her with rapture.ZELIMA.I come, my friend, since thou wilt have it so,To speak a long, thou say'st a last, farewell;Yet I had hoped—believed—my father's claims——For Muley Hassan loves thee——GONZALVO.Oh! my princess!Might I obtain my wildest dream of bliss,It were no other than to share with theeEach filial care; but I should violateThe sacred ties of nature and of honour—Nature's, that binds us to our country; honour's,That binds us to the cause we have espoused.ZELIMA.Mysterious stranger! say, what tie of nature,Or of capricious honour, can forbidThat you should cheer, when battle gives short respite,The tedious hours of age? and must I neverBehold thee more? nor know whose valour saved me?GONZALVO.Alas! methinks I oft have said enoughTo lead thy shuddering fancy to portrayThe hated thing I am.ZELIMA.No, never, youth!If e'er I sought to know your name, your race,Your colour alter'd, and some strange distressHung on your brow, and changed your wonted cheer:Deeply your debtor, silent I respectedYour secret sorrow; but my father nowApproves my gratitude, and bids me thinkOf you as one—of whom then must I think,As now my father wills?GONZALVO.Yes, thou shalt knowThe wretch I am! but say, sweet excellence!Say, would'st thou spurn him thou hast call'd thy friend,If, strange to fame, a lowly peasant born,He were the basest thing that bears a name?ZELIMA.I smile, brave stranger, while you talk thus idly.Can he be base whose actions are so noble,Rear'd though he were beneath the humblest roof?GONZALVO.But if I were perfidious, false; had practisedOn the unguarded goodness of an angel;By vilest fraud had won her confidence,Her fair esteem—though mine the world's wide empire,Wouldst thou not scorn me?ZELIMA.No, not such thy deeds!For if thou glance at hapless Zelima,Thou never, never hast in aught deceived her.Was it deceit, from a most cruel death,Or worse than death, to save her at the priceOf thy own generous blood? To honour her(A poor, deserted, helpless wanderer),And guide her to her father and her home?These deeds are honest: for these deeds I thank thee,Nor ever will they fade from my remembrance.GONZALVO.How shall I e'er deserve this angel goodness?Yet do I tremble, and my faltering tongueRefuses still to name the wretch accursed,Call'd by the Fates to lift his murderous swordAgainst thy brother.ZELIMA (with horror).Gods! the dread Gonzalvo!Granada's ruthless foe![After a pause recovering, yet fearfully.Oh, no; you mockMy woman's weak credulity. Why—whyShould I thus tremble? Friend, this is not kind!'Tis now you practise on th' unguarded heart.Away, vain terror! no, it is not so!Is this the look the fierce Gonzalvo wears?His looks must speak his cruel soul! his deedsAre all of blood! He is not wont, like thee,To rescue innocence; to watch, nay, weep[Observing his emotion.O'er the unfortunate! Sure some jealous fear,Or thought injurious to my faith, has led theeTo prove me thus. Away then all disguise!Know, though thou shouldst blame my frankness, ZelimaWrongs not, as false ones do, whom once she loves:And that I love thee, love thee in that sortThat links my fate with thine, whoe'er thou be—GONZALVO.Gods! give me power to bear this flood of joy!Speak the blest words again, and bid me hope,E'en if I were the wretch thou oft hast named,Hated Gonzalvo—ZELIMA.Name him, name him not!But oh, I fear me, e'en if thou wert he,I could not hate thee: no, I fear I could not.GONZALVO.Swear it, my love! for I indeed am he!It is Gonzalvo clasps thee to his bosom.[She sinks into his arms.My Zelima! my love! The hated soundHas check'd the current of her life. Oh look!In pity look on me! She breathes! she lives!Enter ALMANZOR behind.ALMANZOR (aside).Or do I dream, or does Granada's princessHang on the bosom of a wandering stranger?ZELIMA.From what fair dreams of bliss do I awake!What horrors compass me on every side!Oh thou, whom I so long have wish'd to nameOther than "stranger!" thou, to whom my heartIn secret gave each title that endears!How blest that ignorance I once deplored!ALMANZOR.(Coming hastily forward, and separating them roughly).A brother's arm protects the princess now.We thank you, sir, nor need your farther service.[ZELIMA appears terrified.GONZALVO.Fear nothing, princess; I am arm'd with patience,Nor heed the haughty Moor.ALMANZOR."Thou heed'st me not!"Thou arrogant, nameless thing, that dost presumeTo parly with the princess of Granada! [Drawing.ZELIMA (rushing between them).Almanzor, ere thy sword shall reach the breastOf my preserver, it shall drench itselfWith thy poor sister's blood.ALMANZOR.Degenerate maid!Loose me, I say, and give my vengeance way.[Breaks from her and attacks GONZALVO, who, after a short conflict, seizes his arm, and holds it firmly with superior strength.GONZALVO.Disdainful Moor! but thou'rt a sacred thing:Gonzalvo's sword shall never take thy life![Releasing him with dignity.ALMANZOR.(After they have contemplated each other in silent astonishment).Is it the hated rival of my glory—‐Gonzalvo! who by stealth, in base disguise,Attempts the sister of his deadly foe?GONZALVO.It is Gonzalvo who restores that sister;Who honours her with such high reverenceAs good men pay to excellence divine.It is Gonzalvo, who, for her dear sake,Forgives the slanders of thy haughty tongue.ALMANZOR.Thou, the destroyer of my bleeding country!Thou, who too long hast choked my way to glory!Thou, the fell wolf, who in the shepherd's seeming,Hast stolen into the fold, and by this basenessCancell'd the vaunted rescue of my sister,Think not I will forego my great revenge!Think not, for that, unmann'd by female cries,Thou took'st me at some disadvantage now,Thou shalt escape the fury of my arm.GONZALVO.Resentful as thou art, thou shalt not move me.Prince, I adjure thee by the tender loveThou needst must bear thy sister, I adjure theeBy the white hairs of thy age‐stricken father,And by thy people's weal, recall thy challenge.ALMANZOR.Never, Castilian! To the Spanish campE'en now my herald bears the strong defiance:Defiance to the death!ZELIMA (clasping his knees).Almanzor, hear me!Dear brother of my love! I will not loose theeTill thou unknit thy gather'd brow. Oh, hear me!By all the joys of our first childish days;By all that memory hoards of tender—sacred—Oh, hear me!—hear me——ALMANZOR.For a Spaniard plead,Whose guile has won thy softness from the pathOf duty and of honour? Nay, forbear.[Breaks from her, and aside.Each string that readiest in man's bosom vibrates,Jarr'd thus to agony! In glory's fieldShoved from my place, and jostled by this boaster!Deliberately thus insulted now,Nay, almost pitied by the proud Castilian![She attempts again to soothe him, and he puts her away.Away! begone! Here break we off. Look, sir;You meet me in the deadly strife to‐morrow. [Exit.ZELIMA.Oh stay, my brother, stay, nor part in anger.He's gone, he's gone!—nor ever from his lipsDid aught of harshness reach my ear till now.Wretch that I am!GONZALVO.Hear me, my Zelima!Bright hopes and dear forebodings fill my soul.Ere the slow herald reach my sov'reign's tents,I'll by a shorter course, with all love's speed,And ere his fatal purpose he declare,To gracious Isabel will speak of peace:My queen has often listen'd to my counsel.ZELIMA (with a melancholy smile).Thou wilt but woo the fowler to foregoThe quarry, while thou placest on his wristTh' unerring falcon.GONZALVO (cheerfully).Nay, but if the birdRefuse to mount?ZELIMA.Alas! alas! what reasonsCan sway the Spaniard from his cruel purpose?GONZALVO.Wrested by love, each circumstance shall proveAn argument to win the soul from war.The losses late sustain'd by the besiegers,The hydra valour of the patriotWho fights for home, and all that makes home dear.ZELIMA.Fly, fly, Gonzalvo! kneel, implore, and paintIn angel characters the charms of peace.Who shall resist thee if thou plead with allThe soul‐commanding eloquence thou own'st?[PEDRO appears among the trees with GONZALVO'S armour.GONZALVO.Pedro, approach.PEDRO.My lord, behold the armsYour father gave you when he sent you forthThe flower of Castilian knights. Away!Castile and Aragon demand their champion.GONZALVO.Farewell, my love! I pray thee droop not thus:Ere thou retire within thy father's palace,I will with tidings of success return.PEDRO.My lord, if you delay——GONZALVO.If I delay!My soul is on the rack with strong impatience.My shield! my corslet![He throws off his turban and takes his armour;ZELIMA shrinks back terrified.Dost thou shudder, love,At this my hostile seeming? Many timesIn form horrific, choicest good appears.The deep‐toned thunder, and the threat'ning cloud,Bring on the kindly shower,—and these dread armsAre harbingers of peace.ZELIMA.May they prove so!The God of mercy speed thee! Farewell, prince!Farewell! and oh, remember that thou bearestWithin thy breast my life with thine entwined![Exeunt severally.ACT III.—SCENE I.The Spanish Camp. Royal Tents.FERDINAND and ISABELLA in full Council. GARCIA, ALVAREZ, Spanish Nobles, &c.FERDINAND.Princes and nobles, join'd in holy leagueAgainst the infidels, we have convened you,For that we have accepted the defianceOf proud Almanzor, in Gonzalvo's name,Who, as ye know, from Africa returns.Each moment we expect to welcome him.ISABELLA.And hark, my friends, the joyous sounds that ring,In gratulation wild, through all the air!He comes! 'tis he! the champion of Castile!Flourish of trumpets. GONZALVO, attended by LARA, with great demonstrations of joy. He advances, and kneels at ISABELLA'S feet.GONZALVO.Receive, my queen, the long expected treaty,Hardly obtain'd from Seïd, who disbandsThe forces destined to Granada's aid.ISABELLA.Welcome, Gonzalvo, welcome to our presence!Prince, we know all thou hast endured for usAnd our great cause. The thanks of FerdinandAnd Isabel keep pace with thy deserts.FERDINAND.Prince, we have miss'd you in th' embattled field.Capricious victory but plays the wanton,Half granting, half withdrawing, the fair guerdonOf our hard service, since her favour'd chiefNo longer seeks her grace.(Aside to LARA). Haste, valiant Lara,Spread wide the joyful tidings through the camp,And rouse each spirit to the work of death,That must to‐morrow make Granada ours.[Exit LARA.ISABELLA.The god who leads the armies of CastileBrings thee, brave prince, in an auspicious hour;Yes, brings thee, by a single feat in arms,To stamp eternal glory on thy name:The Moorish Chief, Almanzor, gives his lifeTo thy unerring blade. Granada fallsWhen proud Almanzor dies!GONZALVO.How may that be?The armed Moors defend their native land,Their heritage, their homes, their wives, their children.In such a cause a people rests not, Queen,Its every hope upon a single arm:Almanzor fallen, each Moor that has a heartWill an Almanzor rise to meet his foe.ISABELLA.It was not so they met thy sword, my friend.Mark me!—Almanzor slain, ere shrouding nightClose on their consternation, we investGranada on all sides. Abdoulah, sunkIn luxury's soft lap, nor danger's voice,Nor glory's will awake. Without a chief,The infidels dispersed, an easy prey,Fall to our swords. The impious city rased,Fair peace shall smile o'er all this happy land!GONZALVO (with enthusiasm).Oh why, my queen! oh why may not fair peaceSmile on this land ere it be drench'd in blood?Does peace delight in mangled carcasses,In dying groans, and agonizing shrieks?You will give peace to those who now would kissThe royal hand that dealt the precious boon,But who will then lie stretch'd upon the plain,Their spirits fled, where not that hand can reachTo deal its bounteous gifts!FERDINAND (sarcastically).Venusa's princeReturns from Afric other than he went.GONZALVO.Oh, yes, my sovereigns: Since I parted hence,I have beheld misfortune face to face,Have mark'd the ills of desolating warIn all the sad details kings never see.The sun that rises on the peasant's toilIn happy lands not visited by war,And gilds their waving harvests with his beams,With barren splendour glares on desert fieldsDepopulated by the sword. The galeSweeps sullen o'er them, loaded with the criesOf frantic widows and of orphan babes,That else had borne upon its gladsome wingThe careless carol of the husbandman,Tilling in peace and liberty his field.FERDINAND.Is it Gonzalvo? He of Cordova?He on whose sword attended victory,Binding each day his brow with fresher laurels?He who was wont to lead Spain's gallant knightsGaily to battle as 'twere to a feast?GONZALVO.True, king, I led them on as to a feast—A feast of blood! Such laurels may beseemO'erbuoyant youth, maddening in glory's field!Reckless that every leaf of such a wreathIs, for the pearly dew‐drop heaven had hung,Gemm'd with a drop of blood![A general expression of discontent in the assembly.GARCIA.A shepherd swain,But not a soldier and a Spaniard, speaks.FERDINAND.Gonzalvo, sure, has sigh'd away his hoursIn Seïd's haram, where some soft sultanaHas held this silken language.GARCIA.Can it beThe fame obtain'd of late by brave Almanzor——GONZALVO (laying his hand on his sword).If any here believe my arm unbraced,Him do I challenge—let him feel its force.ISABELLA (haughtily).Prince of Venusa! you forget yourself.This language in our presence?GONZALVO.Pardon, queen!ISABELLA (graciously).'Tis past. We know your valour, and the moreStand in astonishment at this your speech.GONZALVO.And can thy gracious nature, Isabel,Marvel that one who has so late receivedFrom Moors each right of hospitality,Should lay aside the rancorous despiteOf an ungenerous foe? Granada's realmFor centuries has been the native landOf its possessors. They who were usurpersHave long been dust—Oh! then let vengeance sleep.When Moorish fathers, husbands, brothers, sons,Fall by our swords, as many bosoms acheAs among us when they fall whom we love.Have we not wasted the best blood of SpainBefore these walls, firm rooted in the fealtyEach thing that lives bears to its native place?Then spare alike the Spaniards and the Moors;'Tis now th' auspicious moment when blest peace——FERDINAND (interrupting him).Forbear, Gonzalvo! lest thy recreant tongueInfect the warlike spirit of these chiefs.After a contest of so long a date,When Europe's eye and Africa's are fix'dUpon the issue of this glorious strife,When to our swords Granada gives herself,Shall we, brave knights, with sickly thoughts like these,And dainty hands that cannot dip in blood,Disdain to grasp her?—But if so it beGonzalvo choose the rural joys he paints,Castile and Aragon have many heroesReady to answer the proud Moor's defiance.[Several grasp their swords.GONZALVO.On your lives, sirs! 'tis mine exclusively!He that would meet Almanzor in the listsMust bear Gonzalvo's life upon his sword.FERDINAND.My noble friends! we much amiss interpretThe brave Gonzalvo's words. See with what ardourHe claims the glorious combat! none but heShall win the deathless laurel victory wreathesTo bind his honour'd brow. Behold, brave prince,The sword that graced the famed Rodrigo's side,The valiant Cid! th' avenger of his father!Who won Valencia's realm, and fair Ximena![FERDINAND gives him the sword, which he accepts with apparent confusion.ISABELLA.Prince! you have need of rest: few hours remainEre, summon'd by the warlike trumpet's voice,You teach the vaunting Moor what 'tis to dareTo single fight th' invincible Gonzalvo![Exeunt with ceremony, as the Scene closes.SCENE II.Before Lara's Tent.Enter LARA and PEDRO.LARA.My faithful Pedro, this thy wondrous taleConfounds all reason. Oh! he is undone!Unhappy, lost Gonzalvo! that a girl,A Moorish girl, should by her wiles ensnare thee!PEDRO.Nay, sir, the princess is a gracious creature;My lord had died but for her tender care.Oh! she is innocent as nature's self,Fair as her fairest works, and yet withalShe wears a native simple dignity,Commanding most when most her sweetness wins.LARA (smiling).Why, Pedro, thou hast caught thy master's frenzy.PEDRO.Oh! 'tis no time to jest. My lord has swornHis sword shall never take Almanzor's life.LARA.Blasted his fame! For ever wrapt in night,If he so bear himself as he has sworn!Gonzalvo throw his country's cause away!Impossible!Enter GONZALVO.GONZALVO.Is it Lara speaks my nameAs 'twere in anger? Pity, sure, my friend,Had better suited thy Gonzalvo's sorrows.LARA.Oh, my Gonzalvo! I do pity thee;I pity thee, but I must blame thee too.GONZALVO.Speak, Lara, show me any way to escapeThe brand of treason or of perjury.LARA.We are our country's ere we are our own;This tie is prior to all other claims.GONZALVO.And know'st thou, Lara, all my country asks?LARA.To rid her of the proud insulting foeWho checks her arms.GONZALVO.Nay, more than that, my friend:To be ungrateful as the venomous serpent,That stung the bosom which had foster'd it;To mock the laws of hospitality,Sacred to all who bear the form of man:The very savage, in the deadly strifeBy life's first wants provoked, will slack the bow,Or drop th' uplifted club, if he but markIn th' adverse band his sometime host, whose hutHad housed him from the night storm.LARA.Why, Gonzalvo,Then why receive the sword of famed Rodrigo?Confirming thus th' acceptance of the challenge.GONZALVO.That none other might.LARA.Think'st thou no other armHas power to wield?GONZALVO.Think'st thou the Spaniard livesShall claim the challenge to Gonzalvo offer'd?LARA.Then wilt thou meet the Moor, and by thy armAlmanzor dies!—Thou art thyself again.GONZALVO (shuddering)."Almanzor dies!"—Is this to be myself?Oh horror! horror! which way soe'er I turn,Dishonour meets my view. Or I betrayMy country's sacred trust, or break the faithI swore to her I love! Shall a CastilianNot shudder at the charge of perjury?LARA.The time has been when we two, side by side,Like two young lions rush'd into the fight.The turban'd infidels, disparting wide,Shrank from the lightning of our swords. Thy soulThen knew not of these nice distinctions; no,Thy country, and her cause, and love of fame,Led thee resistless on.GONZALVO.I had not loved!LARA.The soldier has no leisure for soft love,Save when, his iron harness all unbraced,He gives his toil‐worn limbs to careless ease,Or looser revelry; till braying trumpetsRouse to the war, and scare the baby godFar, far away, with all his idle toys.GONZALVO.Thou hast not loved if thou hast loved but so;And nothing know'st thou of the hallow'd bondOf virtuous attachment. He whose soulOwns with true loyalty his king and country,Alike is loyal to the maid he loves.For oh! what traitor, Lara, is more baseThan he who steals a maid's first thoughts from peace,And leaves her desolate?LARA.I am not skill'dIn Love's quaint rhetoric:—the subject's loyalty,The soldier's glory mine!GONZALVO.Alas, my friend!My thoughts of glory are not what they were.To stay the fury of wide‐wasting war,And give fair peace to this distracted land;This was th' ambition that fill'd all my soul.How dear I hold my country, witness Heaven!But I would fold in my expanded loveAll all her children, natives of her soil,And commoners to breathe her balmy gales.My friend, the vision's past! war still must rage.'Tis doom'd!—To‐morrow's sun must set in blood!Thousands must sleep in death!—But not Almanzor.I fly to tell her this. [Going.LARA.What would'st thou do?GONZALVO.Pedro! my steed, my steed!—Thou only, Lara,Couldst thus have held me from her.LARA (holding him).My Gonzalvo!GONZALVO.Off, Lara! stay me not.—Peace may not be!My Zelima must learn it from myself,Must know Almanzor's life to me is sacred;My own, thus lost to her, not worth my care. [Exit.LARA.Follow him, Pedro—Nay, a moment stay—This passion robs him of his better judgment.Mark me!—— [After anxious thought.Remind him not how fly the hours,And lead him if thou canst through devious paths,—And still of Zelima thy converse be,—Devise delays as best thou canst, old man:His life, his fame, hang on thy skill in this,Nay more, the weal of Spain!PEDRO.I will, my lord;But how may this delay avert the ill?LARA.Gain but a day.—Let pass this fever'd dream,Then Glory's voice and Lara's will be heard.Gonzalvo's valour who shall dare to question?And trust to friendship;—yes, there yet are meansTo save his fame!—His well‐known casque, his shield,Now lie within my tent.—My soul beats high—Yes, either host shall deem Gonzalvo's armDeals the unerring stroke!—His proudest courserShall think he yields but to Gonzalvo's mastery!—Follow him, Pedro,—soothe him, and be secret.[Exeunt severally.ACT IV.—SCENE I.The Wood.ZELIMA, GONZALVO.ZELIMA.Yes, we must part:—leave, leave the wretch thou hast made.Oh, fly me! Hush—methought I heard a voice!The breath of morning, panting on the leaves,Comes o'er me like deep thunders.