The Viceroy A Tragedy |
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SCENE VI.
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 | The Viceroy |  |
SCENE VI.
THE VICEROY, GARCIA.THE VICEROY.
What would Garcia?
GARCIA.
My Lord, I bring great news: our foes are scattered,
The brave Sylveyra has dislodged the Moors.
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Now blest be Portugal's protecting saint!
The young Sylveyra gallantly pursues
The example of his race.
GARCIA.
Yet, noble Castro,
We see thee tempted from the paths of fame
By love's illusive fire:—tho' thy great soul
Should, like the Eagle, keep its native height,
And scorn to gaze but on the beams of glory.
THE VICEROY.
O Garcia, I regard with envious wonder
The steady virtues of thy happier mind:
No rebel passions can dethrone thy reason;
Mine is the slave of appetite: I feel
My blind attachment to this lovely Indian
Death to my peace, and poison to my fame,
Yet doat on my perdition: ne'er did passion
Reign so despotic in my subject heart,
Since our young days, when my disastrous love
Deprived the injured Isabel of life.
GARCIA.
Tho' all her sorrows have so long been buried,
Her fate still touches me, and to this hour
I curse her cruel father; whose proud soul
Crushed the fair hopes of your appointed nuptials,
And sunk his wounded daughter to the grave;
Tho' rumour whispers that her death was feigned.
THE VICEROY.
O! couldst thou bring that martyred saint to life,
Then might I worship thee: No! Garcia, no!
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The jealous fury of a mind distracted.
In some convenient season, I will tell thee
All the past crimes, and frenzy of my life,
For thou wilt turn them to my preservation;
Thy generous counsel will oft set before me
My madness past; by friendship's guardian power
Wean my weak spirit from its present passion,
And save me from myself:—but see Molina.
| The Viceroy | |