University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE A Temple. Several tombs up and down the stage.
Enter Morat.
This is the place—these the long winding isles,
The solemn arches, whose religious awe
Attunes the mind to melancholy musing,
Such as befits free men reduc'd to slaves.—
Here Zamti meets his friends—amid these tombs,
Where lie the sacred manes of our kings,
They pour their orisons—hold converse here
With the illustrious shades of murder'd heroes,
And meditate a great revenge— (a groan is heard)
a groan!
The burst of anguish from some care-worn wretch
That sorrows o'er his country—ha! 'tis Zamti!

Zamti comes out of a tomb.
ZAMTI.
Who's he, that seeks these mansions of the dead?

MORAT.
The friend of Zamti and of China.—

ZAMTI.
Morat!
Come to my arms, thou good, thou best of men—
I have been weeping o'er the sacred reliques
Of a dear murder'd king—where are our friends?
Hast seen Orasming?

MORAT.
Thro' these vaults of death
Lonely he wanders,—plung'd in deep despair.—

ZAMTI.
Hast thou not told him?—hast thou nought reveal'd
Touching Zaphimri?

MORAT.
There I wait thy will—

ZAMTI.
Oh! thou art ever faithful—on thy lips
Sits pensive silence, with her hallow'd finger
Guarding the pure recesses of thy mind.—
But, lo! they come.—

Enter Orasming, Zimventi, and others.
ZAMTI.
Droop ye, my gallant friends?

ORASMING.
Oh! Zamti, all is lost—Our dreams of liberty
Are vanish'd into air.—Nought now avails
Integrity of life.—Ev'n heav'n, combin'd
With lawless might, abandons us and virtue—

ZAMTI.
Can your great souls thus shrink within ye? thus
From heroes will ye dwindle into slaves?

ORASMING.
Oh! could you give us back Zaphimri!—then
Danger would smile, and lose its face of horror.

ZAMTI.
What,—would his presence fire ye!

ORASMING.
'Twould by heav'n!

ZIMVENTI.
This night should free us from the Tartar's yoke.

ZAMTI.
Then mark the care of the all-gracious Gods!
This youthful captive, whom in chains they hold,
Is not Zaphimri.—

ORASMING, ZIMVENTI.
Not Zaphimri!

ZAMTI.
No!
Unconscious of himself, and to the world unknown,
He walks at large among us—

ORASMING.
Heav'nly pow'rs!

ZAMTI.
This night, my friends, this very night to rise
Refulgent from a blow, that frees us all,—
From the usurper's fate!—the first of men,
Deliv'rer of his country!

ORASMING.
Mighty Gods!
Can this be possible?—

ZAMTI.
It is most true—
I'll bring him to ye strait— (calling to Etan within the tomb)
what ho!—come forth—
You seem transfix'd with wonder—oh! my friends,
Watch all the motions of your rising spirit,
Direct your ardor, when anon ye hear
What fate, long pregnant with the vast event,
Is lab'ring into birth.—

Etan comes out of the tomb.
ETAN.
Each step I move
A deeper horror sits on all the tombs;
Each shrine,—each altar seems to shake; as if
Conscious of some important crisis.—

ZAMTI.
Yes;
A crisis great indeed, is now at hand!—
Heav'n holds its golden balance forth, and weighs
Zaphimri's and the Tartar's destiny,
While hov'ring angels tremble round the beam.
Hast thou beheld that picture?

ETAN.
Fix'd attention
Hath paus'd on ev'ry part; yet still to me
It shadows forth the forms of things unknown;—
All imag'ry obscure, and wrapp'd in darkness.

ZAMTI.
That darkness my informing breath shall clear,
As morn dispels the night. Lo! here display'd
This mighty kingdom's fall.—

ETAN.
Alas! my father,
At sight of these sad colourings of woe,
Our tears will mix with honest indignation.

