University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter the KING and a Moorish officer, with Moors and Spaniards.
KING.
Hamet, impartial justice shall be done,
And thou I know as justly wilt report it:
Thou art the friend of peace.

HAMET.
Therefore I sought
This office; for in yonder camp, O! King,
Some counsellors there are who urg'd the Caliph
To take advantage of this fair occasion
And hold the treaty void.

KING.
That I believe,
But with your aid I hope to disappoint them;
My guards are gone to bring th'offender hither.

HAMET.
Yonder they come, and thro' their files I see
A prisoner.

[Enter guards with a young man armed.]
KING.
Ha! by Heaven, he's but a youth,
A beardless boy, and like a woman fair.
He moves my pity much. Unhappy youth!
[To the prisoner.]
Art thou the chief of that unruly band,
Who broke the treaty and assail'd the Moors?

YOUTH.
No chief, no leader of a band am I.
The leader of a band insulted me,
And those he led basely assail'd my life;
With bad success indeed. If self-defence
Be criminal, O King! I have offended.

KING.
[To Hamet.]
With what a noble confidence he speaks!
See what a spirit thro' his blushes breaks!
Observe him, Hamet.

HAMET.
I am fix'd upon him.

KING.
Didst thou alone engage a band of Moors
And make such havoc? Sure it cannot be.
Recall thy scattered thoughts. Nothing advance
Which proof may overthrow.

YOUTH.
What I have said
No proof can overthrow. Where is the man,
Who speaking from himself, not from reports
And rumors idle, will stand forth and say
I was not single when the Moors attack'd me?

HAMET.
I will not be that man, tho' I confess,
That I came hither to accuse thee, Youth!
And to demand thy punishment.—I brought
The tale our soldiers told.

YOUTH.
The tale was false.

HAMET.
I thought it true; but thou hast shook my faith.
The seal of truth is on thy gallant form,
For none but cowards lie.

KING.
Thy story tell,
With every circumstance which may explain
The seeming wonder; how a single man
In such a strife could stand?

YOUTH.
'Twill cease to be
A wonder, when thou hear'st the story told.
This morning on my road to Oviedo
A while I halted near a Moorish post.
Of the commander I enquir'd my way,
And told my purpose, that I came to see
The famous combat. With a scornful smile,
With taunting words and gestures he replied,
Mocking my youth. Advis'd me to return
Back to my father's house, and in the ring
To dance with boys and girls. He added too
That I should see no combat. That no knight
Of Spain durst meet the champion of the Moors,
Incens'd I did indeed retort his scorn.
The quarrel grew apace, and I defied him,
To a green hill, which rose amidst the plain,
An arrow's flight or farther from his post.
Alone we sped: at once we drew, we fought.
The Moorish captain fell. Enrag'd his men
Flew to revenge his death. Secure they came
Each with his utmost speed. Those who came first
Single I met and slew. More wary grown
The rest together join'd, and all at once
Assail'd me. Then I had no hopes of life.
But suddenly a troop of Spaniards came
And charg'd my foes, who did not long sustain
The shock, but fled, and carried to their camp
That false report which thou, O King! hast heard.

KING.
Now by my sceptre, and my sword, I swear,
Thou art a noble youth. An angel's voice
Could not command a more implicit faith
Than thou from me hast gain'd. What think'st thou, Hamet?
Is he not greatly wrong'd?

HAMET.
By Allah! yes.
The voice of truth and innocence is bold,
And never yet could guilt that tone assume.
I take my leave impatient to return,
And satisfy my friends that this brave youth
Was not th'aggressor.

KING.
I expect no less
From gen'rous Hamet.

[Exit Hamet and Moors.]
KING.
Tell me, wondrous Youth!
For much I long to know; what is thy name?
Who are thy parents? Since the Moor prevail'd,
The cottage and the cave have oft' conceal'd
From hostile hate the noblest blood of Spain:
Thy spirit speaks for thee. Thou art a shoot
Of some illustrious stock, some noble house
Whose fortunes with their falling country fell.

YOUTH.
Alberto is my name. I draw my birth
From Catalonia; in the mountains there
My father dwells, and for his own domains
Pays tribute to the Moor. He was a soldier:
Oft' I have heard him of your battles speak,
Of Cavadonga's and Olalles' field.
But ever since I can remember ought,
His chief employment and delight have been
To train me to the use and love of arms;
In martial exercise we past the day;
Morning and evening, still the theme was war.
He bred me to endure the summer's heat,
And brave the winter's cold: To swim across
The headlong torrent, when the shoals of ice
Drove down the stream. To rule the fiercest steed
That on our mountains run. No savage beast
The forest yields that I have not encounter'd.
Meanwhile my bosom beat for nobler game;
I long'd in arms to meet the foes of Spain.
Oft I implor'd my father to permit me,
Before the truce was made, to join the host.
He said it must not be, I was too young
For the rude service of these trying times.