—Heard'st thou aught?GONZALVO.'Twas but the carol of the early woodman.Thy looks affright me: no, I cannot leave thee.ZELIMA.Thou must! thou must! and I must learn to seeIn him who saved me but my country's foe.It is a fearful task! for deep, too deepIs stamp'd thy image here. Oh leave me thenTo utter sadness,—lonely,—desolate,—That I may conjure to my weak heart's aidThe ghosts of all my butcher'd countrymen,Whose pil'd up corses built thy cruel fame.Thy true love's token be the sword that slew them!I'll fix my eyes on the blood‐crusted blade,And listen to the sobbing of the night‐blast,Till to my ear it seem the upbraiding wailOf dying men, cursing the unhallow'd loveI bear their murderer!GONZALVO.Oh, check thy speech,Lest my brain turn, and, urg'd by fell despair—ZELIMA.'Tis I who must despair!—for thou art call'dTo take my brother's life, or he must plungeHis ruthless blade in my preserver's breast.I am alike destroy'd by either blow.Already treason!—ere the sun go downIt may be fratricide to love Gonzalvo!Then listen what I swear. If in the listsThou prove victorious, glory be thy meed!Never will Zelima behold the manWho bears her brother's blood upon his sword.GONZALVO.Then art thou mine! for at thy feet I vow,By all the passion in this bosom pent—By all my sufferings—by thy sacred self—By all the trembling hope—by all the joyThy tender pity pour'd upon my soul—Gonzalvo's hand shall never take the lifeOf one who is thy brother!ZELIMA.In this groveThou hast no witness of thy deeds, Gonzalvo,Save love, and thy poor weeping Zelima.But think'st thou, when the glorious lists appear,Thy haughty queen, the king of Aragon,With their proud court in all its bravery;On either side the eyes of an arm'd hostFix'd on your single swords;—the shouting voiceOf thousands pour'd upon the gale,—oh! think'st thou,When all these strike at once upon the sense,They will not rouse the terrible Gonzalvo,And bear you on—O horrid, horrid image!My bleeding brother! the exulting foe!GONZALVO.Have I not sworn Almanzor's life is sacred?ZELIMA.Ha! cruel! thou would'st say thyself will fall,And if thou fall, 'tis I—'tis I have doom'd thee!There's madness in that thought! Thou shalt not go:Yet stay awhile—my brother's rage is high:Thou shalt not meet his fury—no, thou shalt not—Thus will I fetter thee! [Clinging round his neck.GONZALVO.And here, my love,Here will I grow; and ever, ever, thusLive in thy eyes, and lose myself in joy!Farewell to fame! since thou will have it so.Rest on this bosom, it is thine alone.Welcome dishonour for thy sake!—But hark![After a pause.What sound was that? a distant trumpet!—hark!Again?—It bears on every blast reproach!The sun is high—th' appointed hour is past!Again! again! it swells upon the gale.—Ha! now the mingling roar should rather seemOf general conflict. Never yet GonzalvoTurn'd from the battle! Louder, louder still!My soul burns in me!—infamy, disgrace,Are on my name! I come! I come!—Farewell!Haste, Fatima—haste, Zayda—Moorish maids,Support your princess—soothe her tenderly.[Enter Moorish women, to whose care he commits her insensible with terror.My Zelima, to live for thee denied,Death for thy sake is sweet, but not dishonour![He rushes out.ZELIMA (recovering, and looking wildly around).Where am I?—what has chanced?—Ha! where is he?Sure he was here e'en now!—and is he gone?—See, see! he spurs his courser o'er the plain;—He rushes to the fight! Oh, spare my brother!Thou shalt not murder him. Forbear, Almanzor!And would'st thou thus repay a sister's rescue?Oh! pity, pity! Sheathe your murderous blades!Live! cruel ones! Live for your Zelima![Sinks into their arms, and scene closes.SCENE II.The Royal Tents.ISABELLA, ALVAREZ, &c.ISABELLA.No message from the king? Alas! my fears!Had Spain's brave champion triumph'd o'er the Moor,Garcia, (so I enjoin'd him), had, ere now,Brought the glad tidings. Hast thou mark'd, Alvarez,When adverse clouds o'er th' Alpuxares meet,A shuddering stillness creep through all the airEre the storm burst? Such Ferdinand observing,Through either host as either champion yielded,Urged me to quit the lists. I ne'er beforeBeheld so fierce, so obstinate a combat.Who would have thought, beneath a turban wrapt,Such matchless hardihood, such desperate valour?Enter GARCIA.GARCIA.This praise from Isabel be now his meed!Almanzor's fall'n!ISABELLA.Then victory is ours!GARCIA.Alas! not so: the Moors, with frantic cries,Rush'd on our troops: a general fight ensued;And oh, my queen! with grief and shame, these eyesBeheld the Spaniards yield.Enter FERDINAND.FERDINAND.Joy, joy, my Isabel;The tide of war is turn'd! Our Spaniards fled,—In wild disorder fled!—when from the campDarted, with eagle speed, one all unarm'd,Save that he brandish'd wide his desperate sword,Maddening with rage: and "Spaniards!" he exclaim'd,"Castilians! men of Aragon! ho! stand!It is Gonzalvo calls you to the field!"All turn'd at once: the Moors are panic‐struck!Impetuous as the hurricane, GonzalvoBears down the yielding foe, following amainThe refluent tide of battle.ISABELLA.Gallant youth!Pride of Castile! But how saidst thou "unarm'd?"In panoply complete he met the Moor.FERDINAND.So deemed each host: but when with toil o'erspent,And hard‐earn'd victory, the conqueror sunk,His squires unbraced his casque to give him air,And lo! brave Lara's lineaments!ISABELLA.Amazement!FERDINAND.More wonderful what follow'd, Isabel.Our soldiers seize the slain Almanzor's corse:Behold Gonzalvo head a Moorish band,Defend the lifeless chief with frantic zeal;And, aiding the heart‐stricken Moors, conveyThe corse from off the field.ISABELLA.Most strange, indeed!GARCIA.Venusa's prince false to the cause of Spain!ALVAREZ.Nor leave to hungry dogs an infidel'sUnhallow'd corse?FERDINAND.Returning, now he mark'dBrave Lara 'mongst a host of vengeful Moors,Though faint and bleeding, holding them at bay:With lightning's speed he rush'd upon them.—LostTo my sight, I know not the event.ISABELLA.My liege,Oh doubt it not!—'tis victory!FERDINAND.Be oursTo improve the advantage gained. Come, Isabel;We must take order for to‐morrow's onset. [Exeunt.SCENE II.Before LARA'S Tent.Enter LARA, leaning on his attendants as if wounded; GONZALVO by his side in great disorder.LARA.I pray thee, my Gonzalvo, rave not thus!Nay, hast thou not eclips'd thy former glory;Snatching amidst defeat itself the palmOf victory? Hast thou not redeem'd from deathThy Lara, too? Oh, who so blest, my friend,That would not barter lots with thee this day?GONZALVO.None who could read my heart. Enough of this:Speak of thy safety, of thy life, thy fame,For that is all saved from my wreck of bliss.LARA.Thy wreck of bliss when thou hast sav'd thy country?GONZALVO.Is not Almanzor dead, and by thy hand?LARA.Yes, by my hand! Would'st thou that I had baredMy bosom to the Infidel's assault?He met me not to joust in tournament—Or he had fallen or I.GONZALVO.It was not thineThe combat—'twas thy friend's. Had he met me,Almanzor had return'd to bless his Zelima.Wretch that I am! Ev'n now, ev'n now, alas!My princess bends o'er her dear slaughter'd brother,Deeming Gonzalvo perjured, false—a murderer!He, who so lately at her feet had swornAlmanzor's blood should never stain his sword!Is 't not enough, that, every hope shut out,Despair be mine, but she must think this hand,This treach'rous hand, has slaughter'd him?[LARA takes his hand kindly.Away!Offer not consolation, Lara. Off!Thou liv'st. My soul, at least, is spared remorseFor thee! thou art the victor! Wear the blood‐stain'd wreath,Thy valour's due, and leave me to my sorrow.[Turning from him.LARA.My friendship is not dear to thee as once,Gonzalvo—GONZALVO.He is to holy friendship's lawsA stranger, who knows not to sympathiseIn his friend's sorrows, though he ne'er have provedLike ills himself. Thou art my fellow soldier,Not my friend.LARA.Nor friend, nor fellow soldier,Is welcome to thee more. The flatterer—yes,The servile flatterer, is the friend thou would'st;But Lara cannot be Gonzalvo's flatterer.Go, bind the silken turban round thy brow,Forswear thy friend, thy country, and thy fame;Go revel in the Moorish wanton's smiles,And at her feet——GONZALVO (drawing).The Moorish wanton I say'st thou?[PEDRO rushes between them, and catches GONZALVO'S arm.LARA (baring his bosom, and with much emotion).But first take back the worthless life thy handSo lately gave to him thy recreant heartNo longer owns.[GONZALVO gives his sword to PEDRO, and turning away, hides his eyes with his hands.PEDRO (going up to LARA).My lord is not himself. Your wounds still bleed:I pray you be more calm. [To his attendants.My friends, attendThe valiant Lara—bind his wounds afresh.[Exit LARA supported.Pray you, my lord, allow me to attend youTo your own tents. Indeed you need repose.Haply your faithful Pedro, who has sharedThe chances that have wrought this change in you,May better soothe the anguish of your mind.GONZALVO."The Moorish wanton!"—"Revel in her smiles!"Her brother's blood still reeking on his sword,To wrong her thus! With friendship's holy nameTo grace such insults!PEDRO.Oh! be calm, my lord.GONZALVO.Yes, Pedro, I will see her once again;Tell her this hand is guiltless of his blood—Pardon obtain—or at her feet expire!PEDRO.My lord, you rave. The princess is retiredWithin th' Albaysin palace with her father.It were impossible to enter there,As 'twere to scale yon skies.—Impossible!GONZALVO.No, Pedro, nothing is impossibleTo one who greatly dares. I can but die,And it is better far to die, while, ardent,I aim my soul's strong purpose to effect,Than sit me down as coward spirits use,And, unresisting, sigh my life away.Yes, I will see her t—Let me pass.PEDRO.My lord,'Tis madness—'tis impossible!—I pray youBethink you better. [Attempting to stop him.GONZALVO (with violence).Nay, attempt not, Pedro,One to dissuade who is so bent as I am.Yes, I will enter the proud city thus!My arms alone are known—alone are fear'd.What Moor will dream the wretched thing he seesWas once Gonzalvo? I shall pass unheededAmidst the consternation of defeat.[He rushes out wildly, leaving, his sword in PEDRO'S hand. PEDRO, after a moment of consternation, follows him.ACT V.—SCENE I.An Apartment in the Albaysin Palace.MULEY HASSAN and ZELIMA.ZELIMA.Look up, my father; thus thy hoary headLow in the dust!MULEY HASSAN.My dear, my duteous daughter!I strive to thank the prophet thou art left me,But cannot waken grateful thoughts withinMy frozen bosom, too severely chasten'd.My gentle child, can I no longer love thee? [Weeps.ZELIMA.Weep, weep, my father, give thy sorrow vent;Despair not wholly lords it o'er the heartThat can dissolve in tears.MULEY HASSAN.Hah! saidst thou so?Then wherefore see I not thy female softnessMelting in floods of woe?ZELIMA.The time may comeThat I shall weep.—We both have lost Almanzor:Pride and support of both!—What else of illMay heap the measure of my grief so high,Methinks despair can be but this—regardsNone other.—It is mine—mine only.MULEY HASSAN.Thy tones of anguish thrill my soul.—My child,For thy poor broken‐hearted father's sake,Speak yet some word of comfort and of hope.ZELIMA.He swore the brother of his ZelimaWas sacred to his sword! the oath still hungOn his perfidious lip. Alas! my father,That the dear hand which rescued Zelima,Should pierce her bosom thus!MULEY HASSAN.Degenerate maid!Thy murder'd brother welters in his blood,And thou canst name in terms that breathe not hateThe foe who slew him!ZELIMA.Not in a moment can we learn to hateOne we have loved so well. Is it not hardTo call him false whom I had thought so true?For thanks and blessings now to utter curses?But I will bear myself as bitterest hate,And dire revenge should prompt, nor ever seeThe false, the cruel, perjured Spaniard more.Enter OMAR.OMAR.Good king! my princess! I am charged with tidingsMay soothe a father's grief.MULEY HASSAN.Is't death thou bring'st?OMAR.A boon more precious, Muley Hassan,—vengeance!Gonzalvo's taken.MULEY HASSAN.Dost thou mock my sorrow?OMAR.My words are true. Unarm'd the Spaniard roam'd,As one distraught, around the palace walls:His wild disorder'd mien awaked suspicion,Hemm'd in by numbers, madly he exclaims,"Moors, dare ye meet Gonzalvo?" they shrink backIn blank amazement; when, indignant, oneCries, "Countrymen! What!—shall a swordless arm"Ward off a thousand sabres?" Struck with shame,They close around and seize him. King AbdoulahCommands his blood be shed at the obsequiesOf slain Almanzor.ZELIMA.Let me rather dieThan witness the too savage rites of vengeance!Revenge may soothe the angry spirit's pain,Not heal the broken heart.MULEY HASSAN.My life's last comfort!Oh! I shall lose thee too!(To her women). Support her—soothe her.[ZELIMA retires among her women in great disorder.Am I a Moor? and is not vengeance dear?How lost am I!—Alas! alas! my son,'Twere sweeter far to sheathe the dagger here,And lay me down by thee, than shed the bloodOf him who saved thy sister. At my feetWhen he lies lifeless, will thy lips, my son,Or smile, or breathe? or shall I aught regainOf all I lose in thee?—No—I shall look,As now, on all around, a hideous blank,And wish alike for death!OMAR.The mournful train,With solemn symphonies, draws near the palace.Abdoulah wisely urges all despatch,For that an aged follower of GonzalvoUnheeded 'scaped, and may alarm the Spaniards.MULEY HASSAN.I come—thy arm.—Oh! give me courage, Allah![Exeunt.SCENE II.The Court of the Palace.The funeral procession of ALMANZOR. GONZALVO chained and guarded: the executioner by his side. CHORUS OF MOORSFor the warrior young and brave,Doom'd untimely to the grave,Pour on the passing gale the voice of woe;And mark, as deep and sad the numbers flowSuccessive from the heart;—the hollow groanFalls on the ear!—It is a father's moan!And now the silver toneOf female tenderness dissolves the soul:A sister's inbred love disdains control,Mourning the friend, the brother, and the chief,With wild impassion'd grief.The airs that erst with gratulation rung,Now on dank pinions hung,Bear heavily the plaint a nation breathes,That sorrowing wreathesFunereal garlands for her hero slain,Slain in his country's cause, on yon ensanguined plain!CHORUS OF YOUTHS.We who on his steps attending,Learnt from him the soldier's part,Valour, fortitude unbending,For our sacred home contending!Can we tear him from our heart?No, by our leader's bier, our arms laid low,Wait we, in mute despair, the now victorious foe.[Laying down their arms by the bier.CHORUS OF MAIDENS.Opening radiant with the morningBeam'd the smile we strove to share;For that smile all others scorning:Now for whom her charms adorningWould the Moorish maid be fair?Our chaplets, faded, on his bier we throw,Our braided tresses tear, and join a sister's woe![Placing their garlands on the bier.CHORUS OF MOORS.Wake a more impetuous lay!Keener pangs our bosoms sway,By patriot rage, and frenzied anguish tost!Yet—yet—all is not lost!Revenge! Revenge, is ours! Her bitter smileOur sorrow shall beguile!Revenge shall yet a thrilling joy impart,Dear to the Moorish heart!While cold Despair shall guide her frantic handDeep in the murd'rer's breast to plunge the ruthless brand!YOUTHS AND MAIDENS.Breathe again funereal strains,Give to dust the loved remains;While from seats of glory bendingAngels hymn the soul ascending;While a grateful nation's sighsWaft the hero to the skies,And its tears embalm his name,Thus by a people's love consign'd to deathless fame.MULEY HASSAN.Prepare thee, youth, to die. Spite of this tear,Revenge anon will brace my unstrung nervesTo taste the joys she gives.GONZALVO.Oh, Muley Hassan!Thy gentle tongue erewhile bade me aspireTo call thee father! erring vengeance nowPrompts that same tongue to speak the doom of deathOn one who has not injured thee.MULEY HASSAN.Ha! Spaniard,Thou hast not injured me?—Look there! Look there![Pointing to the bier.GONZALVO.I do beseech thee, ere I bow my head,And court the blow that rids me of this life,Allow me but once more to see thy daughter:Oh! see me kneel for this, and weep before thee!MULEY HASSAN (aside).And must I pity him?—At distance yonder,Behold the wreck of all that was so joyous!So beautiful!—A little month ago(So tender was her nurture) had she died,She never had known sorrow.(To the attendants). Lead her on.Speak, prince, we may not long delay.[ZELIMA totters forward supported, and on seeing GONZALVO, hides her face in her father's bosom.GONZALVO.Nay, turnAnd look on me!—It is for thee I die,And innocent of all offence to thee.ZELIMA.Perfidious Spaniard! false as thou art cruel! [To MULEY HASSAN.(No, I will not disgrace thee, my dear father,By any show of pity, though it kill me).[To GONZALVO.Didst thou not swear to me in yonder groveMy brother's life was sacred to thy sword?And swiftly as thy fleetest steed could bear thee,Didst rush on him and deal the deadly blow?GONZALVO.No, it was I who saved yon corse from insult.ZELIMA.Is it thus thou givest me my rescued brother?Is this thy pledge of faith?GONZALVO.I slew him not:—I go to death, my faith to thee unbroken.Say, thou believest—Oh! my Zelima,Say, too, thou pitiest me.ZELIMA (giving way to tenderness).Nay, canst thou wishSuch twofold torture to poor Zelima,As but to think thy hand is innocent,And see thee thus?—Spare me, and say thou'rt guilty.THE EXECUTIONER.We may not thus delay the obsequies. MULEY HASSAN (with assumed firmness).My injured country, prince, demands thy blood.Thy life is forfeit to the sacred dead;A father's vengeance claims it!(To ZELIMA). Thou, my child, withdraw.[ZELIMA retires in great disorder.And now, dread minister of justice, strike!GONZALVO.My Zelima! my love! farewell for ever![MULEY HASSAN hides his face. The executioner lifts his axe, when LARA and PEDRO rush in.LARA.Stay—stay your hands! ye impious murderers!I!—I slew your Almanzor!MULEY HASSAN.Who art thou?None other but Gonzalvo could have done it!LARA.Here Lara stands to avouch the glorious deed!Behold Almanzor's conqueror!GONZALVO.My Lara!Whither would cruel friendship lead thee? Go—Sever'd from her I love, death is my choice.Live, Lara, live, for Spain and for Gonzalvo.(To the Executioner).Strike, Moor! why stand ye thus suspended?(To MULEY HASSAN).Command, good king! This frantic man would saveHis friend, and knows not what he says.LARA.Old king! I swear 'twas I who slew thy son.GONZALVO.Strike here! the king, Abdoulah, bade despatch.Dread the fierce tyrant's wrath.(To LARA.) Away, my friend!Thy artifice shall not prevail.LARA (to the Executioner.)Strike here!ZELIMA (rushing from among the women, and throwing herself at her father's feet).Pardon, my father, both these noble youths!'Tis Lara speaks the truth—Gonzalvo pardon,For that he tarried with thy Zelima,Swearing to spare her brother, while his friendStruck at our peace; yet pardon Lara too,For that he thus would die to save Gonzalvo.MULEY HASSAN.The Spaniard's blood will not allay the pangThat rankles in this breast; but how may theseConsent to lose the sweets of promised vengeance?ZELIMA (to the attendants).My friends, who knew my brother's generous soul,Think you his spirit may be soothed by bloodOf kindred spirits butcher'd o'er his tomb?Not nobly shed in battle?—No—'tis he,'Tis my Almanzor's hovering ghost that promptsMy feeble voice to cry for mercy!—Mercy![Distant sounds are heard of the storming of the city.Enter OMAR hastily.OMAR.Granada is invested on all sides!The vengeful Spaniards lay the city waste,Claiming their leaders, Lara and Gonzalvo.GONZALVO.Release me, king, and I will stay their fury:It were more grateful to Almanzor's spiritThat I should stanch his country's blood, than shedMy own upon his corse.ALL THE MOORS.Release him, king!Release the noble Spaniard![MULEY HASSAN releases him, and PEDRO gives him his arms.GONZALVO (embracing LARA).Oh, my Lara,Generous and brave alike!—My Zelima!Yes, thou dost pity me—deny it not!ZELIMA.Haste, haste, dear prince, nor lose again the moment.MULEY HASSAN.Let them depart, while thou and I consignTo earth, the mortal part of him whom nowThe Prophet welcomes to the bowers of bliss.[Exeunt GONZALVO and LARA on one side, followed by the young Moors. On the other the funeral procession, with MULEY HASSAN, ZELIMA, Maidens, &c. and the Scene closes.SCENE III.A public Part of Granada.Storming of the City heard. Spaniards and Moors in great confusion, fighting: the Moors driven off.—MULEY HASSAN and ZELIMA afterwards, with attendants.MULEY HASSAN.My friends, it is the Prophet's will these eyesShould see, ere yet they close, Granada's realm—Land of my fathers—fall!—My son! thou sleepestThe eternal sleep, not ev'n thy country's groansMay break!