University of Virginia Library

CONSTANTINE PALEOLOGUS;

OR, THE LAST OF THE CÆSARS:

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

MEN

• Constantine Paleologus, emperor of the Greeks.
• Mahomet, the Turkish Sultan.
• Othus, a learned Greek, Friends of Constantine, and belonging to his brave band of volunteers.
• Rodrigo, a Genoese naval commander, Friends of Constantine, and belonging to his brave band of volunteers.
• Justiniani, a noble Genoese, and a soldier, Friends of Constantine, and belonging to his brave band of volunteers.
• Petronius, Greeks, and secret agents of Mahomet.
• Marthon, Greeks, and secret agents of Mahomet.
• Osmir, vizir to Mahomet.
• Heugho, an old domestic officer of Constantine.
• Othoric, a rude but generous adventurer.
• Fortune-teller, citizens, attendants, &c.

WOMEN

• Valeria, wife of Constantine.
• Ella, daughter of Petronius.
• Lucia, a lady attendant on Valeria.
• Ladies and attendants.

The Scene in Constantinople, and in the camp of Mahomet, near the city.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A large platform on the roof of the palace of Petronius, from which are seen spires and towers, and the broken roofs of houses, &c., with the general appearance of a ruined city, the distant parts involved in smoke. Ella is discovered with an attendant, standing on a balcony belonging to a small tower, rising from the side of the platform. As the curtain draws up the sound of artillery is heard.
Enter Othus and Marthon.
Othus.
Ah, see how sadly changed the prospect is
Since first from our high station we beheld
This dismal siege begin! 'Midst level ruin,
Our city now shows but its batter'd towers,
Like the jagg'd bones of some huge animal,
Whose other parts the mould'ring hand of time
To dust resolves.

Mar.
(coldly).
It does indeed some faint resemblance hold
To what thou hast compared it to. How is't?
Art thou not from the walls?

Othus.
No, not immediately.

Mar.
Wast thou not there when Mahomet's huge cannon
Open'd its brazen mouth and spoke to us?
How brook'd thine ears that deep tremendous sound?
The coasts of Asia and th' Olympian heights,
Our land-begirded seas, and distant isles,
Spoke back to him again, in his own voice,
A deep and surly answer; but our city,
This last imperial seat of Roman greatness:
This head of the world, this superb successor
Of the earth's mistress, where so many Cæsars
In proud successive lines have held their sway,
What answer sent she back?

Othus.
Fy, hold thy tongue!
Methinks thou hast a pleasure in the thought.
This head o' the world—this superb successor
Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly speakst,
Stands 'mid these ages, as in the wide ocean
The last spared fragment of a spacious land,
That in some grand and awful ministration
Of mighty nature has ingulfed been,
Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs
O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns
In lonely majesty. But shame upon it!
Her feeble, worthless, and degen'rate sons—

Mar.
Yes, what sayst thou of them? they also are
The fragments of a brave and mighty race,
Left on this lonely rock.

Othus.
No, blast them! on its frowning sides they cluster
Like silly sea-fowl from their burrow'd holes,
Who, staring senseless on th' invader's toil,
Stretch out their worthless necks, and cry “caw! caw!”
O, Paleologus! how art thou left,
Thou and thy little band of valiant friends,
To set your manly bosoms 'gainst the tide!
Ye are the last sparks of a wasted pyre
Which soon shall be trodd'n out.—
Ye are the last green bough of an old oak,
Blasted and bare: the lovelier do ye seem
For its wan barrenness; but to its root
The axe is brought, and with it ye must fall.—
Ye are—O God! it grasps my swelling throat
To think of what ye are.

Mar.
A brave band, truly:—
But still our gallant emp'ror and his friends,
Opposed to Mah'met and his num'rous host
With all his warlike engines, are in truth
As if one toss'd against the whirl'd-up sands
Of their Arabian plains, one grasp of dust.

Othus.
Yes, they are few in number, but they are
The essence and true spirit of their kind;
The soul of thousands. A brave band they are,
Not levied by the power and wealth of states;
And the best feelings of the human heart
Have been the agents of their princely chief,
Recruiting nobly. Virtuous Sympathy,
Who on the weaker and deserted side
Her ample, lib'ral front doth ever range;
Keen Indignation, who, with clenched hand
And sternly-flashing eye, ever beholds
The high o'erbearing crest of proud oppression;
And gen'rous Admiration, above all,
Of noble deeds, whose heav'n-enlighten'd smile,
And imitative motion, ever wake
With eager heart-throbs at the glorious sight
Of manly daring, have unto their numbers
Some score of dauntless spirits lately added;
Such as would ride upon the whirlwind's back,
If it might be, and with heaven's spearmen cope.
With such a band, methinks, all things are possible.

Mar.
(smiling).
Why, thou soft man of peace,
Who in gay banquets spend'st thy giddy nights,
And o'er some sculptured stone, or ancient lore,
Each idle morning wast'st in the cool shade,
Thou speakest with a bold and warlike voice!

Othus
(throwing back his cloak, and showing under it a warlike garb, with the scarf and devices belonging to the imperial band).
Ay, and wear, too, a bold and warlike form.
Behold what now I am? Thou shrinkest back,
And lookest strangely on me: give thy lips
No friendly blessing to my new estate?

Mar.
Heaven bless the brave!

Othus.
Amen! but thou art cold.
[Sound of artillery is heard again.
O hear that sound!
Doth it not stir thee as it thund'ring growls
Along the distant shore?
[Shaking his head.
It moves thee not.
Is that the sound of female voices near us?

Mar.
Yes; seest thou not on yon high balcony
That pale and fearful maid? her watchful ear
Is ever turn'd to ev'ry distant sound.

Othus.
My gentle kinswoman upon the watch!
I know for whom she fears; nor do I marvel;
For she was present on that crowded shore,
When Genoa's captain brought his gen'rous succour,
And saw the brave contention of those men,
In their proud vessels bearing boldly on,
With wavy pendants floating on the wind,
Whose armed sides, like to a goodly bank,
Breasted the onward tide of opposition.
[Speaking with a great deal of appropriate gesture.
No wonder that her fancy has been moved!
Oh, it did stir the women on our walls—
The infants—yea, the very household curs,
That from their kennels turn'd to look upon it!—
But for that motley crowd of moving things
Which we miscall our men—Nay, by the light,
Thou too dost hear me with a frozen eye!

Enter Ella hastily from the balcony, and puts her hand eagerly upon the shoulder of Othus, who turns round surprised.
Ella.
What sayest thou of him? where fights he now?
Or on the land, or on some floating fence?

Othus.
Of whom speakst thou, fair Ella?

Ella.
Nay, nay! thou knowst right well. Did I not see thee,
High as I stood, e'en now, tossing thine arms,
And motioning thy tale with such fit gestures
As image ships and sails, and daring deeds?
Of whom speak even the beggars in our streets
When they such action use? Thou knowst right well,
Of Genoa's captain, and of none but him.
Didst see him from the walls?

Othus
(smiling).
My little kinswoman,
Thou lookest with a keen and martial eye
As thou dost question me: I saw him not;
I come not from the walls.

Ella.
Didst thou not talk of him as I descended?

Othus.
Yes, of that noble fight.—But dost thou see?
There are more warriors in the world, Ella,
[Pointing to his dress
Though men do talk of us, it must be granted,
With action more composed. Behold me now
The brave Rodrigo's comrade, and the friend
Of royal Constantine; who is in truth
The noblest beast o' the herd, and on the foe
Turns a bold front, whilst with him boldly join
A few brave antlers from a timid crowd,
That quakes and cowers behind.

Ella.
Yes, Othus, I did mark thy martial garb:
Heaven's angels bless thee!

Othus.
And earth's too, gentle Ella.

[Artillery heard again.
Ella
(to Othus, starting fearfully).
O dost thou smile, and such light words affect,
Whilst ruin growls so near us? hath sad use
Made misery and sport, and death and merriment, amiliar neighbours?—I'll into my chamber.

Enter Petronius and a disguised Turk.
Pet.
(sternly to Ella).
Yes, to thy chamber go: thou liv'st, methinks
On the house-top, or watching in the towers.
I like it not; and maiden privacy
Becomes thy state and years. (To Othus.)
Ha! art thou Othus?
Thou'rt well accoutred, sooth! I knew thee not.

Mar.
Yes, he is now a valiant soldier grown:
His Grecian lute, and pen, and books of grace
Are thrown aside, and the soft letter'd sage
Grasps a rude lance.

Ella.
Nay, mock him not, for it is nobly done.

Pet.
(sternly to Ella).
Art thou still here?
[Exit Ella, abashed and chidden.
And now, my lord,—

[Turning to Othus.
Othus
(angrily).
And now, my lord, good evening:
I too, belike, shall trespass on your patience,
If longer I remain.

[Exit
Pet.
Well, let him go, it suits our purpose better.
[Exit.
But who could e'er have thought in warlike garb
To see him guised? He, too, become a fool!

Mar.
He thought, as well I guess, to move me also
His brave devoted brotherhood to join:
This was his errand here.

Pet.
I do believe it well: for Constantine,
With many fair and princely qualities
That in his clear morn no attention drew,
Now, on the brow of dark adversity,
Hangs like a rainbow on a surly cloud,
And all men look to him. But what avails
This growing sentiment of admiration
To our good means? Good Turk, where, is thy gold?

Turk
(giving him a bag).
There, Christian, whom
I may not well call good.

Pet.
That as thou wilt: but Mahomet, thy master,
Shall find me still his faithful agent here.
This very night, as I have promised to him,
The people shall in insurrection rise,
Clam'ring to have the city yielded up;
And if your narrow caution stint me not
In that which rules the storm, it shall be raised
To the full pitch.

Turk.
And what is that, Petronius?

Pet.
More gold. Ay, by thy turban and thy beard!
There is a way to make our timid sluggards
The sultan's work within these walls perform
Better than armed men.

Turk.
And what is that, I pray?

Pet.
Why, more gold still.—
I have in pay, besides our mutinous rabble,
Who bawl, and prate, and murmur in our streets,
Prophets, and conjurors, and vision-seers,
And wise men, not a few, whose secret haunts
The timid flock to: many are the palms
That must be touch'd.—There are within our walls
Of idle, slothful citizens, enow,
If with their active master they should join,
Still to defend them: therefore, be assured,
He who shall keep this fickle, wav'ring herd
From such wise union, shall to Mah'met give
This mistress of the East.

Turk.
Fear not; thou shalt be satisfied.

Pet.
Right: let us now to work: 'tis near the time
When, from the walls returning with his friends,
The emperor his ev'ning hour enjoys,
And puts off warlike cares: now let us forth,
And urge those varlets on.
(To Marthon.)
Do thou into the eastern quarter go,
And stir them up. Where is our trusty Gorbus?
The western is his province. Send him hither:
We must some counsel hold: meantime within
I wait his coming. Be thou speedy, Marthon.
[Exit Marthon. To the Turk.)
Remember, friend.

Turk.
Thou shalt be satisfied.

Pet.
Good fortune smile upon us!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A state apartment in the imperial palace, with splendid sideboards, set forth, on which are seen cups and goblets, &c. as if prepared for a grand repast, and several domestics crossing the stage, carrying different things in their hands. Enter Heugho, followed by a stranger and two inferior domestic officers.
Heugho
(after looking over every thing).
Is nought omitted here? the rubied platters
And the imperial cup—I see them not.

1st offi.
What boots it now, encompass'd thus with foes,
And death and ruin grinning at our side,
To set forth all this sumptuous garniture,
Which soon shall in a Turkish harem shine?
The emp'ror heeds it not.

Heugho
(stamping with his foot).
Dog, but I heed it!
And were the floating remnant of a wreck,
With the sea bellowing round it, all that now
Remain'd of the eastern empire, I thereon,
Until the last wave wash'd us from its side,
Would humbly offer to brave Constantine
The homage due to mine imperial lord.
Out on thee, paltry hind! go fetch them hither.

[Exit officer.
Stranger.
This is the hour, you say, when Constantine,
Like a tired woodman from his daily toil,
Unclasps his girded breast; and with his friends
Enjoys his social meal right cheerfully
For one so overshadow'd with dark fate.
I am a stranger here, and, by your leave,
I fain would tarry still to have one view
Of his most noble countenance.

Heugho.
Thou'rt welcome.
And, gentle stranger, thou wilt see a prince,
Who ably might have reign'd, had not his heart
To the soft shades of friendly intercourse
Still turn'd, as to its true and native place:
A prince with loving friends, but lacking troops:
Rich in the dear good-will of gen'rous minds,
But poor in kingly allies. One thou'lt see,
Whose manly faculties, beset with gifts
Of gentler grace, and soft domestic habits,
And kindliest feelings, have within him grown
Like a young forest-tree, beset and 'tangled,
And almost hidd'n with sweet incumb'ring shrubs;
That, till the rude blast rends this clust'ring robe,
Its goodly hardy stem to the fair light
Discovers not. Hark! now they come!
[Flourish of trumpets.
Stand thou secure, and see whate'er thou wilt.
[Calling to some people off the stage
Ho! you without! move there with more despatch.