KING.
Did he permit you now?

ALBERTO.
A strange adventure
Forc'd me from home. Not many days ago,
When hunting in the woods, I heard a voice,
A woman's voice, calling aloud for help.
I rush'd into the thicket; there I saw
A Moorish Lord, for brutal licence fam'd,
Who shamefully abus'd a rural maid
Of Spanish race. I free'd her from his arms.
The Moor spake not a word, but mad with rage
Snatch'd up his lance, which stood against a tree,
And at me flew. I turn'd his point aside,
And with a slender javelin pierc'd his heart.
I hasten'd home, but did not find my father;
Nor was it safe to wait for his return.
I took the fairest armour in the hall,
And hither bent my course. The rest thou know'st.

KING.
Thou art a prodigy, and fill'st my mind
With thoughts profound and expectation high.
When in a nation, humbled by the will
Of Providence, beneath an haughty foe,
A person rises up, by nature rear'd,
Sublime, above the level of mankind;
Like that bright bow, the hand of the most High
Bends in the wat'ry cloud: He is the sign
Of prosp'rous change and interposing Heav'n:
And thou, if right I read—

(Enter Messenger.)
MESSENGER.
The champion, Sir,
Who comes to fight for Spain, is near at hand:
One of our scouts has seen him and his train,
But brings a strange report, which damps the heart
Of every Spaniard. It is not Alonzo.

KING.
What say'st thou? God of heaven! Not Alonzo!
Who is he then?

MESSENGER.
That is not fully known.
Clad in the flowing vesture of the east,
A Persian turban on his head he wears,
Yet he's a christian knight. To mark his faith,
Holy, and adverse to Mohammed's law,
Before his steps a silken banner borne
Streams in the wind, and shews a golden cross.

KING.
Send out another scout.

MESSENGER.
There is not time
To go and to return.

KING.
Begone, begone,
And let me be obey'd. Alas! my hopes
Are vanish'd like a dream.

ALBERTO.
I grieve to see
The king afflicted.

KING.
Ah! Thou dost not know
How deep these tidings strike.

ALBERTO.
Is not the king
Free to accept or to refuse the aid
This stranger offers?

KING.
If I am, what then?

ALBERTO.
Be not offended, Sir, at my presumption,
For from my heart I speak, a loyal heart,
True to my sov'reign and my native land.
If this is not Alonzo, why should he,
Or any stranger fight the cause of Spain?
Are there not warriors born of Spanish race,
Who court the combat?

KING.
To my words attend.
The Moorish champion is of great renown;
In stature like the giant race of old,
Like Anak's true, or Titan's fabled sons.
Against the foe nor sword nor spear he lifts,
But in his might secure, a mace he wields,
Whose sway resistless breaks both shield and arm,
And crushes head and helmet. Thus he fights,
Whose fatal prowess turn'd the doubtful scale
Of three successive battles. He is deem'd
Invincible but by Alonzo's arm:
Therefore our warriors, tho' they know no fear,
No fear of ought that can themselves befal,
Anxious for Spain, to great Alonzo yield,
And on his valour rest.

ALBERTO.
Oft' have I heard
My father speak of brave Alonzo's deeds;
What can with-hold him when his country calls?
Perhaps the last of combats he has fought,
And in the silent tomb the hero rests.
But, since he's absent, from whatever cause,
O! let no stranger knight his place assume,
To bring dishonour on the Spanish name.
If this gigantic champion of the Moors,
Clad in the glory of his battles won,
Dazzles the warriors, and confounds their valour;
Let me, tho' young in arms, the combat claim,
On me his fame has no impression made.
I'll meet the giant with a fearless heart.
It beats for battle now. Oft have I kill'd
The wolf, the boar, and the wild mountain bull,
For sport and pastime. Shall this Moorish dog
Resist me fighting in my country's cause?

KING.
By heaven and earth, thou mov'st me much! thy words
Have stirr'd the embers of my youthful fire.
Thou mak'st me wish I could recal those days,
When of an age like thine, and not unlike
To thee in face and form, I rais'd the spear
Against the Moor, in Cava's bloody field.
Then by my hand the great Alchammon fell,
The strength and pillar of the Caliph's host.
Then I was fit to meet Mirmallon's arm.
But now, my hairs are grey, my steps are slow,
My sword descending breaks the shield no more:
Our foes have known it long.

