University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—A Room.
Ibrah.
Zamor.

Zamor.
What dost thou want? disturb me not:
My heart already is too full of trouble.

Ibrah.
My friend, I come to ease thee of that load.

Zamor.
Thy friend. No, I'm the enemy of all,
I've sear'd my heart against each tender feeling,
I am the friend of none, not even of thee,
For all mankind are leagued for my destruction.

Ibrah.
Canst thou believe me faithless?

Zamor.
Yes, believe thee,
I know, thou art. I've seen too well the world,
I've seen how empty is that whining thing,
They call a friend, and I have shut my heart
Forever 'gainst the siren songs of friendship;
No, there is nought in friendship, nought but sounds,
Base, hollow sounds, in all those protestations,
Which friends are pouring in each others ears:
I hate the world, I loathe each human feature,
And I will be reveng'd on all mankind.

Ibrah.
No! thou shalt never be reveng'd on me,
For there is nought in me to excite thy vengeance;
Have I not always closely clung around thee,
Although the chillest frosts of adverse fortune
Benumb'd thee?

Zamor.
Did adversity benumb me?
No, never; I will never lose my spirit,
I'll rise superior to these puny insults,
But I will be reveng'd—

Ibrah.
Oft have I stood
Before thy bosom in the hour of conflict,
And took the blow they aim'd against thy life.

Zamor.
Oh hadst thou let them strike, thou'dst been my friend;
Then I had fallen in the midst of glory,
Nor ever liv'd to see this foul disgrace.

Ibrah.
And cannot I assist thee in thy vengeance?
Can I not show in this I am thy friend?

Zamor.
Leave me to work the vengeful deed alone;
I want no aid, the conqueror of Spain
Shall never stoop to ask for ought to aid him;
I'll be reveng'd by this (lifting his right arm)
and this alone.

Ibrah.
And how wilt thou o'ercome the hoary tyrant?
Is strength and valour mightier than his pow'r?
Canst thou alone, undaunted as thou art,
Canst thou o'ercome the thousands that surround him,
And force thy way to vengeance by thy arm?

Zam.
I'll make the attempt and die, or be reveng'd.

Ibrah.
Let prudence rather take the place of rashness;
Wait for some kind conjuncture, when the task
Is easiest, then with faithful Ibrahim
And the brave legion, thou hast led to glory,
In every conflict with our Christian foes,
Show to the tyrant, vengeance never dies,
But only sleeps till she can strike securely.

Zam.
What say'st thou, Ibrahim, my legion faithful?
Do they remember still their valiant leader?
This gives me life, this fires my soul anew,
And yields its wonted vigour to my arm.

Ibrah.
Yes, they are faithful, yes, they love thee, Zamor,
Ev'n with a maiden's fondness, they would triumph
And think it happiness to die for thee;
I know it, I have seen it in their eyes
And read it in their features, I did mark
Resentment burning in their manly breasts,
When thou wert yesterday so meanly stripp'd
Of all the honors won by thee so nobly.

Zam.
Then there is hope; give me that valiant legion,
Let all the world arise in arms against me,
And I can bid defiance: now, thou tyrant,
Thy doom is fix'd, thou soon shalt feel my rage,
Thou soon shalt know, how dark, how terrible
Is vengeance in the bosom of a Moor.

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Palace.
Abdallah,
Solus.
Once more the Spaniard and his mountaineers
Pour o'er the northern hills to assault Granada;
Though conquer'd, still they never will submit,
Firm as the rocks in which they hide themselves,
They never are subdued unless by death.
I've seen them flying from the Moorish squadrons
In wild dismay, I've seen them seek their mountains,
And pathless deserts, and have thought them conquer'd;
But not a month had pass'd, before a band
Of these marauders, from their serpent dens,
Had rous'd my hosts to arms; I never fear them,
One firm attack will scatter all their courage
And send them trooping to their caves again.
But I have lost the jewel of my army,
Him, whom the Spaniards fear, at whose approach
Their courage withers and their spirits fail them;
'Tis Zamor—yes, in an unlucky hour,
By passion driven, I dar'd disgrace my hero;
Yes, dar'd, for I was risking all my empire
On such a deed, for Zamor is the rock
On which Abdallah and his fortunes rest;
Strike but that prop away, my power and glory
Are gone; come then, and try to sooth his feelings,
Restore him to his honours, and beside
Heap others on him; then with noble Zamor
To guide my armies in the fields of glory,
I'll brave the haughtiest power that rules on earth.
[Enter Slave.
Have you bid Zamor come before me, ha!