[Several domestics again cross the stage as before.
Stranger.
See, yonder come the brave imperial friends,
If right I guess. They bear a noble mien.
And who is he who foremost walks with steps
Of gravely-measured length, and heavy eyes
Fix'd on the ground?

[Pointing off the stage.
Heugho.
That is Justiniani; a brave soldier,
Who doth o' tiptoe walk, with jealous care,
Upon the very point and highest ridge
Of honour's path, demure and circumspect,
Like nicest maid, proud of her spotless fame;
A steady, cheerless friend.

Stranger.
And who is he with open, lib'ral front,
Who follows next?

Heugho.
He is the brave Rodrigo;
That Genoese, who, with four gallant ships,
Did in the front of the whole Turkish fleet
So lately force his passage to our port,
Bearing us gen'rous and most needful succour.
Does he not look like one, who in the fight
Would fiercely strive, yet to the humbled foe
Give quarter pleasantly?

Stranger.
And who comes after with more polish'd aspect,
But yet, methinks, keen and intelligent?

Heugho.
Oh, that is Othus; a soft letter'd sage,
Who wears his soldier's garb with its first gloss.

Stranger.
Constantine comes not yet?

Heugho.
No; first of all to his imperial dame,
Who o'er his mind a greater influence has
Than may, perhaps, with graver wisdom suit,
Being a dame of keen and lofty passions,
Though with fair virtues graced, he ever pays
His dear devotions: he will join them shortly.
But softly, here they are.

Enter Justiniani, Rodrigo, Othus, and many others of the Emperor's friends, armed as if returned from the walls.
Rod.
(to Justiniani).
Thou'rt sternly grave: has aught in this day's fight
Befall'n, thy eager temper to disturb?

Just.
Your first directed fire should, in good right,
Have been against that Turkish standard sent,
Rear'd in their front.

Rod.
And shall we seriously expend our strength
In paying worship to each Turkish rag
That waves before our walls?
But frown not on me, friend: perhaps I'm wrong.
We who are bred upon a bark's rough side,
And 'midst the rude contention of the waves,
Must force our steady purpose, as we may,
Right in the teeth of all opposing things,
Wrestling with breakers on the scourged rock,
Or tilting it with a seal's cub, good faith!
As it may chance; nought do we know of forms.

Othus.
Another time, valiant Justiniani,
With more respect to warlike ceremony
We will conduct ourselves.
Rodrigo well hath pled his own excuse;
And I, thou knowest, am but new in arms.

Just.
Methinks, e'en to a child it had been plain
That, when so circumstanced—

Othus.
Hush, hush, I pray thee, now! the emp'ror comes:
This is his hour of cheerful relaxation,
Snatch'd from each circling day of busy cares,
A faint gleam thrown across a dismal gloom,
Let us not darken it with petty brawls.

Enter Constantine.
Con.
(saluting them).
A pleasant meeting to us all, brave friends,
After our day of toil! There be among us
Tired limbs that well have carn'd their hour of rest;
This kindly-social hour, this fleeting bliss
Of the tired labourer. Undo our bracings,
And let us sup as lightly as we may.
[Taking off his helmet, which he gives to an attendant.
This galls me strangely;
Mine armourer, methinks, has better skill
To mar men's heads than save them.
Nay all of you, I pray.
[They all begin to take off their helmets, and part of their armour.
And gentle Othus too, unbrace thyself:
How likest thou the gripe of soldiers' gear?

Othus.
Worn in the cause, for which I wear it now,
It feels like the close hug of a rough friend,
Awkward but kindly.

Con.
Thanks, gen'rous Othus! it had pleased me better
To've had the gentle service of thy pen.
Thou couldst have told, if so it might have been,
How brave men acted, and how brave men fell.—
Well, let it be.
[Turning aside to check his emotion, and then assuming a cheerful face.
You gallant seamen, in th' applauding view
Of the throng'd beach, amidst the tempest's rage,
E'en on the last plank of your sever'd bark,
Ride it careeringly, my brave Rodrigo!

Rod.
Yes, royal sir; with brave true-hearted mates
All things we do and bear right cheerfully.

Con.
And so will we.—Your hand, my gallant friend!
And yours, and yours, and yours, my brave Eubedes—
And noble Carlos too—and all of you—
[Taking all their hands, one after another.
I am indeed so mated.
Bring me a cooling cup, I pray, good Heugho,
My tongue is parch'd.
[Heugho presents a cup to him, kneeling.
What, wilt thou still upon thine aged limbs
These cumbrous forms impose? These surly times
Suit not such ceremony, worthy Heugho.

Heugho.
Be health and sweet refreshment in the draught,
My royal master!

Con.
(tasting it).
And so there is: few cups presented thus
Come with such kindness. But I have, in truth,
Shrunk, as a potentate, to such small grasp,
That now I fairly may put in my claim
To the affections of a man.—Brave friends,
Health to you all!
[Drinks, then turning with a smile to Justiniani.
Justiniani, I with thee alone
Have cause of quarrel in this day's long toil.

Just.
How so, and please your highness?
The holy hermit, counting o'er his beads,
Is not more scrupulous than I have been
Nought of his sacred duty to omit.

Con.
Thou putst a gross affront upon the worth
Of all thy warlike deeds; for thou from them
Claimst not the privilege to save thyself
From needless dangers. On the walls this day
Thou hast exposed thyself like a raw stripling,
Who is ashamed to turn one step aside
When the first darts are whizzing past his ear.
Rodrigo there, beneath a pannier
Would save his head from the o'er-passing blow,
Then, like a lion issuing from his den,
Burst from his shelter with redoubled ardour.
Pray thee put greater honour on thyself,
And I will thank thee for it.

Just.
I stand reproved.

Con.
I'm glad thou dost.—Now to our social rites!
No tired banditti in their nightly cave,
Whose goblets sparkle to the ruddy gleam
Of blazing faggots, eat their jolly meal
With toils, and dangers, and uncertainty
Of what to-morrow brings, more keenly season'd
Than we do ours.—Spare not, I pray thee, Heugho,
Thy gen'rous Tuscan cup: I have good friends
Who prize its flavour much.

[As he turns to go with his friends to the bottom of the stage, where a curtain between the pillars being drawn up, discovers their repast set out; a citizen enters in haste.
Cit.
I crave to speak unto the emperor.

Con.
What is thine errand?

Cit.
My royal sir, the city's in commotion:
From ev'ry street and alley, ragged varlets
In crowds pour forth, and threaten mighty things.
But one, whom I outran, comes on my steps
To bring a fuller tale.

Con.
(to citizen).
Thou'rt sure of this?

Cit.
It is most certain.

Con.
(to Othus).
What thinkst thou, good Othus?

Othus.
I doubt it not: 'tis a degraded herd
That fills your walls. This proud imperial city
Has been in ages past the great high-way
Of nations driving their blind millions on
To death and carnage. Through her gates have pass'd
Pale cowled monarchs and red-sworded saints,
Voluptuaries foul, and hard-eyed followers
Of sordid gain—yea, all detested things.
She hath a common lake or sludge-pool been,
In which each passing tide has left behind
Some noisome sediment. She is choked up
With mud and garbage to the very brim.
Her citizens within her would full quietly
A pagan's slaves become, would he but promise
The sure continuance of their slothful ease.
Some few restraints upon their wonted habits
And Mah'met's gold, no doubt, have roused the fools
To this unwonted stir.

Con.
It may be so: I shall wait further tidings.
Meantime, my friends, go ye, and as ye can,
Snatch a short soldier's meal.
[They hesitate.
Nay, go I pray you!
I must not to my friends say “I command.” [They all go immediately, and without any order standing round the table, begin to eat.
(To the citizen remaining still on the front of the stage.)

And so thou sayst—But lo! another messenger.

Enter another Citizen in great haste.
2d cit.
The citizens in crowds—the men and women—
The very children too—mine eyes have seen it—
In crowds they come—

Con.
Take breath, and tell thy tale
Distinctly. From what quarter comest thou?

2d cit.
I'm from the east.

Enter 3d Citizen.
3d cit.
I come to tell your highness that the city
Is in commotion; e'en with flesh-forks arm'd,
And all the implements of glutt'nous sloth,
The people pour along in bawling crowds,
Calling out, “bread,” and “Mah'met,” and “surrender,”
Towards the royal palace.

Con.
And whence art thou?

3d cit.
I'm from the western quarter.

Con.
Ha! spreads it then so wide?
[Calling to his friends at the bottom of the stage.
Friends, by your leave,
I somewhat must upon your goodness bear.
Give me my helmet and my sword again:
This is no partial fray.

[Beginning to arm, whilst all the rest follow his example.
Rod.
Well, let us jostle with these ragged craft,
And see who grapples best.

[Buckling on his armour gaily.
Just.
A soldier scorns to draw his honour'd blade
On such mean foes: we'll beat them off with sticks.

Othus.
Words will, perhaps, our better weapons prove,
When used as brave men's arms should ever be,
With skill and boldness. Swords smite single foes,
But thousands by a word are struck at once.

[As they all gather round Constantine, and are ready to follow him, enter Valeria in great alarm, followed by Lucia, and several ladies.
Val.
(to Constantine).
O, hast thou heard it?

Con.
Yes, my love, they've told me.

Val.
From the high tower my ladies have descried
The dark spires redd'ning in their torches' light,
Whilst, like the hoarse waves of a distant sea,
Their mingled voices sweet as they approach.

Con.
It is a storm that soon will be o'erblown:
I will oppose to them a fixed rock,
Which they may beat against but cannot shake.

Val.
That is thyself.—O, no! thou shalt not go!
Yea, I am bold! misfortune mocks at state,
And strong affection scorns all reverence;
Therefore, before these lords, e'en upon thee,
Thou eastern Cæsar, do I boldly lay
My woman's hand, and say, “thou shalt not go.”

Con.
Thy woman's hand is stronger, sweet Valeria,
Than warrior's iron grasp,
But yet it may not hold me. Strong affection
Makes thee most fearful where no danger is:
Shall eastern Cæsar, like a timid hind
Scared from his watch, conceal his cowering head?
And does an empire's dame require it of him?

Val.
Away, away! with all those pompous sounds!
I know them not. I by thy side have shared
The public gaze, and the applauding shouts
Of bending crowds: but I have also shared
The hour of thy heart's sorrow, still and silent,
The hour of thy heart's joy. I have supported
Thine aching head, like the poor wand'rer's wife,
Who, on his seat of turf, beneath heaven's roof,
Rests on his way.—The storm beats fiercely on us:
Our nature suits not with these worldly times,
To it most adverse. Fortune loves us not;
She hath for us no good: do we retain
Her fetters only? No, thou shalt not go!
[Twining her arms round him.
By that which binds the peasant and the prince,
The warrior and the slave, all that do bear
The form and nature of a man, I stay thee!
Thou shalt not go.

Con.
Wouldst thou degrade me thus?

Val.
Wouldst thou unto my bosom give death's pang?
Thou lov'st me not.

Con.
(with emotion, stretching out his hands to his friends, who stand at some distance).
My friends, ye see how I am fetter'd here.
Ye who thus bravely to my fortunes cling
With generous love, less to redeem their fall
Than on my waning fate by noble deeds
To shed a parting ray of dignity:
Ye gen'rous and devoted; still with you
I thought to share all dangers: go ye now,
And to the current of this swelling tide
Set your brave breasts alone!
[Waving them off with his hand, and then turning to her.
Now, wife, where wouldst thou lead me?

Val.
(pointing with great energy to the friends who are turning as if to go out).
There, there! O, there! thou hast no other way.
[Brushing away her tears hastily, and then assuming an air of dignity, she takes Constantine by the hand, and leading him across the stage, presents him to his friends.
Most valiant, honour'd men, receive your chief,
Worthy the graceful honours of your love,
And heaven's protecting angel go with you!

[Exeunt Constantine and his friends, paying obeisance to her as they retire, which she returns with the profoundest respect, continuing to look after them till they are out of sight; then returning to the front of the stage with a deep sigh, remains for some time with her eyes fixed on the ground.
Lucia.
My dear and royal mistress, be not thus!
The people will their sov'reign lord respect.

Val.
Will they? Where is my little Georgian maid,
Whose grandsire, though a brave and sov'reign prince,
Was piecemeal torn by a ferocious crowd?

Lucia.
She told a wonderful surcharged tale,
Perhaps to move your pity: heed it not.