ALBERTO.
O! King, thou art
Thy country's great deliv'rer, and the sole
Restorer of the state. Pelagio's fame
Shall never die: But let thy counsel now
(As oft thy valour) save this land from shame.
Let not a foreign warrior take the field,
And snatch the glory from the lance of Spain.

KING.
My voice alone cannot determine that.
The council sit assembled near the lists,
To them I will present thee. If this knight
Unknown, who from that distant region comes,
Where the bright sun lights up his golden lamp,
Bears not some high pre-eminence about him,
Which marks him out our surest safest choice,
My voice is for a Spaniard, and for thee!

ALBERTO.
Upon my knees, that ne'er were bow'd before
To mortal man, I thank thee!

KING.
Rise, Alberto!
To me no thanks are due. A greater King,
The King of Kings, I deem hath chosen thee
To be the champion of his law divine
Against the Infidel.—If not for this,
For some great purpose sure thou art ordain'd.
Bred in the desert, and by heav'n endued
With force and valor marvellously great,
Conducted by a hand unseen, thyself
Not knowing whither, and this day produc'd
Before the nations.

ALBERTO.
Ah! my soul's on fire!
Should such a glorious destiny be mine!
May I intreat to go without delay?
I fear some gallant warrior may step forth
And claim the fight before me.

KING.
Stay, Sebastian,
And to my daughter tell what has befall'n.

[Exeunt King and Alberto.
(Manet Sebastian.)
How many changes mark this awful day!
What must the Princess suffer! Well I know
That she above all others wish'd Alonzo.

Enter Ormisinda and Teresa.
TERESA.
It is a false report. In times like these
The minds of men are credulous and weak:
To rumor's shifting blast they bow and bend,
Like corn of slender reed to every wind.
Thou know'st that from the East Alonzo comes.
Might not the hasty messenger mistake
For him some turban'd warrior of his train?

ORMISINDA.
O! good Sebastian, canst thou tell me ought?
Is it Alonzo?

SEBASTIAN.
If report speaks truth,
And so the King believes, 'tis not Alonzo.

ORMISINDA.
Then I am lost, Teresa.

TERESA.
Hast thou heard,
If not Alonzo, who this stranger is?

SEBASTIAN.
His garb bespeaks him native of the East.
But from whatever clime the warrior comes,
I hope, my Princess! that he comes in vain.
Another warrior, and of Spanish race,
Now claims the combat for his native land.

ORMISINDA.
Of Spanish race! Who is this Knight of Spain?

SEBASTIAN.
A wonder! never was his equal seen,
For daring valour and address in arms.
He has not yet attain'd the prime of youth,
His look partakes more of the boy than man,
But he hath vanquish'd men. This day the Moors
Have felt his hand.

ORMISINDA.
Ha! Is it he, Sebastian,
Who was the author of the late alarm?

SEBASTIAN.
The same.

ORMISINDA.
And whence does this young hero come?

SEBASTIAN.
From Catalonia. In the deserts there
His sire, obscure, tho' once a warrior, dwells.

ORMISINDA.
From Catalonia! In the desert bred!
Teresa! All that's possible I fear:
What if this youth—

TERESA.
[To Ormisinda.]
O! think how many youths
Of Spanish race in Catalonia dwell.
Be recollected whilst I ask Sebastian
A question that at once all doubt resolves.
[To Sebastian.]
Has this youth no name? Hast thou not heard
How he is call'd?

SEBASTIAN.
He calls himself Alberto.

ORMISINDA.
Mother of God!

TERESA.
[To Her.]
Beware!—The Princess grieves,
[To Sebastian.]
That Spain depriv'd of great Alonzo's aid,
Should rest her safety on a stripling's arm.

ORMISINDA.
No judge of warriors or of combats I;
But sure this youth, tho' ne'er so brave and bold,
Of tender years, who has not reach'd his prime,
Is most unfit to cope with strong Mirmallon.

SEBASTIAN.
Heroes must not be judg'd by common rules.
Irregular like comets in their course,
Who can compute the period when they shine?
Lady! If thou had'st seen this gallant youth,
If thou had'st heard him, when oblig'd to speak,
In self-defence, he told his wond'rous deeds,
As if he thought them nothing: Thy faint heart
Would from his fire have caught the flame of hope,
Thou would'st, even as thy royal father did,
Believe he was created and ordain'd,
By Heav'n supreme, the champion of his country.

