University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Royal Tents.
Isabella, Alvarez, &c.
ISABELLA.
No message from the king? Alas! my fears!
Had Spain's brave champion triumph'd o'er the Moor,
Garcia, (so I enjoin'd him), had, ere now,
Brought the glad tidings. Hast thou mark'd, Alvarez,
When adverse clouds o'er th' Alpuxares meet,
A shuddering stillness creep through all the air
Ere the storm burst? Such Ferdinand observing,
Through either host as either champion yielded,
Urged me to quit the lists. I ne'er before
Beheld so fierce, so obstinate a combat.
Who would have thought, beneath a turban wrapt,
Such matchless hardihood, such desperate valour?

Enter Garcia.
GARCIA.
This praise from Isabel be now his meed!
Almanzor's fall'n!

ISABELLA.
Then victory is ours!

GARCIA.
Alas! not so: the Moors, with frantic cries,
Rush'd on our troops: a general fight ensued;
And oh, my queen! with grief and shame, these eyes
Beheld the Spaniards yield.

Enter Ferdinand.
FERDINAND.
Joy, joy, my Isabel;
The tide of war is turn'd! Our Spaniards fled,—
In wild disorder fled!—when from the camp
Darted, with eagle speed, one all unarm'd,
Save that he brandish'd wide his desperate sword,
Maddening with rage: and “Spaniards!” he exclaim'd,
“Castilians! men of Aragon! ho! stand!
It is Gonzalvo calls you to the field!”
All turn'd at once: the Moors are panic-struck!
Impetuous as the hurricane, Gonzalvo
Bears down the yielding foe, following amain
The refluent tide of battle.

ISABELLA.
Gallant youth!
Pride of Castile! But how saidst thou “unarm'd?”
In panoply complete he met the Moor.

FERDINAND.
So deem'd each host: but when with toil o'erspent,
And hard-earn'd victory, the conqueror sunk,
His squires unbraced his casque to give him air,
And lo! brave Lara's lineaments!

ISABELLA.
Amazement!

FERDINAND.
More wonderful what follow'd, Isabel.
Our soldiers seize the slain Almanzor's corse:
Behold Gonzalvo head a Moorish band,
Defend the lifeless chief with frantic zeal;
And, aiding the heart-stricken Moors, convey
The corse from off the field.

ISABELLA.
Most strange, indeed!

GARCIA.
Venusa's prince false to the cause of Spain!

ALVAREZ.
Nor leave to hungry dogs an infidel's
Unhallow'd corse?

FERDINAND.
Returning, now he mark'd
Brave Lara 'mongst a host of vengeful Moors,
Though faint and bleeding, holding them at bay:
With lightning's speed he rush'd upon them.—Lost
To my sight, I know not the event.

ISABELLA.
My liege,
Oh doubt it not!—'tis victory!

FERDINAND.
Be ours
To improve the advantage gained. Come, Isabel;
We must take order for to-morrow's onset.

[Exeunt.