Val.
Ah! whereunto do all these turmoils tend—
The wild contention of these fearful times?
Each day comes bearing on its weight of ills,
With a to-morrow shadow'd at its back,
More fearful than itself.—A dark progression—
And the dark end of all, what will it be?

Lucia.
Let not such gloomy thoughts your mind o'ercast;
Our noble emperor has on his side
The dark and potent powers.

Val.
What is thy meaning?

Lucia.
A rarely-gifted man, come from afar,
Who sees strange visions rise before his sight
Of things to come, hath solemnly pronounced it,
That Paleologus has on his side
The dark and potent powers.

Val.
Alas! alas! are they the friends of virtue?
Who told thee this?

Lucia.
One unto whom he told such marv'llous things
As did all natural knowledge far exceed.

Val.
Thou dost impress me with a strange desire,
As though it were upon my mind impress'd
By secret supernatural power. Methinks,
Were this dread night with all its dangers past,
I too would fain—Ha! hark! what noise is that?
[Listening with great alarm.
Hark, hark! it is the sound of many sounds,
Mingled and terrible, though heard afar.

Lucia.
Shall I ascend the tower, and give you notice
Whate'er I see?

Val.
(eagerly).
I'll go myself.

[Exit in great alarm, followed by Lucia and ladies.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

An open street before the imperial palace. A crowd of men, women, and children discovered, bearing in their hands torches, with clubs, sticks, & c., and the stage entirely lighted by the red glare of their torches cast up against the walls of the building. The confused noise and clamour of a great crowd is heard as the curtain draws up.
1st crowd.
Holla! let them come forth who trouble us,
And love they blood and beating, they shall have it.

2d crowd.
Surrender! bread and wine, and peaceful days!
Surrender, devils, or ye shall pay the cost!

[All the crowd call out clamorously, and brandish their torches, &c., in a threatening manner against the palace.
3d crowd.
Must we, men well instructed, rear'd, and cherish'd,
The chiefest of all townsmen of the earth;
We, whom all nations know and look upon
With envious worship—must we from our meals
And quiet couches, like your rude barbarians,
Be scared and roused with the continued bellowing
Of curst artillery? it is a shame.

1st crowd.
It is a crying, an insulting shame.
E'en Mahomet regards our polish'd race
And rare acquirements; but for Constantine—

2d crowd.
Ay, ay! let him come forth with his base crew
Of savage strangers; and should they refuse us,
E'en with good teeth and nails, fail other means,
We will do vultures' work upon them all. (All of them calling out together, and brandishing their torches, &c., as before.)
Holla! holla! we say to you again;
Emperor! Constantine! come forth to us!

[A grand door of the palace opens, from which two flights of stairs descend into the street, and Constantine, with his friends, appear coming out upon the landing-place. The crowd raise a great noise upon seeing him, and he stretches out his hand as if he wished to speak, but they still continue loud and clamorous.
Con.
Audience, if that your sov'reign may command it!

4th crowd.
Yes, let us hear what he will say to us.
(Several together.)
There is no harm in that: peace all of you!

Con.
Behold me at your wish, assembled citizens:
Was it the voice of children or of foes
That call'd me forth?

3d crowd.
Go to with mocking words! are we thy children?

Con.
Ye say, indeed, too truly! children do
Support, and honour, and obey their sire:
They put their aiding hand to every burden
That presses on him: ever gather round him
When dark misfortune lowers; and, strong in them,
He lifts his honour'd head amidst the storm,
Blessing and bless'd.
But I have stood in the dark pass alone,
Facing its fiercest onset. In your homes
Ye've stretch'd your easy limbs and fann'd your brows,
Whilst I in parching toil have spent the day,
Aided by strangers. Ye too truly say
“Are we thy children?”—When my sky was clear,
Ye follow'd me with fond applauding love,
And bade God bless your sire; but when it lower'd,
Back to your homes ye shrank, and gen'rous strangers
Are by my side where children should have stood. (A confused murmur rises amongst them, and some call out).
He speaks good reason, neighbours.
(Others call out.)
Out on it! all fair words!
(Others.)
Peace, sirs! we'll hear him out.
(Others.)
No! no! no! no!

[Brandishing their torches violently.
Othoric
(breaking through them with a great club in his hands).
Peace, friends, I say! I am a strong Hungarian,
And I will hear him out.

[The clamour subsides.
Con.
Yes, when the tempest lower'd, ye shrank away.
But if some gen'rous shame has moved you now—
If, thus assembled, with repentant zeal
Ye would return, behold these open'd arms!
O there be still amongst you men sufficient
To save your city, your domestic roofs,
Your wives, your children, all that good men love;
Were each one willing for a little term
To face but half the dangers which perforce
Not doing this, he stands exposed to;
To bear but half the toils which I bear daily,
And shall bear lovingly!

1st crowd.
Go to! surrender and have done with it.
Who thanks—who calls upon thee for thy toils?

Con.
That voice, which, in the hour of trial, bids
The good man give his soft and sensitive frame
To death and torture, and e'en fearful woman
Bend her fair neck unto the uplifted stroke,
Calls upon me—yea, and I will obey it!

Othoric.
By the good saints, he speaks like a brave man.

1st crowd.
Acts he like one? will he come down to us?
(Several speaking together.)
He does; he comes in truth!

[Constantine, after speaking in dumb show to his friends, descends the stairs.
2d crowd.
Ay, in good faith, he comes unarmed too!

Con.
No, citizens, unarm'd I am not come;
For ev'ry good man here some weapon wears
For my defence.

4th crowd.
Yes, he says well; and we'll defend him too.
(Several others.)
And so we will; huzza! huzza! huzza!
Long live brave Constantine, our noble Emperor!
(Many speaking at once.)
No, no! peace and surrender is our call!

[Raising loud cries, and brandishing their torches with violent threatening gestures.
4th crowd.
Hear him out, fools, and he'll perhaps consent
To hon'rable surrender.

Con.
(to 4th crowd, and those who range themselves on his side).
No, friends; if in this hope with me ye stand,
Turn to your place again; for whilst I breathe,
With men enough in these encompass'd walls
To fire one gun, never shall Turkish banner
Upon our turrets wave. In this firm mind,
Upon those walls I am content to die,
By foemen slain, or, if heav'n wills it so,
Here on this spot, by those I will not name.

Othoric.
No! we will die first, be it as it may,
Ere one hair of thy noble head shall fall!

Crowd
(on Constantine's side)
Long live brave Constantine! brave Paleologus!
Huzza! huzza!

Crowd
(on Constantine's side)
No; bread, and peace, and Mahomet, say we!

[Both parties call out tumultuously, and threaten one another, and Rodrigo, Justiniani, and Othus rush down amongst them, leaving their other friends to guard the door of the palace.
2d crowd
(to Rodrigo).
Ay, thou sea-lion! thou too needs must come
To growl upon us.

Rod.
No, faith! I know you well: ye are at large
A set of soft, luxurious, timid slaves,
On whom a cat with muffled paws might mew,
And ye would turn from it.—But still amongst you,
I would upon it pledge my mane and claws,
There are some honest souls who have ere now
Quaff'd their full bumpers to a brave man's health,
And I, in sooth, am come, with their good leave,
To shake hands with them all.
[Holding out his hand invitingly to the opposite crowd.
Come; who loves valiant worth and Paleologus,
Give me his hand.
(Many of the crowd giving him their hands.)
There is one for thee.
(Second.)
Ay, and there. (Third.)
And there.

Rod.
(to one who hesitates).
And thou, too, for thou wearst upon thy brow
A soldier's look: I must perforce have thee.
[Casting up his hat in the air, and joined by all the crowd on his side.
Long live brave Constantine! huzza!

[This they continue to do till the opposite party are dispirited and beat off the stage. Rodrigo then presents his newly-acquired friends to Constantine.
Con.
I thank you all, my brave and zealous friends.
Within the palace walls I'll now conduct you,
And marshal there my new-gain'd strength, for which
I give heaven thanks.

[Exeunt; Constantine, followed by his friends, &c. Rodrigo walking last, and just about to go off the stage, when Othoric re-enters by the opposite side, and calls after him.
Othoric.
Hark ye! a word with you, my noble captain.

Rod.
(returning).
What wouldst thou say?

Othoric.
Look on my face; my name is Othoric;
I'm strong, thou seest, and have a daring soul;
Look on my face; my name is Othoric:
Thinkst thou thou shalt remember me, though thou
Shouldst ne'er again behold me?

Rod.
I shall, my friend: thou hast a daring countenance.

Othoric.
My deeds shall not belie it. With this crowd
I came, a stranger of most desp'rate fortune,
And hired by treach'rous men fell work to do.
But now, unhired, I'll do for your brave master
A deed that shall make Turkish ears to tingle,
And Christian too, or fail it or succeed.

Rod.
What wilt thou do?

Othoric.
The consciousness of what one arm performs
Let one heart keep.

Rod.
Heaven aid and prosper then thy secret thought,
If it be good and honest! Fare thee well!

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

A small narrow street, before a private sombre-looking house. Enter Othus and Rodrigo.
Othus.
Move slowly here, for now we pass the fane,
In which the mystic vision-seeing sage
To ears of faith speaks his wild oracles.

Rod.
What, he of whom we've heard such marv'llous things?

Othus.
Yes; such perturbed times his harvest prove,
When anxious minds, in dread of coming ill,
Would draw aside, impatiently, the veil
Of dark futurity.—Softly, I pray:
A female form now issues from the door:
It moves, methinks, like Ella.

Enter Ella from the house, with a female Attendant.
Rod.
(eagerly).
It is herself, and I will speak to her.
Fair maid, as well I guess by that light trip,
Thy lover's fate hangs on a lucky thread;
Tough, and well whiten'd in a kindly sun.

Ella.
Well hast thou guess'd: fortune is passing kind;
She leads thee, fights for thee, and guards thy head
From ev'ry foeman's stroke.

Rod.
Ay, but thy lover, Ella! was it not
Of him we spoke?

Ella.
Fy, do not mock me thus!

Othus.
In truth he mocks thee, Ella, and no faith
To fates foretold or mystic sages gives.

Rod.
Believe him not, sweet maid. We seamen, truly,
Small dealings have with learned sorcery;
Nor bead, nor book, nor ring, nor mutter'd rhymes,
Are for our turn: but on the sea-rock's point,
In shape of hern, or gull, or carrion-bird,
Our un-feed wizards sit, and, with stretch'd throats,
Speak strange mysterious things to wave-toss'd men,
With many perils compass'd. Nay, ofttimes
The mermaid, seated on her coral throne,
Spreading her yellow hair to the sunn'd breeze,
Will sing a song of future fortunes fair
To him who has the luck to meet with her:
And e'en the nightly winds will through our shrouds
Distinctive voices utter unto those,
Who in their storm-rock'd cradles lie, and think
Of their far-distant homes.—I do believe
That all good fortune shall betide thy love,
Being thy love; for that doth far outdo
All other fortune; and besides, no doubt,
A fair and courtly youth.

Ella.
Go to! go to! thou mockest me again!
I love a brave man—

Rod.
And not passing fair,
Nor very courtly?

Othus.
No, nor wearing now
His youth's best bloom; but somewhat weatherbeaten,
And sunn'd on sultry shores?

Ella.
Fy on you both, you hold me in derision!
I'm young, and all unlearn'd, and well I know
Not passing sage; but do I merit this?

[Turns to go away from them in tears.
Rod.
By heavens thou shalt not go!
[Catching hold of her hand to prevent her.
Thou sweetest thing
That e'er did fix its lightly-fibred sprays
To the rude rock, ah! wouldst thou cling to me?
Rough and storm-worn I am: but if thou lov'st me,—
Thou truly dost,—I will love thee again
With true and honest heart, though all unmeet
To be the mate of such sweet gentleness.

Othus.
I hear a noise of footsteps: we'll retire;
Let us pursue our way.
[Looking behind as they go off.
'Tis one belonging to Valeria's train,
Who hither comes with quick and eager gait.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A large sombre room, with mystical figures and strange characters painted upon the walls, and lighted only by one lamp, burning upon a table near the front of the stage. Enter a Conjuror in a long loose robe, and Petronius, meeting him, by opposite sides.
Pet.
Well, my good sage, how thrives thy mystic trade?
Go all things prosperously?

Con.
As thou couldst wish: to many a citizen
I have the fix'd decree of fate foretold,
Which to the Sultan gives this mighty city,
Making all opposition and defence
Vain; and their superstition works for us
Most powerfully.

Pet.
So far 'tis well; but be thou on thy guard;
I am expressly come to caution thee.
Should any visit thee, whom thou suspectest
To be connected with th' imperial friends,
Be sure thy visions speak to them of things
Pleasant to loyal ears.