—I am resign'd![He kneels, and for a moment is wrapt in devotion.While yet I reign'd,I did not cause my people's tears to flow;And at this awful moment, when I waitThe stroke of death no form terrific gleamsAthwart my soul of one accusing Moor![The noise redoubles.ZELIMA.The dreadful tumult grows upon the ear!Havoc and death approach!—My dear, dear father![Clinging to him.They shall not tear thee from me—my last breathShall speak a blessing on thy parting child.They come! they come!—Oh, hold me to thy heart!Enter SELIM.SELIM.The guard is forced!—Within the gates they rage,The furious Spaniards!—Fly, my princess, fly!Fly, good old man!(Kneeling). I was thy subject once,And my heart owns thee still—Oh! if my armCould stay the stroke that threats thy reverend head,One moment stay it—think'st thou I would fly?—But they are thousands drunk with blood and conquest.[Starts up, and exit.Spaniards rush in, led by GARCIA.GARCIA.This—this is he! the hoary infidel!Drag him before victorious Ferdinand![They seize him.A SPANIARD (seizing ZELIMA).This is a prize indeed!—Come on, fair Moor!ZELIMA (struggling).Save me, my father! save me from these ruffians!Gonzalvo! Oh Gonzalvo! where art thou? MULEY HASSAN.Unhand her, villains! Leave the royal maid!ZELIMA.Save me!MULEY HASSAN.Can age, e'en palsied age, unnerveThe arm of him who hears a daughter's cry!Oh, my heart's darling!—Brutal villains, off![He makes a violent effort, breaks from them, strikes down one, rescues his Daughter, is wounded by GARCIA in the struggle, and sinks into ZELIMA'S arms.This trembling hand was arm'd with Heaven's mightTo save a daughter!—Yes, I hold thee still—Thanks to the Prophet!—Cling to me—I faint.ZELIMA.Oh gracious Allah! See—he bleeds—Help! help!Enter LARA.LARA.Whence came that piercing shriek?—The Moorish princess!Hold, ruffians, hold!—Hold in Gonzalvo's name![To MULEY HASSAN.From him I come with grateful tidings, king,Alas, I fear too late!—Recal thy spirit—Peace to thy bleeding country!MULEY HASSAN (reviving).Oh! I thank thee!That word has life in't.—I can hear thy tale.I bleed apace, but my firm spirit yetWings not its flight— [To ZELIMA.It hangs on all it loves,And will not part.LARA.The tide of blood is stayed.The heartless Moors, deprived of their Almanzor,Yielded on all sides, when Gonzalvo's voiceQuarter proclaim'd, and check'd the hot pursuitIn the names of Ferdinand and Isabel.In gentlest triumph see the victors come!MULEY HASSAN.I breathe more freely.ZELIMA (with rapture).Yes, thy swimming eyesAre lighted with new fire. Oh thou wilt live,And bless thy daughter still!MULEY HASSAN.Yes, Zelima,I grapple still with death, and will not yield.A purpose to my parting soul most dear,Supports me still a space against the courseOf nature—and I will—will yet—Enter FERDINAND and ISABELLA, GONZALVO, Spanish Nobles, &c.GONZALVO (kneeling, and raising MULEY HASSAN).Oh, Muley Hassan! honour'd, reverend king!What ruthless hand has done this?—Look on me,Dear, good old man! and call me once thy son.MULEY HASSAN (joining their hands).Protect her—Oh! my son!ISABELLA.Live, Muley Hassan!Live to bless these, and see thy people blest!The weal of fall'n Granada we commitTo thy Gonzalvo.MULEY HASSAN.Now I die content—Thanks, generous victors!—Oh, my Zelima!My pent soul flutters to be gone.—We must—Yes, we must part.—I forced my spirit—stayAwhile—and still—still would behold thee once—Why dost thou vanish?—Why dost flit away?My child—my child—I hope—I hope I dieWithin thy arms. (Reaching, as if to seek her).Oh! that I could feel thee!—Press me—Oh! press me to thy heart, my child! [Dies.[After a pause ZELIMA lays her cheek to his face, and starting.ZELIMA.Hush! hush! was't not a breath of life that fann'dMy cheek? [Laying her hand on his breast.Oh no!—no, no—I may not hope—Thy kind heart beats no more beneath my hand—All, all is still!—My father! oh, my father![She leans over the body lost in grief, GONZALVO supporting her. The Curtain drops.PEDRARIAS,A TRAGIC DRAMA.

THIS drama was written in May 1811, and has been revised at different periods since. For the story see "Les Incas" of Marmontel. As it is one of pure invention, it was thought allowable to take great liberties with it.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.PEDRARIAS D'AVlLA, governor of the Isthmus of Darien.ALPHONSO, his son.GUSMAN, his minister.LOPEZ, and other Spanish nobles.PEREZ, a spy.CAPANA, an Indian cacique.HOUACO, his son, at first under the name of ZAMORI.THELASCO, an Indian warrior.KALI, an Indian.LASCALA, an old Indian.AMAZILIA, a young Indian woman of high birth, betrothed to Houaco.LAILA, her friend.An old Indian woman.Spanish Soldiers, Indians, &c.SCENE, Panama, and mountains of the adjacent country.PEDRARIAS.ACT I.—SCENE I.Indian Scenery.Groups of Indians pass over the stare with garlands,&c. as if busily employed in preparations for a rustic sacrifice. THELASCO enters alone from the opposite side, and KALI comes forward from the other Indians to meet him.KALI.WELCOME, Thelasco, welcome! Thou return'stIn happy hour. Our good cacique, Capana,Wills that the feast of vengeance be completedThis very day. The rites are all prepared.THELASCO.What mean'st thou, Kali? Ere the last moon waned,Nine of the fell invaders, by our warriorsSurprised and taken on yon wilds, had bled:One breathed alone, when with my chosen bandAgain I sought the foe.KALI.True, brave Thelasco;For nine successive days our people feasted,Pouring forth songs before the God of Vengeance,While on his altars flow'd a Spaniard's blood;But nought of joy stole on the settled sorrowOf good Capana. On the tenth, the sunFrown'd on our rites; the angry thunders roar'd;The ominous tear rolled down Capana's cheek;The rites were stopp'd.THELASCO.But sure the sun has smiledWith ray benignant many a day since then?KALI.And yet the sacrifice has still been stay'd.Our great cacique best reads portentous skies,Nor till this day has deem'd the signs propitious.With sadden'd brow e'en now——THELASCO.Alas! what sadnessCan thus hang heavy on Capana's breast?Has he not saved the remnant of his peopleBy his sole godlike wisdom, and his valour?Did he not lead us, press'd by foes and famine,O'er mountains, inaccessible to allBut those who follow such a leader? One,Whose bleeding wounds mark, drop by drop, the courseHe cheers his bands to follow: whose parch'd lips,Smiling, refuse the cooling draught we scoopIn the cleft rock—bidding his follower drink!Till in this valley, by these heights hemm'd in,(Committing us, as 'twere, to Nature's bosom),He bids us live secure—beyond the reachOf fierce Pedrarias, and his lawless rout.Can he retrace these deeds and taste of sadness?KALI.Valiant Thelasco!—thou art not a father,Or had'st not ask'd that question.THELASCO.True:—HouacoWas on the fatal field or slain, or lost;But two long summers, since gone by, might bluntRemembrance:—and the bloody day that reftCapana of a people, and a son,Closed that son's course in glory! Mark'd you notHow many his unerring hatchet laid in dust?I saw them writhe in death! I heard them groan!That is a music never shall be pouredUpon th' invader's ear from Indian lips*!We laugh amidst the tortures they inflict,And sing our death song—while these sons o' th' sea,(Cast by distemper'd ocean on our shores),If chance the feather'd shaft, or missile bone,Invade their blanch'd and delicate limbs, forget,And shame, their manhood thus.KALI.Yet by their artsOf fatal magic, that compel the cloudTo yield reluctant from its wreathing foldsThe smouldering bolt—by their bright arms that flashForged lightnings, bickering, impious, to the sun,And by their iron coats that mock our shafts,They are invincible.THELASCO.Invincible!No, Kali, no. Hast thou not seen the deepWith hideous swell, wave over wave, bear on,As it would swallow, in its might, our shores?And do not still our green and laughing shoresMock at its rage? E'en thus let us opposeResistance firm, unalterable—thus mockTheir glittering terrors, and their coward mail.KALI.Such reckless valour, what has it avail'd us?THELASCO.And dost thou call that valour reckless valourWhich saved thee, Kali, and thy trembling fellows,When conquer'd by these idle fears ye fled,Or fell unhurt? Eternal shame!—No more—We loiter. I to Capana must reportHow undisturb'd I and my band have roam'dThe unpeopled wastes, nor found a straggler moreOf this fell race, to thee so terrible! [Exeunt severally.AMAZILIA and LAILA come forward from among, the woody scenery.LAILA (following AMAZILIA, who seems to avoid her).All is prepared. The troops of damsels hymnThe song of sacrifice. Fair Amazilia,Here is a wreath of flowers to deck thy brow:Here is thy flowing veil: thou heed'st me not—Thou dost not smile.AMAZILIA.Why should I smile, my Laila?This is a solemn sacrifice—a sad one.Is not death sad?LAILA.When 'tis our foe that dies,We Indians* hold it is a joyous sight.AMAZILIA."Our foe?"—Methinks this poor, ill‐fated youth,Has not the semblance of a foe to any.LAILA.Is he not of the band of fell destroyers?Dost thou not hate him?AMAZILIA.Yes—I hope I hate him.LAILA.Why dies the word upon thy faltering lip?AMAZILIA (taking her hand affectionately).Thou wast my friend. Am I still dear to thee?LAILA.Indeed, indeed, thou art! I never thoughtBut as thy nobler nature swayed my mind,And am in all devoted to thy will.AMAZILIA.A month has pass'd, and ever as this youthHas been led forth to bleed before our gods,Thou know'st Capana has been moved to pity;And canst thou blame a woman's gentler nature,If, touch'd with soft compassion, I relented?I would not see him die.LAILA.The God of VengeanceDemands his blood.AMAZILIA (with energy).Oh! but the God of MercyBids the poor captive live!LAILA.Alas! the IndiansKnow not of such a God—and how shouldst thou?AMAZILIA.The captive Christian bade me serve him, Laila!LAILA.Thy words and gestures fill my soul with terror.How couldst thou learn aught of the captive's worship?AMAZILIA.Each night, when all, within this happy valley,Lay hush'd in sleep, compassion led my stepsTo the young captive's cave; and near tile entrance,Unseen by him, I oft would chant the laysOur mothers teach, when death has claim'd our warriors,To cheat the hideous phantom of his terrors.But while I sang of nature's sweet repose,Lapt in the bosom of the parent earth,My heart disown'd the fraud—and form'd the wishThat he might live, whom thus I woo'd to die!He too address'd me in such accents, Laila,I could not choose but listen. His heav'n‐taught words,Awful yet sweet, waked in me a new soul.In lowly ignorance, and abject fear,Erewhile I trembled when the thunders roll'd;And in each element a mighty power,Angry and vengeful, sought t'appease. But now,Oh now! a father's warning voice I hearIn solemn thunders!—see his gracious smileIn the sun's beams—his hand beneficentIn the earth's fruits—nor fear might infinite,With goodness infinite!—Infinite mercy,Wisdom, and love—as in Alphonso's God!LAILA.And did a God so bounteous send them forthTo ravage India?AMAZILIA.No:—he bade them spare.More have I learnt, my Laila. These destroyers,These cruel men who drench our land with blood,Have some among them who are like this youth;But they are few, and o'erborne by the many.LAILA.Oft, Amazilia, have I mark'd of lateThy alter'd mien, and the high views that fill'dThy labouring mind: still thou wert ever kind,Nor didst disdain thy Laila's humble love.Give me then all thy thoughts.AMAZILIA.They are all—all,To save the youth! Dear Laila, come with me,And we will pray Alphonso's God to aid us:He will inspire my dark, untutor'd mindIn his own holy cause the cause of mercy! [Exeunt.* Speaking of the natives on the coast of those provinces known by the names of Paria and Cumana, Robertson says, "They seemed to possess a better understanding, and greater courage, than the inhabitants of the islands." History of America, Book II.* "Even after the error which gave rise to this opinion (that the new world was part of India) was detected, and the true position of the new world was ascertained, the name has remained; and the appellation of West Indies is given by all the people of Europe to the country, and that of Indians to its inhabitants."—Robertson's History of America, Book II.SCENE II.A deep valley, inclosed by inaccessible mountains, filled with Indian huts, mixed with palm‐trees, &c. In the front a rustic throne under a spreading palm, and an altar with an image rudely carved, representing the God of Vengeance.Enter CAPANA (properly attended), in conversation with THELASCO.CAPANA.Believe me, brave Thelasco, 'tis not weakness.Thou hast shared my counsels, and hast ever beenMy partner in the fight. When hast thou knownVain shapes, and idle phantoms, move my spirit?Our very Gods have pleaded for this youth:A boding voice has sounded in my heart;Nay, strange portentous signs have stain'd the skies!The guards that, nightly watching, skirt the valley,Have heard melodious warblings round his cave,Soothing his slumbers, and have trembled, awe‐struck.Whene'er I communed with him, he, methought,Held all my troubled spirit in control.If these destroyers are like him endow'd,Alas! for India's sons!THELASCO.Alas! for thee!Alas! for India's sons, should he escape!He would divulge the place of our retreat.CABANA (sorrowfully).I know it well: and therefore have decreedThe consummation of the sacrifice.THELASCO.That one of this fell race should move thee thus!CAPANA.He is a father's only son, he says:I had no son, my friend, save young Houaco.[Brushing away a tear.What had I felt had he a captive stoodBefore a Spaniard?THELASCO.Ha! had he found mercy?Let double tortures rack this cozener![The procession for the sacrifice approaches, winding through the trees. ALPHONSO bound and guarded.CAPANA.They lead him on, but ere he sleep in death,Thou too shalt hear him, and astonish'd, won,To pity yielding, wilt revoke this wish.[He makes signs that ALPHONSO should be brought before him, and ascends the throne.ALPHONSO.Cacique! What would'st thou with me? I have pray'dThe God I worship not to visit on theeMy innocent blood: and almost am resignedTo quit this life, ere I have aught achievedOf all the mighty purpose of my soul.THELASCO.Thy coward spirit shrinks from death, it seems;We Indians welcome the repose he brings.ALPHONSO.It is the coward spirit, haughty Indian,That welcomes soft repose. But, fearless, IWould welcome dangers, toils, severest ills,In glory's cause; and would not lay me down,In all the pride, and strength of manhood, thusUnhonour'd and unwept!THELASCO.What call'st thou "glory?"Thousands of friendly Indians at thy feetButcher'd by fraud, who on their shores receivedWith songs and dances, and with garlands crown'd ye,As welcome guests?ALPHONSO.I was a stripling then:With horror marked the deed, and, in my heart,Vow'd I would ever be the Indian's friend!Nor have I stained this hand with Indian blood.Nay, oft my youthful pleadings have prevailedWith one, whose sterner temper own'd no check,Save my poor prayers and tears.[Checking himself; then with energy.Yes, I would live!I feel such impulses within my breast,To mark my course by justice and by mercy,That I would live! Yet would exulting meetDeath, linked with torture, if with glory linked!But thus to fall!CAPANA (to THELASCO aside).What wrong would'st thou avenge?Say, what his crime?THELASCO.That he was born a Spaniard.Was it not guilt enough in Spanish eyes;That we were Indian born?CAPANA.Not so with him.(To ALPHONSO with emotion).Were I, in weak compassion to thy youth,To give thee life!ALPHONSO (eagerly).And liberty!CAPANA.Thy libertyWere our destruction. Here thou must abide.ALPHONSO.Death has no terrors now! Command the rites.CAPANA.Thou would'st reveal the place of our retreat.ALPHONSO.What wilt thou trust if not the grateful heart?CAPANA.Nay, not thy heart: I but mistrust thy youth.In fellow feeling for a father's pain,Who has no son but thee—I could relent—ALPHONSO.Not to my father must thou give my life!Lead on—I will not practise on thy goodness.CAPANA.Not to thy father? 'Tis for him I feel!I too have lost an only son, and would notAnother father should feel pangs like mine!ALPHONSO.Generous Capana! I will not deceive thee.Know, should'st thou give me life and liberty,It is Pedrarias' son thou bind'st to thee!CAPANA (with horror).The fell Pedrarias!THELASCO.Ha! Pedrarias, say'st thou?He who, insatiable of Indian blood,Clapping his gory palms, cheer'd on his dogsTo trace our weary steps, and piecemeal tearOur quiv'ring flesh! Pedrarias! the destroyer!Beneath whose murderous stroke our fathers fell;Whose name our widows curse, and, but pronounced,Serves as a bugbear to their orphan babes!(To the attendants).Invent new tortures for Pedrarias' son!(The Indians rush forward with expressions of fury).AMAZILIA (breaking from the troop of damsels).Hold! hold! forbear! Ye know not what ye do!A God, far other than the God of Vengeance,Speaks by my simple tongue, and will be heard!Say, if revenge were sweet, as we are taught,Have not nine victims bled upon this altar?.And who has yet seen good Capana smile?What son regains the father he has lost?What widow ceases to deplore her husband?The victims bled, while we, with giddy songs,Drown'd nature's voice! They bled—and all was o'er!In our lone cabins, when retired to rest,Say, were our sorrows soothed?[All hang their heads mournfully.I!—I will tellHow noble spirits seek a sweet revenge!Give him a son who robb'd thee, chief, of thine,And see the humbled tyrant at thy feetOwe all to him he injured, and confessHe learns of thee to serve the God he boasts!CAPANA (with great emotion).Thy words, my Amazilia, reach my soul,And shake its temper— [Striking his breast.Oh! I feel them here!ALPHONSO (aside).That voice I whose every tone my heart‐strings answerWith strong vibrations, sweet e'en to agony!Those charms! nor seen, nor imaged, till this hour!CAPANA (after a conflict, descending from his throne).Son of the man who desolates my country—Whom pity never touch'd—son of Pedrarias—I give thee life!—I give thee liberty![ALPHONSO throws himself at his feet.Go to thy father. Say, an Indian chief,Whose people he has swept from off the earth,Whom he has doom'd to childless age, and sorrow,Low at his feet saw fell Pedrarias' son!Within his grasp each instrument of torture—And raised him thus, and press'd him to his bosom![Raising and embracing him.ALPHONSO.Oh generous! generous! Thou—my more than father!CAPANA.Speak not Capana's name, nor e'er revealThe place of our retreat.[ALPHONSO is kneeling to swear.Nay, swear not, youth.It is impossible thou should'st betray us.ALPHONSO.Oh thou so noble! Thou, who serv'st so wellThe Christian's God! and thou! divinest maid!My guardian angel! Oh! I cannot speakMy soul's wild tumult!—yes, the life ye giveDevoted to your weal! I here abjureMy country's cruel cause. Trust me, cacique,Nor prayers nor threats shall wring thy secret from me.A father's wrath were vain. But far, far otherwiseHis grateful thoughts will prompt. This deed will wakeAn Indian soul in great Pedrarias' breast;And sure, if benefits can e'er atoneThe wrongs ye're suffer'd, sure ye will be blest!Oh that he could alike restore thy son,And render joy for joy!CAPANA.Houaco fellWith thousands of my butcher'd people, youth.Wake not the thought, while thus a something new,Awful, exalted, soothes my heart's long sorrow!'Tis not a father's wrath will shake thy soul.Thou know'st him not. Beware his thanks! his blessings!Oh! let not these betray thy simple heartTo break thy promise!—no, not if he sworeTo place me on the throne of all these realms,Himself my subject, and his arm my stay.Name not Capana, nor his place of rest;Not e'en to Indians, now the invader's slaves!I and my friends ask but to be forgotten.And should thy guileless youth, o'ermatch'd by fraud,And semblance fair, aught falter, look on this![Taking an ornament from his own neck, and hanging it on ALPHONSO'S.Think of Capana, and be firm again.ALPHONSO.Dear, honour'd pledge! that never but with lifeShalt quit this bosom![After gazing on it, and pressing it to his bosom.Visions of glorious deeds!Bright hopes that float confus'dly in my brain!Yes, I was born the instrument of mercy!My father now shall hail you men, and brothers;Shall sheathe the sword, and ye shall come anon,Won by the fame of his good deeds, shall come——CAPANA.Alas! thou dreamest, poor ingenuous youth!Depart!—My people shall conduct thy stepsAmong the yawning gulfs, and rocks stupendousThat gird this valley, shutting out each eye,Save that of the all‐searching, sacred sun.ALPHONSO.Yet ere I part, Cacique, oh! let me breatheA prayer for her, that unknown, heavenly maid,Who calls me to a new—a dearer life![As he kneels and takes her hand.AMAZILIA.Away—away, youth!