Slave.
Yes, mightiest King! and soon, he bade me tell thee,
He would approach thy presence.

Abd.
Then retire.
[Slave exit.
Now I'm myself again. Abdallah now
Need never fear the Spaniard, for that arm,
Which guides the battle, still is link'd with mine.
[Zamor enters.
Zamor, canst thou forgive an injury?

Zamor.
Yes, noble Lord! forgive with all my soul.
Canst thou believe, that such a thing as vengeance
Can ever find a seat within my breast?
This bosom, made for fortitude and honor,
E'er harbor such a monster? No! Abdallah,
He is mistaken who can e'er believe it.
No! no! Abdallah, to forget is pleasant
And sweeter to forgive; I'll never stoop
So low as vengeance, murderers and assassins,
Who lurk in night and darkness to destroy,
May think of vengeance, Zamor never will.

Abd.
These noble sentiments become thee well,
Become the conqueror and dread of armies,
Him, whom the brutal robber of Algiers,
Startles to see, at whom the Spaniard trembles.
Zamor! I've call'd thee to restore thy honors
And crown thy head with glory; I'll forget
The unhappy hour, when I could dare disgrace thee,
If thou wilt but forgive.

Zamor.
Yes, I forgive
A thousand times, I always have forgiv'n thee,
I knew if thou hadst only known the truth,
Thou never would'st have thought of such a thing,
And therefore I forgive thee.

Abd.
Yes, tis true,
I did the deed from ignorance alone.
Thou well rememberest that luckless day,
When Hadi's corps retir'd before Alphonso?
That cause of grief to every Mussulman,
'Twas rumour'd round, was all contriv'd by thee;
Passion then got the better of my reason,
And in my rage I drove thee from thy station
And broke thy sword. Thou well remember'st this?

Zamor.
Yes, noble Lord! [aside]
and I will ne'er forget it.

Abd.
I never, Zamor, would have mov'd a hand
To hurt a hair of thine, had I but known,
That guilty Hadi's cowardice was all
The cause of that misfortune, but this sabre
Has cropt the honours of that dastard wretch.
But, Zamor, in this hour when danger calls,
Wilt thou receive thy former honours, fresh,
And deck'd with others? wilt thou lead my hosts
To drive the Spaniards to their hills again?

Zamor.
Yes, noble Lord, I'll show these infidels,
That Zamor's arms is still as strong as ever,
That it can sweep thy enemies, Abdallah!
As the breeze sweeps the down along the fields.

Abd.
My duty calls me, and I must retire;
But, faithful Zamor, take my lion standard
Crown'd with the crescent of the blessed Mahomet,
And with it lead my troops to victory;
Spread slaughter and dismay among the Spaniards,
And make these christian wretches learn to start
And tremble at the names of great Abdallah
And mighty Zamor; but before I leave thee,
I ask again, canst thou forget thy injury?

Zamor.
Yes, noble Lord! forgive, forget, forever.
[Abdallah exit.]
Forgive! forget! no, Zamor never can;
Eternal hatred burns within this bosom,
Eternal hatred to the proud Abdallah,
Which ne'er can be appeas'd but by his blood.
I'd see destruction level this proud city,
I'd see the flames roll o'er this lofty palace,
And myself struggling beneath the ruins,
Ere I'd forgive; no! death, despair and fury
Have fix'd their seats within this tortur'd breast:
I'm bent on slaughter—yes, I'll be reveng'd;
My glittering dagger thirsts so strong for blood,
It burns my thigh; I long to plunge its blade,
Ev'n to the hilt, in proud Abdallah's bosom,
In fair Alzira's lovely breast of snow,
And in the quivering heart of curst Alonzo.
They talk of hell—their hell is nought to me;
If there is such a thing as hell, tis here;
I ne'er can feel worse torture than these passions,
That boil within my breast: come then, ye fiends,
And drive your willing victim on to vengeance.

SCENE III.