Con.
Fear not; I have already been forewarn'd,
And have such caution follow'd.

Pet.
Thou hast done wisely: still keep on thy guard,
And be not e'en surprised if thou, ere long,
Shouldst have a royal visiter. My agents,
Who in th' imperial palace are on watch,
Have giv'n me notice that Valeria's mind
Is this way bent. If so, let thy delusions
Still tempt her in the city to remain,
For herein is the Sultan much concern'd.
Hash! we are interrupted.

Enter a Servant.
Serv.
(to con.).
A noble matron craves to speak with thee.

Con.
Dost thou not know her?

Serv.
No; in a black stole
She's closely veil'd; yet noble is her gait;
And her attendant underneath his cloak,
But ill conceal'd, wears an imperial crest.

Pet. and Con.
(both together).
Can it indeed be she?

[Pausing to consider.
Con.
I'll venture it. (To servant.)
Go and conduct her hither.
[Exit servant.
It must be she: I'll boldly venture it.

Pet.
Thou mayst with little risk: meantime, remember
The caution I have given thee.

Con.
Trust to my skill, and be a while withdrawn,
My noble patron.

[Exit Petronius. Enter Valeria, concealed under a long black stole, followed by Lucia and two female attendants, who remain at the bottom of the stage whilst she comes forward.
Con.
Approach, great dame.

Val.
Yes, in misfortune so;
That is my eminence: and unto thee
I come, an anxious suitor, if that truly
Th' unseen mysterious powers, with whom thou dealst,
To human weal and woe alliance bear,
And may unto the care-rack'd mind foreshow
The path of awful fate that lies before it.
I do beseech thee!—

Con.
Say thou dost command;
For through that sable stole, were it as thick
As midnight's curtain, still I could behold
Thy keenly-glancing eye, and the dark arch
Of royal brows accustom'd to command.

Val.
Ha! dost thou see me?

Con.
Yea; and who is he,
Whose shadowy unreal form behind thee towers,
As link'd with thine though absent? O'er his head
Th' imperial eagle soars, and in his hand
He grasps the emblem of supreme command.

Val.
(throwing back the stole with astonishment mixed with fear).
O, most mysterious and wonderful!
Nothing is hid from thee: thou seest afar
The distant death's day of the swathed babe,
Falling in hoary age, and the life's morn
Of those who are not.—Here then all confess'd,
A wretched empress and a trembling wife,
I stand before thee. O let thy keen eye
Through the dark mist that limits nature's sight,
Follow that phantom o'er whose head doth soar
Th' imperial bird! for, be it good or ill,
His fate is mine, and in his fate alone
I seek to know it.

Con.
And hast thou strength to bear it? art thou firm?
For that which smites mine eye must smite thine ear.

Val.
(alarmed).
Thou reck'nest then to look on dreadful things?

Con.
I may or may not; but with mind not braced
In its full strength, seek not thy fate to know.

Val.
(after a hesitating pause of great agitation).
I can bear all things but the dread uncertainty
Of what I am to bear.

Con.
Then shall it be unto thee as thou wilt.

[After some mysterious motions and muttering to himself, he turns his face towards the bottom of the stage, as if he had his eye steadfastly fixed upon some distant point; and continues so for some time without moving, whilst she stands, watching his countenance eagerly, with her face turned to the front of the stage.
Val.
(impatiently, after a pause).
O! what dost thou behold?

Con.
Nay, nothing yet but the dark formless void.
Be patient and attend.—I see him now:
On the tower'd wall he stands: the dreadful battle
Roars round him. Through dark smoke, and sheeted flames,
And showers of hurtling darts, and hissing balls,
He strides: beneath his sword falls many a foe:
His dauntless breast to the full tide of battle
He nobly gives. Still on through the dark storm
Mine eye pursues him to his fate's high cope—

Val.
His fate's high cope! merciful, awful heaven!
[After a pause.
O, wherefore dost thou pause? thine eyes roll terribly:
What dost thou see? thou lookst on things most dreadful!
O look not thus, but say what thou dost see!

Con.
I see a frowning chief, the crescent's champion,
In bold defiance meet thy valiant lord.
The fight is fierce and bloody.—

Val.
Again thou pausest yet more terribly.—
Hast thou no utterance for what thou seest?
O God! O God! thou lookst upon his death!
[Clasping her hands violently.
Dost thou not speak? wilt thou not answer me?
Thou lookst upon his death!

Con.
I look on nothing, for thy frantic terrors
Have broken the fabric of my air-shaped vision,
And all is blank.

Val.
And will it not return to thee again?
O fix thine eyes, and to it bend thy soul
Intently, if it still may rise before thee,
For thou hast made me frantic!

Con.
(after a pause, and fixing his eyes as before).
The forms again return—
The champions meet: the fight is fierce and terrible:
The fateful stroke is given: and Constantine—

Val.
Merciful heaven!

Con.
And Constantine lays the proud crescent low.

Val.
(pausing for a moment as if to be assured that she has heard right, and then holding up her hands in ecstasy).
It is! it is! O words of bliss!—Thou seest it!
My Constantine lays the proud crescent low!
Thou lookst upon it truly; and their forms
Before thee move, e'en as the very forms
Of living men?

Con.
Even so.

Val.
O blessed sight!
It is not witch'ry's spell, but holy spirits
Sent from a gracious heav'n that shapes such forms;
And be it lawless or unhallow'd deem'd,
Here will I kneel in humble gratitude.

Con.
(preventing her from kneeling).
No, no, this must not be: attend again:
There's more behind.

Val.
Ha! sayst thou more behind? Or good or evil?

Con.
Mixed I ween: 'tis still in darkness lapp'd.

Val.
In darkness let it rest: I've heard enough,
I would not look upon thine eyes again,
And in my fancy shape thy unseen sights,
For all that e'er—Is that which lies behind
A far extended vision?
[Pausing anxiously.
Thou wilt not answer me—well, rest it so.
But yet, O forward look for one short year,
And say who then shall be this city's lord.

Con.
Thy husband and thy lord, most might dame,
Shall at that period be this city's lord.

Val.
Then I am satisfied. Thou hast my thanks,
My very grateful thanks. There is thy recompense,
And this too added.
[Giving him a purse, and then a ring from her hand.
We shall meet again
In happier days, when the proud crescent's low,
And thou shalt have a princely recompense.
[Turning to her attendants as she goes away.
Come, Lucia; come, my friends; the storm will pass,
And we shall smile in the fair light of heaven
In happier days.

[Exit, followed by her attendants.
Con.
(looking at his reward).
Good sooth, this almost smites against my heart;
But goes she not far happier than she came?
Have I not earn'd it well?

Re-enter Petronius.
Pet.
Thou hast well earn'd it.
What! harbour such poor scruples in a breast
So exercised in a trade like this?
Fy on't! But if thy conscience is so nice,
Know that thou hast in all good likelihood
Predicted truly; and her lord and husband
Shall be still, as thou sayst, this city's lord.

Con.
How so?

Pet.
Hast thou not skill enough to guess?
Much has the Sultan of Valeria heard;
And, with the future beauties of his palace,
His fancy, in the most distinguish'd rank,
Already places her. Thou wilt ere long,
I can foretel by certain fleeting shapes
Which at this moment dance before mine eyes,
A favour'd, famous, courtly prophet be.
My little Ella too, taught by my art,
May play, perhaps, her part; and so together
We'll amicably work.—May it not be?
Put up thy gold and say it is well earn'd.

Con.
It must be had, and therefore must be earn'd,
Falsely or honestly.—Does Constantine,
As speaks this morning's rumour, send again
Another embassy to Mahomet
With terms of peace?

Pet.
He does, my friend: already in the palace
He, and his band of self-devoted fools,
Deliberate on it. Thou, at no great risk,
Mayst prophecy the issue of their counsels.

Con.
I have adventured upon bolder guessing.

Pet.
Excepting that slight aid from Genoa,
Which by the master of a coasting vessel.
Kept secretly on watch, I am inform'd
Is now almost within sight of the coast,
No hope remains to Constantine. And this
Shall not deceive him long; for I've despatch'd,
In a swift-sailing skiff, a trusty agent,
Who shall with costly bribes and false reports
Deter their boldness from all desp'rate efforts
To force a passage to the block'd-up port:
A thing, Rodrigo's bold success alone
Hath taught us to believe e'en possible.

Con.
Thanks for your information, my good lord:
I'll profit by it.

Pet.
But use it prudently. And so good day.
Well thrive thy trade, and all good luck attend us.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE IV.

An apartment in the imperial palace, with a view through a grand arched door of another apartment, in which are discovered Constantine, Othus, Justiniani, Rodrigo, and others, arising from a council table. They enter and come forward.
Con.
Well, my brave friends, I to your care intrust
This last attempt by honourable treaty
To gain peace from the foe. Heav'n bless your efforts!

Jus.
All that strict honour will permit to us
Shall be most truly done, imperial lord,
And one step farther on we cannot go.

Con.
Had I wish'd more than this, Justiniani,
I had sent other ministers.—
Heav'n bless your efforts, brave ambassadors,
And make you wise as brave!
If we succeed not,
As much I fear, it is my earnest wish,
Ere the grand push that shall our fate decide,
To meet you all in blessed charity,
And join with you, perhaps, in the last rites
Of Christian worship that within our walls
Shall e'er be celebrated.

Othus.
Your wish shall be fulfill'd: we all desire it.

Con.
I thank you. In an hour hence be prepared
To set out for the Sultan's camp. So brothers,
Good day, and all good favour!

[Exeunt all but Constantine and Othus.
Con.
(to Othus, as he is about to go after the others).
Wilt thou go also, Othus?

Othus.
Not if your highness does command my stay.

Con.
Ah, gentle friend! I do no more command!
But this distresses thee. Well, gen'rous man,
Thou art commanded.
[Pointing to a seat, and they both sit.
Here, by thy friendly side,
I'll give my heart a little breathing space;
For oh! the gen'rous love of these brave men,
Holding thus nobly to my sinking fate,
Presses it sorely.
From thee nor from myself can I conceal
The hopeless state in which I am beset.
No foreign prince a brother's hand extends
In this my hour of need; no Christian state
Sends forth its zealous armies to defend
This our begirded cross: within our walls,
Though with th' addition of our later friends,
I cannot number soldiers e'en sufficient
To hold a petty town 'gainst such vast odds.
I needs must smile and wear a brow of hope,
But with thee, gentle Othus, I put off
All form and seeming; I am what I am,
A weak and heart-rent man.—Wilt thou forgive me?
For I in truth must weep.

Othus.
Yes, unrestrained weep, thou valiant soul
With many a wave o'er-ridden! Thou striv'st nobly
Where hearts of sterner stuff perhaps had sunk:
And o'er thy fall, if it be so decreed,
Good men will mourn, and brave men will shed tears,
Kindred to those which now thou shedst. Thy name
Shall in succeeding ages be remember'd,
When those of mighty monarchs are forgot.

Con.
Deceive me not; thy love deceiveth thee.
Men's actions to futurity appear
But as th' events to which they are conjoin'd
Do give them consequence. A fallen state,
In age and weakness fall'n, no hero hath;
For none remain behind unto whose pride
The cherish'd mem'ry of his acts pertains.
O no, good Othus, fame I look not for.
But to sustain in heav'n's all-seeing eye,
Before my fellow men, in mine own sight,
With graceful virtue and becoming pride,
The dignity and honour of a man,
Thus station'd as I am, I will do all
That man may do, and I will suffer all—
My heart within me cries, that man can suffer.
[Starting up with vehemence, and holding up both hands firmly clenched.
Shall low-born men on scaffolds firmly tread,
For that their humble townsmen should not blush
And shall I shrink? No, by the living God!
I will not shrink, albeit I shed these tears.

Othus.
To be in toils and perils, any in sufferings,
With th' applauding sympathy of men
Upon his side, is to the noble mind
A state of happiness beyond the bliss
Of calm inglorious ease.

Con.
O no, good Othus! thou misjudgest of me.
I would, God knows, in a poor woodman's hut
Have spent my peaceful days, and shared my crust
With her who would have cheer'd me, rather far
Than on this throne; but, being what I am,
I'll be it nobly.

Othus.
Yes, thou wilt be it nobly, spirit as brave
As e'er wore Cæsar's name!

Con.
(smiling sorrowfully).
Yes, there is cause for me; there is good cause.
But for those valiant men, link'd in my fate,
Who have in other lands their peaceful homes
And dear domestic ties, on whom no claim
Lays its strong hold—alas! what cause have they?
What is their recompense? Fame is not mine;
And unto them—O this doth press my heart!
A heart surcharged with many cares, and press'd
With that besides, which more than all—with that
Which I have wrestled with—which I have striv'n—
With that which comes between me and myself—
The self that as a Christian and a man
I strongly strove to be—

Othus.
You have before some secret cause of trouble
Hinted in broken words: will not your highness
Unto a faithful friend—

Con.
(turning away from him).
No, no, good Othus!
Sometimes I dream like a distracted man,
And nurse dark fancies. Power and lawless will—
Defenceless beauty—Mahomet—Valeria—
Shape out of these wild words whate'er thou wilt,
For I can say no more.

