 | Love After Death |  |
SCENE III.
—INSIDE THE WALLS OF GALERA.Enter TUZANÍ.
TUZANÍ.
Through the flames that rose like mountains,
Through the sea of blood advancing,
Treading upon prostrate corses:
Fondest love has led me hither
To the house of my Maleca.
Ah! I find it torn and shatter'd,
Victim of a double ruin—
Fire and sword have fallen upon it!
But my bride, my bride, where art thou?
If thou'rt lost, let sorrow make me
Quick to die, as slow to aid thee;
Where art thou my loved Maleca?
Ah! my eyes discover nothing!—
MALECA,
within.
Oh! alas!
TUZANÍ.
These mournful accents,
Which the wind around me scatters—
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Bitter sighs, too well repeated,
Pierce my breast like lightning flashes.
Ah! was ever such affliction?
By the glimmering light arising
From the half-expiring embers,
I behold a woman lying
With her blood the fire allaying,
Ah! it is—it is Maleca—
Sacred Heavens, bestow in pity
Life on her, or death on me:—
[He enters, and returns with MALECA in his arms. Her hair hangs loosely about her, the blood flows from her wound, and she is but half-dressed.
MALECA.
Spanish soldier, in whose bosom
Cruelty nor pity dwelleth—
Pity, since thy hand has struck me.—
Cruelty, since death still tarries—
Plunge again thy murderous weapon
In my breast—'twill be less cruel
Than to leave me thus suspended
'Twixt your cruelty and pity.
TUZANÍ.
Fair but most unhappy being!
Thou, a goddess in thy beauty,
Thou, a mortal in thy griefs,
Since divinest natures ever
Taste of earthly pangs as well—
He who in his arms doth hold thee,
Does not seek to take thy life.
Ah, to save that life he'd rather
Lose his own a thousand times.
MALECA.
By these accents I discover
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If my sex, my sorrow move thee
With a double power to pity—
Grant one favour for the two.
In Gabia is Alcaide,
Tuzaní, my dearest husband:
Thither hasten thou to seek him—
And this last embrace I give thee,
Bear him faithfully from me;
Tell him that his bride, Maleca,
Bathed and weltering in her blood,
By a Spaniard's hand outpoured,—
By a Spaniard, more ambitious
Of her jewels than of honour,
Died this day in lost Galera.
TUZANÍ.
The embrace which thou hast given me,
It is needless that I carry
To your husband; for, alas!
End of all his dreams and rapture!
He himself is here to take it.
MALECA.
Ah! this voice so well remembered—
Voice of one so dearly loved—
Sends new breath into my bosom,
Makes my death supremely happy.
Let me once again embrace thee—
Let me die within thy arms.
[Dies.
TUZANÍ.
Oh, how much that man betrayed his
Ignorance of human nature;
He who said that love doth ever
Blend two separate lives in one!
If such miracles were real,
Neither I would now be living,
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Since, indeed, this very moment,
Thou by living, I by dying,
Were our destinies alike!
Heavens, that witness my affliction,
Mountains, that behold my anguish,
Birds, that hear my sad complainings,
Flames, that see my bosom's sorrow,
Why, oh! why have ye permitted
That the brightest light is darkened,
That the fairest flower has perished,
That the sweetest breath has failed?
Men, who've known love's sacred feeling,
Aid me in this deep affliction,
Tell me, in this hour of woe,
What is he to do, the lover,
Who, the night he comes to visit
His adored, espouséd lady,
Hoping to receive the guerdon
Of his long and faithful love,
Finds her in her young blood lying?
Sweetest lily ever pictured
On a perilous enamel!—
Purest gold that ever brightened
In the crucible of grief!—
What ought he to do, the mourner,
Who his bridal bed beholdeth
Changed into a mournful tomb,
And the goddess he expected
Lying there a pallid corse?
But—no, no—you will not answer;
Aid nor counsel will you give.
If my grief, in such misfortune,
Will not prompt my mind aright,
Vain is all advice or counsel.
