That thus could melt to see a stranger's wrongs. Oh, Leonora! hadst thou known Anselmo, How would thy heart have bled to see his suffer- ings!
Thou hadst no cause, but general compassion. Leon. Love of my royal mistress gave me
My love of you begot my grief for him; For I had heard, that when the chance of war Had blessed Anselmo's arms with victory, And the rich spoil of all the field, and you, The glory of the whole, were made the prey Of his success; that then, in spite of hate, Revenge, and that hereditary feud Between Valentia's and Granada's kings, He did endear himself to your affection, By all the worthy and indulgent ways His most industrious goodness could invent; Proposing, by a match between Alphonso, His son, the brave Valentian prince, and you, To end the long dissention, and unite The jarring crowns.
Alm. Alphonso! O Alphonso! Thou too art quiet-long hast been at peace→→→ Both, both! father and son are now no more. Then why am I? Oh, when shall I have rest? Why do I live to say you are no more? Why are all these things thus? Is it of force? Is there necessity I must be miserable? Is it of moment to the peace of heaven, That I should be afflicted thus? If not, Why is it thus contrived? Why are things laid By some unseen hand, so, as of sure consequence, They must to me bring curses, grief of heart, The last distress of life, and sure despair? Leon. Alas! you search too far, and think too deeply.
Alm. Why was I carried to Anselmo's court? Or there, why was I used so tenderly? Why not ill-treated, like an enemy?
For so my father would have used his child. Oh, Alphonso, Alphonso!
Alm. Oh, no, thou knowest not half, Knowest nothing of my sorrows--if thou didst― If I should tell thee, wouldst thou pity me? Tell me; I know thou wouldst; thou art com- passionate.
Leon. Witness these tears Alm. I thank thee, Leonora Indeed I do, for pitying thy sad mistress: For 'tis, alas! the poor prerogative
Of greatness to be wretched, and unpitied- But I did promise I would tell thee-What? My miseries! Thou dost already know them: And when I told thee thou didst nothing know, It was because thou didst not know Alphonso: For to have known my loss, thou must have known
His worth, his truth, and tenderness of love. Leon. The memory of that brave prince stands fair
And I have heard imperfectly his loss; But, fearful to renew your troubles past, I never did presume to ask the story.
Alm. If for my swelling heart I can, I'll tell thee.
I was a welcome captive in Valentia, Even on the day when Manuel, my father, Led on his conquering troops high as the gates Of king Anselmo's palace; which, in rage, And heat of war, and dire revenge, he fired. The good king, flying to avoid the flames, Started amidst his foes, and made captivity His fatal refuge-Would that I had fallen Amidst those flames-but 'twas not so decreed. Alphonso, who foresaw my father's cruelty, Had borne the queen and me on board a ship, Ready to sail; and, when this news was brought, We put to sea; but being betrayed by some Who knew our flight, we closely were pursued And almost taken; when a sudden storin Drove us, and those that followed, on the coast Of Afric: There our vessel struck the shore,
Devouring seas have washed thee from my sight-And, bulging 'gainst a rock, was dashed in pieces;
No time shall raze thee from my memory;
No, I will live to be thy monument: The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb,
But in my heart thou art interred; there, there, Thy dear resemblance is for ever fixed;
My love, my lord, my husband still, though lost. Leon. Husband! Oh, Heavens! Alm. Alas! what have I said?
My grief has hurryed me beyond all thought. I would have kept that secret; though I know Thy love, and faith to me deserve all confidence. But 'tis the wretch's comfort still to have Some small reserve of near and, inward woe, Some unsuspected hoard of darling grief,
But heaven spared me for yet much more afflic
Conducting them who followed us, to shun The shore, and save me floating on the waves, While the good queen and my Alphonso perish- ed.
Leon. Alas! were you then wedded to Al- phonso?
Alm. That day, that fatal day, our hands were joined.