ZAMTI.
Nay, but survey it closer—see that child,
That royal infant, the last sacred relict
Of China's ancient line—see where a mandarine
Conveys the babe to his wife's fost'ring breast,
There to be nourish'd in an humble state;
While their own son is sent to climes remote;
That, should the dire usurper e'er suspect
The prince alive, he in his stead might bleed,
And mock the murd'rer's rage.—

ETAN.
Amazement thrills
Thro' all my frame, and my mind, big with wonder,
Feels ev'ry pow'r suspended.—

ZAMTI.
Rather say
That strong imagination burns within thee.—
Do'st thou not feel a more than common ardor?—

ETAN.
By heav'n my soul dilates with some new impulse;
Some strange inspir'd emotion—would the hour
Of fate were come—this night my dagger's hilt
I'll bury in the tyrant's heart.—

ZAMTI.
Wilt thou?

ETAN.
By all the mighty dead, that round us lie,
By all who this day groan in chains, I will.

ZAMTI.
And when thou dost—then tell him 'tis the prince
That strikes.—

ETAN.
The prince's wrongs shall nerve my arm
With tenfold rage.

ZAMTI.
Nay, but the prince himself!

ETAN.
What says my father?—

ZAMTI.
Thou art China's Orphan;
The last of all our kings—no longer Etan,
But now Zaphimri!

ZAPHIMRI.
Ha!

ORASMING.
O wond'rous hand
Of heav'n!

ZAPHIMRI.
A crow'd of circumstances rise—
Thy frequent hints obscure—thy pious care
To train my youth to greatness.—Lend your aid
To my astonish'd pow'rs, that feebly bear
This unexpected shock of royalty.

ZAMTI.
Thou noble youth, now put forth all your strength,
And let heav'n's vengeance brace each sinew.—

ZAPHIMRI.
Vengeance!—
That word has shot its light'ning thro' my soul.—
But tell me, Zamti—still 'tis wonder all—
Am I indeed the Royal Orphan?—

ZAMTI.
Thou;—
Thou art the king, whom as my humble son,
I've nurtur'd in humanity and virtue.
Thy foes could never think to find thee here,
Ev'n in the lion's den; and therefore here
I've fix'd thy safe asylum, while my son
Hath dragg'd his life in exile.—Oh! my friends,
Morat will tell ye all,—each circumstance—
Mean time—there is your king!—

All kneel to him.
ORASMING, ZIMVENTI.
Long live the Father of the eastern world!

ZAMTI.
Sole governor of earth!—

ZAPHIMRI.
All-ruling pow'rs!—
Is then a great revenge for all the wrongs
Of bleeding China; are the fame and fate
Of all posterity included here
Within my bosom?—

They all rise.
ZAMTI.
Yes; they are; the shades
Of your great ancestors now rise before thee,
Heroes and demi-gods!—Aloud they call
For the fell Tartar's blood—.

ZAPHIMRI.
Oh! Zamti; all
That can alarm the pow'rs of man, now stirs
In this expanding breast.—

ZAMTI.
Anon to burst
With hideous ruin on the foe.—My gallant heroes,
Are our men station'd at their posts?

ORASMING.
They are.—

ZAMTI.
Is ev'ry gate secur'd?

ORASMING.
All safe.—

ZAMTI.
The signal fix'd?—

ORASMING.
It is:—Will Mirvan join us?

ZAMTI.
Doubt him not.—
In bitterness of soul he counts his wrongs,
And pants for vengeance—would have join'd us here,
But, favour'd as he is, his post requires him
About the Tartar's person.—The assault begun,
He'll turn his arms upon th'astonish'd foe,
And add new horrors to the wild commotion.

ZAPHIMRI.
Now, bloody spoiler, now thy hour draws nigh,
And e'er the dawn thy guilty reign shall end.

ZAMTI.
How my heart burns within me!—Oh! my friends,
Call now to mind the scene of desolation,
Which Timurkan, in one accursed hour,
Heap'd on this groaning land.—Ev'n now I see
The savage bands, o'er reeking hills of dead,
Forcing their rapid way.—I see them urge
With rage unhallow'd to this sacred temple,
Where good Osmingti, with his queen and children,
Fatigu'd the Gods averse.—See where Arphisa,
Rending the air with agonizing shrieks,
Tears her dishevell'd hair: Then, with a look
Fix'd on her babes, grief choaks its passage up,
And all the feelings of a mother's breast
Throbbing in one mix'd pang, breathless she faints
Within her husband's arms.—Adown his cheek,
In copious streams fast flow'd the manly sorrow;
While clust'ring round his knees his little offspring,
In tears all-eloquent, with arms outstretch'd,
Sue for parental aid.—