Othus.
Alas, I know it all!

Con.
And yet why should it thus disturb my mind?
A thought, perhaps, that in no other breast
Hath any shelter found.—It is my weakness:
I am ashamed of it.—I can look
On my short fated span and its dark bound:
I can, God strength'ning me, my earthly task
Close as becomes a king; and, being closed,
To that which in this world's tumultuous stage
Shall happen after it, I am as nothing.

Othus.
Alas! my royal master, do not thus
To racking thoughts give way! are there not means
To free you from this pain, if you to use them
Have courage? Let the empress be convey'd
Far from these walls. It is a cruel remedy,
But it will give you peace.

Con.
I did attempt it, but she has so closely
Entwined herself upon me—O, my friend,
It needs must pass! I in th'unconscious grave
Shall be at rest.

Othus.
But does she know the nature of your fears?

Con.
O no! she does not! from that hateful subject,
As from a hideous serpent, still with her
I've kept aloof.—Alas! what can I do?
I could as well into her noble heart
Thrust the barb'd dart, as tell her what I fear.

Othus.
Perhaps she still, as from the common horrors
Of a sack'd town, may be conjured to flee.
And here she comes: be it at least attempted.

Enter Valeria, Lucia, and attendant Ladies.
Val.
(to Constantine).
I come to claim thy promise: one short hour,
A hasty sunbeam through the cloud's dark skirt,
Thou giv'st to me, and I must claim my right.
Thy friends, too, ere they go, shall be my guests;
I have brought powerful suitors to assist me.
[Pointing to her ladies.
Ha! what disturbs thee? how is this, my love?
Thy face is changed and troubled—What new cause—

Con.
O, no new cause! one that has much disturb'd me.

Val.
And one to me unknown?

Con.
Speak to her, Othus!

Othus.
By many various ills and cares oppress'd,
Your royal lord is still most closely touch'd
With that which does your weal regard. What fate
May, in a storm-ta'en city, of dire sights
And horrid cruelties, have in reserve,
If such the city's doom, who can foresee?
O, let him then his painful station hold,
Gen'rous Valeria! from one care relieved,
His heaviest care, the thought of leaving thee
The involved witness of such horrid things!

Val.
What wouldst thou say in this? Thinkst thou the ruin
In which he perishes will have for me
Or form or circumstances? It will be
Th' upbreaking crash of all existing things,
That undistinguish'd is, and felt but once.
Othus, thou talkst like an unskilful sage:
It was not thus thy master bade thee speak.

Con.
Valeria, hard necessity compels us.
I have already safe asylum sought
For the last tender remnant of our race,
That something might from this dire wreck be saved,
And shall I not for thee—

Val.
No; I am nothing
But what I am for thee! When that is finish'd—

Con.
Ah, my Valeria, but that will not finish!
Thou still mayst be for me—thou still mayst bear
Honour'd memorial amongst living men
Of him who was thy lord.—Good Lucia, aid me,
And gentle Servia, too, and all of you!
[To the ladies.
Cling round your mistress with your soothing love,
And say that in a foreign land you'll be
The faithful friends and soothers of her woe,
Where ev'ry virtuous heart will bear to her
The kindred ties of holiest sympathy.
Say ye will be with her in kindliest zeal:
Ye will not leave her?

Lucia and the other ladies.
No, we'll never leave her!
[Gathering round her affectionately.
Most dear and royal mistress, whilst life holds,
In whate'er land, in whate'er state you are,
We'll never leave you.

Val.
I know it well: thanks to your gen'rous love!
But yet forbear, nor thus beset me round!
[Putting them gently from her, and fixing her eyes upon Constantine.
O, Paleologus! hast thou for me
In fancy shaped a world and an existence
Where thou art not?
[Running to him and falling on his neck.
Here is my world, my life, my land of refuge,
And to no other will I ever flee.
Here still is light and hope; turning from this,
All else is round me as a yawning tomb.

Con.
My dearest love! my gen'rous honour'd love!
My sweet Valeria! thou distractest me;
But have thy way, for I can urge no more.
Let dark fate come: I will abide its worst.

Val.
Nay, say not dark; there is a hope within me;
'Tis sure, 'tis strong, it cannot be deceitful.
[A signal heard from without.
Hark! Hark! a signal!
(Voices are heard calling without.)
Ships are in sight! supplies and warlike aid!
Heaven sends us aid!

Val.
(holding up her hands).
O blessed sound! there is salvation in it.
Heaven sends us aid!
[Voices again call out as before, and the signal is repeated.
Again the blessed sound!
And here Rodrigo comes, wearing a face
Of welcome tidings. Enter Rodrigo.

Succours, brave Rodrigo?

Rod.
Yes, ships from Genoa are now in sight,
Bearing, no doubt, brave aid, if to the port
They can make good their entrance.
(All, except Constantine.)
Good heaven be bless'd.

Con.
And says Rodrigo “if?”

[Shaking his head.
Val.
Nay, fear not, they will enter; with them comes
Another brave Rodrigo; through barr'd adamant,
Did it oppose them, they will force their way.

Rod.
If they have but one jot of manhood in them,
They'll do all possible things.

Val.
Ay, and all things are possible!

Con.
In truth, thou talkst with such exulting confidence,
Thou almost temptest me to grasp at hope.

[Voices call out as before, and a signal from the towers.
Val.
The animating sound! Come, come! O, come!
And o'er the blue waves hail the blessed sight!

[Runs out exultingly, every one following her with animated alacrity.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Turkish camp; the tent of Mahomet, who is discovered sitting alone in the eastern manner, with a great sheet of parchment spread out before him, which he is considering attentively.
Mah.
(after tracing some lines with a pen or pencil).
Ho, Osmir! art thou here? Enter Osmir.

Come hither, vizir; follow with thine eye
The various dispositions of this plan
Which for our grand attack I here have traced.
God and the Prophet being on our side,
That mingled broil of fierce and dreadful fight,
Which shall not cease till from the list of nations
This eastern empire, with its long told line
Of paltry Cæsars, be expunged and blank,
Shall not be long delay'd.

Osmir.
All things must yield unto the towering spirit
And comprehensive genius of your highness.
Permit your slave.
[Looking over the plan.
Conceived, indeed, with deep and wondrous skill!
But, mighty lord, if that a worm may speak,
Your van, methinks, is of a motley class,
The vile refuse and garbage of the camp;
Are Mussulmen led on in glory's path
By such as these?

Mah.
(smiling fiercely).
No; but brave Mussulmen o'er such as these
May step to glory's path. Garbage, I trust,
Is good enough for filling ditches up.
Some thousand carcases, living and dead,
Of those who first shall glut the en'my's rage,
Push'd in, pell-mell, by those who press behind,
Will rear for us a bridge to mount the breach
Where ablest engineers had work'd in vain.

Osmir.
This did escape my more contracted thoughts.
And here your highness stations Georgian troops:
Are they sure men in such important service?

Mah.
(smiling again).
Ay, sure as death; here is my surety for them.
Seest thou what warriors in the rear are placed,
With each a cord and hatchet in his hand?
Those grizly hangmen, in their canvas sleeves,
Fight for me better than an armed band
Of Christian knights full cap-à-pie. Look o'er it:
Something, perchance, may have escaped my thoughts.

Osmir
(after again examining it).
No; every thing is consummately plann'd.—
But, mighty sultan, this old officer,
Whom you have station'd here with your new troops,
Is not to be relied on.

Mah.
How so, Osmir?

Osmir.
It is suspected that he has received
The en'my's gold; one thing, at least, is certain,
He has had private meetings with the foe.

Mah.
What! art thou sure of this?—Send for him quickly.
The fool 'mid blocks and bowstrings has so long
His base head tott'ring worn, he thinks, no doubt,
It needs must be his own. Send for him quickly,
And see that which is needful done upon him.
[Drawing the pen sternly across the name on the plan.
There; from the world of living things I blot him;
Another takes his place. (Giving a paper to Osmir.)

These are the usual orders for the night;
Assemble thou the sev'ral officers,
And give to each his own particular charge.

Osmir.
Your slave obeys.

[Exit.
Mah.
(alone, after musing for a little while).
Have I done well to give this hoary vet'ran
Who has for thirty years fought in our wars,
To the death-cord unheard?
[Sternly, after pausing a short space.
I have done well.
In my disguised rounds, but two nights since,
List'ning at his tent-door, I heard him speak
Words that methought approach'd to slight esteem
Of my endowments and capacity.
Yes, he is guilty.
[After walking up and down several times he opens another scroll.
But I will fear no treason: here is that
On which I may rely. In mortal man
I have no trust; they are all hollow slaves,
Who tremble and detest, and would betray.
But on the fates, and the dark secret powers,
So say those sure unerring calculations
Of deep astrology, I may depend.
[Sitting down again, and considering the scroll.
Ay, it must needs be so: this constellation
In close conjunction with the warrior's star,
Traced back in magic numbers three times three,
And nine times nine, and added three again,
Unto the hour of my nativity,
Makes it infallible. Here have I mark'd it
With my own science, num'ral, learn'd, and sure.
Ha! ha! your foolish Christians now believe
Men's future fortunes are by wizards seen,
In airy forms pourtray'd, like mimic shows,
And trust thereto with fond simplicity.
[Othoric, who about the middle of this speech has made his appearance from behind the curtain of the tent, disguised like a Turk, but without a turban, now, stealing alose up to Maiiomet, lifts up his dagger to strike.
What do I hear?

Othoric.
It is thy fate, blind Turk, uncalculated.

[Striking.
Mah.
(parrying the blow with his sheathed scimitar, which he afterwands draws).
Ho! help without! treason and parricide!
Ho! guards without, I say!

[Guards rush in, and Othoric is seized, after defending himself desperately.
Mah.
(to Othoric).
Who art thou? What dark tyrant set thee on
To do this murderous and horrid deed?

Othoric.
And thinkst thou such deeds horrid?—But I came
To act and not to speak.

Mah.
Say rather, villain, to be acted on.
Do racks and burning iron please thee well
That thou shouldst earn them with such desperate pains.
(To the Guards.)
Stretch out his arms, and let me look on them.
[Looking at his arms, and surveying him all over, he shrinks back as from a danger escaped, and then smiles grimly.
There will be tough work on those sinewy limbs
When they are dealt with. Lead the traitor off.
I will give orders for his fate ere long.
[To Othoric, who is about to speak.
Thou shalt not speak: I hate thy horrible face.
Lead him away!

[Exeunt Othoric and Guards, met by Petronius and Marthon, who enter as they are going out.
Pet.
What prisoner is this they lead along?

Mah.
A dark assassin in my tent conceal'd,
Whose daring hand e'en now aim'd at my life.

Pet.
(casting up his eyes to heaven).
The life of great and godlike Mahomet!
It makes my blood turn cold.

Mar.
I too am stunn'd, and tremble at the thought.

Mah.
Yes, all may tremble who in the dark purpose
Have part or knowledge had.

Pet. and Mar.
(both alarmed).
What means my lord?

[Mahomet walks several times across the stage with angry strides, whilst they look fearfully upon one another, and then going sternly up to them.
Mah.
I know the base transactions of last night:
Ye stuff'd my gold into the dirty palms
Of those who shook their torches in the air,
And cried long live brave Paleologus.
I know it all: think ye with upcast looks,
And mumm'ry such as this, to blind mine eyes?

Pet.
(falling on his knees).
As there's a God in heav'n, to you, great Sultan!
We have been true!

[Marthon kneels also.
Mah.
Up, crouching slaves! when men, so bred as you are,
Thus lowly kneel, my very soul abhors them.

Pet.
Your death, great monarch, were to Paleologus
Triumph and safety, but to us swift ruin.

Mar.
And shall suspicions so improbable
Fall upon us, who in your secret service
Have dangers braved, and from your hands alone
Look for the recompense?

Pet.
If we last night have fail'd—

Mah.
(stamping with his foot).
I will not hear you! Enter Osmir.

Osmir, knowst thou this horrible attempt?

Osmir.
I do, great prince, and bless the prophet's arm
That has preserved you. What base enemy
Has arm'd the desp'rate villain?

Mah.
Petronius here and his smooth Grecian friend
Throw accusation on the emperor.

Osmir.
This moment in your camp there is arrived
An embassage of his most honour'd friends,
Sent by the emperor to treat of peace.

Mah.
At this unlikely hour?