For when my lord beheld the ship pursuing, And saw her rate so far exceeding ours, He came to me, and begged me by my love, I would consent the priest should make us one;
Which they unseen may wail, and weep, and That, whether death or victory ensued,
I might be his, beyond the power of fate; The queen too did assist his suit-I granted; And in one day was wedded and a widow. Leon. Indeed 'twas mournful-
The distant shouts proclaim your father's triumph. O cease, for heaven's sake, assuage a little This torrent of your grief; for, this I fear, 'Twill urge his wrath, to see you drowned in tears,
When joy appears in every other face.
Alm. And joy he brings to every other heart, But double, double weight of woe to mine: For with him Garcia coines-Garcia, to whom I must be sacrificed, and all the vows I gave my dear Alphonso basely broken. No, it shall never be; for I will die
First, die ten thousand deaths-Look down, look down,
Alphonso, hear the sacred vow I make ! [Kneels. One moment, cease to gaze on perfect bliss, And bend thy glorious eyes to earth and me. And thou, Anselmo, if yet thou art arrived, Through all impediments of purging fire, To that bright heaven, where my Alphonso reigns, Behold thou also, and attend my vow. If ever I do yield, or give consent, By any action, word, or thought, to wed Another lord, may then just heaven shower down Unheard of curses on me, greater far
(If such there be in angry heaven's vengeance) Than any I have yet endured! And now [Rising. My heart has some relief; having so well Discharged this debt, incumbent on my love. Yet, one thing more I would engage from thee. Leon. My heart, my life, and will, are only
Alm. I thank thee. 'Tis but this: anon, when all
Are wrapped and busied in the general joy, Thou wilt withdraw, and privately with me Steal forth, to visit good Anselmo's tomb.
Leon. Alas! I fear some fatal resolution. Alm. No, on my life, my faith, I mean no ill, VOL. I.
Gon. Be ev'ry day of your long life like this. The sun, bright conquest, and your brighter eyes, Have all conspired to blaze promiscuous light, And bless this day with most unequalled lustre. Your royal father, my victorious lord, Loaden with spoils, and ever-living laurel, Is entering now, in martial pomp, the palace. Five hundred mules precede his solenin march, Which groan beneath the weight of Moorish wealth.
Chariots of war, adorned with glittering gems, Succeed;, and next, a hundred neighing steeds, White as the fleecy rain on Alpine hills, That bound and foam, and champ the golden bit, As they disdained the victory they grace. Prisoners of war in shining fetters follow; And captains of the noblest blood of Afric Sweat by his chariot wheel, and lick and grind, With gnashing teeth, the dust his triumphs raise. The swarming populace spread every wall, And cling, as if with claws they did enforce Their hold; through clifted stones stretching and
I would not have a seeming sorrow seen
King. Almeria, rise-My best Gonsalez, rise. To-day.-Retire; divest yourself with speed What, tears! my good old friend—
Gon. But tears of joy.
Believe me, sir, to see you thus, has filled
Mine eyes with more delight than they can hold. King. By heaven, thou lovest me, and I'm pleased thou dost ;
Take it for thanks, old man, that I rejoice To see thee weep on this occasion-Some Here are, who seem to mourn at our success. Why is it, Almeria, that you meet our eyes, Upon this solemn day, in these sad weeds? In opposition to my brightness, you And yours are all like daughters of affliction.
Alm. Forgive me, sir, if I in this offend. The year, which I have vowed to pay to heaven, In mourning and strict life, for my deliverance From wreck and death, wants yet to be expired. King. Your zeal to heaven is great, so is your debt:
Yet something, too, is due to me, who gave That life, which heaven preserved. A day be- stowed
In filial duty, had atoned and given A dispensation to your vow-No more! "Twas weak and wilful-and a woman's error. Yet, upon thought, it doubly wounds my sight, To see that sable worn upon the day, Succeeding that, in which our deadliest foe, Hated Anselmo, was interred-By heaven, It looks as thou didst mourn for him! just so Thy senseless vow appeared to bear its date, Not from that hour wherein thou wert preserved, But that wherein the cursed Alphonso perished. Ha! What? thou dost not weep to think of that! Gon. Have patience, royal sir; the princess weeps
To have offended you. If fate decreed, One pointed hour should be Alphonso's loss, And her deliverance, is she to blame?