—See, Thelasco frowns.Oh fly!—farewell!—Yet if e'er aught of sorrowVisit thee, in that hour think of the maidWho soothed, erewhile, thy anguish; and who still,Oh! still would fain—yet never must againOr see—or hear thee—youth.[Appears overcome, and then with sudden transport.But thou wilt live!'Twas all I ask'd!ALPHONSO.This life, thy gift, were vain,My guardian angel! vain were deeds of worthNot by thy smile approved! and saidst thou never?That word of dreadful import—Oh! recall it,For till this hour, thou matchless excellence!——THELASCO.Why linger'st thou? Art thou not free?—Away!And may each torture, vengeance can devise,Rack thy false soul if thou break faith with us![Exit ALPHONSO on one side, escorted by a troop of Indians; CAPANA and THELASCO on the other. AMAZILIA and LAILA remain.AMAZILIA (after gazing till ALPHONSO is out of sight).And is he gone? for ever gone, my Laila?And must I in this valley still remain,To breathe, to move, to sleep?—If haply sleep,Calm death‐like sleep, will close my aching eyes,Wearied with watching through the live‐long dayYon towering heights, upheaved by hate and envy.[ALPHONSO and his troop seen at a distance among the heights; when he disappears, she stretches her arms towards the heights.Ha! have ye shut him from my view for ever?Arm, arm your terrible brows with darker terrors,If ye would awe my soul, or bar the wayTo my fond wishes.LAILA.Said'st thou thy fond wishes?My Amazilia, wert thou not betrothedTo brave Houaco?AMAZILIA.I have wept Houaco,In battle slain.LAILA.And shall another fillThe heart where brave Houaco wont to reign?AMAZILIA.What have the dead to do with this sad heart?I held Houaco dear from earliest years,For that he would prevent my childish wishes,And still was blest if Amazilia smiled.It was a thing of habit, as we prizeWhate'er may to our pleasure minister.It aid not fill the heart, but I was tranquil,And nothing knew of these high hopes, these thoughtsAspiring, restless, wild, tumultuous,That make our pent up vale, our abject life,Our brutish ignorance, and slothful ease,So irksome to my soul.LAILA.Oh, Amazilia!'Tis a distemper'd fancy thus misleads thee.Are we not taught that disembodied spirits,In sweet perpetual change of song and dance,Float joyous; or in flowery meads recline,Now slumbering, or now waking to light laboursThat make repose more grateful?—Say, my friend,Live we not even so? and is this irksome?AMAZILIA.Yes, to a mind that would aspire so highAs fellowship of thought with him—that wouldWith him share toil and danger!—Yes, to oneWho would with him enlighten,—bless a people,—And, dying, leave a name that might not perish!Come with me to our cabin—thou shalt learnAll that thy friend would wish, would hope, would dare.[Exeunt.ACT II.—SCENE I.The Governor's Palace at Panama.PEDRARIAS and his Court at a grand feast, ALPHONSO by his father's side. Shouts are heard as from the people rejoicing around the palace. The guests rise with goblets in their hands to welcome ALPHONSO.PEDRARIAS.Thanks, thanks, my friends and fellows in renown!That ye who shared my dangers and my toils,Should, with such heartfelt brotherhood, partakeMy private joy, to me is doubly grateful:Our infant state on these fair‐conquer'd shoresThrives but by brotherhood thus firmly knit.What yet remains were as a healthful pastimeTo banish sluggish ease. 'Tis but to sweep,From these our fruitful plains, the native hordesThat still infest them.—What says my Alphonso?ALPHONSO (shudders, and starts from his reverie).My honour'd father! in this o'ercharged breastA thousand feelings strive for mastery.I would control my wayward thoughts, and worthilyExpress my thanks to these our noble friends.[He rises, and bows with a goblet in his hand.LOPEZ.The holiday thy glad return has madeIn Panama, were idle revelry,Unworthy of its cause, if mark'd aloneBy clamorous shouts. A nobler game, Alphonso,Should seal our joys with blood!PEDRARIAS.It is well said![The shouts without are repeated.Don Gusman, bear our oft repeated thanksOnce more to the glad throng without, I pray;Go thou and give them fair dismissal—Now [Rising.In this last cup, my friends, I pledge you all.[All rise and drink,'Twere tedious to repeat my grateful thoughts.The evening closes fast; and, ere I rest,The cares of state demand a thoughtful hour.[They begin to move off with ceremony, PEDRARIAS comes forward.Conduct Don Lopez to the gate, my son.[Exeunt ALPHONSO and LOPEZ.No longer shall your boiling spirits chafeWithin these walls, my friends. The means are mineTo trace the savage hordes to their last refuge.Visions of conquest on your slumbers wait!My valiant Gomez, Carlos, and Alvarez;And you—and you—my brave companions all!Pass without compliment.—Sweet rest attend you![Exeunt with proper ceremony. PEDRARIAS remains in deep thought. GUSMAN returns.GUSMAN.Methinks, my lord, while with such general joyAll Panama has welcomed Don Alphonso,Some secret care has prey'd upon your mind,Checking the tide of a fond father's gladness.PEDRARIAS.True, Gusman, true; greatness has heavy cares.Those savages, who rather than submitTo slavery, would sullen die despairing—Say, have they suffer'd torture?GUSMAN.No, my lord.Pardon that still the rebel natives live.Tortures avail'd us nothing.—‐We desisted.PEDRARIAS.Perdition! shall they live who brave my power?Why am I not obey'd?GUSMAN.If vanquish'd foesWe daily slaughter thus, where shall we findThe slaves required to dig the precious ore?PEDRARIAS.Ye have been slack. New tortures shall compelThese slothful slaves to ply their sun‐bask'd limbsFor conquerors.—Let them be rack'd—Away!GUSMAN.My lord, 'tis useless now. Zamori's voice,Their fellow slave, Zamori's, has prevail'd.PEDRARIAS.Zamori, say'st thou?GUSMAN.Yes, with earnest prayer;He sued to parley with his countrymen,Unheard by me.PEDRARIAS.Thou didst not sure consent?GUSMAN.I did, my lord. But was not distant far,And something caught of what Zamori urged.He spoke of patience—of some distant hope—A hope full sweet—some good inestimable,However dearly purchased. There I lostHis farther speech among the mingling sounds.Their stubborn spirits on the instant yielded:They wept—they gnash'd their teeth, when, sudden, heFirst snatch'd a mattock, and with lusty strokeOpen'd the soil. All follow'd eagerly,With bleeding wounds inflicted by the lash,Or limbs disjointed by the rack.—'Twas piteous!PEDRARIAS.Gusman, thou wert of my all‐conquering band.I little thought to see thee heave the sighFor these dull clods of earth.—Thou mov'st my scorn.[He paces the stage, ruminating.And would Zamori move his brutish fellowsTo serve their master? What might be his motive?Proud, uncomplaining, melancholy, stern,I oft have mark'd this Indian's lofty mien;And (for his carriage still rebuked my spirit)I added e'en indignity to torture.As rocks that from the daily whelming tideRear the unalter'd brow, he bore himself!It was his firmness taught them to resist,And is it he who schools them now to yield?GUSMAN.My lord, released of late from servile chains,Nearer your person he has been advanced.This gentler treatment in a noble nature——PEDRARIAS.'Twas but the nearer to observe his bearing.There is a savage greatness in ZamoriThat should awake suspicion. Much he may,Swaying the minds of all his fellows thus.GUSMAN.Indeed, my lord, the slave has well deserved.He will be faithful.PEDRARIAS.Faithful he shall be!My eye is on him.—But far other caresEngross my mind.—Hast thou observed Alphonso?Can a few weeks have changed his very nature?Musing he sits, and frowns as fancy works,Or if I question him, he speaks as thoughEach word involved some mighty consequence.GUSMAN.Perchance the thought of those who shared his sports,And perish'd 'mong the desert wilds, may stillHang heavy on his heart, and cloud his brow.PEDRARIAS.I know not what to think, nor what to fear.—But thou retire, my friend, and charge ZamoriTo seek my son, Alphonso, ere he rest,And say I wait his coming in my chamber.His father there would give the rein to nature,And breathe a blessing on his son restored.[Exeunt severally.SCENE II.The Governor's Ante‐chamber.ALPHONSO and HOUACO enter in conversation.ALPHONSO.Thee, most of all, Zamori, save my father,I joy to see again. Yet thou aloneHast not once deign'd to smile on my return.HOUACO.Joy is a stranger to Zamori's breast![Retiring slowly, and fixing his eyes on ALPHONSO, who looks kindly after him, then advances towards his father, who comes from an inner apartment.PEDRARIAS.My son! my loved Alphonso! shall I ownThat I am almost weary of these loudTumultuous rejoicings? though for thee,And thy return glad Panama thus maddens.Nay, thou art weary too, and spiritless.ALPHONSO.The joy to see my father and my friendsHas something of a tender, serious cast,That rather might to silent tears inclineThan these wild revellings.PEDRARIAS.Were tendernessThe character of my Alphonso's joy,He were not thus dark, guarded, hesitating,Whene'er a father's fondness prompts th' inquiryOf all that has befallen.ALPHONSO.I will tell allThat may import a father. How the chaseOf the swift lama, and the fiercer bison,Led on thy thoughtless son, and his young band,The partners of his sports, through trackless woods,O'er mountains, rocks, and wilds, till, lost their course,O'erspent with toil, dispersed, a prey to famine—The natives of those unknown deserts found,Surrounded, seized, and bound thy son.PEDRARIAS.Bound thee!Pedrarias' son bound by these savages!Ha! they shall dearly rue——ALPHONSO.Nay, shall they rueThe noble pity lavish'd upon oneOf the fell race——(Aside, checking himself.) But silence, my rash tongue!(Aloud.) Their generous leader knew thy son, and loosed him!He raised, embraced me, bade me say from him—— [Again checking himself.His looks strike terror!—The good Indian's wordsWould but embitter whom they might not moveTo emulate his gentle deeds.PEDRARIAS.E'en nowMark how your speech is broken—how you start,And shift, as 'twere some guilty thought appall'd you.Their chief?—say, was he a Cacique?(Aside.) Could he,The bold, the patient, persevering savage,Capana?—Would the fierce Thelasco do it?No, no. It must be one who knows my power,And thus would win my favour; but not oneWho has so felt that power who would release him.(Aloud.) Where lurks the savage chieftain with his horde?Whence com'st thou?ALPHONSO.From among a generous race!Nature's free children! By her special loveGuarded from ill! Blest in their simpleness,To avarice they hold no fatal lure!Rich but in worth! Oh, sacred be their peace![ With joy and tenderness.Thou didst lament a son, and he is here!Is't not enough thy once loved son restored?[Throwing himself on his bosom.PEDRARIAS (putting him from him coldly).'Tis not enough, if thus my son returnAlter'd, estranged,—haply with savagesLeagued to betray——ALPHONSO.Oh, check thy cruel speech;Or if thou canst suspect my loyalty,Treat me as one attainted; fasten fettersOn thy son's guiltless limbs, within a dungeonCast him, and prefer thy accusation.What is my crime, my father?PEDRARIAS.DisobedienceTo the vicegerent of thy king, young man,And to thy father.ALPHONSO.Load me then with chains—Proclaim me traitor—send me thus to Spain:Were it not better to be falsely branded,Than in my secret bosom feel the stingHe needs must feel who can indeed betray?PEDRARIAS. Ungracious boy! and is it thus I find thee?What tortures shall my just revenge deviseFor him who robs me of my son?—The savage!ALPHONSO.Is he the savage who feels others' woes?Who breaks the captive's bonds, and bids him live?Is he the savage who forgives his foe,And renders good for ill?—Pardon, methinksHe is the Christian!PEDRARIAS (confounded).(Aside.) I have gone too farI will try gentler means.(Aloud.) A Christian, say'st thou?And has thy friend embraced our holy faith?ALPHONSO.The Christian's deeds are his.PEDRARIAS.Then as a brotherI'll fold the generous Christian to my bosom!I was too warm, my child; my spirit brook'd notA heathen should have held my son in bondage,Nor own'd the debt of gratitude to oneBending at idols' shrines, with rites abhorr'd.ALPHONSO.Pardon, my father, if I have offended.Oh! now I feel I am thy son again,For now thou look'st on thy Alphonso kindly,As in those days of childish happiness,When, from the heavy cares of state retired,Thou would'st assume the boy, and share his sports.PEDRARIAS.Oh yes; and I would thank the Indian chiefThat he restores my boy, as in those days,Simple, ingenuous, obedient, duteous!ALPHONSO (earnestly).And art thou grateful to the gentle Indian?And would'st thou prove it? PEDRARIAS (with impatience).Yes, I would—I would.ALPHONSO (taking his hand affectionately).He and his friends ask but to be forgotten.PEDRARIAS.Nay, nay; thou would'st not that my miser heart,Thankless and cold, should hoard its selfish joy.Come, boy, come, guide me to the Indian Christian,And let me lock him in a friend's embrace;The debt were painful should I nought dispenseOf good, for all the mighty good received.ALPHONSO.And what canst thou dispense to one aboveThe idle wants of pride? A little maizeFeasts him, the dimpling brook allays his thirst;The palm‐tree bowers his bed of reeds, and formsHis canopy of state; the bank beneath,Gorgeous in nature's 'broidery, his throne;His empire, in a people's love, is vast:The God he serves—with rites however rude—A God of Mercy, and how truly serves,Thou know'st.PEDRARIAS (impatient).'Tis well—yet nam'st thou not thy friend,—Thy Christian friend,—nor tell'st me his abode.ALPHONSO.I cannot. I beseech you, urge it not.PEDRARIAS (resuming his anger).By thy allegiance, I command thee tell me.ALPHONSO (with firmness).I owe my king th' allegiance of a subject:My services are his—my sword—my life!But there's a secret rectitude within,Stamp of the soul free‐born, that will not ownControl from aught of earth; nor can a kingCommand me that I act the villain's part.PEDRARIAS.Ha! dost thou brave me thus in every way?Leagued with the rebel natives to defyMy delegated power! with impious footTrampling on nature's first, most sacred tieOf filial duty![Paces the stage in great agitation.Yes—how I have loved theeThou know'st, ungrateful boy!—but I—I, too,Alphonso, can be firm. If, on the moment,Thou answer not to all I shall demand,I banish thee for ever from my sight,Doom thee to wander, with a father's curse,Among the savages thou hast preferr'dTo him who gave thee being.ALPHONSO.Oh, forbear!Reverse the dreadful sentence thou hast pass'd,Or take my worthless life.PEDRARIAS.Nor fancy thouI cannot hunt the natives down, and sweep themFrom earth, if thou assist not. Would'st attemptTo shield the pensile warbler from the swoopOf the huge condor that has mark'd his prey?Thou know'st what I can do when simply led,Like other men, by thirst of fair renown,But hast not mark'd Pedrarias' dread careerWhen urged by sense of wrong—by strong revenge!Hadst thou but trusted to a father's heart,It might have pleaded for the man who spared thee.Look to it now.—Thou—thou would'st have it so.'T will soon be proved who is most powerful,Or thou to save—or I to crush a foe. [Going.ALPHONSO (clinging to him).Oh stay! my father, stay!—Behold my breast—Yes, let my blood atone his fault who spared it,And thus made gratitude a crime.PEDRARIAS.Away!Thou know'st how best to prove thy gratitude:It rests with thee to save thy friend.ALPHONSO.Then hear me.But first—Oh, swear thou never wilt molestHis peace, nor seek his place of refuge—Swear——[Aside, perceiving CAPANA'S token.What am I doing?—Come, thou sacred pledge,Rouse, in this trying hour, my sinking courage![Aloud, with resignation and firmness.I am resolved, and bow me to my fate!Farewell, my father!PEDRARIAS.Then my curse be on thee!Fly an offended father's presence, rebel!Hide thee in caverns, far from haunt of man,Or, in dread loneliness, bleak deserts roam,Where hope is dead, where pity may not find thee,Where sound of life is none, nor answering echoGives back thy groan in horrid fellowship!Thy father's heart for ever casts thee off!ALPHONSO.Guiltless I go.—But when destruction follows,As sure it will, e'en thou, though late, may'st proveA father's anger cannot last for ever. [ExitPEDRARIAS.Away! nor think to lull my just resentment.Foil'd in the object of my glorious labours—Braved by my child—Told by a beardless boyThe brutish savage was the better Christian!—Yes, he shall drain repentance' bitter cupE'en to the dregs!—Away, parental weakness!I will know where the native hordes are hived.Ten years of bloodshed and of toil are lost,If in their fastnesses secure they breed,And swarm forth on us.—But the means—(Calls off the stage). Hoa, Gusman!Enter GUSMAN.GUSMAN.My gracious lord, what has befallen? AlphonsoIn strange disorder——PEDRARIAS.From my presence banish'd,Name not the traitor.GUSMAN.Has he not declaredWhere rally from defeat the natives?PEDRARIAS.With obstinate defiance he persisted,Nor would betray his friend, the gentle Indian,The Christian, as it seems.—Ha, baffled thus!I have it, Gusman—His pretended faithShall prove their bane.—Banish'd, he sure will seekHis Indian friends—My spies are skill'd—GUSMAN.Yet think,My lord; each danger, he so late has 'scaped,Besets Alphonso in his pathless way,And doubly foil'd if aught of ill befall.PEDRARIAS.Ha! doubly foil'd?—'tis true.—But how secureFrom peril—and yet free his will perverseTo follow, unsuspecting of the snare?—GUSMAN.The slave Zamori; you have proved him faithful;He has done you service since his chains were lighten'd.PEDRARIAS.Yes, as the native tames the baneful snake,And bids him wind in glossy folds, aroundHis limbs, innocuous, extracting firstThe tooth beneath whose fang the poison lurks—So to my service the proud slave's subdued.GUSMAN.And more; your son affects him, for that onceFrom death Zamori rescued him, unconscious;He may again avert impending ill——PEDRARIAS.And guide his steps; for, led by nature's self,The slave will find, instinctive, their retreat.His very love will give them to my vengeance!Thanks—thanks, my friend! I hold Zamori's faith,For well he knows that thousands of his fellowsWill bleed if he but swerve. 'Twill do—'twill do.Go, bear my will to my disloyal son;With hopes of future favour win Zamori—Nay, I, myself, will school him to my purpose.And, mark me—seek thou Perez—send him hither.To‐morrow's sun shall find my plans maturedFor future conquest, and for future glory.[Exeunt severally.SCENE III.A Court of the Palace.A distant View of the Bay—Evening; the Moon rising.HOUACO enters slowly from one side.HOUACO.His wond'rous tale has roused each recollectionThat bids me live, while it makes life so bitter.Oh, my poor countrymen! and ye, dear objectsOf my sad, secret thoughts!—No, nothing—nothing,—Can ever slacken memory's strong hold![ALPHONSO enters from the other side, with folded arms, and lost in thought.Alone! I will accost him.—Don Alphonso!ALPHONSO (starting from his reverie).Approach, Zamori, for thou art an Indian.Haply the sight of thee may soothe my soul!I am o'erwhelm'd by a stern father's curseFor keeping faith with men like thee, Zamori.HOUACO.By men like me faith given ne'er was broken.ALPHONSO.My faith was given to one so great!—so noble!To one, whose spirit seems an emanationFrom him whom darkling he adores unknown!Yes, given to one, whose gentle sway of loveIs stamp'd by Mercy, and upheld by Justice!HOUACO.Yet Justice upon Mercy's bosom sleptWhen the wrong'd Indian held Pedrarias' son,And loosed his bonds!(With suspicion). If so indeed it were?ALPHONSO.Oh! that I might disburthen my full heartIn any human breast!—I would choose thine.Ere I departed from my father's court,Thou know'st I woo'd thy friendship, though in vain.HOUACO.I am a slave—the slave can never beThe freeman's friend.ALPHONSO.Not so. Can twisted bands,Or fire‐wrought iron, though they bind the limbs,Subdue the free‐born spirit?—Thou art noble.I would no other friend.HOUACO.I am a nativeOf this fair land, that reeks beneath my footWith the dear blood of those I wont to love,Shed by thy father's unrelenting hand!And shall my soul communion hold with thine?ALPHONSO.Thou didst, with friendship's own unshrinking hand,Unwreathe the hooded snake that round my neckHad wound him in my sleep!HOUACO.'Tis true, I did.But first it chanced, when, as unskill'd, I strain'dThe servile oar, with muscles all unusedTo the strait tension, and the rapid currentOf Oronoko seem'd to mock my toil,Thy father bade his creatures urge with stripesMy fainting strength——(Aside, mastering himself). Be still—be still, my soul!Thou took'st my place, as 'twere in youthful sport,And lustily didst buffet with the stream,While on the oar, amid thy playful speech,Fell pity's tear!ALPHONSO.Then why refuse, Zamori,The fellowship I court?