University of Virginia Library

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.