Mountain of the Alpujarra!—
Theatre of coward slaughter!—
Scene of the most vile transaction!—
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And the most degraded glory—
Never, never have your mountains—
Never, never have your valleys,
Seen, amid your pointed summits—
Seen, along your flowery margins—
One so fair and so unhappy!
But of what avails complaining,
What avails my lamentation,
If 'tis lost in idle air?
[Enter ABENHUMEYA, LIDORA, and Moors.
ABENHUMEYA.
Though, with tongues of fire, Galera
Called us from afar to aid her,
We have come too late.
LIDORA.
In ashes
See her squares, and streets, and buildings,
And the red flames pyramidal
Seem to rise unto the stars.
TUZANÍ.
Do not wonder—do not tremble
That your steps have been too tardy—
I myself have come too late!
ABENHUMEYA.
Oh! what words of mournful boding.
LIDORA.
Oh! what terror is impending?
ABENHUMEYA.
What is this?
TUZANÍ.
It is the greatest
Pain, it is the deepest sorrow.
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The misfortune most profound.
'Tis to see expire before you,
In a way so sad and mournful,
Her you love. Ah! this in truth
Is all sorrows in one sorrow—
Is the summit of misfortune—
Is the grief of every grief.
My Maleca (ah! my sorrow,
How canst thou proclaim the tidings?)—
My Maleca, my betrothed,
Is the corse so pale and bloody,
Coldly lying at thy feet!
A treacherous hand, a burning brand,
Plunged within her glowing bosom,
And the flame of life extinguished!
Who will not behold with wonder
Fire extinguished thus by fire,
And the precious gem of life
By the sharp steel cleft asunder?
You can every one bear witness
Of this sacrilegious outrage;
Of this cruel wrong—this horror—
This most costly, bitter trial
Of fatality and love.
Be ye witnesses, henceforward,
Of my deep, undying vengeance,
The most dreadful, the most noble,
That the world has ever entered
In her chronicles of jaspar—
In her monuments of bronze.
Here, before this lifeless beauty—
This weak flower—this fragile rose—
Who at length doth die a wonder,
As a wonder she was born—
Here with unavailing homage,
Bending at her feet, I vow
For her death eternal vengeance!
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Well it meriteth the name!)
Founders in this purple sea,
And, 'mid flames that rise around it,
Threatens to sink headlong downward
From this peak to yonder vales—
Since the Spaniards have departed,
So that the faint, distant beating
Of their drums now reach us not—
I shall follow in their footsteps,
Till I find, amid their army,
Him, the wretch, that slew my bride—
At the least his life shall answer
My revenge, if not her death!
That the fire that saw the murder—
That the world which knew 'twas done—
That the trembling wind that listened—
That the fortune that allowed it—
That the Heavens which this permitted—
Men, and beasts, and birds, and fishes—
Sun, and moon, and flowers, and stars—
Fire, and air, and earth, and water—
Thus may learn, may know, may publish,
See, observe, and comprehend,
That within a Moorish heart,
That within a Moorish bosom,
Love surviveth after Death!
Thus that cruel god shall never
Boast that he had power to tear
Two such hearts from one another!
[Exit.
ABENHUMEYA.
Stay! detain thee.
LIDORA.
You would sooner
Make the lightning's flash obey.
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Take away the lifeless body
Of this fair unfortunate;
Be not, valiant friends, disheartened
At beholding this rude Troy
Falling thus in rustic homage
On the horror-feeling earth,
Or in ashes heavenward rising;
Since, ye Moors of the Alpujarra,
To avenge such wrongs as these—
Has your king Abénhuméya
Bound this sword around his loins.
[Exit.
LIDORA.
Would to Heaven that these mountains—
That these proud Atlantic hills—
With the fire that now consumes them—
With the wind that beats their sides,
Saw themselves now toppling over—
Saw themselves with age decay—
That at length a termination
Might be reached of all these woes.
[Exit.
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