 | Pedrarias |  |
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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 been
My partner in the fight. When hast thou known
Vain 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!
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Alas! for thee!
Alas! for India's sons, should he escape!
He would divulge the place of our retreat.
CAPANA
(sorrowfully).
I know it well: and therefore have decreed
The 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 stood
Before 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.
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Cacique! What would'st thou with me? I have pray'd
The God I worship not to visit on thee
My innocent blood: and almost am resigned
To quit this life, ere I have aught achieved
Of 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, I
Would welcome dangers, toils, severest ills,
In glory's cause; and would not lay me down,
In all the pride, and strength of manhood, thus
Unhonour'd and unwept!
THELASCO.
What call'st thou “glory?”
Thousands of friendly Indians at thy feet
Butcher'd by fraud, who on their shores received
With 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.
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With 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 meet
Death, 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 liberty
Were our destruction. Here thou must abide.
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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 not
Another 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 dogs
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Our 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 tell
How noble spirits seek a sweet revenge!
Give him a son who robb'd thee, chief, of thine,
And see the humbled tyrant at thy feet
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He 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! whose every tone my heart-strings answer
With 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 reveal
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[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 well
The Christian's God! and thou! divinest maid!
My guardian angel! Oh! I cannot speak
My soul's wild tumult!—yes, the life ye give
Devoted to your weal! I here abjure
My 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 otherwise
His grateful thoughts will prompt. This deed will wake
An Indian soul in great Pedrarias' breast;
And sure, if benefits can e'er atone
The wrongs ye've suffer'd, sure ye will be blest!
Oh that he could alike restore thy son,
And render joy for joy!
CAPANA.
Houaco fell
With 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!
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To break thy promise!—no, not if he swore
To 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 life
Shalt 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 steps
Among the yawning gulfs, and rocks stupendous
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Save that of the all-searching, sacred sun.
ALPHONSO.
Yet ere I part, Cacique, oh! let me breathe
A 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 sorrow
Visit thee, in that hour think of the maid
Who soothed, erewhile, thy anguish; and who still,
Oh! still would fain—yet never must again
Or 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 worth
Not 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!
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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 day
Yon 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 way
To my fond wishes.
LAILA.
Said'st thou thy fond wishes?
My Amazilia, wert thou not betrothed
To brave Houaco?
AMAZILIA.
I have wept Houaco,
In battle slain.
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And shall another fill
The 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 prize
Whate'er may to our pleasure minister.
It did not fill the heart, but I was tranquil,
And nothing knew of these high hopes, these thoughts
Aspiring, 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 labours
That make repose more grateful?—Say, my friend,
Live we not even so? and is this irksome?
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Yes, to a mind that would aspire so high
As fellowship of thought with him—that would
With him share toil and danger!—Yes, to one
Who would with him enlighten,—bless a people,—
And, dying, leave a name that might not perish!
Come with me to our cabin—thou shalt learn
All that thy friend would wish, would hope, would dare.
[Exeunt.
| Pedrarias | |