Osmir.
Yes, time now presses, and, as I should guess,
The hopes of succour from those friendly vessels
That vainly have attempted through your fleets
To force a passage, raising short-lived joy
Full soon extinguish'd, has to this late hour
Delay'd their coming.
Hope gone, they now are humbled suitors. Here,
Within your power, you have the chiefest men
Of the brave friends on whom he most depends;
This does not look like preconcerted plots
Of secret murder, at this very hour
To be attempted

Mah.
No, Osmir, there is reason in thy words.

Osmir.
But if your highness thinks it is expedient,
I will straightway arrest them.

Mah.
(after hesitating).
No; they are valiant men, and do as such
Claim honour from a valiant foe. Go say,
That by the morning's dawn they shall have audience;
The open camp, with wide-mouth'd cannon cloth'd,
And all my lofty garniture of war,
Shall be my hall of state. Secure those men
Until my farther orders!

[Pointing to Petronius and Marthon, and exit, followed by Osmir. Remain Petronius and Marthon guarded.
1st guard.
Come on, my masters, we'll conduct you safely.

Mar.
(to Petronius).
Is it to plunge me in this dreadful gulf
That your cursed lessons have seduced my youth?

Pet.
Upbraid me not. I have not for myself
A better fate reserved. But we are noble,
And of high lineage; fear not, for the Sultan
Will still respect us.

2d guard.
Ay, so belike he will; your noble heads
May with the royal scimitar be sever'd,
If he is much inclined to honour you.
Some men ere now, in other Sultans' days,
Have been so honour'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An open space in the camp, with the Janizaries and Turkish troops drawn up in order. Cannon and warlike engines seen mixed with the tents. A flourish of trumpets; enter Mahomet, with Osmir and his train, and places himself in a chair of state near the front of the stage. Another flourish of trumpets, and enter Othus, Justiniani, and Rodrigo, with a small train of attendants, walking slowly up the stage.
Mah.
(to Osmir, as they come forward).
These men approach us with a hardy step,
Nor wear the suppliant's humbled brow. Come they
To sue or to command us?
[To Othus and the other deputies, who make obeisance to him.
You are permitted to declare your errand.
If your hard-lesson'd chief, more prudent grown,
Will now resign his proud imperial city
Into the hands to whom high heaven's decree,
And power on earth resistless, soon shall give it,
I will receive that which he cannot hold
With grace and favour.

Othus.
High heaven's decrees are known to mortal man
But in th' event fulfill'd; and for earth's power,
The cannon-flanked cohorts, and wide front
Of far extended numbers, show it not
To him, who in the small and secret fortress,
E'en of one brave man's breast, more help discovers,
Oft in th' astounding hour of the storm's pitch,
Than in an armed host. Imperial Constantine
Will live or die within his city's walls
As may become their master.—Nevertheless,
He will so far to hard necessity—

Mah.
I hear no more: your words are in effectual,
And fall as powerless as the ruffian's sword,
Whom now, within my tent, your royal master,
Compell'd no doubt by hard necessity,
Has hired to murder me.

Just.
(stepping boldly forward).
Sultan, thou sittest where thou safely mayst
Say what thou wilt, therefore of all mankind
Thou most art bound to say but what is meet.
Put those accusing words that thou hast utter'd
Into the mouth of any other Turk,
Wore he a giant's form, for in your camp
I know that such there be, and I will prove it,
With this good soldier's arm, a cursed falsehood.

Othus
(to Justiniani, pulling him back).
Thou art not wise.—Great Sultan, hear me speak.
If any base attack upon your life
Has been attempted, let the murd'rous villain,
If still he breathes, be here before us brought.
In presence of your highness we will question him:
Perchance he will confess what secret foe
Has armed his daring hand.

Mah.
(after giving orders to a guard in dumb show, who immediately goes out).
Your suit is granted.
These men speak boldly, vizir.

[Aside to Osmir.
Osmir
(aside to Mahomet).
They shrink not from the proof.

Enter Othoric fettered and guarded.
Mah.
(to Othoric).
As thou mayst hope a mitigated doom,
I here command thee that thou truly answer
Whate'er those Roman deputies demand.

Othoric.
I do not hope a mitigated doom,
And therefore, Sultan, cannot be commanded:
But if this brave man here will question me,
[Pointing to Rodrigo.
For in his presence I do feel my spirit
To manhood's height braced up, I'll truly answer,
Though every word did in my sinews fix
The burning pincer's tooth.

Rod.
Ha! Othoric art thou not? the strong Hungarian?

Othoric
(smiling).
Ay, thou rememberest my name—I thank thee—
It pleases me to think thou'lt ne'er forget it.
Ask what thou wilt, and I will answer thee;
Bid me do what thou wilt, and I will do it,
Barring the hind'rance of these chains.

Rod.
Thanks to thee!
Then whatsoe'er the Sultan asks of thee,
Answer him truly. He will point his questions
Where his suspicion falls.

Othoric.
I will obey.

Mah.
(sternly).
Who hired thee, thou bold and hard-brow'd villain,
Such horrid deed to do?

Othoric.
I have been twice hired, mighty Mahomet,
To do fell deeds, in which I've lack'd performance.

Mah.
And who first hired thee?

Othoric.
Thyself.

Mah.
Base traitor!
Dar'st thou belie me to my very face?

Othoric.
That I belie thee not be this my token;
My hire was given to me by Petronius,
Told from a sable bag, on whose seal'd mouth
Thy scimitar and crescent were impress'd.

Othus.
Petronius!

Othoric.
Yes, that smooth, subtle Greek.

Mah.
He hired thee not to take the life of Constantine?

Othoric.
True; I was hired for wasteful insurrection,
Not for delib'rate murder. Though most wretched,
A stranger, griped by hard necessity,
The price he gave me ne'er had bought this arm
To such an act.

Mah.
And who did hire thee for this second deed,
Which thou must needs delib'rate murder call?

Othoric.
'Twas Constantine.

Just.
Thou liest, foul, artful villain!

Mah.
Peace I command! ye shall not interrupt him.
'Twas Constantine that hired thee?

Othoric.
Yes, great Sultan!
But not with gold, and he himself, I ween,
Unconscious of the act.

Mah.
What did he bribe thee with?

Othoric.
With that which does but seldom prove the means
Of like corruption—gen'rous admiration
Of noble manly virtue. I beheld him,
Like a brave stag encompass'd by base curs,
And it did tempt me.—Other bribe than this
Have I had none; and to no mortal ear
Did I reveal my purpose.

[Mahomet puts his hand on his forehead and seems disturbed, whilst the deputies hold up their hands exultingly.
Rod.
(to Othoric).
O for a galley mann'd with such as thou art,
Therewith to face a hundred armed ships,
Creatured with meaner life!
Yet thou must die, brave heart! yet thou must die.
Thou hast done that which in no circumstance
Man's hand may do, and therefore thou must perish.
But I'll remember thee: thy name is Othoric:
I will remember thee.

Osmir
(to Mahomet, who covers his face and seems disturbed, after a pause).
Your highness gives no orders to your slave
Touching the prisoner.

Mah.
(uncovering his face angrily).
His crime is plain: death be his instant doom.

Osmir.
And in what mode? or simple or with pains?

Mah.
Distract me not.

Othoric.
Vizir, be not so hasty.
I bear with me what will redeem my life,
And gain the Sultan's pardon.

Osmir.
Ah! thinkest thou to gain him with that bribe
Which Constantine gave thee?

[Shaking his head.
Othoric.
No, not with that. I wear upon this arm,
A potent band, with subtile magic wrought,
That, wheresoe'er 'tis on my body rubb'd
With mutter'd words which I alone do know,
Maketh the part firm and invulnerable
To sword, or bullet, or the arrow's point—
To all offensive things. Believe me not,
But see the proof.—Relieve mine arms, I pray,
That I may show this wonder.

Mah.
Unlock his fetters: if he tamper with us,
His tortures are enhanced.

Othoric
(to the guard who stands next him, after he has been unfettered, and at the same time uncovering his left arm).
Young Turk, thou wearst a dagger by thy side:
To show that I am made as other men,
Of flesh and blood as soft and sensitive,
When with no charm secured, thrust it, I pray thee,
Into this nerved flesh. Nay, do not shrink,
For I shrink not.

Mah.
Do it, thou timid slave!

[The guard slightly wounds Othoric 's arm with the point of the dagger.
Othoric.
You see it is an arm of flesh and blood;
And so you'll find my body in all parts,
Thrust where you will.—But mark me; wheresoe'er
I rub this band, your weapons have no power.
[Opening his breast and rubbing it with a bracelet which he takes from his arm, at the same time muttering some mystical words to himself.
Now try if e'er the stoutest arm amongst you,
With pike, or spear, or keenly-temper'd blade,
Can pierce this charmed breast.

Mah.
(to an attendant).
Attempt it, brawny slave; thine arm is strong.
(To Osmir.)
Give him a stronger weapon.—Now the proof!

[The slave, receiving a sword from Osmir, runs with full force upon Othoric, who falls down, pierced through the breast, and utters a convulsive laugh as he expires.
Rod.
(exultingly).
O, bravely done, thou spirit of true proof!

Just.
Yes, nobly has he shunn'd the degradation
Of slavish punishment.

Othus.
It was a lofty mind in a rude state
Of wild distorted virtue; 'cross the fancy
It stalks a gloomy, dark, gigantic shade,
Angel or fiend we know not.

Mah.
(aside to himself, turning gloomily away).
And Constantine is served by men like these!

Othus
(to Mahomet).
Seeing that of this crime our royal master
Doth clearly stand acquitted, by your word,
Most mighty Mahomet, we are permitted
To state his wishes.

Mah.
No, ambassadors;
I have already said I hear no more
Unless ye yield the city.—Leave ye have
In safety to return.—You and your chief
O'er a volcano's thinly-bridged gulf
Have ta'en your stand, and the dire crash is near.

Othus.
And with our chief in that tremendous ruin,
If it must be, we will sink lovingly.

Just.
We will sink honourably.

Rod.
We will sink gloriously. Ay, by heaven's light,
And cheerly too, great Sultan!
[Passing the body of Othoric as they turn to go away.
Thou noble wreck, thou wast rigg'd gallantly!

[Exeunt Othus, Justiniani, Rodrigo, and their attendants.
Mah.
(coming forward to the front of the stage, and standing for some time in a thoughtful posture much disturbed).
And Constantine is served by men like these!

Osmir
(to slaves, pointing to the body of Othoric).
Take up the carcase of that savage ruffian,
And stick it on a stake for vulture's food.

Mah.
(turning round angrily).
No, reptiles, let it have a soldier's grave!

Osmir.
This is exceeding mercy; ne'ertheless,
Your orders, mighty prince, shall be obey'd
By those who are as dust beneath your feet.

Mah.
Yes, I do know that I shall be obey'd
By those who are—I am begirt with slaves.
[Turning away, and stamping on the ground as he walks.
My enemy is served by men like these!
I will give orders with all pressing speed
That now my grand attack forthwith be made:
What next may be attempted by such foes
Who may divine?

Osmir.
That is the safest counsel.

[Exeunt; Mahomet tossing his arms and muttering us he goes out.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

An outpost belonging to the Turkish camp, with a view of the city of Constantinople in the background seen in the dimness of cloudy moonlight. Enter several Turkish soldiers by different ways, meeting one another.
1st Turk.
Ho! who are ye? our friends?

2d Turk.
I know thy voice.

1st Turk.
Yes, we are friends; but let us separate,
And gain our tents as quickly as we may:
For now through all the camp the busy stir
Of warlike preparation is begun;
And ere the morning dawn, each armed Turk
Must hold him ready for th' approaching day
Of havock, blood, and spoil. Come, let us on!

3d Turk.
Yes; but, good comrades, do once more look back,
And see, through the wan night, those buildings gleam
With the last Christian fires that e'er shall burn
Within those circling walls.

2d Turk.
Ay, there the Prophet has prepared our rest.
There soon, midst heap'd-up spoils, and the wild wailings
Of fetter'd beauty, in our new-won homes,
We'll cast our reeking scimitars aside,
And lay us down in soft and lordly sloth.
Comrades, it is an animating sight.
But quickly let us gain our tents.—Hush! hush!
What Turk comes prowling this way, and alone?
It looks like Mahomet.

1st Turk.
It is the Sultan on his nightly rounds,
Disguised; let us avoid him.

3d Turk.
I'd rather cross a tiger on my way;
For, as the humour hits, it may be fatal
To know or not to know him. At the best
We shall be deem'd but lawless stragglers here:
Let us all separate and gain our tents.