—'tis nature's selfDraws kindred spirits, and Pedrarias' sonIs dear to one like thee—a noble Indian![Takes CAPANA'S token from his bosom, and gazes on it.Thou sacred pledge!HOUACO.That pledge! or do I dream?That sacred pledge! [Seizing ALPHONSO roughly.Speak—speak, Alphonso, speak!Or I will tear the secret from thy soul!—Did he who gave thee liberty, give that?ALPHONSO (putting him away haughtily).Must thou, too, question with imperious tone?I have withstood a father's sacred claim!(Aside.) "Breathe not the sounds even in an Indian's ear,"He said.—I must mislead his eagerness.(Aloud.) I found the bauble!HOUACO (with trembling anxiety).And a mangled corseBeside it! or, haply, scatter'd bones, that bleach'dIn the rude blast!—Oh! on my knees, I beg,Tell me the fatal spot, that I may gatherEach honour'd relic to my broken heart!ALPHONSO (kindly).Pardon, Zamori, that I may not tellBy what dear right this valued pledge is mine.HOUACO (shuddering with horror).Ha! thou hast slain him, and dost bear his spoils!ALPHONSO (with delight).No, no.—He lives! he lives, who gave me this.But wherefore dost thou strain thy eyeballs thus,With short convulsive hearings?—Who art thou?HOUACO (recollecting himself).I am thy father's slave.ALPHONSO.But ere these chains,(My heart prophetic throbs) who wert thou?—say!HOUACO.This bosom holds its secret too.ALPHONSO.Oh, no!It holds no secret mine does not partake!Nature's strong impulse bids me clasp thy hand,And call thee—brave Houaco!HOUACO (in ecstacy).Yes, 'twas he!'Twas he himself who spared thy life!ALPHONSO.Thy father,Capana, gave me life and liberty,Thou brother of my love! and gave me this.[They embrace.He bade me not reveal to living beingThe place of his retreat. His son, he thought,Was number'd with the dead.HOUACO.And so he is!The slave Zamori lives.ALPHONSO.Capana's sonThou art, and shalt be!—Yes, I fly to claimThe free enlargement of Capana's son!HOUACO.Oh stay, rash youth!ALPHONSO.Alas! the sudden joyHad blotted from my thought all former ill;My vow—my cruel father's anger—all!By gratitude debarr'd from grateful deeds,Oh, am I not, Houaco, most accursed?To know my benefactor wastes his daysIn sorrow, and thus,—thus to hold the meansOf full requital!—hold his happinessAs 'twere within my grasp, nor dare dispense it!HOUACO.Young man, misfortune has not school'd thy spirit,Unmoved, to suffer; to the present senseless,Thy very being forward borne, with purposeIntense, deep fix'd, till years bring on the hourOf retribution, great as was the wrong.ALPHONSO.Rear'd in gay luxury, my friend, my youthSought but the pleasures of the passing day;But when I mark'd thy calm, disdainful, browSmiling in tortures, felt how great the conquer'd!—The conquerors how little!—then my mindAspired to emulate the man I honour'd.That man the son of him who set me free—To free him be henceforth my soul's strong purpose!By Heaven, it cannot be, that he, the fatherWho to my infant prayer would yield with smiles,Should now relentless——HOUACO.If he could relent,Capana must not look on these gall'd wrists:He has wept me, dead—he must not find new tearsTo weep his son enslaved!ALPHONSO (eagerly).A slave no longer!For thou with me from Panama shalt fly,Escaped from chains——HOUACO.Might I escape, I would not.The tyrant's vengeance would with tenfold furyFall on my fellow‐captives!—No, I would not;For while I stand between Pedrarias' rigourAnd the poor suffering few his rage has spared,Methinks it is a last sad duty, owedBy lost Houaco to his father's people!ALPHONSO.Thou noble spirit!—Then 'tis mine aloneTo seek Capana, and with him concertTo break thy bondage. Thou, meantime, my friend,Wear this, it will recall his honour'd image.[Giving him CAPANA'S token.HOUACO.No, wear it thou! for no remembrancerHouaco needs of his poor wandering father,His butcher'd people, and his wasted country!Enter GUSMAN.GUSMAN.I have sought thee, Don Alphonso, through the palace,The bearer of thy father's will. [HOUACO retiring.Nay, stay,Zamori! thy good services are graced:'Tis thine to follow on Alphonso's fortunes.Yet one night more within these walls ye rest:Ere dawn, together—ALPHONSO.Together, Gusman! Thanks,My gracious father! e'en in anger kind!(To HOUACO).The heavens thou see'st on holy friendship smile!Come then, thou brother of my heart! The heightsUpheaved before us frown in untamed grandeur,Our ample heritage! th' o'erarching skiesOur mutual roof! for bolts and bars, our faith!Then not in lonely deserts shall we roam;For, with a friend, the wilderness is peopled!Nor in throng'd cities, nor in soul‐less courts,Is known the full communion of free thoughtMan finds with man in native liberty![Exeunt.ACT III.—SCENE I.Wild Mountain Scenery. A Palm‐tree in the Foreground, with Fruits placed beneath it.ALPHONSO, HOUACO.HOUACO.Oh should Pedrarias trace our steps, my friend!The very thought strikes with a death‐like chillThrough all my frame, killing each thought of joy!Thy father's looks and words when he dismiss'd me,Guarded—mysterious! No, 'twas not blind rageThat banish'd a loved son, so lately found!ALPHONSO.Thy boding mind too idly shapes vain terrors.Have we not, wandering thus, pursued a courseMost intricate? It were impossible!Ravaged by conquest, the unpeopled plainsAre silent! Though dark‐brow'd, these rocks are friendly:Nor hostile e'en the beasts of prey, shunningOur aspect strange with disregard, not fear.There is no guile in the primeval hauntsOf nature, still inviolate by man.Then think, these heights o'erpass'd, how will thy heartBound at the sight of the green vale!—thy father!And her thou lov'st—thy Amazilia! there—(Aside) Yes, I will speak her name without emotion.She is my friend's! Away the impious thoughtThat would repine!HOUACO.Hast thou e'er lov'd, Alphonso?Oh no! or thou hadst known love's doubts—love's fears—That war with joy, unwonted inmate here!And then to meet my Amazilia's eye,Ere noble deeds efface the blasting tracesDeep stamp'd by slavery!—this is bitterness!ALPHONSO.Be cheer'd, and from thy fancy drive these thoughts,For much they wrong thy gentle Amazilia.HOUACO.Thanks—I will strive to think so. Now resume weOur search for the deep‐rifted rock which givesAdmittance to the valley. Friend, we hold,That on these awful heights, Illapa storesHis vengeful thunders. The stern God himselfRent the eternal barrier to admitA fugitive cacique!ALPHONSO.'Tis strange, Houaco,We should have sought in vain the deep ravineSince early dawn, and now the sun is high.Methought I noted each o'erhanging cliff,And yawning gulf, as forth your people led me.HOUACO.'T were best despatch that thou the eastern ridge,And I the western, traverse.ALPHONSO.'Tis well thought.Here part we then awhile—and here ere noonMeet we again. Beneath this palm, the fruitsThou, provident, hast gather'd as we journey'd,Shall furnish forth our banquet.HOUACO (going).WarilyObserve thy course.ALPHONSO.And do thou call, my friend,From time to time, that we may not be sunder'd.[Exeunt severally.Enter AMAZILIA and LAILA.AMAZILIA.Oh, Laila! I must lay me down and die,Such weariness and faintness overcome me:My trembling limbs refuse to bear their burthen.LAILA.Why didst thou press our little store on me,Refusing still to share it? Why preserveThy Laila, if to live bereft of thee?Alas! our happy vale! Why, Amazilia,Could'st thou no longer taste our blameless life?AMAZILIA.Go ask the bird, why from his wicker prison,Where unsought plenty courts him ere he hunger,He seeks to escape.LAILA.A prison? Amazilia.AMAZILIA.Oh, 'twas a narrow prison to my mind!My thoughts would range, as the young Christian led,Beyond the bounds of timid ignorance.LAILA.And dost thou call it ignorance to enjoyThe season's gifts in peace and innocence,Secure from the fierce storms that wreck'd our country?How lovely Nature in her gentler mood!It is her pearly dew, her noiseless shower,That rear the maize, that swell the cocoa's nut,Which with untoil'd and careless hand we crop.AMAZILIA.Dull, vacant ease—insipid sameness—Laila!That wake not glowing thoughts, nor wing the soulTo soar above the brute creation round us.The hurricane, majestic in its terrors,Resistless sweeps our orange groves away,And marks its awful course by desolation;Yet roused, as we contemplate power so vast,We bend before the spirit of the stormIn worship, we forget to pay, when natureSerenely smiles around. But I would rest.LAILA.Beneath this tree the bank is clothed with moss:Here find repose, while I, among the thickets,Search for cool berries, or a gushing spring:Ere long I will return. See! rest thy headAgainst the shaded trunk: now, art thou well?Kind slumbers visit thee! I will not tarry. [Exit.AMAZILIA (alone).Alas! I cannot rest. My fever'd brain!Oh that my Laila may but find a spring!To lave my burning hands were some relief.I am not well here. Yonder palm, methinks,Affords more ample shade. [She removes to the palm.What see I here?Bananas, yams, and juicy gourds!— Ho, Laila!Whence comes this boon? Ah! I bethink me now,Alphonso said, the God of Mercy watchedO'er all his creatures! not a sparrow fellWithout his bidding! [Kneeling.Oh! Alphonso's God!Accept my thanks!Enter ALPHONSO.ALPHONSO.I heard a soft complaining—This way the sound! Eternal Providence!What angel form before me kneels? 'tis she!AMAZILIA (starting up).Is it an airy vision?—or art thouThe god, whose hand beneficent has placedThese fruits before me, lest I sink in death?[She staggers towards him, and sinks into his arms.ALPHONSO.Help, heaven! My Amazilia's passing soulFlutters on her pale lip!—So fair! so sacred!Perforce these guilty arms——[She half recovers, and gazes on him.She breathes! she lives!Why dost thou gaze so wildly? 'tis Alphonso!AMAZILIA (wildly).It cannot be that thou of kindred earthWast framed! Thou hast the power to save from death!Thou hast watched o'er me! Thou, unseen, hast ledMy steps o'er yon proud heights that barr'd my way!Thy air—thy voice—all—all! betray thy nature!ALPHONSO.Oh be more calm! These wand'ring thoughts affright me. AMAZILIA (more wildly).Thou art the spirit that wings the middle airIn gentle breezes; with assuasive handTurning aside Illapa's* angry bolt,That it may rive the haughty mountain's crest,And spare the lowly vale!ALPHONSO.When last I saw thee,Thou hadst abjured these idols, false, and vain,Offspring of fear and ignorance!AMAZILIA (more impassioned).Then, sure,Thou art the hope, the love, the gentle pityThou told'st me of, embodied in a formNot of earth's mould! Thus kneeling—[As she is about to kneel he raises her.ALPHONSO.Rise! oh rise!I shudder at thy error, Amazilia.Am I not he whose life thy goodness saved?Should I not rather kneel to thee?—and yetThou see'st I bend not! Said'st thou not thyself,When pleading for me to the good cacique,That by thy lips the God of Mercy spoke?And might not he, by my unconscious hand,Before thee place these fruits? Human am I,And frail. Too well I feel it! (aside).But say—WhyTo these rude wilds, and to their ruder tenants,(If such there be), thy virtue all unguarded,And high estate, thou—inconsiderate!—Commit'st thy charms?*The God of Thunder.AMAZILIA.And have I, then, done ill?ALPHONSO.That were not possible!—but thy companions?AMAZILIA.I left the valley with no friend save Laila.ALPHONSO.Oh heaven! and wherefore didst thou so? rash maid!AMAZILIA.It was grown hateful, youth. Within my breastSomething still whisper'd, if I could escape,I should once more——I pray you, pardon me!ALPHONSO.Dear Amazilia!—what is thy offence?AMAZILIA.Said'st thou not "dear?" Oh then thou wilt forgive!ALPHONSO.What is this mystery? I pray thee speak!Can Amazilia e'er offend Alphonso?Did she not soothe his sufferings? save his life?Oh prove the gratitude too big for utterance!AMAZILIA.And wilt thou grant whatever I may ask?ALPHONSO.I will! for Amazilia cannot askWhat purest angels would not smiling grant![She throws herself at his feet with the wildest enthusiasm.AMAZILIA.Then at thy feet I humbly ask this boon—That I may follow thee through toil, through danger,In winter's storms, beneath the burning skies,In sickness tend thee when thou sorrowest, weep;Lull thee when weary, o'er thy slumber watch,Wait on thy every look—from thy lips learnOf heavenly wisdom, goodness infinite;And soar in thought as much above the sphereThat once was mine, as when in night's hush'd hourI hung upon thy words!ALPHONSO.No more! no more!Oh, let me fly for ever from thy sight,Thou fair enthusiast! ere a guilty thoughtPollute my faith, and wrong my chosen friend!AMAZILIA.Whom should'st thou wrong? I am an orphan, freeFrom every tie.ALPHONSO (in an agony).Oh no! thou art not free!HOUACO (at a distance).Hoa! Alphonso!ALPHONSO.That voice! Heard'st thou that voice?I do beseech thee, generous Amazilia!If thou would'st save me from despair, from death,Forget the words that now have pass'd thy lips!These shapings of distemper'd fancy, trust me,Thy better reason will disown. Oh yes,Thou art o'er wearied![Takes her hand as she seems violently agitated.This hand burns with fever!HOUACO (nearer).Alphonso! hoa!ALPHONSO.It is Houaco's voice!Capana's son! my bosom's chosen brother!Houaco! hoa!—I pray thee be composed.Enter HOUACO. AMAZILIA faints, and HOUACO stands thunderstruck.HOUACO.Ha! Amazilia in Alphonso's arms!ALPHONSO (supporting AMAZILIA).Approach, Houaco! I have found thy spouseThus spent with travel, and with hunger fainting.Support her thou, and I will bring the fruits,Our only store. [HOUACO receives her from ALPHONSO.HOUACO.Oh! my loved Amazilia!And can it be thy heavenly form these arms,These trembling, these poor, chain‐gall'd, arms, support?And shall thy opening eyes behold a slave,In thy youth's promised husband, Amazilia!Wilt thou not spurn him?[She opens her eyes languidly, looks at him, and feebly struggles to get from him.Shuddering she would breakFrom my unworthy hold!—Come thou, Alphonso!For e'en in death she shrinks from my embrace.Do thou support her.[ALPHONSO supports, and HOUACO retires dejectedly.AMAZILIA (opening her eyes, and finding herself in his arms).I am free, Alphonso!O'er the wide world I may at pleasure roam:Who, who shall stay me?ALPHONSO.Oh! her thoughts are fever'd!These idle words are fancy's sickly coinage!AMAZILIA.Methinks, indeed, I am about to die!Then wherefore aught disguise of all I feel?Houaco, I rejoice that thou still livest!Thy presence will restore Capana's peace.Oh may ye both be bless'd! but 'tis not givenTo wretched Amazilia, if she live,To witness, or to share, your happiness!HOUACO.I knew the high‐born maid would thus rejectOne who had been a slave!AMAZILIA.Nay, dear Houaco,Think not thou art degraded in my eyesBy any chance of war. No, dearer farThy sufferings have made thee; and my heartWill ever own for thee a sister's love.HOUACO."A sister's love!" Why should'st thou say "a sister's?"Thou art betroth'd to me! Canst thou not promiseThe love a wife should know?AMAZILIA.My wayward fateWill have it otherwise.HOUACO.What mean these words?AMAZILIA (with solemnity).I own the Christian's God! the God of Mercy!Farewell, Houaco! I am dead to thee. [Going.HOUACO (stopping her).And dost thou fly me? Whither, Amazilia?AMAZILIA (with enthusiasm).I follow where Alphonso leads the way!ALPHONSO (embarrassed).No, she is not herself. Houaco, hear me!HOUACO (after a pause of contending passion).This is no forgery of sickly fancy!I see,—too clearly see! Fool that I wasTo be thus duped! thus led in triumph hither!Thou art a Spaniard! son of fell Pedrarias!And thou canst smile, and flatter, to betray.I was thy father's slave by right of war,But did consent to fellowship with thee:Nor half so low Pedrarias' slave I holdAs false Alphonso's friend!ALPHONSO (aside, with effort).(Down, down my rage!Capana's son is to Alphonso sacred!)No, by my soul, 'tis false! 'tis false, Houaco,What thou hast thought. My faith to thee is pure.All lovely as she is, she shall be thine!And never, never——AMAZILIA.Hold! Alphonso, hold!I never can be thine—too well I know it!My fancy had not yet distinctly formedThe daring thought! but following thee, it seem'dI sought the unknown God, whose virtuous loreThy heaven‐instructed lips were wont to teach!Thou may'st refuse my proffered service, youth;But canst not give me to another. FreeI am—and will be!HOUACO.Nay, it is well done,Pedrarias' son! to steal from me her faith,And now to spurn the maid!ALPHONSO.To spurn her?—No.But to my friend! but to Capana's son!To yield what most I prize beneath heaven's cope!AMAZILIA."To yield me," haughty youth! E'en thus our peopleWill barter for the tame, domestic Lama,Gay colour'd shells, or cocoa nuts, her price.(Turning to HOUACO).Of noble blood—my father a cacique,Great as thine own, Houaco! Liberty,As thine, my birthright! My free‐will I claim,And evermore in solitude will dwell,Secure, self‐guarded! For I know to charmThe baneful snake—the properties have learntOf herbs salubrious; and the mystic songIs mine, to lull the powers of ill that hauntThe mountain caverns, and in storms disport.(To ALPHONSO).Farewell, Alphonso! proud as thou, no mate,No loved companion shall this bosom own!My fellowship be with the answering rocks;The winds my counsellors—for who shall shareThose thoughts—those hopes which thou, youth, thou aloneWho didst inspire—could'st, worthily, partake?[She sinks exhausted on the bank; ALPHONSO, terrified, bends anxiously over her.Enter LAILA hastily.LAILA.My Amazilia, I have found a brook;The clustering cessus, and papaia fruit—(Seeing HOUACO) But oh! ye pitying heavens! or do I dream,Or do I bow to great Capana's son?HOUACO (putting her away).Leave me, oh leave me! I am nothing, Laila!Haste thee, kind maid, and aid thy sinking friend.Ah see! she faints!—and yet thy servicesMay be, as mine, ungrateful—for behold!The wily Spaniard o'er his victim bends![LAILA hastens to her assistance, and is anxiously employed about her with ALPHONSO, without observing HOUACO.And are there ills Houaco has not felt?What torture new, and strange, and fierce, is this?Have I not baffled all Pedrarias' rage,And smiled upon him,—as I had been at ease?When pierced with wounds, fainting with loss of blood,While swam all nature in my glassy eyes,And, on my brow, death hung his last cold dews,My spirit still held on its even course!When torn with stripes, (the son of a cacique!)I bore myself as though I felt them not!I wearied out my torturers' cruelty,And thought this iron breast was proof againstThe touch of human ill. But this! oh! thisAwakes a pang so keen! it strikes so home!On chords so tender of the heart! on chordsThat neither fortitude nor manhood tempersTo bear a touch so rude![After watching them with violent emotion.The smooth‐tongued villain!He shall not triumph in my woes! I'll hide meIn desert haunts and die!—or rouse my soulTo actions worthy of Capana's son! [Exeunt.SCENE II.Deep Caverns that lose themselves in the Distance.PEDRARIAS, GUSMAN, and Spaniards.PEDRARIAS.Gusman, it was a dreadful night! MethinksThe heavens smile not on our enterprise.Has Perez seen my son?GUSMAN.He has, my lord.Long practised, in their secret haunts, to huntThe natives, he, with matchless skill, has tracedThe winding way the fugitives pursued.These caves conceal his trusty band.PEDRARIAS.'Tis well.Our veteran troops where posted?GUSMAN.In the rear,A few hours march, my lord. Refresh'd by rest,Elate with hope, and burning with impatience,They wait their conquering chief to lead them on.PEDRARIAS.Perez, thou said'st e'en now, had seen my son.Summon him, Gusman; I will question him.[Exit GUSMAN.Thanks that thou yet art safe, my son! What pangsHave I endured, since from a father's presenceIn wrath I banished thee!Re‐enter GUSMAN with PEREZ.Good Perez, welcome.Thy skill and diligence have well deserved.How follow'd'st thou Alphonso and the slave?PEREZ.My lord, I traced their steps by many signs:Here, twisted boughs had form'd a hasty bower—There, lay remains of fruits; beside the rill,The shells of cocoa nuts had served as goblets.PEDRARIAS.And didst thou see Alphonso?PEREZ.Yes, my lord:But two nights since, Zamori and your son,Beneath a plantain so profoundly slept,That by the moonlight I could dwell a spaceDistinctly on each feature.PEDRARIAS (aside).Two nights since!How many chances may two nights involve,And two long days that have gone by since then!PEREZ.E'en now, my lord, I saw Zamori.PEDRARIAS (eagerly).How?PEREZ.Beneath dry leaves, within a thicket laid:I scarcely breathed.PEDRARIAS.And by his side Alphonso?PEREZ.Zamori was alone. With alter'd carriage,He raged—he beat his breast—and, desperate,On the cold earth he flung himself.PEDRARIAS.Spoke he?PEREZ.Some words he mutter'd, and methought the tonesWere those of deadly anger—menaces,As though of vengeance.PEDRARIAS.Tones of anger!