ZAPHIMRI.
Go on—the tale
Will fit me for a scene of horror.—

ZAMTI.
Oh! my prince,
The charge, which your great father gave me, still
Sounds in my ear.—E'er yet the foe burst in,
“Zamti,” said he—Ah! that imploring eye!—
That agonizing look!—
“Preserve my little boy, my cradled infant—
“Shield him from ruffians—Train his youth to virtue:—
“Virtue will rouze him to a great revenge;
“Or failing—Virtue will still make him happy.”
He could no more—the cruel spoiler seiz'd him,
And dragg'd my king—my ever honour'd king,—
The father of his people,—basely dragg'd him
By his white rev'rend locks, from yonder altar,
Here,—on the blood-stain'd pavement; while the queen,
And her dear fondlings, in one mangled heap,
Died in each other's arms.—

ZAPHIMRI.
Revenge! Revenge!
With more than lion's nerve I'll spring upon him,
And at one blow relieve the groaning world.
Let us this moment carry sword and fire
To yon devoted walls, and whelm him down
In ruin and dismay.—

ZAMTI.
Zaphimri no.—
By rashness you may marr a noble cause.
To you, my friends, I render up my charge—
To you I give your king.—Farewell, my sov'reign.—

ZAPHIMRI.
Thou good, thou godlike man—a thousand feelings
Of warmest friendship—all the tendencies
Of heart-felt gratitude are struggling here,
And fain would speak to thee, my more than father.
—Farewel;—sure we shall meet again.—

ZAMTI.
We shall—

ZAPHIMRI.
Farewell—Zamti, farewell. (Embraces him)
Orasming, now
The noblest duty calls us.—Now remember
We are the men, whom from all human kind
Our fate hath now selected, to come forth
Asserters of the public weal;—to drench our swords
In the oppressor's heart;—to do a deed
Which heav'n, intent on its own holy work,
Shall pause with pleasure to behold.—

[Exit, with conspirators.
ZAMTI.
May the Most High
Pour down his blessings on him; and anon,
In the dead waste of night, when awful justice
Walks with her crimson steel o'er slaughter'd heaps
Of groaning Tartars, may he then direct
His youthful footsteps thro' the paths of peril;
Oh may he guide the horrors of the storm,
An Angel of your wrath, to point your vengeance
On ev'ry guilty head.—Then,—then 'twill be enough,
When you have broken the oppressor's rod,
Your reign will then be manifest—Mankind will see
That truth and goodness still obtain your care—
A dead march.
What mean those deathful sounds?—Again!—They lead
My boy to slaughter—Oh! look down, ye heavens!
Look down propitious!—Teach me to subdue
That nature which ye gave.—

[Exit.
A dead march. Enter Hamet, Octar, guards, &c.
OCTAR.
Here let the victim fall, and with his blood
Wash his forefather's tomb.—Here ends the hated race.—
The eastern world thro' all her wide domain,
Shall then submissive feel the Scythian yoke,
And yield to Timurkan.—

HAMET.
Standing by the tomb.
Where is the tyrant?—I would have him see,
With envy see, th'unconquer'd pow'r of virtue;
How it can calmly bleed, smile on his racks,
And with strong pinion soar above his pow'r,
To regions of perennial day.—

OCTAR.
The father
Of the whole eastern world shall mark thee well,
When at to-morrow's dawn thy breathless corse
Is born thro' all our streets for public view.
It now befits thee to prepare for death.