TERESA.
Sebastian, go, and find this gallant youth.
Tell him, the Princess, partial to the brave,
Desires his presence.

SEBASTIAN.
Gladly I obey.

[Exit Sebastian.]
ORMISINDA.
He's gone. Now I may speak. My son! my son!
My hope, my comfort, in despair and death!
The only star in my dark sky that shone!
Must thy unhappy mother live to see
Thy light extinguish'd? I will not permit
This most unequal combat. I'll proclaim
My fatal story, and declare his birth.

TERESA.
Think what must follow. Absolute perdition!

ORMISINDA.
Is not his death perdition? Can he meet
The Moor and live? How should his tender youth
Resist the giant, who has overthrown
Squadrons entire, and trampled on the necks
Of firmest warriors?

TERESA.
'Tis not yet decreed
That he shall fight the Moor. The stranger knight,
Who was at first mistaken for Alonzo,
Comes not so far, without a name in arms,
To gain the suffrage of the Peers of Spain,
When once that name is known.

ORMISINDA.
Teresa, no.
My fate has still one even tenor held,
From bad to worse. When I had fram'd my mind
To one disaster, then a greater came.
I had made death familiar to my thoughts;
I could embrace the spectre like a friend:
But still I kept a corner of my heart
Safe and untouch'd. My dearest child was there:
Amidst the ruins of the wife and queen,
The mother stood secure. O thou Alonzo!
If yet thine eyes behold the light of day,
What sorrow and remorse must be thy portion,
When thou shalt hear—Now promise me, Teresa,
That when my son and I are laid in dust,
(For each event accelerates our doom)
Thou wilt seek out and find this cruel man.
Tell him how Spain, the kingdom of his fathers,
By him deserted, was for ever lost:
How his forsaken wife in honour died—
But that's not much—for me he will not mourn.
Then tell him of his son, to wring his heart!
Truly describe the boy! how brave he was!
How beautiful! how from the cloud obscure
In which his careful mother had involv'd him,
He burst the champion of his native land:
Then tell him how the springing hero fell
Beneath a stronger arm, fighting for Spain,
And for his mother; fighting with the foe
His father should have fought, and could have vanquish'd!

TERESA.
Sebastian comes.

Enter Sebastian.
SEBASTIAN.
All is revers'd again:
The stranger knight is for Abdallah known,
The Persian prince, Alonzo's chosen friend,
His only equal in the strife of arms.
To him the combat is decided.

ORMISINDA.
I know
His story well; he is the Sophy's son,
The eldest born and Persia's rightful heir;
But by his mother's zeal a Christian bred:
True to his faith, he lost his father's throne.
What says he of Alonzo?

SEBASTIAN.
Sent by him,
The brave Abdallah comes to fight for Spain.
They march'd together, from the falls of Nile
To Damietta. There a wound receiv'd
In Asia's wars broke out, and forc'd Alonzo,
Full of regret, in Egypt to remain.
His friend for him appears. The king, thy father,
With all his peers, in honour of the prince,
Go forth to meet him.

ORMISINDA.
Hast thou seen Alberto?

SEBASTIAN.
I have, and told him what I had in charge;
Then hasten'd hither to report these tidings,
At which Alberto droops.

TERESA.
Return, I pray,
To my apartment guide the young Alberto.
The princess will be there.
[Exit Sebastian.]
Did not I say,
Alonzo never would abandon Spain?
Abdallah comes to conquer in his name.
Now I can read the characters of fate,
And spell the will of Heav'n. This boy of yours
Will win your husband back. When he beholds
The image of his valour so express,
His heart will melt. The husband and the father
Will rush upon him with a flood of joy.

ORMISINDA.
Is he not like him? Mark his coming forth!
Behold Alonzo in his daring son!
Full of the spirit of his warlike sire,
His birth unknown, he felt his princely mind,
Advanc'd undaunted on the edge of war,
And claim'd the post of danger for his own.

TERESA.
A mother's tongue cannot exceed the truth
In praising him. There never was a prince,
Since old Iberia first excell'd in arms,
Broke out with so much lustre on mankind.
But in this interview, with prudence check
The transport of affection from thy son.
Cautious conceal the secret of his birth.
Safest he is, while to himself unknown.

ORMISINDA.
How could his faithful guardian let him go?
Perhaps that faithful guardian lives no more.

TERESA.
Alberto will inform thee.

ORMISINDA.
Not Alberto;
Alonzo is his name. I go to meet him.

[Exeunt.]