—menaces!(Aside) Gods! can the slave I deign'd to favour?—Yes,A Spaniard, and Pedrarias' son, might wellBecome the object of Zamori's vengeance!Retire, good Perez. Gusman, I will follow:In th' inner cave we will concert our measures.[Exeunt GUSMAN and PEREZ.Ungrateful, wayward boy! Thou little know'stHow still the father hangs about this heart!I would not lose thee, no—for all the wealthOf either world! But wherefore take th' alarm?The slave's hand raised against the conqueror's son!He durst not—no the thought is idle—vain.Besides, Alphonso had his sword!—No more—These fears might better suit a trembling mother,Than one, who, heaven commission'd, seeks new worlds,Sets on their shores his foot, and stamps them his![He follows GUSMAN and PEREZ into the further caverns.ACT IV.—SCENE I.The first Mountain Scenery.ALPHONSO, AMAZILIA.ALPHONSO.Forget me, hate me, lovely Amazilia;And let me fly, and yield me to despair. [Going.AMAZILIA.Whither?—Whither?ALPHONSO.Where I may never moreBehold thy fatal charms!AMAZILIA (with desperation).Nay, if thou dost,I will not live!—No, by yon Heaven, I will not!An Indian knows a thousand ways to death,No death so frightful as were life without thee.ALPHONSO (after gazing on her earnestly).I dare not trust my eyes—thy every lookExerts a several destructive power!AMAZILIA.Kill me, if I am in my nature hurtful!Kill me! but fly me not—Yet wherefore hurtful?My heart goes forth to every thing that livesWith kindliest will. I would not crush the reptileE'en though it stung me. Am I then more cruelThan venom'd reptiles? for they spare their kind,But I, thou say'st, injure whom most I love.ALPHONSO.Nay, nay; it is involuntary wrong!—Alas for poor Houaco! slavery, tortures,Were powerless to dash his bosom's firmness.Thy scorn alone could break that noble spirit.AMAZILIA.I do not scorn Houaco. Must I wedOne whom I cannot love—as now I feelThis heart can love?(With enthusiasm). Oh yes! it would revereIts object, as above the human race;And, hanging on his words, his looks, would catchA new soul, and new hopes, and glorious thoughts!ALPHONSO (aside).Oh gratitude! Oh friendship! bar each sense!AMAZILIA.Alas! and can I honour thus Houaco?Returning from the battle, if he bearAn hundred scalps of those his hatchet slew;If on his steps, when crown'd with victory,His fellow creatures manacled attend,To bleed before the altars of our gods;Say, shall these eyes, by thee unseard to truth,Behold with sympathy that husband's triumph?If thou would'st doom me to a fate like this,Oh! why dispel the darkness of my soul,And break upon me, as Heaven's glorious beamDarts through the mountain chasm, by lightnings rent,Awaking life and joy, where since creationDarkness, and silence, and inaction dwelt?ALPHONSO.Dear, lost enthusiast!—Curse! Oh, curse the hourI led thy glowing fancy——AMAZILIA.Hold! for mercy!Curse not the gleam of bliss this heart has caught,To sweeten the long life of miseryTo which thou doom'st it now!(With sudden earnestness). But whence the law?—Haply of some more cruel God than oursThou hast not told of yet;—for not of natureThe law that bids thee give me to Houaco.ALPHONSO.Friendship, and gratitude——AMAZILIA.Hast thou no friendship?Hast thou no gratitude for Amazilia?Must all—all be Capana's and his son's?Thou said'st I saved thy life—have they done more?And do they love thee, honour thee as much?ALPHONSO (after a conflict).Believe me, Amazilia, this poor lifeHas worth but as thy gift! and for thy sakeTo lay it down were joy! but thus to live!Oh no! thy sweetness cannot—must not guessThe torturing force stern honesty exertsTo rule this breast; for might I loose the curbOf headlong passion, at full bliss to aim,.What were it, think'st thou, but to see thee ever,To claim thy tenderness, to call thee mine!AMAZILIA.Thine—thine I am! the fates have will'd it so!'Tis nature's strong decree! 'tis Heaven's! 'tis virtue's!ALPHONSO.Hold! Hold!—Does virtue bid us seek delightReckless of all beside? I to HouacoHave sworn a brother's faith—to him thy fatherGave thee!—He lives! and I, with holy love,Must honour thee as my Houaco's wife![A pause of consternation.Shall we, who boast of Christian virtues, ownA thought, a wish, so selfish, and so base,As our own bliss by his destruction purchased?Nay, is there bliss for them who know remorse?And what remorse were ours!AMAZILIA.No more, Alphonso!Thy awful words confound th' astonish'd sense,Yet woo my trembling soul to higher thoughtsThan e'en—the heaven I dream'd—to live for thee!Say—were I—by such self‐devotion, stamp'dA being worthy of thy fellowship?Of thy regard? to thee a kindred spirit?ALPHONSO.Thy matchless virtue were as far aboveMy humbler aim, as are thy matchless charmsAbove the sum of loveliness dispensedTo all thy sex beside; and I should live(If live—I must) to honour—to adore!AMAZILIA.Firm as thyself in virtue's path, Alphonso,Thou shalt admire, and wonder at thy victim.See, at thy feet I welcome wretchedness![With profound resignation.I am Houaco's wife!ALPHONSO (aside).(Oh! dreadful sounds!'Tis agony I feel that should be joy!)I thank thee, Amazilia; yes, I thank thee,With fervor, as when pleading for my lifeThy angel tongue preserved me!—(Turning from her). Spare me now!Let me not look on thee!—I pray thee go.Thy Laila waits thee, and thy happy lordClaims thee—his own!—(Stern honour, holy friendship,Blot out the madd'ning thoughts that rise!)(As she approaches meekly). Oh! leave me!I do beseech thee, leave!—in pity leave me![AMAZILIA goes submissively and dejectedly.Accept the sacrifice, my benefactor!I, who might fold her to my burning bosom,Yet, for her thousand, thousand glowing charms,Embrace despair![Throws himself on the bank, then starting up with horror.It is my father's curse,Wretch that I am, pursues me to the end!Shun me, Houaco! Shun me, Amazilia!I bear destruction wheresoe'er I go!With deadly influence, as the baleful mildew,O'er the young harvest of your loves I pass'd,That but for me (the winter fled) had beenFair ripening now beneath a smiling sky.[He sinks on the bank in despair.SCENE II.A different and wilder Part of the Mountains.HOUACO (alone.)Ye angry Gods, by my forefathers worshipp'd,How terrible ye crowd upon my soul!What spoke your thunders, rolling o'er my head,Through the black vault of night? Your fiery boltFlashing on the lithe rattlesnake that layCoil'd at my feet?—They spoke thy will, Illapa,Demanding thus thy victim at my hands,And imaging, in the insidious serpent,The Spaniard who has stung me to the soul.My father wrong'd thee, vengeful Deity!Of blood, thy due; and I, more guilty still,Won by Alphonso's blandishments, forgotThe hate, the deep unconquerable hate,I vow'd to fell Pedrarias' race—Nay, more,Gave him the friendship of an honest heart,And lent my easy ear to his smooth words,While joy and hope won softly on my soul:Joy the attendant of the thoughtless child,And hope—that waits on fools![THELASCO and a troop of Indians are seen approaching among the rocks.THELASCO.All powerful Heaven!Or does a wreathing vapour mock my sight,Or art thou from the land of spirits comeTo warn us of impending ill?—Oh stay!Whate'er thou be, thou seem'st Capana's son,And thus my heart acknowledges the semblance.[Bowing down before him.HOUACO (starting from his reverie).Friend of my youth! my father's friend! Thelasco![Embraces him.How fares it with the good Cacique, Capana?THELASCO.He lives! and in his son restored, is happy.Come, let me lead thee to him.HOUACO.Stay, Thelasco!Oh stay! I am not yet prepared; thou see'stHow the firm temper of my soul is shaken!Think not the ills our cruel foes inflictedE'er moved me thus!—'Tis here, Thelasco, here[Beating his breast.It rankles e'en to madness.—Yesterday—Oh! yesterday!—THELASCO.Forget the pass'd day's ill:Think of to‐day! th' auspicious day that brings thee,After two years of sorrow for thy loss,To share our happiness, thy father's gift!HOUACO (not attending to him).Virtues fantastical!—By Christians dream'd!Ye are vain names! flowers that wreathe the daggerThey plunge into our breasts!(To THELASCO, eagerly and wildly). Valour in war,And fortitude that tortures cannot shake—Say—are not these the virtues of the Indian?Revenge, if wrong'd, his duty and his solace?Is it not so, Thelasco?THELASCO (astonished).Surely, so!But wherefore hang dark thoughts upon thy mindWhen all is joy? Each social bliss awaits thee;A people's welcome—friendship—love!HOUACO (with a bitter laugh).Ha! ha![Then falling into his former melancholy.I have no friend, Thelasco!—Idle loveIs for the fortunate!THELASCO.As thou shalt be!HOUACO (not attending to him).Had I nor eyes, nor ears? Where were my senses?Did he not falter? did he not turn pale,Oft as I named the maid? And when I toldHow to my arms, when yet a sportive child,Her dying father gave her, he exclaim'd,"Oh! tie indissoluble! sacred!" claspingHis trembling hands; then, starting, blush'd, and smiled;And on the sudden all was calm, serene,As smooth hypocrisy's own brow!—Fool! fool![Striking his forehead, and relapsing into his thoughtful posture.THELASCO (alarmed, to the Indians).My friends, the heavy ills our chief has knownPrey on his wounded spirit: wild disorderOft waits on thought intense in noble minds.Bear the glad tidings that Houaco livesTo all around. Summon our people straightIn joyous bands, with festive song and dance,To welcome home Capana's warlike son.(To HOUACO). [The Indians go.In yon deep‐bosom'd glen, 'mong beetling rocks,Dwell the surviving few of the young bandThat follow'd thee in thy first days to battle.There, sorrowing for thy loss, in gloomy cavesThey hang their idle hatchets, till they hearThy voice, Houaco! thy awakening voice!Rousing them from their sad inglorious ease,To lead them forth.HOUACO.Ha! there again thou strikest!My youthful band of friends l—Oh, hide me from them!They still are free, and on their native mountainsShare with the savage of the wilds his prey;They ne'er felt chains l—Oh, no! Thelasco, no!'Tis not the slave must lead the freeman forth!Troops of Indians advance from among the rocks, with festive garlands, &c.CHORUS OF NATIVES.Is the patriot chief restored?He whom India's sons deplored,He who sank on slaughter's field,Where new forms of death appal;He who bade us bleed and fall,Nobly fall—but never yield!CHOSEN BAND OF WARRIORS.A people's vowHas won our leader from the tomb!His sadden'd brow,Hung with dark affliction's gloom,Shall smile again beneath the victor's meed,And hail! with transport hail! his injured country freed!CHORUS OF NATIVES.Bearing on with hope date,From his beaming eye flash'd fate!He th' avenger's work began,The spell of panic terror burst;And his daring hatchet firstProved the invader was but man!BAND OF WARRIORS.To yield the breath,And give to dust the mangled frame,This is not death!It is the warrior's birth to fame!On! to the field of glory lead again,And drive the invader back,—back to the guilty main![The Indians crowd around HOUACO with wonder, joy, and affection.LASCALA.Noble Houaco! thy return brings joy,Brings hope, brings life, to every Indian warrior!Bliss to our great Cacique! But I—I, too,Had sons I loved! to war with the invaderThey follow'd thee. Trembling I ask their fate.HOUACO.Lascala, the brave youth who bore thy name,Beneath his hatchet saw a Spaniard fall,Ere to the land of spirits he was welcomedBy his forefathers.LASCALA.Oh! had I died so![He is lost in grief, while an old woman comes forward.WOMAN.And at thy feet I ask my Zama's fate:Zama, from whose strong arm the arrow spedUnerring in the chase.HOUACO.Nor err'd in war.But the forged thunders of th' invading foeMore fatal sped, alas!WOMAN.Ah me, my boy!And shall he never more, at evening's close,Bear homeward from the mountain's side the preyTo cheer our cabin hearth? And shall Nayati,His faithful wife Nayati, never more——HOUACO.Ha! faithful, say'st thou? Was Nayati faithful?She shall be honour'd above all her sex!Let her be crown'd be led in triumph hither!I thought there was no faith in womankind;There is, it seems—there is—but not for me—Houaco only is to no one dear.THELASCO (aside).How strange his words!LASCALA (with trembling anxiety).But say my Azlan lives;One lives, at least, to close his father's eyes.HOUACO.He lives——LASCALA.He lives? and follows not thy steps?HOUACO (with bitterness).He lives; and shares the fate—the bitter fate—Of great Capana's son.[He bares his wrist, and shows it to LASCALA.LASCALA.These marks, Houaco,What may they mean?HOUACO (with the utmost bitterness).Chain'd!—manacled!—a slave!Capana's son has lived!LASCALA.Say'st thou "has lived?"And has th' invader bound e'en mighty DeathTo do his will? Can Death no longer freeThe man who will not live?HOUACO.To die, old man,Were easy, as 't were sweet. The very weedsOur careless footsteps bruise, with juices teemWill loose from life. 'Twere but to have refusedA little maize, and I had slept the sleepTh' invader could not break: but sweet revengeHad then been lost! Who would not live, Lascala,And shake off death, e'en though within his grasp,Nay, snatch at life with strong convulsive fondness,Whose country's wrongs, whose private injuries,For vengeance call?LASCALA.There spoke Capana's son.Yes, we will follow thee where vengeance leads,And free my Azlan.HOUACO.Stay, Lascala—stay!Vengeance is slow. I, to Capana, mustUnfold the deep and secret means, nor strikeTill sure the blow. Thy Azlan's self would bleedWere this hand rash.(To THELASCO). Valiant Thelasco,Lend me that weapon in thy girdle fix'd.[THELASCO hesitates.Yes, Amazilia had been faithful too,But for the potent spells these treach'rous menHave foully wrested from mysterious nature.Give me that weapon, and await me here;Anon I will return with new life fraught,And freer thoughts. I cannot yield my soul,E'en to my country's claims, my father's love,Till I have satisfied a private dutyOf strong imperious urgency. The weapon!Give it, Thelasco, to my eager grasp.THELASCO.Take it, and may'st thou plunge it to the hiltWhere I would see it buried![HOUACO rushes out with the dagger—THELASCO watches him.With eagle speed,By godlike vengeance wing'd, see how he dartsFrom cliff to cliff. We at a distance, friends,Will follow on his steps, to grace his deeds,Or, if aught ill befall, to give him aid.[Exeunt, with music, as they entered.SCENE III.ALPHONSO lying on the bank where he had thrown himself in despair—LAILA behind him scattering weeds around his head, unobserved by him. He sinks to sleep, and she comes gently forward.LAILA.At length a dull, and drowsy torpor stealsO'er his torn bosom: such the lulling virtueOf this pale weed, whose chilly blossom shrinksFrom the fierce glare of day, expanding wideTo the moist moon, that nightly brims its cupWith vapours dank, of power to lock each sense,And lap the limbs in motionless repose.—Soft—soft!—methought he moved.[She scatters more weeds.Deep sleep be on thee!Thou creature of another world, beyondThe vast, and terrible ocean!—Thou, so noble!And yet, so fatal!—Slumbers deep be on thee!While I (so prosper Heaven my true affection!)Seek the deluded, desperate Amazilia,Win back her faith to him, her destined husband,And to our peaceful valley lure her steps. [Exit.Enter HOUACO, not seeing ALPHONSO.HOUACO.Yes, yes,—I will avenge my country's wrongs!Appease the Gods of India! claim my wife!And, more than all, pierce fell Pedrarias' breast!Wring from him, pang by pang, and groan by groan,Th' atonement of each several broken heart,That drags out life upon this ruin'd land!The thought awakes a dark, and sullen joy,Worthy of him who was Capana's son—Blasted by slavery, and to glory lost.[Turning to go, sees ALPHONSO.Thanks, ye immortal powers! who thus presentThe sacrifice to th' injured Godhead due![He contemplates him.How still his slumbers! And can treachery sleep?How calm and open is his brow! Has guileSo fair a habitation? It has—it has—And shall not lurk beneath a form so gracious,To lure th' unwary to destruction. Thus——[Going to strike.Why shakes nay coward hand? It is a deedOf highest virtue!—pleasing to our Gods!—I will not shrink——[Advancing resolutely, and removing the garment from ALPHONSO'S breast, starts back.The pledge of amityMy father gave him, shields the very spotWhere I would strike![Returning with assumed resolution.I must remove it.—No—I dare not!—no——[Trembles, and drops the dagger.Capana guards thy life!ALPHONSO (starting up).Is it a joyous vision? or, indeed,Do I again behold my lost Houaco?HOUACO.Alphonso, thou behold'st thy murderer!But that this hand has fail'd.—That sacred pledgeStood between thee and death!ALPHONSO (affectionately).Thou rav'st, Houaco.Come to my bosom!—Art thou not my friend?HOUACO.Stand off, false Spaniard!—Bind these limbs with chains!Give to the rack (if thou would'st live secure)Th' assassin of the tyrant's guiltier son!But I will brave thy rage, and scorn thee still!ALPHONSO (seeing the dagger on the ground).Too true; this fatal weapon proves thy words.This have I not deserved of thee, Houaco!And thou shalt feel it, if thou hast a heart!Did I not swear to thee a brother's love?[Extending his arms affectionately toward him.The brother's part is ever to forgive.Oh then forget with me that thou hast wrong'd me.[Taking his hand.HOUACO (confounded, turning away).What powerful magic in his words o'ercomes me?Can he, unmoved, thus grasp his murderer's hand,Nor aught of anger, aught of fear betray?What hinders that I seize again yon weapon,And plunge it in his bold, unguarded bosom?What hinders?—but that it were easier farTo bury it, and my confusion—here![Striking his breast.ALPHONSO.Combat no longer with thy better feelings!Let thy heart speak, and, ere I clear myself,'Twill bid thee rest thy head upon this bosom![HOUACO, overcome, throws himself on ALPHONSO'S bosom.I am content.—Thy honour trusts in mine!Be cheer'd;—brush off that tear, and meet with smilesThy Amazilia.—Her unalter'd faithShall prove my truth.—Houaco, I can suffer,E'en as thyself, unmoved!HOUACO.Canst thou, Alphonso,Canst thou forgive the headlong rage that arm'dThis hand against thy life?ALPHONSO.'Tis not remember'd.Blot from thy mind alike——But see—she comes—Be blest in her thou lov'st—'tis all I ask.Let me conceal this weapon from her eyes.[Conceals the dagger in his bosom.Now all is well—Resume thy tranquil mind.Enter AMAZILIA in great agitation, breaking from LAILA.AMAZILIA.Refuse me not to speak one last farewell!—Houaco here!—in friendly conference!Then am I lost indeed!—Their bond of unionToo well, too well I know—my wretchedness!—Instruct me, Laila, to pronounce my doom!And oh! Alphonso's God! support my courage![She advances with great effort, and throws herself at HOUACO'S feet.Low at thy feet, behold thy wife, Houaco!Thou, pardon the involuntary errorOf one, restored to duty—and to thee! HOUACO (raising her, and pressing her to his bosom).Oh! spare me, Amazilia! lest my brainSupport not all the joy that breaks upon me!(To ALPHONSO).Thou, before whom I bend with soul subdued,Disdain not the full triumph of thy goodness.The virtues I have prized are savage Nature's—Thine are from Heaven!ALPHONSO.Oh! no more—no more—'Tis time that good Capana share our joy.THELASCO and Indians approach in joyous procession. They stop suddenly with astonishment and terror on seeing ALPHONSO. THELASCO fixes his eyes on him with a menacing expression. The Indians seize their bows, and wait the signal to shoot.HOUACO (placing himself between ALPHONSO and the Indians.)My friends! my countrymen! replace your arrows.This is the godlike youth Capana spared!The Indian's friend!—Behold my father's pledge![Pointing to the pledge. They drop their bows, and replace their arrows.To him I owe my liberty!—to him—That I again thus clasp, my bosom's treasure!(To THELASCO).I was deceived, Thelasco,—thou shalt learnHow much I, to the generous Spaniard, owe!THELASCO (aside, after an expression of cold assent).What magic drugs, what herbs of potent juiceYield the strong spells that guard this wily Spaniard?At his approach the God of Vengeance flies!Th' uplifted weapon slackens in the grasp,And every heart, with strange unwonted softness,Gives its full confidence!HOUACO.Lead on, my friends.Within your deep retreat a little spaceWe will repose:—this tender frame, o'ertoil'd,Requires short respite.—Amazilia, say,Shall it be so?AMAZILIA.Thy will, henceforth, is mine.