[Exeunt hastily, all by different ways.
Enter Mahomet disguised, followed at a distance by the Vizir.
Mah.
(alone, after walking thoughtfully from the bottom of the stage, whilst Osmir remains in the background).
What boots this restless wish? 'tis all blank silence
On that for which my greedy ears still watch.
There's ne'er a Turk, who, o'er his ev'ning pipe,
Will not far rather talk of daring feats
By petty robbers done, than all the fame
And grand achievements of his sov'reign lord.
'Tis cheerless silence all! Dull stupid race!
They arm them for to-morrrow's fight, 'tis true,
With much alacrity, and talk of conquest,
Carnage, and spoils; but for their Sultan's name,
The name of Mahomet, through all the camp
I've scarcely heard its sound. Nay, once I heard it
In accents harsh pronounced, but as to listen
I nearer drew, my steps the speaker scared,
And all was into fearful silence hush'd.
Their Sultan's name!—Pest seize the stupid slaves!
O, Constantine! it is not thus thy soldiers
Do arm themselves for thee.
Ho, Osmir! art thou near me?

Osmir
(advancing).
Yes, my lord.

Mah.
Hast thou been list'ning too?

Osmir.
Yes, Sultan; and I find your Mussulmen
Their arms preparing for to-morrow's battle,
Beneath your royal standard most determin'd
To conquer or to die.
They under your approving eye will fight,
As in the sunshine of propitious heaven.

Mah.
Yes, I am in their minds full truly grown
A thing of gen'ral attributes composed—
A heaven of sunshine or of lowering storms:
But as a man and leader, in whom live
The mental and corporeal qualities
Of Mahomet—Pest seize the stupid slaves! Enter Petronius and Marthon muffled up in cloaks.

But who comes here? twice on my rounds already
Those men have cross'd me: am I known to them?
By the great Prophet they shall bear their secret
Where secrets are secure!—Ho! stop slaves there!
Stop, in the Sultan's name!

[Running upon them furiously, and lifting his scimitar over the head of Petronius, who immediately discovers himself.
Pet.
Crush not a worm, my lord.

Mah.
A worm indeed! What treason brings ye here,
Skulking, thus muffled up in dark disguise?
Have I not warn'd ye both that ye do live
Beneath mine iron power in strictest faultlessness?
For that when ye are found but to transgress
The galling limits of imposed duty
Even a hair's breadth, there abideth you
A recompense more dreadful than torn slaves,
Writhing in horrid ecstasy, e'er knew.
Beware: ye have no power to serve me now,
And unsuccessful traitors are most hateful.

Pet.
It is, great Mahomet, to make amends
For unsuccessful services, that here
Thou findst us, on our way within the city
To gain for thee some useful information
Against to-morrow's push. Still in our power
Some little aid remains.

Mah.
If thou sayst true, return to me again,
Leading thy beauteous daughter in thy hand,
Ere two hours pass, who shall within my tent
A pledge remain for thy suspicious faith
Until the city's ta'en.—Begone, I charge you,
And answer not again.
[Exeunt Petronius and Marthon.
Are all my orders issued for the morrow?
To each respective officer assign'd
His task and station? and my rearward troops,
My axe and cord-men, they are not forgotten?

Osmir.
No, please your highness, nothing is forgotten.
And by the early dawn—

[A mixture of confused distant sounds heard from the city.
Mah.
What sounds are these?

Osmir.
Hast thou forgot we are so near the city?
It is the murm'ring night sounds of her streets,
Which the soft breeze wafts to thine ear, thus softly
Mix'd with the chafings of the distant waves.

Mah.
(eagerly).
And let me listen too! I love the sound!
Like the last whispers of a dying enemy
[Listening.
It comes to my pleased ear.
Spent art thou, proud imperial queen of nations,
And thy last accents are upon the wind.
Thou hast but one voice more to utter; one
Loud, frantic, terrible, and then art thou
Amongst the nations heard no more. List! list!
I like it well! the lion hears afar
Th' approaching prey, and shakes his bristling mane,
And lashes with his tail his tawny sides,
And so hear I this city's nightly sound.

Osmir.
It is indeed a rich and noble conquest
Which heaven unto its favour'd warrior gives.

Mah.
Yes, Osmir; I shall wear a conqu'ror's name,
And other ages shall of Mah'met speak,
When these dumb slaves are crumbling in the dust.
But now the night wears on, and with the dawn
Must the grand work begin.
Yet one thing still remains; I must remind thee
That to my gen'ral orders this be added:—
Silent shall be the march; nor drum, nor trump,
Nor clash of arms, shall to the watchful foe
Our near approach betray; silent and soft,
As the pard's velvet foot on Libya's sands,
Slow stealing with crouch'd shoulders on her prey.

Osmir.
I have already given the strictest orders.

Mah.
Then all is well: go where thy duty calls.
In the meanwhile I'll snatch an hour of rest,
And dream, perhaps, that lovely Grecian dames,
Even with a crowned beauty in their band,
Are lowly bent to kiss my purple feet.
[A distant bell heard from the city.
What deep and distant bell is this which sounds
So solemnly on the still air of night?

Osmir.
It comes from St. Sophia's lofty dome,
Where Constantine, with his small band of friends,
As I have learnt, should at this hour assemble.
To join together in religious rites
Of solemn preparation for to-morrow,
Which they regard as their last day of life,
And this as their last act of social brotherhood.

Mah.
Brave men! do they so meet?
[Pausing.
But it must be.
Why should it move me? Heaven decrees their doom:
I act by high commission, though for instruments
I have but these dumb slaves.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A pillared aisle or open space in the church of St. Sophia, with other parts of the church seen in perspective. The great bell heard. Enter Heugho, met by an inferior priest.
Priest.
Thou com'st before thy master and his friends:
How far are they behind?

Heugho.
Not many paces.

[Bell sounds again.
Priest.
Wherefore didst thou start?

Heugho.
It smote mine ear most strange and dolefully.
Is there soul in its sound which sadly says,
It is the last bell that shall Christians warn
To holy rites within these fated walls?
How many hundred years this sacred pavement
Has with the tread of Christian feet been worn!
And now—Heaven's will be done!

Priest.
So must we say, if that our turn be come.
We are a wicked and luxurious race,
And we have pull'd this ruin on our heads.

Heugho.
But there are those who needs must fall beneath it,
Whose noble worth deserved a better fate.

Priest.
Think ye the grand assault will be so soon?

Heugho.
'Tis so believed: and see where now they come,
In gen'rous love and brotherhood united,
Who shall, perhaps, no more see evening's close,
Or under social roof of living men
E'er meet again.

Priest.
Nay, do not weep, good Heugho;
For in that blessed place they shall be join'd
Where great and good men meet.—But I must haste
To give my brethren notice.

[Exit.
Enter Constantine, with Othus, Rodrigo, Justiniani, and others of his friends, who walk with solemn steps and bareheaded towards the front of the stage, the great bell sounding for the last time as they advance. Constantine then stops, and stretching out his arm as if he wished to speak, they all gather respectfully round him.
Con.
My friends, there greatly presses on my heart
Somewhat I've much desired to say to you,
If a full heart will grant me so much voice.

Othus.
Then speak it, royal sire, we all attend
With ears of love and most profound respect.

Con.
Thus station'd on a dark and awful verge,
In company with you, my noble friends,
I have desired, in this solemn act,
To make my peace with God. But, on my soul,
If any unforgiven wrong to man
Yet rests, how shall I lift my hands to Him
Who has made all men, and who cares for all,
As children of one grand and wondrous house,
Wherein the mightiest monarch of the earth
Holds but a little nook?
I have been one, placed on a giddy height
Of seeming greatness, therefore liable,
In nature's poor infirmity, to acts
Of blind and foolish pride. I have been one
In much real feebleness, upheld, defended,
By voluntary aid and gen'rous zeal
Of valiant strangers owing me no service;
And therefore liable, in the mind's weakness,
Its saddest weakness, to ungrateful thoughts
Tinctured with jealousy. If towards you,
My noble friends, I have contracted guilt,
I trust—I know—I beg—what shall I say?
Your gen'rous hearts to all your deeds of love
Will add a last forgiveness.

Othus.
O no, most royal Constantine! to us
And to all men thou'st ever worthy been,
Noble and gracious; pardon at our hands
Thou needest none.

Omnes.
O no, thou needest none!
As we to thee have faithful followers been,
Thou'st ever been to us a gen'rous lord.

Con.
Your love would make it so: would that, indeed,
A voice within me seal'd its fair report!
Alas! it doth not; therefore now indulge me.
If there be one amongst you, unto whom,
With dark forbidding brow, in a stern moment,
I've given ungen'rous pain; one whose kind service
I have with foolish and capricious humours
More irksome made; one whose frank openness
Of manly love, offer'd to me as man
In gen'rous confidence, with heartless pride
I coldly have repell'd; yea, if there be
One of you all that ever from my presence
I have with sadden'd heart unkindly sent,
I here, in meek repentance, of him crave
A brother's hand, in token of forgiveness.
And be it in true charity stretch'd forth,
As to a man of much infirmity,
Who has with many trials been beset,
Wounding ofttimes in bitterness of soul
The love he should have honour'd.
What! is there none that will to me hold out
The palm of charity?
Then I'll embrace you all, and, with eased heart
Believe myself forgiven.
[Embracing them all as they crowd affectionately to him, and coming last to Rodrigo.
And thou, my bold Rodrigo, who canst brave
The tempests when they rage, and onward bear,
With the opposed strength of towering navies
Black'ning before thee, com'st thou to my breast
In soft forgiving love? I know thou dost.

Rod.
Ay, in that love that would forgive to thee
The sum of all thy sins, though multiplied
Ten thousand thousand fold.—
That would do in thy service—O cursed limit!
That there should be what to man's sinew'd strength,
In all the burning zeal of righteous boldness,
Impossible is.

[Clenching his hands vehemently.
Othus
(to Rodrigo).
Cease! dost thou not respect these holy walls?

Rod.
I do respect them, Othus; ne'er a head,
Shorn to the scalp, doth bow itself more humbly
Before heaven's throne than mine, albeit in truth
My words unseemly are.

Con.
Come to my heart, my friend! He reigns above
Who will forgive us both.
[Embraces Rodrigo, and then observing Heugho, who has stood behind, not presuming to approach him with the rest.
But there is one who stands from me aloof
With modest backwardness, unto whose charity
I must be debtor also. Worthy Heugho,
Since earliest youth I from thy friendly hand
Have daily kindly offices received,
Proffer'd with love, exceeding far all duty
Belonging to thy state; yet, ne'ertheless,
I once, in a most vile and fretful mood,
Vex'd with cross things, thine honour'd age forgot.

Heugho.
Oh, say not so, my dear and royal master.
It breaks my heart that you should still remember.

Con.
Well, well, be not thus moved, my worthy Heugho,
I know I am forgiv'n; but lay thy hand,
Thine aged hand, upon thy master's head,
And give him a last blessing. Thou art now
Like to an ancient father with us grown,
And my heart says that it will do me good.
[Bowing his head, whilst Heugho, lifting up his aged hands over him, is unable to speak, but bursts into tears, and falls upon his master's neck. The band of friends close round and conceal them: afterwards they open to make way, and Constantine comes forward with a firm enlightened countenance.
And now, my noble friends, it pleases me
To think we all are knit in holy bands
Of fellowship; prepared, in virtue's strength,
Nobly to fight on earth, or meet in heaven.

Othus.
Yes, Constantine, we to each other will
True brothers prove, and to our noble chief
Devoted followers, whate'er betide.
What say ye, valiant friends?

Omnes.
All, all of us!

Con.
I know you will, full well, I know you will.
Oh, that on earth it had been granted me
Your gen'rous love to've recompensed! alas!
Ye can but share with me—

Omnes.
No other recompense,
But sharing fates with thee, our noble chief,
Do we desire, and on thy royal hand
Here will we seal it.

Con.
(eagerly preventing them as they are about to kneel and kiss his hands).
Forbear! forbear! within these sacred walls
Bend before worthless man the humble knee!
Fy, let not such shame be!
Am I your chief? then be it shown in this,
That to the mighty Majesty of heaven
I humbly bow, more lowly than ye all,
And do, on your behalf, devoutly beg
The blessing of our Master and our Sire.
[Kneeling and bowing his head very low to the ground, then rising afterwards with dignified solemnity.
Now to those sacred rites of our blest faith,
In which the humble soul ennobled bows,
In mem'ry of the dearest brothership
That ever honour'd man, I lead you on,
My noble brothers.

[Exeunt Constantine, &c., by another aisle, which may be supposed to lead to the altar of the church, whilst several priests are seen at a distance in their robes, as if waiting to receive them.

SCENE III.

A hall, or ante-room in the imperial palace.
Enter Petronius and Marthon disguised.
Pet.
So far hath this well-counterfeited signet,
And this disguise, befriended us: here stop:
Whilst Constantine and his mad band are absent
On their religious ceremony, here
We will remain conceal'd until that Ella,
Returning (for 'tis near her wonted time,
As they have told us) from Valeria's chamber,
Shall give us fair occasion.—Rouse thee, Marthon;
Thou seemst like one bereaved of all sense;
What is the matter with thee?