King. I tell thee she's to blame, not to have feasted
When my first foe was laid in earth, such enmity, Snch detestation bears my blood to his; My daughter should have revelled at his death, She should have made these palace walls to shake, And all this high and ample roof to ring
Of that offensive black: on me be all The violation of your vow; for you
It shall be your excuse, that I command it. Gar. [Kneeling.] Your pardon, sir, if I pre- sume so far,
As to remind you of your gracious promise. King. Rise, Garcia-I forgot.
Alm. My boding heart!-What is your plea- sure, sir?
King. Draw near, and give your hand, and, Garcia, yours:
Receive this lord, as one whom I have found Worthy to be your husband, and my son.
Gar. Thus let me kneel to take-O not to take-- But to devote, and yield myself for ever The slave and creature of my royal mistress! Gon. O let me prostrate pay my worthless thanks-
King. No more; my promise long since pass
ed, thy services, And Garcia's well-tried valour, all oblige me. This day we triumph; but to-morrow's sun, Garcia, shall shine to grace thy nuptials-
Gar. She faints! Help to support her. Gon. She recovers.
King. A fit of bridal fear. How is't, Almeria? Alm. A sudden chillness seizes on my spirits. Your leave, sir, to retire.
King. Garcia, conduct her.
[Garcia leads Almeria to the door, and returns. This idle vow hangs on her woman's fears; I'll have a priest shall preach her from her faith, And make it sin, not to renounce that vow Which I'd have broken. Now, what would Alonzo?
Alon. Your beauteous captive, Zara, is arrived, And with a train as if she still were wife To Albucacim, and the Moor had conquered.
King. It is our will she should be so attended. Bear hence these prisoners. Garcia, which is he, Of whose mute valour you relate such wonders? [Prisoners led off.
Gar. Osmyn, who led the Moorish horse; but he, | And, by releasing you, enslave myself. Great sir, at her request, attends on Zara.
King. He is your prisoner; as you please dispose him.
Gar. I would oblige him, but he shuns my kindness;
And with a haughty mien, and stern civility, Dumbly declines all offers. If he speak, 'Tis scarce above a word; as he were born Alone to do, and did disdain to talk; At least to talk where he must not command. King. Such sullenness, and in a man so brave, Must have some other cause than his captivity. Did Zara, then, request he might attend her? Gar. My lord, she did.
King. That, joined with his behaviour, Begets a doubt. I'd have them watched; per- haps
Her chains hang heavier on him than his own. Enter ALONZO, ZARA, and OSMYN bound, conducted by PEREZ and a guard, and attended by SELIM and several mutes and eunuchs in a
King. What welcome, and what honours, beauteous Zara,
A king and conqueror can give, are yours. A conqueror indeed, where you are won; Who with such lustre strike admiring eyes, That had our pomp been with your presence graced,
The expecting crowd had been deceived; and seen The monarch enter, not triumphant, but, In pleasing triumph led, your beauty's slave.
Zara. If I on any terms could condescend To like captivity, or think those honours, Which conquerors in courtesy bestow, Of equal value with unborrowed rule And native right to arbitrary sway,
I might be pleased, when I beheld this train With usual homage wait: but when I feel These bonds, I look with loathing on myself, And scorn vile slavery, though doubly hid Beneath mock praises, and dissembled state. King. Those bonds! 'Twas my command you should be free.
How durst you, Perez, disobey?
Your order was she should not wait your triumph, But at some distance follow, thus attended. King. 'Tis false; 'twas more; I bid she should be free;
If not in words, I bid it by my eyes. Her eyes did more than bid-Free her and her's, With speed-yet stay-my hands alone can make Fit restitution here. Thus I release you,
Zara. Such favours, so conferred, though when
Deserve acknowledgment from noble minds.. Such thanks, as one hating to be obliged- Yet hating more ingratitude, can pay,
King. Born to excel, and to command! As by transcendent beauty to attract All eyes; so, by pre-eminence of soul, To rule all hearts!
Garcia, what's he, who, with contracted brow, [Beholding Osmyn, as they unbind him. And sullen port, glooms downwards with his eyes, At once regardless of his chains, or liberty?