[HOUACO, THELASCO, and Indians, move off in triumph, among the rocks at the back of the stage, AMAZILIA looking mournfully at ALPHONSO as HOUACO leads her away. ALPHONSO lingers behind, in great agitation.ALPHONSO.Repose!—delay!—And must I, drop by drop,Dwell on the deadly draught myself prepared?Oh, that Time wore the driving Tempest's wing,Whose headlong sweep might leave no pause for thought,Till to Capana I restore his son,And in his happiness find peace—or die![Exit, following.The Scene closes on them.ACT V.—SCENE I.Scene among the Rocks, with a distant View of the Valley.ALPHONSO and HOUACO.ALPHONSO.Yes, all is well. Now seek we Amazilia,Where late we left her with the mountain band?HOUACO.No, she is more secure in that retreatWith those who followed on my youthful steps.The mountain lama could not footing holdOn yon steep crags: the spoiler cannot findThe well conceal'd and only access thither.My treasure's safe. We are not yet assuredWhence was the clamour, as of hostile tongues,That broke, by fits, the stillness of the night.ALPHONSO.We have discovered nought that may confirmThy fears, Houaco. Trust me, all is well.The sounds thou heard'st were, sure, imprison'd winds:They, in deep caverns pent, will chafe in tone,That, by each rock repeated, much resembleThe brawling of rude tongues. Away with doubt!And from this cliff, as from the eagle's nest,Behold the wished for valley spread below.Within an hour thou wilt embrace thy father.—Give all thy soul to gladness!HOUACO.Oh! Alphonso,In this long‐saddened heart joy cannot harbourBut as the flash that o'er the stormy skyDarts amid rolling thunders, and again'Tis darkness all! Alas! with sad forebodingsShuddering, I seek the vale.[He looks anxiously about. Distant cries are heard.And hark! Those soundsAre not the busy stir of peaceful life:No—nor the voice of gratulation. Hah!The din of war rings thus upon the ear,Or shouts of fierce pursuit.ALPHONSO.Forbid it, heaven!And yet thy terror has infected me.(Listening) Now all is still again. It were impossible!Thou know'st the dreadful thought—I dare not speak it.But say—oh say—it is impossible!HOUACO.And hark, again! Heard'st thou that hideous yell?It grows upon the ear. It must be so!ALPHONSO.If it be so, I by thy side will fall,And dearly sell each drop of my heart's bloodFor India's injured sons. No—save his father's,—No Spaniard's breast is sacred to Alphonso.[Drawing his sword.HOUACO.Yes, that same dagger shall redeem its guilt.Oh, give it me, and thou shalt see how strongAgainst an iron host, a single arm,Nerved as Houaco's, by a cause so dear—My father! and my people! and my wife!Give—give the dagger!ALPHONSO.Take it; but first swearThou wilt not aim it at Pedrarias' breast.HOUACO.Nay, take it back again, if such the terms.ALPHONSO (baring his breast).Then once more point it here! I will removeCapana's cherished pledge, and give it way!Or plunge it here, or say my father's sacred.HOUACO.And wherefore, think'st thou, I have suffer'd life?For two long years have dragged th' invader's chains?Born to command, protect, and lead a people,Have bowed this body to the servile oar?Wherefore did I reject thy fellowship,Till driven from his presence, cursed by him,My heart forgot thou wert Pedrarias' son?Wherefore all this?—but that I hoped to quaffThe cup of sweet revenge! E'en now 'tis mine,The luscious draught! and shall my lips refuse it?ALPHONSO.[Nearer cries are heard.The foe is on us! I will trust in friendship!Take thou the dagger to defend thy father:This sword must guard the author of my daysE'en against thee! for not to parricide,Although to treason doom'd by holiest ties,Each crimson drop that swells within these veinsMust flow for good Capana and his people!Indians pass across the stage pursued by Spaniards ALPHONSO and HOUACO rush upon the Spaniards, and presently drive them back. The Indians gather round ALPHONSO and HOUACO, full of joy and wonder.ALPHONSO.Yes, Indians, yes—ye see Capana's son!Restored by Heaven to save you from your foe!Behold in me the Spaniard your caciqueReleased from death! both to your service vowed:By nature he!—and I by gratitude!On! follow us to liberty and vengeance!But mark me, friends; dismiss the well‐aim'd shaft,Then instant turn, nor grapple with th' invader.Keep still aloof—surround him harass him;Be swift—be indefatigable.—— On!—[Exeunt with expressions of ardour and joy.SCENE II.The Valley, with the Altar, Throne, &c.PEDRARIAS and Spaniards pursued by HOUACO and Indians. PEDRARIAS recognises HOUACO, and turns.PEDRARIAS.Is it the slave Zamori's daring handAgainst Pedrarias raised? Stand! Indian, stand![They for a moment contemplate each other.This blade shall give thee back thy forfeit life,So thou declare where thou hast left Alphonso!HOUACO.Tyrant, come on! nor parley with thy foe!See, in Zamori, great Capana's son!The chains that have disgraced these free‐born limbs,My father's wrongs, my country's desolation,Render this little weapon swift, and sure,And terrible as the avenger's thunder!Thousands of slaughter'd Indians hovering breatheTheir spirits in my soul, and guide my hand![They close and struggle. HOUACO disarms PEDRARIAS, and drops the dagger in the conflict; casts PEDRARIAS on the ground, and setting his foot on his breast, points his own sword at it.Lie there, thou fell destroyer of my people!Where are thy conquests now? thy power, thy greatness?I met thee man to man, and there thou liest!Beneath my foot I might crush out thy spirit,And rid my groaning country of its tyrant!One motion of this hand and thou art nothing—A name!—a sound!—to future ages hateful,E'en of its terrors stript! But to Alphonso!The son thy rage has cursed—I give thy life![He rushes out with PEDRARIAS'S sword, leaving his dagger on the ground.PEDRARIAS.Am I a Spaniard?—he a savage Indian?Oh for swift lightnings, earthquakes, hurricanes,To raze this new found world from out existence,And thus from record blot the conqueror's shame!Thousands on thousands withering curses blast thee,Insolent slave! Curst be this arm! and curstMy dotard weakness! for not Pedrarias—no—The father 'twas, whose edgeless sword dropt, palsiedBy the base slave's evasion, when I askedOf my lost son. But hold! Alphonso lives!Let me but find him, from the Indians tear him,Then ruin—slaughter—utter devastationRage on, and feed insatiable revenge!But who are these? shall they behold me thus?Ha! the slave's dagger!—it may do me service.[Takes up the dagger, and conceals it in his breast.Enter GUSMAN and Spaniards with CAPANA and Indians captives.GUSMAN.My lord, behold the proud cacique, Capana!Thus victory is ours, although Alphonso,(Whom, were he not thy son, I might term traitor),Has raised his sword against his countrymen,Mowing them down with wild resistless rage,To rescue from our hands this savage chief.PEDRARIAS (with great anxiety).And did my people turn their arms against him?Who followed him?—Where is he?—say, how was it?GUSMAN.The frantic natives thronging on his steps,With hurtling arrows darken all the air,That even our veterans, appalled, shrink back,Or fall, ere they have marked the coming death!In firm array, if we advance, behold,As formless spirits of the night, they vanish!And on the right, or left, or in the rear,Gathering again, they deal their dole of death,And quick disperse as soon. Doubtful, astonished,Where'er thy son appeared our soldiers fled!Nor had I held my prisoner from the rescue,But that I pointed at his breast my sword!PEDRARIAS.Haste, Gusman, haste! Command that they respectThe viceroy's son, nor harm him, on their lives!But, if it may be done, secure Alphonso,And bring him to my presence strongly guarded.[Exit GUSMAN.(To CAPANA). And do I then behold the proud cacique,Whose vain resistance has destroyed his people?CAPANA.Thou see'st a chief who for his people lived:A man who fought for native liberty.PEDRARIAS (with the utmost bitterness).Thou hoary savage! skilled in hellish arts!Thou who hast wrought upon a noble SpaniardTo mock at filial piety, and fallFrom due allegiance to his sovereign lord!CAPANA.Tyrant, I gave thy son his forfeit life,Because I pitied thee!—and for this weaknessOur Gods have justly now deserted me.But answer thou.—Was it thy treacherous sonWho led thee hither? For the damned actBut ill accords with these his deeds in arms.Say, must my latest breath, or curse, or bless him?PEDRARIAS.How may it aught import Pedrarias' son,The idle words a dying savage breathes?CAPANA.If right I judge, the youth whose life I spared,Capana's dying curse may much import him.PEDRARIAS.Nay, curse him not, old man! Thou hast no cause—He bears a curse this heart would fain recall.CAPANA.Ha! is it so? Then will Capana bless him!PEDRARIAS.Dost thou insult a conqueror, whose nodMay doom thee to such tortures as appalHumanity?CAPANA.No tortures can appalCapana's spirit! In this time‐worn frameKind Nature has, with gentle hand, unravelledHer own work, till there is little left for theeTo mar with violence. Few strokes are neededTo level with the dust the leafless trunk;While the majestic palm, in youth's full honours,Wearies the woodman.ALPHONSO rushes wildly in, followed by HOUACO, and throws himself at CAPANA'S feet. ALPHONSO.Oh my benefactor!Thus let me expiate, at thy feet, my folly!That I am guiltless, thy Houaco knows.[Presenting HOUACO to him, who throws himself into his father's arms, and they remain engrossed with each other.PEDRARIAS.Confusion! Is it at Capana's feetPedrarias' son should kneel, when in the presenceOf an offended father? Turn, rash boy!"A father's anger may not last for ever,"If meek remorse, and duteous thoughts, succeedThy fatal dereliction!ALPHONSO.Duteous thoughtsThis breast has ever own'd! Remorse, my father,Alphonso knows not! He has not betray'dHis noble benefactor, and his friend;But, ruin'd with them, will partake their doom.PEDRARIAS.The flames are kindling will reduce thy friendsTo idle air, and dust that I may trample.ALPHONSO (to CAPANA).Disdain not thou my fellowship in death,My more than father! [Embracing his knees.PEDRADIAS (aside).Oh! impotence of rage!CAPANA (making a group with ALPHONSO, and HOUACO).Unhappy tyrant! object of my scorn!I mock the power thou boastest o'er my life!For what import a few convulsive throbs,That set at large a spirit fraught with joy,With love, with triumph, thou canst never know!See, I embrace my noble, long‐lost son,—Nay, more—the captive youth my heart adopted,With filial tenderness, would die with me;While thou, who doom'st me to devouring flames,Enviest thy victim!—I could pity thee,But that to pity thee offends our Gods.[Embracing them both.My children dear alike!PEDRARIAS (frantic with rage).Has hell worse pains?By him adopted—to his bosom prest—A savage, by the right of war my slave!—I cannot wait the slow consuming flame,My sword—[Grasping the empty scabbard.HOUACO (haughtily).Thy sword no longer, but thy conqueror's!Has wash'd away its guilt in Spanish blood.PEDRARIAS.Zamori too?—Worse hell![Recollecting the dagger in his bosom.Hah! thoughtless slave,Thyself didst furnish to my rage the serpentShall sting thee home!—Die, hoary villain,—die![Rushes to stab CAPANA, when ALPHONSO interposes his breast, receives the stroke, and falls on his father's neck.ALPHONSO (after a pause).My father! Oh my father,—yes, I thank thee.This stroke is merciful,—is kind.—It givesThe only good that now thy son could know—To die for him, my benefactor!—Oh!If ever I was dear to thee, my father,Let not thy son lay down his life in vain.This blood, that flows thus freely—gladly flows—At the strong call of gratitude—is thine!See—on thy breast it falls!—Oh! let it notThere stagnate!—rather swell, as kindly dews,The latent germ of mercy!PEDRARIAS.My Alphonso!Curse on my frantic rage!—It cannot beThe blow was mortal?(With tenderness). Look up, and smile, my son![Watches ALPHONSO with trembling anxiety and hope.CAPANA.Noble, but rash and ill‐advised Alphonso!Why didst thou snatch me from the death I courted?I should have fallen in all my full‐blown joys;Now, if I live, it is to sorrow.[Hiding his face, overcome. PEDRARIAS (with a forced smile and faltering voice).Nay,Thou would'st but terrify thy wretched father,Who in all nature loves but thee alone.Thou know'st it, and would'st work upon my fondness.But live, my boy! and it shall be henceforthE'en as thou wilt.—Yes, I will heap each blessingOn these, thy friends.[ALPHONSO makes an effort to express his joy, and falls back into his father's arms.PEDRARIAS (with extreme terror).He bleeds apace!—Help! help!ALPHONSO.Oh!—no—I feel I cannot live, my father!'Twas Heaven unnerved, erewhile, thy arm, and nowDirected with unerring might the stroke—Heaven's pity spares me—without her to live!—Heaven's justice guides thy hand—to executeThe curse—thy lips—but bless me now, my father!Oh! bless thy dying child!PEDRARIAS.Distraction! Horror!Wretched old man! Despair is mine, and madness!(To HOUACO). In pity, slave, take thou this hated life.ALPHONSO.Be calm, my father, nor thus doubly pointThe sting of death!—Oh say,—my friends are free!PEDRARIAS.They, and their people shall be free and happy.I swear it by the trembling hope I feelThy parting soul forgives thy murderer.ALPHONSO.Now on thy dear, and honour'd breast, I sink—In sleep as calm as weighs down infant lids.[Looking affectionately at his father.'Tis sweet to rest upon a parent's bosom![Reaching his hand to HOUACO.Give me thy hand, Houaco! Amazilia—Will grieve for me.—Oh soothe her sorrow gently!—I thought thee dead, when first I saw the maid.HOUACO.And loved her, and did yield her to thy friend!And must I lose thee? Oh, thou gracious patternOf virtues thou hast taught me first to know![A moment of speechless grief, when AMAZILIA breaks her way through the attendants, who try to stop her.AMAZILIA.Nay!—Give me way! Not thousand, thousand weapons,All pointed at this breast, could stay my steps![Stands gazing at the group, transfixed with horror. Then in the wildest manner.Ha! What have I to do—if it be so?PEDRARIAS.Away with her!—Her sacrilegious criesDisturb the awful horrors of despairWithin a father's and a murderer's breast!HOUACO (going to her from ALPHONSO).My Amazilia! thus high Heaven reclaimsIts own! and as a god, henceforth AlphonsoWill watch o'er those he loved, and guide them still.AMAZILIA.Away!—I know thee not—nor heed thy words!See there—see there!—His spirit takes its flight!I must away!ALPHONSO.My Amazilia!—Oh!— [Dies.AMAZILIA.He calls on me!—He bids me follow—See!With lifeless hand he beckons me away!I come! I come![Seizes the dagger which lay on the ground, and stabs herself.HOUACO.Oh, stay thy frantic hand!AMAZILIA (supported by HOUACO).Alphonso! Oh, one moment hovering stay!Thou didst refuse my fellowship on earth,But wilt thou now reject the attendant spirit,That through immeasurable space, with thee,Would soar to worlds—of Love—and Liberty?[Breaks from HOUACO, and throws herself on ALPHONSO'S body.PEDRARIAS.Have ye not hatchets? arrows dipp'd in poison?Ye injured natives! though to vengeance vow'd,One—one devote to pity!—AMAZILIA (raising herself from the body, and looking wildly around her).Who are these?Oh! help,—and loose the bonds that bind me downTo earth!—How heavily—Oh! how heavilyThey weigh upon my bosom!—I would spurnThe abject soil, and spring into the skies!But—Oh! I sink—I sink—Wilt thou not stay?Where art thou now? [Struggling violentlyOh where? I see thee not![She stares wildly on PEDRARIAS.It is thy murderer!—It is thy father!—His eyes glare on me!—Save me from him—Oh![Gives a shriek, and dies.The curtain drops.DUE CANZONIDEL PETRARCA.SONNETTO A FRIEND,At whose request the Author of the following Translations from Petrarch consented to have a few copies of them printed privately.THE brook, soft rippling on its pebbled way,With many a winding fondly lingers longIn valleys low, stealing wild weeds amongAnd pendant boughs that o'er its surface play;Its humble pride still to reflect the gayAnd varied flowers that round its mirror throng;So I, erewhile, lone warbled my rude song,Echoing Valclusa's sad melodious lay:And as, lured forth along the unshelter'd plain,The little stream at length, with bolder course,Bears tributary waters to the main;I, too, though late, to thee my offering bear,Advent'rous, won by Friendship's gentle force,From covert shades, the broader light to dare.CANZONEDEL PETRARCA.[In the original text, the original Italian text is on the left hand side and faces the English translation. In this electronic edition, the entire Italian texts of all poems is given first, followed by the English translations.]1.NELLA stagion che 'l ciel rapido inchinaVerso occidente, e che 'l dì nostro volaA gente che di là forse l' aspetta,Veggendosi in lontan paese solaLa stanca vecchierella pellegrinaRaddoppia i passi, e più e più s' affretta;E poi così solettaAl fin di sua giornataTalora è consolataD' alcun breve riposo, ov' ella obbliaLa noia e 'l mal de la passata via:Ma, lasso! ogni dolor, che 'l dì m' adduce,Cresce, qualor s' inviaPer partirsi da noi l' eterna luce.2.Come 'l Sol volge le infiammate rotePer dar luogo alla notte, onde discendeDagli altissimi monti maggior l' ombra,L' avaro zappador l' arme riprende,E con parole e con alpestri noteOgni gravezza del suo petto sgombra;E poi la mensa ingombraDi povere vivande,Simili a quelle ghiandeLe quai fuggendo tutto 'l mondo onora:Ma chi vuol, si rallegri ad ora ad ora,Ch' i' pur non ebbi ancor non dirò lietaMa riposata un' ora,Nè per volger di ciel, nè di pianeta.3.Quando vede il pastor calare i raggiDel gran pianeta al nido, ov' egli alberga,E imbrunir le contrade d' Oriente,Drizzasi in piedi, e con l' usata verga,Lassando l' erba e le fontane e i faggi,Move la schiera sua soavemente;Poi lontan dalla gente,O casetta, o spelunca,Di verdi frondi ingiunca,Ivi senza pensier s' adagia, e dorme.Ahi, crudo Amor! ma tu allor più m' informeA seguir d' una fiera, che mi strugge,La voce, e i passi, e l' orme;E lei non stringi che s' appiatta, e fugge.4.E i naviganti in qualche chiusa valleGettan le membra, poi che 'l Sol s' asconde,Sul duro legno, e sotto l' aspre gonne:Ma io; perchè s' attuffi in mezzo l' onde,E lassi Ispagna dietro alle sue spalle,E Granata e Marocco e le Colonne,E gli uomini e le donneE il mondo e gli animaliAcquetino i lor mali,Fine non pongo al mio ostinato affanno;E duolmi ch' ogni giorno arroge al danno,Ch' i' son già pur crescendo in questa vogliaBen presso al decim' anno,Nè poss' indovinar chi me ne scioglia.5.E, perchè un poco nel parlar mi sfogo,Veggio la sera i buoi tornare scioltiDalle campagne e da' solcati colli:I miei sospiri a me perchè non tolti?Quando che sia? perchè no 'l grave giogo?Perchè dì e notte gli occhi miei son molli?Misero me! che volli?Quando primier sì fisoGli tenni nel bel visoPer iscolpirlo immaginando in parte,Onde mai nè per forza, nè per arte,Mosso sarà; fin ch' i' sia dato in predaA chi tutto diparte?Nè so ben anco, chi di lei mi creda.CANZONEDEL PETRARCA.1.Di pensier in pensier, di monte in monteMi guida Amor; ch' ogni segnato calleProvo contrario alla tranquilla vita;Se 'n solitaria piaggia rivo o fonte,Se 'n fra duo poggi siede ombrosa valle,Ivi s' acqueta l' alma sbigottita;E, com' Amor la invita,Or ride, or piagne, or teme, or s' assicura;E 'l volto, che lei segue ov' ella il mena,Si turba e rasserena,Ed in un esser picciol tempo dura;Onde alla vista uom di tal vita espertoDiria, questi arde, e di suo stato è incerto.2.Per alti monti e per selve aspre trovoQualche riposo; ogni abitato locoÈ nemico mortal degli occhi miei:A ciascun passo nasce un pensier novoDella mia donna, che sovente in giocoGira 'l tormento ch' i' porto per lei;Ed appena vorreiCangiar questo mio viver dolce amaro,Ch' i' dico: Forse ancor ti serva AmoreAd un tempo migliore;Forse a te stesso vile, altrui se' caro:Ed in questo trapasso sospirando,Or potrebb' esser vero, or come, or quando?3.Ove porge ombra un pino alto, o un colle,Talor m' arresto; e pur nel primo sassoDisegno con la mente il suo bel viso:Poi ch' a me torno, trovo il petto molleDella pietate; ed allor dico, ahi lasso!Dove se' giunto, ed onde se' diviso?Ma mentre tener fisoPosso al primo pensier la mente vaga,E mirar lei, ed obbliar me stesso,Sento Amor sì da pressoChe del suo proprio error l' alma s' appaga;In tante parti e sì bella la veggio,Che, se l' error durasse, altro non chieggio.4.I' l' ho più volte (or chi fia che mel creda?)Nell' acqua chiara, e sopra l' erba verde,Veduta viva e nel troncon d' un faggio;E 'n bianca nube sì fatta, che LedaAvria ben detto, che sua figlia perde,Come stella che 'l Sol copre col raggio:E quanto in più selvaggioLoco mi trovo, e 'n più deserto lido,Tanto più bella il mio pensier l' adombra:Poi, quando il vero