—A Room.
Alzira,
Solus.
What crime is there in love? what dreadful guilt
To fan this holy flame within my bosom?
Has then religion set such bounds as this?
Must I for Moors alone indulge affection?
Hard is my fate, to love and be depriv'd
Of every fond endearment, even the sight
Of him I love. Who would not love Alonzo?
Who would not love such matchless excellence,
In form, in features, and in mind so noble?
Oh 'twas a luckless hour for my enjoyment,
When he was brought before my honour'd father.
Though bound in chains and fetters, though a captive,
And sunk by hard misfortune, I did mark
That noble spirit burning in his breast,
Did mark his lofty eye, that scorn'd submission,
And even compell'd respect from all around.
But was a mortal ever made so perfect?
Such princely features! such a faultless form!
An eye so dark and piercing, and a look
That mark'd at once the hero and the lover!
And could I shun adoring one, whom nature
Had fashion'd as the noblest of her works?
And must I now be wretched? must I pine
And sink beneath the gloom of disappointment?
Oh could I but escape these cruel fetters,
Which bigotry and zeal have thrown around me,
And seek with him, amid those distant hills,
A safe retreat, ah! then the humblest cottage
And plainest fare would give me more delight,
Than all the honours that await me here.

[Enter Fatima.
Fatima.
Why, why these tears, Alzira? why so gloomy,
When thou should'st rather strive to show thy people,
That thou art cheerful in this dangerous hour?
Ah! dost thou fear some youthful Moor will fall
On this eventful day? one whom thou lov'st?

Alz.
Fatima, I can never love a Moor;
Alas! my heart is promis'd to another.

Fat.
Throw off these gloomy feelings, I beseech thee;
Let reason rule awhile, for it will show thee,
How vain, how foolish is thy misplac'd love.

Alz.
Misplac'd! Fatima, canst thou tell me so?
Can there be aught misplac'd on one so perfect?

Fat.
So hopeless, then, for sure thou canst not dare
To violate the laws of blessed Mahomet;
And will thy father see his dear Alzira
Join'd to an infidel?

Alz.
Oh wretched princess!
What all my honours, what is all the pomp
That circles round my throne? what are they now,
But goading thorns to increase my misery?
And why should heav'n demand this sacrifice?
Can there be aught in love, in pure affection,
To offend the chasten'd eye of Deity?

Fat.
Oh talk not thus, my dearest friend, I pray thee!
Let not such words e'er issue from thy lips!
For should they reach thy father's ear, destruction
Would surely be thy lot.

Alz.
But could my father
Destroy his only daughter? why not rather
Increase my happiness, and give me one
In whom my every wish would be indulg'd?

Fat.
Little thou know'st, Alzira! what a spirit
Thy father has; indeed he loves his children
With strong affection, but his rage is stronger:
Beware, lest thou excite his fierce resentment.

Alz.
But can my father ever hurt Alzira?
Say, can he injure one he calls his darling?
One who has wept with him, sooth'd all his grief
And smil'd when he was happy, who so oft
Has sung his cares to sleep?

Fat.
All this may be,
And more; but still if thou should'st rouse his wrath,
The sacred name of daughter would not shield thee;
Thy voice, though melting in the softest tones
Of tenderness, could not subdue his heart;
Oh do not, I beseech thee, rouse his wrath.

Alz.
What shall I do? must I be miserable,
Must cankering care destroy my every comfort,
And sink me to despair? would I could be
The humblest maiden in the wilds of Castile!
Then I might think of hope.

Fat.
And thou may'st now,
For time will wear away each fond impression,
And cool the strongest passion.

Alz.
It can never
Remove his lovely image from my breast;
There 'tis intomb'd forever, nought, but death,
Can rob my bosom of this fond idea,
Ah it can never fade but in the tomb.

Fat.
Then take my condolence, 'tis all my store
Of comforts can bestow. Thou know'st, Alzira!
What strong affection I have felt for thee,
That I would shield my friend from injury
And make thee happy, were it in my pow'r;
But now I feel my weakness, now I feel,
Fatima's utmost strength, exerted for thee,
Is feeble as the dying infant's breath.
[Fatima exit.

Alz.
And is this all thy comfort? Oh Alzira!
Wretched thou art indeed; a settled gloom
Is darkening every charm, I once was proud of;
Ah it has robb'd my cheek of every rose,
That bloom'd so brightly there, ah it has dim'd
Those eyes, my father us'd so oft to praise
And call his diamonds; soon 'twill break my heart
And lay me in that tomb, where every sorrow
Is sooth'd and every storm is hush'd to rest.