University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Wood.
Zelima, Gonzalvo.
ZELIMA.
Yes, we must part:—leave, leave the wretch thou hast made.
Oh, fly me! Hush—methought I heard a voice!
The breath of morning, panting on the leaves,
Comes o'er me like deep thunders.—Heard'st thou aught?

GONZALVO.
'Twas but the carol of the early woodman.
Thy looks affright me: no, I cannot leave thee.

ZELIMA.
Thou must! thou must! and I must learn to see
In him who saved me but my country's foe.
It is a fearful task! for deep, too deep
Is stamp'd thy image here. Oh leave me then
To utter sadness,—lonely,—desolate,—
That I may conjure to my weak heart's aid
The ghosts of all my butcher'd countrymen,
Whose pil'd up corses built thy cruel fame.
Thy true love's token be the sword that slew them!
I'll fix my eyes on the blood-crusted blade,
And listen to the sobbing of the night-blast,
Till to my ear it seem the upbraiding wail
Of dying men, cursing the unhallow'd love
I bear their murderer!

GONZALVO.
Oh, check thy speech,
Lest my brain turn, and, urg'd by fell despair—

ZELIMA.
'Tis I who must despair!—for thou art call'd
To take my brother's life, or he must plunge
His ruthless blade in my preserver's breast.
I am alike destroy'd by either blow.
Already treason!—ere the sun go down
It may be fratricide to love Gonzalvo!
Then listen what I swear. If in the lists
Thou prove victorious, glory be thy meed!
Never will Zelima behold the man
Who bears her brother's blood upon his sword.

GONZALVO.
Then art thou mine! for at thy feet I vow,
By all the passion in this bosom pent—
By all my sufferings—by thy sacred self—
By all the trembling hope—by all the joy
Thy tender pity pour'd upon my soul—
Gonzalvo's hand shall never take the life
Of one who is thy brother!

ZELIMA.
In this grove
Thou hast no witness of thy deeds, Gonzalvo,
Save love, and thy poor weeping Zelima.
But think'st thou, when the glorious lists appear,
Thy haughty queen, the king of Aragon,
With their proud court in all its bravery;
On either side the eyes of an arm'd host
Fix'd on your single swords;—the shouting voice
Of thousands pour'd upon the gale,—oh! think'st thou,
When all these strike at once upon the sense,
They will not rouse the terrible Gonzalvo,
And bear you on—O horrid, horrid image!
My bleeding brother! the exulting foe!

GONZALVO.
Have I not sworn Almanzor's life is sacred?

ZELIMA.
Ha! cruel! thou would'st say thyself will fall,
And if thou fall, 'tis I—'tis I have doom'd thee!
There's madness in that thought! Thou shalt not go:
Yet stay awhile—my brother's rage is high:
Thou shalt not meet his fury—no, thou shalt not—
Thus will I fetter thee!

[Clinging round his neck.
GONZALVO.
And here, my love,
Here will I grow; and ever, ever, thus
Live in thy eyes, and lose myself in joy!
Farewell to fame! since thou will have it so.
Rest on this bosom, it is thine alone.
Welcome dishonour for thy sake!—But hark!
[After a pause.
What sound was that? a distant trumpet!—hark!
Again?—It bears on every blast reproach!
The sun is high—th'appointed hour is past!
Again! again! it swells upon the gale.—
Ha! now the mingling roar should rather seem
Of general conflict. Never yet Gonzalvo
Turn'd from the battle! Louder, louder still!
My soul burns in me!—infamy, disgrace,
Are on my name! I come! I come!—Farewell!
Haste, Fatima—haste, Zayda—Moorish maids,
Support your princess—soothe her tenderly.
[Enter Moorish women, to whose care he commits her insensible with terror.
My Zelima, to live for thee denied,
Death for thy sake is sweet, but not dishonour!

[He rushes out.
ZELIMA
(recovering, and looking wildly around).
Where am I?—what has chanced?—Ha! where is he?
Sure he was here e'en now!—and is he gone?—
See, see! he spurs his courser o'er the plain;—
He rushes to the fight! Oh, spare my brother!
Thou shalt not murder him. Forbear, Almanzor!
And would'st thou thus repay a sister's rescue?
Oh! pity, pity! Sheathe your murderous blades!
Live! cruel ones! Live for your Zelima!

[Sinks into their arms, and scene closes.