sgombraQuel dolce error, pur lì medesmo assidoMe freddo, pietra morta in pietra viva,In guisa d' uom, che pensi, e pianga, e scriva.5.Ove d' altra montagna ombra non tocchi,Verso 'l maggiore e 'l più spedito giogoTirarmi suol un desiderio intenso;Indi i miei danni a misurar con gli occhiComincio, e 'ntanto lagrimando sfogoDi dolorosa nebbia il cor condenso,Allor ch' i' miro e pensoQuant' aria dal bel viso mi diparteChe sempre m' è sì presso e sì lontano.Poscia fra me pian piano;Che fai tu lasso? forse in quella parteOr di tua lontananza si sospira:Ed in questo pensier l' alma respira.6.Canzone, oltra quell' AlpeLà, dove 'l cielo è più sereno e lieto,Mi rivedrai sovra un ruscel corrente,Ove l' aura si senteD' un fresco ed odorifero laureto:Ivi è 'l mio cuor, e quella che m' invola;Qui veder puoi l' immagine mia sola.SONETTIDEL PETRARCA.SONETTO.LA vita fugge e non s' arresta un' ora;E la morte vien dietro à gran giornate;E le cose presenti, e le passate,Mi danno guerra, e le future ancora:E 'l rimembrar, e l' aspettar m' accoraOr quinci, or quindi sì, che 'n veritate,Se non ch' i ho di me stesso pietate,I sarei già di questi pensier fora.Tornami avanti, s' alcun dolce maiEbbe 'l cor tristo; e poi da l' altra parteVeggio al mio navigar turbati i venti:Veggio fortuna in porto; e stanco omaiIl mio nocchier'; e rotte arbore, e sarte:E i lumi bei, che mirar soglio, spenti.Par. II. Son. 4.SONETTO.ZEFIRO torna; e 'l bel tempo rimena,E i fiori, e l' erbe, sua dolce famiglia;E garrir Progne, e pianger Filomena;E primavera candida, e vermiglia.Ridono i prati, e 'l ciel si rasserena;Giove s' allegra di mirar sua figlia;L' aria, e l' acqua, e la terra è d' Amor piena;Ogni animal d' amar si riconsiglia.Ma per me, lasso! tornano i più graviSospiri, che del cor profondo traggeQuella, ch' al ciel se ne portò le chiavi:E cantar augelletti, e fiorir piagge,E 'n belle donne oneste atti soaviSono un deserto, e fere aspre, e selvagge.Par. II. Son. 42.SONETTO.SE lamentar augelli, o verdi frondeMover soavemente all' aura estiva,O roco mormorar di lucid' ondeS' ode d' una fiorita, e fresca riva;Là 'v' io seggia d' amor pensoso, e scriva;Lei; che 'l ciel ne mostrò, terra nasconde;Veggio, ed odo, ed intendo; ch' ancor vivaDi sì lontano a' sospir miei risponde.Deh perchè innanzi tempo ti consume?Mi dice con pietate: a che pur versiDegli occhi tristi un doloroso fiume?Di me non pianger tu; che miei dì fersi,Morendo, eterni; e nell' eterno lume,Quando mostrai di chiuder gli occhi, apersi.Par. II. Son. 11SONETTO.GLI occhi de ch' io parlai si caldamente,E le braccia e le mani e i piedi, e 'l visoChe m' avean sì da me stesso diviso,E fatto singolar dall altra gente:Le crespe chiome d' or puro lucente,E 'l lampeggiar dell angelico riso;Che solean far in terra un paradiso;Poca polvere son, che nulla sente:Ed io pur vivo: onde mi doglio e sdegno;Rimaso senza 'l lume ch' amai tanto,In gran fortuna, e 'n disarmato legno.Or sia qui fine al mio amoroso canto:Secca e la vera dell' usato ingegno,E la cetera mia rivolto in pianto.Par. II. Son. 24.SONETTO.VAGO augelletto che cantando vai,Over piangendo il tuo tempo passato,Vedendoti la notte, e 'l verno à lato,E 'l dì dopo le spalle, e i mesi gai;Se come i tuoi gravosi affanni sai,Così sapessi il mio simile stato;Verresti in grembo à questo sconsolatoA' partir seco i dolorosi guai.I' non so, se le patti sarian pari:Che quella, cui tu piangi, e forse in vita;Di ch' à me morte, e 'l ciel son tanto avari:Ma la stagione, e l' ora men gradita,Co 'l membrar de' dolci anni, e de gli amari,A' parlar teco con pietà m' invita.Par. II. Son. 90.SONETTO.MOVESI 'l vecchierel canuto e biancoDal dolce loco, ov' a sua età fornita,E da la famigliuola sbigottita,Che vede il caro padre venir manco:Indi trahendo poi l' antico fiancoPer l' estreme giornate di sua vita,Quanto più può, co 'l buon voler s' aita,Rotta de gli anni, e dal camino stanco:E viene à Roma, seguendo 'l desio,Per mirar la sembianza di colui,Ch' ancor là su nel ciel vedere spera:Così lasso talbor vo cercand' ioDonna, quant' è possibile, in altruiLa desiata vostra forma vera.Par. I. Son. 13.SONETTO.S'UNA fede amorosa, un cor non finto;Un languir dolce, un desiar cortese;S' oneste voglie in gentil foco accese;S' un lungo errore in cieco laberinto;Se ne la fronte ogni pensier dipinto,Od in voci interrotte à pena intese,Or da paura, or da vergogna offese;S'un pallor di viola e d' amor tinto;S' aver altrui più caro, che se stesso;Se lagrimar', e sospirar mai sempre,Pascendosi di duol, d' ira, e d' affanno;S' arder da lunge, ed agghiacciar da pressoSon le cagion, ch' amando i mi distempre;Vostro, Donna, 'l peccato, e mio fia 'l danno.Par. I. Son. 187.SONETTO.QUEL vago impallidir che 'l dolce risoD' un' amorosa nebbia ricoperse,Con tanta maestade al cor s' offerse;Che li si fece incontr' à mezzo 'l viso.Conobbi allow, sì come in paradisoVede l'un l'altro; in tal guisa s' aperseQuel pietoso pensier, ch' altri non scerse:Ma vidil' io, ch' altrove non m' affiso.Ogni angelica vista, ogni atto umile,Che giamai in donna, ov' Amor fosse, apparve;Fora uno sdegno à lato à quel, ch' io dico:Chinava à terra il bel guardo gentile;E tacendo dicea (com' à me parve)Chi m' allontana il mio fedele amico?Par. I. Son. 97.SONETTO.MENTE mia, che presaga de' tuoi danniAl tempo lieto già pensosa, e tristaSì 'ntentamente ne l' amata vistaRequie cercavi de' futuri affanni:A gli atti, a le parole, al viso, a i panni,A la nova pietà con dolor mista,Potei ben dir, se del tutto eri avista:Quest' è l' ultimo dì de' miei dolci anni.Qual dolcezza fu quella, ò miser' alma,Come ardevamo in quel punto, ch' i vidiGli occhi, i quai non dovea riveder mai?Quando a lor, come a duo amici più fidi,Partendo, in guardia la più nobil salma,I miei carl pensieri, e 'l cor lasciai.Par. II. Son. 46.SONETTO.TUTTA la mia fiorita e verde etadePassava; e 'ntepidir sentia già 'l foco,Ch' arse 'l mio cor; ed era giunto al loco, Ove scende la vita, ch' al fin cade:Già incominciava a prender securtadeLa mia cara nemica a poco a pocoDe' suoi sospetti; e rivolgeva in giocoMie pene acerbe sua dolce onestade:Presso era 'l tempo, dov' Amor si scontraCon castitate; ed a gli amanti è datoSedersi insieme, e dir che loro incontra.Morte ebbe invidia al mio felice stato,Anzi a la speme; e feglisi a l'incontraA mezza via, come nemico armato.Par. II. Son. 47.SONETTO.NE mai pietosa madre al caro figlioNe Donna accesa al suo sposo dilettoDie' con tanti sospir, con tal sospettoIn dubbio stato sì fedel consiglio;Come a me quella, che 'l mio grave esiglioMirando dal suo eterno alto ricetto,Spesso a me torna con l' usato affetto,E di doppia pietate ornata il ciglio,Or di madre, or d'amante; or teme, or' ardeD' onesto foco; e nel parlar mi mostraQuel, che 'n questo viaggio fuga, o segua;Contando i casi de la vita nostra;Pregando, ch' al levar l'alma non tarde:E sol quant' ella parla, ho pace, o tregua.Par. II. Son. 17.SONETTO.NÈ per sereno cielo ir vaghe stelle;Nè per tranquillo mar legni spalmati;Nè per campagne cavalieri armati;Nè per bei boschi allegre fere e snelle;Nè d' aspettato ben fresche novelle:Nè dir d' amore in still alti ed ornati:Nè tra chiare fontane, e verdi pratiDolce cantare oneste donne, e belle;Nè altro sarà mai, ch' al cor m'aggiunga;Sì seco il seppe quella sepellire,Che sola a gli occhi miei fu lume, e speglio.Noia m' è il viver sì gravosa e lunga,Ch' i' chiamo 'l fine per lo gran desireDi' riveder, cui non veder fu 'l meglio.Par. II. Son. 44.CANZONENELLA STAGION, EC.1.IN the still evening, when with rapid flightLow in the western sky the sun descendsTo give expectant nations life and light;The aged pilgrim, in some clime unknownSlow journeying, right onward fearful bendsWith weary haste, a stranger and alone;Yet when his labour ends,He solitary sleepsAnd in short slumber steepsEach sense of sorrow hanging on the day,And all the toil of the long passed way:But oh! each pang, that wakes with morn's first ray,More piercing wounds my breastWhen Heaven's eternal light sinks crimson in the West.2.His burning wheels when downward Phoebus bendsAnd leaves the world to night, its lengthen'd shadeEach towering mountain o'er the vale extends;The thrifty peasant shoulders light his spade,With sylvan carol gay and uncouth noteBidding his cares upon the wild winds float,Content in peace to shareHis poor and humble fare,As in that golden ageWe honour still, yet leave its simple ways;Whoe'er so list, let joy his hours engage:No gladness e'er has cheer'd my gloomy days,Nor moment of repose,However roll'd the spheres, whatever planet rose.3.When as the shepherd marks the sloping rayOf the great orb that sinks in ocean's bed,While on the East soft steals the evening grey,He rises, and resumes the accustom'd crook,Quitting the beechen grove, the field, the brook,And gently homeward drives the flock he fed;Then far from human treadIn his lone humble cave,O'er which the green boughs wave,In sleep without a thought he lays his head:Ah, cruel Love! at this dark silent hourThou wak'st to trace, and with redoubled pow'r,The voice, the step, the airOf her, who scorns thy chain, and flies thy fatal snare.4.And in some shelter'd bay, at evening's close,The mariners their rude coats round them fold,Stretch'd on the rugged plank in deep repose:But I, though Phoebus sink into the mainAnd leave Granada wrapt in night, with Spain,Morocco, and the Pillars famed, of old,Though all of human kindAnd every creature blestAll hush their ills to rest,No end to my unceasing sorrows find;And still the sad account swells day by day;For since these thoughts on my lorn spirit prey,I see the tenth year roll;Nor hope of freedom springs in my desponding soul.5.Thus, as I vent my bursting bosom's pain, Lo! from their yoke I see the oxen freed,Slow moving homeward o'er the furrow'd plain:Why to my sorrow is no pause decreed?Why from my yoke no respite must I know?Why gush these tears, and never cease to flow?Ah me! what sought my eyes,When fix'd in fond surpriseOn her angelic faceI gazed, and on my heart each charm imprest,From whence nor force nor art the sacred traceShall e'er remove, till I the victim restOf Death, whose mortal blowShall my pure spirit free, and this worn frame lay low.CANZONEDI PENSIER IN PENSIER, EC.1.FROM hill to hill I roam, from thought, to thought,With Love my guide; the beaten path I fly,For there in vain the tranquil life is sought:If 'mid the waste well forth a lonely rill,Or deep‐embosom'd a low valley lie,In its calm shade my trembling heart is still;And there, if Love so will,I smile, or weep, or fondly hope, or fear,While on my varying brow, that speaks the soul,The wild emotions roll,Now dark, now bright, as shifting skies appear;That whosoe'er has proved the lover's stateWould say, He feels the flame, none knows his future fate.2.On mountains high, in forests drear and wideI find repose, and from the throng'd resortOf man turn fearfully my eyes aside;At each lone step thoughts ever new ariseOf her I love, who oft with cruel sportWill mock the pangs I bear, the tears, the sighs:Yet e'en these ills I prize,Though bitter, sweet, nor would they were removed;For my heart whispers me, Love yet has powerTo grant a happier hour;Perchance, though self‐despised, thou yet art loved:E'en then my breast a passing sigh will heave,Ah when, or how, may I a hope so wild believe?3.Where shadows of high‐rocking pines dark waveI stay my footsteps, and on some rude stoneWith thought intense her beauteous face engrave:Roused from the trance, my bosom bathed I findWith tears, and cry, Ah, whither thus aloneHast thou far wander'd, and whom left behind?But as with fixed mindOn this fair image I impassion'd rest,And, viewing her, forget awhile my ills,Love my rapt fancy fills;In its own error sweet the soul is blest,While all around so bright the visions glide;Oh! might the cheat endure, I ask not aught beside.4.Her form portray'd within the lucid streamWill oft appear, or on the verdant lawn,Or glossy beech, or fleecy cloud, will gleamSo lovely fair, that Leda's self might say,Her Helen sinks eclipsed, as at the dawnA star when cover'd by the solar ray:And, as o'er wilds I strayWhere the eye nought but savage Nature meets,There Fancy most her brightest tints employs;But when rude truth destroysThe loved illusion of those dreamed sweets,I sit me down on the cold rugged stone,Less cold, less dead than I, and think, and weep alone.5.Where the huge mountain rears his brow sublime,On which no neighb'ring height its shadow flings,Led by desire intense the steep I climb;And tracing in the boundless space each woeWhose sad remembrance my torn bosom wrings,Tears, that bespeak the heart o'erfraught, will flow:While, viewing all below,From me, I cry, what worlds of air divideThe beauteous form, still absent and still near;Then, chiding soft the tear,I whisper low, Haply she too has sigh'dThat thou art far away: a thought so sweetAwhile my labouring soul will of its burthen cheat.6.Go thou, my Song, beyond that Alpine bound,Where the pure smiling heavens are most serene,There by a murmuring stream may I be found,Whose gentle airs aroundWaft grateful odours from the laurel green;Nought but my empty form roams here unblest,There dwells my heart with her who steals it from my breast.SONETTIDEL PETRARCA. [English translation. Ed.]SONNET.LIFE flies with rapid course that nought may stay,Death follows after with gigantic stride;Ills past and present on my spirit prey,And future evils threat on every side:Whether I backward look or forward fare,A thousand ills my bosom's peace molest;And were it not that pity bids me spareMy nobler part, I from these thoughts would rest.If ever aught of sweet my heart has known,Remembrance wakes its charms, while, tempest‐tost,I mark the clouds that o'er my course still frown;E'en in the port I see the storm afar;Weary my pilot, mast and cable lost,And set for ever my fair polar star.SONNET.RETURNING Zephyr the sweet season brings,With flowers and herbs his breathing train among,And Progne twitters, Philomela sings,Leading the many‐colour'd Spring along;Serene the sky, and fair the laughing field,Jove views his daughter with complacent brow;Earth, sea, and air, to Love's sweet influence yield,And creatures all his magic power avow:But nought, alas! for me the season bringsSave heavier sighs, from my sad bosom drawnBy her who can from Heaven unlock its springs;And warbling birds and flower‐bespangled lawn,And fairest acts of ladies fair and mild,A desert seem, and its brute tenants wild.SONNET.IF the lorn bird complain, or rustling sweepSoft summer airs o'er foliage waving slow,Or the hoarse brook come murmuring down the steep,Where on th' enamel'd bank I sit belowWith thoughts of love that bid my numbers flow;'Tis then I see her, though in earth she sleep!—Her, form'd in Heaven! I see, and hear, and know!Responsive sighing, weeping as I weep:"Alas!" she pitying says, "ere yet the hour, "Why hurry life away with swifter flight?"Why from thy eyes this flood of sorrow pour?"No longer mourn my fate! through death my days"Become eternal!—to eternal light"These eyes, which seem'd in darkness closed, I raise!"SONNET.THE eyes, the face, the limbs of heavenly mould,So long the theme of my impassion'd lay,Charms which so stole me from myself away,That strange to other men the course I hold:The crisped locks of pure and lucid gold,The lightning of the angelic smile, whose rayTo earth could all of Paradise convey,A little dust are now!—to feeling cold!And yet I live!—but that I live bewail,Sunk the loved light that through the tempest ledMy shatter'd bark, bereft of mast and sail:Hush'd be the song that breathed love's purest fire!Lost is the theme on which my fancy fed,And turn'd to mourning my once tuneful lyre.SONNET.POOR solitary bird, that pour'st thy lay,Or haply mournest the sweet season gone:As chilly night and winter hurry on,And daylight fades, and summer flies away;If as the cares that swell thy little throat,Thou knew'st alike the woes that wound my rest,Oh, thou would'st house thee in this kindred breast,And mix with mine thy melancholy note.Yet little know I ours are kindred ills:She still may live the object of thy song:Not so for me stern Death or Heaven wills!But the sad season, and less grateful hour,And of past joy and sorrow thoughts that throng,Prompt my full heart this idle lay to pour.SONNET.THE palmer bent, with locks of silver gray,Quits the sweet spot where he has pass'd his years,Quits his poor family, whose anxious fearsPaint the loved father fainting on his way;And trembling, on his aged limbs slow borne,In these last dais that close his earthly course,He, in his soul's strong purpose, finds new force,Though weak with age, though by long travel worn:Thus reaching Rome, led on by pious love,He seeks the image of that Saviour Lord,Whom soon he hopes to meet in bliss above:So, oft in other forms I seek to traceSome charm, that to my heart may yet affordA faint resemblance of thy matchless grace.SONNET.IF faith most true, a heart that cannot feign;If love's sweet languishment and chasten'd thought,And wishes pure by nobler feelings taught;If in a labyrinth wanderings long and vain;If on the brow each pang portray'd to bear,Or from the heart low broken sounds to draw,Withheld by shame, or check'd by pious awe;If on the faded cheek love's hue to wear;If than myself to hold one far more dear;If sighs that cease not, tears that ever flow,Wrung from the heart by all love's various woe:In absence if consum'd, and chill'd when near;If these be ills in which I waste my prime,Though I the sufferer be, yours, lady, is the crime.SONNET.A TENDER paleness, stealing o'er her cheek,Veil'd her sweet smile as 't were a passing cloud,And such pure dignity of love avow'd,That in my eyes my full soul strove to speak:Then knew I how the spirits of the blestCommunion hold in Heaven; so beam'd sereneThat pitying thought, by ev'ry eye unseenSave mine, wont ever on her charms to rest.Each grace angelic, each meek glance humane,That Love e'er to his fairest vot'ries lent,By this were deem'd ungentle, cold disdain!Her lovely looks, with sadness downward bent,In silence to my fancy seem'd to say,Who calls my faithful friend so far away?SONNET.MY mind! prophetic of thy coming fate,Pensive and gloomy while yet joy was lent,On the loved lineaments still fixt, intentTo seek dark bodings, ere thy sorrow's date!From her sweet acts, her words, her looks, her gait,From her unwonted pity with sadness blent;Thou might'st have said, hadst thou been prescient,"I taste my last of bliss in this low state!"My wretched soul! the poison, oh, how sweet!That through my eyes convey'd the burning smart,Gazing on hers, no more on earth to meet!To them, my bosom's wealth! condemn'd to partOn a far journey—as to friends discreet,All my fond thoughts I left, and lingering heart!SONNET.ALL my green years and golden prime of manHad pass'd away, and with attemper'd sighsMy bosom heaved—ere yet the days ariseWhen life declines, contracting its brief span:Already my loved enemy beganTo lull suspicion, and in sportive guise,With timid confidence, though playful, wise,In gentle mock'ry my long pains to scan:The hour was near when Love, at length, may mateWith Chastity—and, by the dear one's side,The lover's thoughts, and words, may freely flow:Death saw, with envy, my too happy state,E'en its fair promise—and with fatal pride,Strode in the mid‐way forth, an armed foe!SONNET.NE'ER to the son, in whom her age is blest,The anxious mother—nor to her loved lordThe wedded dame, impending ill to ward,With careful sighs so faithful counsel prest,As she, who, from her high eternal rest,Bending—as though my exile she deplored—With all her wonted tenderness restored,And softer pity on her brow imprest!Now with a mother's fears, and now as oneWho loves with chaste affection, in her speechShe points what to pursue, and what to shun!Our years retracing of long, various grief,Wooing my soul at higher good to reach,And while she speaks, my bosom finds relief!SONNET.NOT skies serene with glittering stars inlaid,Nor gallant ships o'er tranquil ocean dancing,Nor gay‐careering knights in arms advancing,Nor wild herds bounding through the forest glade,Nor tidings new of happiness delay'd,Nor poesie, Love's witchery enhancing,Nor lady's song beside clear fountain glancingIn beauty's pride, with chastity array'd;Nor aught of lovely, aught of gay in show,Shall touch my heart, now cold within her tombWho was erewhile my life and light below!So heavy—tedious—sad—my days unblest,That I, with strong desire, invoke Death's gloom,Her to behold—whom ne'er t' have seen were best!END OF VOL. I.