HAMET.
I am prepar'd.—I have no lust or rapine,
No murders to repent of.—Undismay'd
I can behold all-judging heav'n, whose hand
Still compassing its wond'rous ends, by means
Inextricable to all mortal clue,
Hath now inclos'd me in its awful maze.
Since 'tis by your decree that thus beset
Th'inexorable angel hovers o'er me,
Be your great bidding done.—

OCTAR.
The sabre's edge
Thirsts for his blood—then let its light'ning fall
On his aspiring head.—

Guards seize Hamet.
MANDANE,
within.
Off,—set me free.—Inhuman, barb'rous ruffians.—

OCTAR.
What means that woman with dishevell'd hair,
And wild extravagance of woe?—

MANDANE.
My griefs
Scorn all restraint—I must—I will have way.—
She enters, and throws herself on her knees.
Me,—me, on me convert your rage—plunge deep,
Deep in this bosom your abhorred steel,
But spare his precious life.—

OCTAR.
Hence, quickly bear
This wild, this frantic woman.—

MANDANE.
Never, never—
You shall not force me hence. Here will I cling
Fast to the earth, and rivet here my hands,
In all the fury of the last despair.
He is my child,—my dear, dear son.—

OCTAR.
How, woman!
Saidst thou your son?—

MANDANE.
Yes, Octar, yes;—my son,
My boy,—my Hamet (she rises and embraces him.)
Let my frantic love
Fly all unbounded to him—oh! my child—my child!—

OCTAR.
Suspend the stroke, ye ministers of death,
Till Timurkan hear of this new event.
Mean time, thou Mirvan, speed in quest of Zamti,
And let him answer here this wond'rous tale.

[Exit.
MIRVAN.
The time demands his presence; or despair
May wring each secret from her tender breast.
Aside.
And then our glorious, fancied pile of freedom
At one dire stroke, shall tumble into nought.

[Exit.
MANDANE.
Why did'st thou dare return?—ah! rather why
Did'st thou so long defer with ev'ry grace,
And ev'ry growing virtue, thus to raise
Your mother's dear delight to rapture?

HAMET.
Lost
In the deep mists of darkling ignorance,
To me my birth's unknown—but sure that look,
Those tears, those shrieks, that animated grief
Defying danger, all declare th'effect
Of nature's strugglings in a parent's heart.
Then let me pay my filial duty here,
Kneel to her native dignity, and pour
In tears of joy the transport of a son.—

MANDANE.
Thou art, thou art my son—thy father's face,
His ev'ry feature, blooming in his boy.
Oh! tell me, tell me all; how hast thou liv'd
With faithful Morat?—how did he support
In dreary solitude thy tender years?—
How train thy growing mind?—oh! quickly tell me,
Oh! tell me all, and charm me with thy tongue.

HAMET.
Mysterious pow'rs! have I then liv'd to this,
In th'hour of peril thus to find a parent,
In virtue firm, majestic in distress,
At length to feel unutterable bliss
In her dear circling arms—

They embrace.
Enter Timurkan, Octar, &c.
TIMURKAN.
Where is this wild
Outrageous woman, who with frantic grief
Suspends my dread command—tear 'em asunder,—
Send her to some dark cell to rave and shriek
And dwell with madness—and let instant death
Leave that rash youth a headless trunk before me.

MANDANE.
Now by the ever-burning lamps that light
Our holy shrines, by great Confucius' altar,
By the prime source of life, and light, and being,
That is my child, the blossom of my joys—
Send for his cruel father,—he—'tis he
Intends a fraud—he, for a stranger's life,
Would yield his offspring to the cruel ax,
And rend a wretched mother's brain with madness.

Enter Zamti.
Sure the sad accents of Mandane's voice
Struck on my frighted sense.—

TIMURKAN.
Once more, thou slave!—
Who is that stubborn youth?

ZAMTI.
Alas! what needs
This iteration of my griefs?

MANDANE.
Oh! horror!—horror!
Thou marble-hearted father!—'tis your child,
And would'st thou see him bleed?—

ZAMTI.
On him!—on him
Let fall your rage, and ease my soul at once
Of all its fears.—

MANDANE.
Oh! my devoted child!

She faints.
HAMET.
Support her, heav'n! support her tender frame—
Now, tyrant, now I beg to live— (kneels)
lo! here
I plead for life;—not for the wretched boon
To breathe the air, which thy ambition taints;—
But oh! to ease a mother's pains;—for her,
For that dear object,—oh! let me live for her.

TIMURKAN.
Now by the conquests this good sword has won,
In her wild vehemence of grief I hear
The genuine voice of nature.