Gar. That, sir, is he of whom I spoke; that's Osmyn.
King. He answers well the character you gave him.
Whence comes it, valiant Osmyn, that a man So great in arms, as thou art said to be, So hardly can endure captivity, The common chance of war?
Osm. Because captivity
Has robbed me of a dear and just revenge. King. I understand not that. Osm. I would not have you.
Zara. That gallant Moor in battle lost a friend, Whom more than life he loved; and the regret, Of not revenging on his foes that loss, Has caused this melancholy and despair.
King. She does excuse him; 'tis as I suspected. [To Gon.
Gon. That friend might be herself; seem not to heed
His arrogant reply: she looks concerned. King. I'll have enquiry made perhaps his friend
Yet lives, and is a prisoner. His name? Zara. Heli.
King. Garcia, that search shall be your care: It shall be mine to pay devotion here; At this fair shrine to lay my laurels down, And raise love's altar on the spoils of war. | Conquest and triumph, now, are mine no more; Nor will I victory in camps adore:
For, lingering there, in long suspence she stands, Shifting the prize in unresolving hands; Unused to wait, I broke through her delay, Fixed her by force, and snatched the doubtful day.
Now late I find that war is but her sport; In love the goddess keeps her awful court; Fickle in fields, unsteadily she flies, But rules with settled sway in Zara's eyes.
SCENE I.-Representing the Aisle of a Temple. | Whistling through hollows of this vaulted aisle.
Gar. THIS way, we're told, Osmyn was seen to walk;
Chusing this lonely mansion of the dead, To mourn, brave Heli, thy mistaken fate. Heli. Let Heaven with thunder to the centre strike me,
If to arise in very deed from death, And to revisit, with my long-closed eyes, This living light, could to my soul or sense Afford a thought, or shew a glimpse of joy, In least proportion to the vast delight
I feel, to hear of Osmyn's name; to hear That Osmyn lives, and I again shall see him. Gar. I've heard, with admiration, of your friendship.
Per. Yonder, my lord, behold the noble Moor. Hel. Where? Where?
Gar. I saw him not, nor any like him— Per. I saw him when I spoke, thwarting my view, And striding with distempered haste; his eyes Seemed flame, and flashed upon me with a glance; Then forward shot their fires which he pursued, As to some object frightful, yet not feared. Gar. Let's haste to follow him, and know the
Hel. My lord, let me intreat you to forbear: Leave me alone, to find and cure the cause. I know his melancholy, and such starts
Are usual to his temper. It might raise him To act some violence upon himself, So to be caught in an unguarded hour, And when his soul gives all her passion way, Secure and loose in friendly solitude.
I know his noble heart would burst with shame, To be surprised by strangers in its frailty.
Gar. Go, generous Heli, and relieve your friend. Far be it from me officiously to pry Or press upon the privacics of others.
Perez, the king expects, from our return, To have his jealousy confirmed, or cleared, Of that appearing love which Zara bears To Osmyn; but some other opportunity Must make that plain.
Per. To me 'twas long since plain, And every look from him and her confirms it, Gar. If so, unhappiness attends their love, And I could pity them. I hear some coming. The friends, perhaps, are met; let us avoid them. [Exeunt.
Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA,
Alm. It was a fancied noise, for all is hushed. Leon. It bore the accent of a human voice. Alm. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind
Alm. No, all is hushed, and still as death-'tis dreadful!
How reverend is the face of this tall pile, Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof, By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable, Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes. Leon. Let us return; the horror of this place, And silence, will encrease your melancholy.
Alm. It may my fears, but cannot add to that. No, I will on; shew me Anselmo's tomb, Lead me o'er bones and skulls, and mouldering earth,
Of human bodies; for I'll mix with them, Or wind me in the shroud of some pale corpse, Yet green in earth, rather than be the bride Of Garcia's more detested bed: that thought Exerts my spirits, and my present fears Are lost in dread of greater ill. Then shew me, Lead me, for I am bolder grown : lead me Where I may kneel, and pay my vows again, To him, to Heaven, and my Alphonso's soul. Leon. I go; but Heaven can tell with what re- gret. [Exeunt.
« EelmineJätka » |