MANDANE,
recovering.
Ah!—where is he?
He is my son—my child—and not Zaphimri—
Oh! let me clasp thee to my heart—thy hard,
Thy cruel father shall not tear thee from me.—

TIMURKAN.
Hear me, thou frantic mourner, dry those tears—
Perhaps you still may save this darling son.—

MANDANE.
Ah! quickly name the means.—

TIMURKAN.
Give up your king,
Your phantom of a king, to sate my vengeance.

HAMET.
Oh! my much honour'd mother, never hear
The base, the dire proposal—let me rather
Exhaust my life-blood at each gushing vein.
Mandane then,—then you may well rejoice
To find your child,—then you may truly know
The best delight a mother's heart can prove,
When her son dies with glory.—

TIMURKAN.
Curses blast
The stripling's pride—

Talks apart with Octar.
ZAMTI.
Ye venerable host,
Ye mighty shades of China's royal line,
Forgive the joy that mingles with my tears,
When I behold him still alive.—Propitious pow'rs!
You never meant entirely to destroy
This bleeding country, when your kind indulgence
Lends us a youth like him.—
Oh! I can hold no more—let me infold
That lovely ardor in his father's arms—
My brave,—my gen'rous boy!—

Embraces him.
TIMURKAN.
Dost thou at length
Confess it, traitor?—

ZAMTI.
Yes, I boast it, tyrant;
Boast it to thee,—to earth and heav'n I boast,
This,—this is Zamti's son.—

HAMET.
At length the hour,
The glorious hour is come, by Morat promis'd,
“When Hamet shall not blush to know his father.”

Kneels to him.
ZAMTI.
Oh! thou intrepid youth!—what bright reward
Can your glad sire bestow on such desert?—
The righteous Gods, and your own inward feelings
Shall give the sweetest retribution.—Now,
Mandane, now my soul forgives thee all,
Since I have made acquaintance with my son,
Thy lovely weakness I can now excuse;
But oh! I charge thee by a husband's right—

TIMURKAN.
A husband's right!—a traitor has no right—
Society disclaims him—Woman, hear—
Mark well my words—discolour not thy soul
With the black hue of crimes like his—renounce
All hymeneal vows, and take again,
Your much lov'd boy to his fond mother's arms,
While justice whirls that traitor to his fate.

MANDANE.
Thou vile adviser!—what, betray my lord,
My honour'd husband—turn a Scythian wife!
Forget the many years of fond delight,
In which my soul ne'er knew decreasing love,
Charm'd with his noble, all accomplish'd mind!
No, tyrant, no;—with him I'll rather die;
With him in ruin more supremely blest,
Than guilt triumphant on its throne.—

ZAMTI.
Now then
Inhuman tyrant, I defy thy pow'r—
Lo! here, the father, mother, and the son!
Try all your tortures on us—here we stand
Resolv'd to leave a tract of bright renown
To mark our beings—all resolv'd to die
The votaries of honour!—

TIMURKAN.
Then die ye shall—what ho!—guards, seize the slaves,
Deep in some baleful dungeon's midnight gloom
Let each apart be plung'd—and Etan too—
Let him be forthwith found—he too shall share
His father's fate.—

MIRVAN.
Be it my task, dread sir,
To make the rack ingenious in new pains,
Till even cruelty almost relent
At their keen, agonizing groans.—

TIMURKAN.
Brave Mirvan,
Be that thy care.—Now by th'immortal Lama
I'll wrest this myst'ry from 'em—else the dawn
Shall see me up in arms—'gainst Corea's chief
I will unfurl my banners—his proud cities
Shall dread my thunder at their gates, and mourn
Their smoaking ramparts—o'er his verdant plains
And peaceful vales I'll drive my warlike carr,
And deluge all the east with blood.—

[Exit.
ZAMTI.
Mandane, summon all thy strength.—My son,
Thy father doubts not of thy fortitude.

[Exit.
OCTAR.
Mirvan, do thou bear hence those miscreant slaves.

[Exit, after Zamti.
MANDANE.
Allow me but one last embrace—

To the guards.
HAMET.
Oh! mother,
Would I could rescue thee.—

MANDANE.
Lost, lost again!

HAMET.
Inhuman, bloody Tartars.

Both together.
Oh! farewell.—

[Exeunt, on different sides