Mar.
Nothing; but thus to pass with culprit feet
Beneath the shade of night, these well-known courts,
Which I so oft have trod in front of day,
With the firm footsteps of an honest man,
Doth make me—

Pet.
Fy! thou art become a fool.
Shake off such weakness: we're compell'd to this.
We shall beneath the Sultan's iron sway,
Disgraced from the late failure of our plots,
Live like lash'd slaves, if the bewitching beauty
Of my young Ella come not to our aid
To bend his rugged nature. Strong in her,
We shall not merely safe protection find,
But highest favour and authority;
And though by stealth I needs must bear her hence,
Being my daughter, I, in nature's right—

Mar.
Hush! now I hear a lightly-sounding step.
Draw back a little space.

[They step aside, whilst Ella enters, and walks across the stage.
Pet.
(in a half voice, stealing softly up to her).
Ella!

Ella
(starting).
What voice is that which names me?

Pet.
Ella!

Ella.
Oh! 'tis the sound that I most dread to hear!

Pet.
Sayst thou so, Ella, of thy father's voice?
Have my misfortunes, with the world's fair favour,
Deprived me also of my only child?

Ella.
No, no! they have not: had misfortune only
Cast its dark shade upon thee, I had loved thee
And cherish'd thee in a lone desert, father!
But—but thou art—

Pet.
Ha! wherefore dost thou pause?
What wouldst thou say? what is there in thy mind?

Ella.
Thoughts which I will not utter—Oh, depart!
Thou'rt not in safety. All men do condemn thee.
Thou art not come for good.—Oh, fly from hence!
Ruin, and shame, and death abide thee here:
Oh, fly, my wretched father!

Pet.
Yes I will fly, but thou shalt go with me;
If not, I will remain and meet my fate.

Ella.
Good heaven forbid! thou'lt drive me to distraction.
O misery!

[Wrings her hands in great distress, whilst Marthon advances to Petronius with supplicating look.
Pet.
(to Marthon).
Away! thou art a fool: we must be firm.
(To Ella.)
Wring not thy hands thus wildly, simple maid:
Thou goest to be with me no wand'ring outlaw,
But one in splendour greater than a queen:
The favour'd mistress of the mighty Sultan.

[Ella gives a loud shriek, and struggles to escape from him.
Enter Rodrigo.
Rod.
Audacious villain! quit thy cursed hold,
Or take death for thy pains.
Ha! thou shrinkst back, and mufflest up thy face.
Say who thou art, or through thy villain's heart
I'll thrust this rapier.

Ella
(pulling Rodrigo back).
Hold, I do beseech thee.
For pity, hold! it is my wretched father.

Rod.
Wretched indeed!

Ella.
Ay, therefore pity him.
Let him escape: he hath done me no harm.
He is here as a fox in his last wiles,
Who shelter seeks within the very kennel
Of the roused pack: Oh, have some pity on him!
He is my father.

Rod.
Sweet Ella, hang not thus upon mine arm:
It hath no power to strike whom thou callst father,
Shame as he is unto that honour'd name.
But there are ties upon me, gentle maid:
The safety and the interests of Constantine
I am bound to defend: and shall a traitor—

Ella.
Oh! oh!

Rod.
Fear not: our royal master is return'd
From blessed rites of holiest charity
With meekly chasten'd soul: whate'er his crimes
He is in safety—safety as assured
As thine own harmless self.

Enter Constantine.
Con.
(to Rodrigo).
Thou speakst with an unwonted earnestness;
I've mark'd thy gestures; something moves thee much.
Who are these strangers?
[Turning to Petronius and Marthon, who, uncovering their faces, stand confessed before him.
Ha! Marthon and Petronius! What new treason
Is now on foot, that here—but judge I harshly?
Ye are, perhaps, struck with the circumstances
Of these most solemn times, repentant grown,
And if ye be, in a good hour ye come;
I am myself a wean'd and pardon'd man.
Marthon, thou once wast wont to speak the truth;
What brought you hither?

Mar.
Most gracious prince, with no repentant mind
We hither came; but one of us, at least,
Shall hence depart with a heart deeply smitten.

Con.
Confess then what new treason ye devised.

Ella.
No treason; none to thee, most royal Constantine.
For me he came, arm'd with a parent's right,
To bear me to the haughty Sultan's camp,
To live in queenly state. But, Oh protect me!
Let me remain and die with those I love
In decent maiden pride. Retain me here,
But pardon him: no treason brought him hither.

Con.
Petronius, has thy daughter told me true;
Was this thine errand?

Pet.
(approaching Constantine).
Yes, most gracious prince.

Con.
Off then, disgrace to nature and to manhood!
Wouldst thou to shameful and degrading slavery
Betray thy virtuous child? Say thou cam'st hither
To thrust i' the dark thy dagger through my heart,
And I will call thee sinless.

Pet.
Wherefore this stern and bitter execration?
I came to place her but a few hours sooner,
Saved from th' approaching storm, where your high dames,
Yea, with their royal mistress at their head,
Full shortly shall be placed.

Con.
Detested wretch! what fiend has whisper'd to thee
Such hideous thoughts? man durst not utter them.

Pet.
Man might, at least, surveying the position
And aspect of these times, in his own mind
This plain and shrewd conjecture form. But not
On such loose bottom do I ground my words;
Mah'met himself hath sworn that your Valeria
Shall at the head of his most favour'd wives—

Con.
Hold thy detested tongue! for one word more
Is instant death. Tempt me not with these hands,
Which hath the symbols touch'd of blessed peace,
To do a horrible act.

Pet.
I but repeat that which the Sultan hath
In public said.

Con.
Forbear! forbear! I tell thee.
[Wrenching his sword, scabbard and all, from his side, and tossing it from him.
There! there! Rodrigo: cast it from my reach:
Let not a weapon be within my grasp,
Or I shall be accursed.
[After a violent struggle of passion.
I dare speak to him now.—Ho! guards without!

Ella.
Oh, mercy! mercy!

Enter Guards.
Con.
(to guards).
Take these two men, Petronius and his friend,
And through the city to our outmost post
Conduct them safely: there, in perfect liberty,
Permit them to depart where'er they list.
(To Petronius.)
Now, I'm revenged upon thee: get thee hence,
And utter not a word.—Go thou, Rodrigo,
And with the gentle Ella in thy hand,
Conduct them to the palace gate. Hence quickly!

Mar.
Nay, let Petronius go: I will remain,
And with the meanest soldier on your walls
Spend my last blood, if a true penitent—

Con.
(waving him off impatiently).
Well, be it as thou wilt: but hence and leave me!

Rod.
(to Ella, as he leads her out).
Did I not tell thee he was safe, my Ella?

[Exeunt all but Constantine, who, after walking up and down for some time in a perturbed manner, starts at the sound of Valeria 's voice without.
Con.
Ha! here she comes! alas! how shall I now
Look on her face, and hear her voice of love!
It is distraction!

Enter Valeria.
Val.
My Constantine, art thou so long return'd,
And yet to me no kindly summons sent,
Long as I've watched for it? What is the matter?
Thy brow is dark: these are disturbed looks:
What is the matter?

Con.
Nothing, nothing.
I am, thou knowst, with many cares perplex'd.
Follow me to thine own apartment; here
I cannot speak to thee.

Val.
(aside, looking eagerly at him as they go out.)
What may this be?

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Valeria 's apartment.
Enter Constantine, followed by Valeria, who both remain silent for some time, she looking anxiously with wistful expectation.
Val.
Now we are here, my lord, in the still privacy
Of this my inmost bower, but thou art silent.
[Pauses, and he is still silent.
There is a look of sadness on thy face
Of disturb'd wretchedness, that never yet,
E'en in thy darkest hours, I've seen thee wear.
Why art thou thus?

Con.
And dost thou ask? I've been, in deep humility,
Making a sinner's peace with God and man,
And now—and now—

[His voice faltering.
Val.
What would you say, my lord?

Con.
And now I am with thee.

Val.
And art thou sad for this? hast thou not still,
Loose from all shackles of imposed state,
Been with me in thine hours of joy or grief,
Like a way-faring man, who sitting down
On the green bank, his cumbrous vestment opens
To the soft breeze?

Con.
Yes, my Valeria; I have been with thee
As with a true yoked heart, so strong in love,
That e'en the thought, which scudded o'er my mind
With culprit's speed from shameful consciousness,
Was not from thee conceal'd.
But now the hour is come, when e'en with thee
I must perform a task—a task of pain.

Val.
Speak; what meanst thou?

Con.
All have, e'en in the dearest intercourse
Of heart with heart, in some untoward moment
Transgressors been, and proved the cause of pain
Where most they should have banish'd it: and all,
In quitting earthly ties, do anxiously
Desire, in the true blessing of forgiveness,
To part with those whom they have held most dear.
Now dost thou understand me?

[Holding out both his hands to her.
Val.
I do! I do! thou hast my dearest blessing;
The dearest thoughts and worship of my heart.
But oh! what dost thou say?—part!—how, my Constantine!
Where dost thou go? thou dost not leave the city?

Con.
No, love, but on its wall I go ere long,—
For in a little hour the day will break
Which must its fate decide,—that part to act,
Which, before God and man, in honest pride,
I'm call'd on to perform.

Val.
But from those walls victorious thou'lt return.
[Constantine smiles sorrowfully.
Nay, but thou shalt return: high heav'n decrees it;
Virtue, and every good and blessed thing
Have made it sure. E'en in a faith as strong
As at this moment I do hold to this,
Methinks, upon the chafed and tossing waves
Of the wild deep I could thus firmly tread,
Nor wet my sandal's thong.
[Walking across the stage with firm steps of stately confidence, and then going up to him with an encouraging smile.
Be thou assured!
I know it shall be so. A mystic sage,
Whom I, unknown to thee, have visited—
Pardon this weakness of thine anxious wife—
Darting his eye on forms of woven air,
Saw thee in combat with a Turkish champion,
And saw the crescent fall.

Con.
And mayst thou not believe, that ere they close
Their mortal warfare, many a boastful Turk
Beneath these arms shall fall?

Val.
Ay, but on surer words I rest my faith!
For I did bid him onward cast his eye
Into time's reach, and say, who of this city,
After the course of twelve revolving moons,
Should be the sov'reign lord; and he replied,
In plain and simple words, thy lord and husband.

Con.
And named he Constantine?

Val.
What other name but that of Constantine
Could to these appellations be conjoin'd?
Thou turnest from me with perturbed looks:
Thou shalt not turn away: tell me! O, tell me!
What sudden thought is this that troubles thee?

[Catching hold of him eagerly as he turns from her.
Con.
Ask not; Oh, do not ask! 'tis pass'd already
As shoots a glaring meteor 'thwart the night,
Frightful but hasty.

Val.
Thou must tell it me.

Con.
Distract me not.

Val.
Nay, nay, but thou must tell me.
What other name but that of Constantine
Could to my lord and husband joined be?

Con.
(sinking down upon a chair quite overcome, and covering his face with his hands, as he speaks with a quick perturbed voice).
Mahomet! Mahomet!
[Valeria steps back from him, holding up her hands in amazement; then he, after a pause, looking up to her with a self-upbraiding eye.
I have offended in this very hour
When my press'd soul sigh'd for that loving peace
Which in its earthly close the soul desires.
I have offended.

Val.
Yes, thou hast offended.
All the offences thou hast ever done me
Are in this fell and cruel stroke comprised;
And any other stroke, compared to this.
Had fall'n upon me lightly.

Con.
It was a thought that hasted fast away,
And came unbidden.

[Going up to her penitently.
Val.
(turning away in anger).
There is no thought doth ever cross the mind,
Till some preceding kindred sentiment
Hath made a pathway for it.

Con.
Yes, my Valeria, thou indeed sayst true;
But turn not from me angrily. My mind,
Ere now, consider'd has the character,
The faith, the power of Mahomet.—Frown not.—
Valeria, thou art fair.—Nay, do not frown!

Val.
What dost thou say? hast thou until this moment
Reserved for me this base degrading—No:
Torn and defaced be every hated form
Of outward grace! it is our curse, our shame!

[Tearing her hair violently.
Con.
O be not thus!—forgive a hasty thought!
Think how a doating husband is distracted,
Who knows too well a lawless victor's power.

Val.
What is his power? it nought regardeth me.

Con.
Alas! the frowns of a detesting bride
Deter him not!

Val.
(smiling contemptuously).
But will he wed the dead?

Con.
(starting).
What sayst thou? Oh, what meaning is there here!
Yes, yes! I know it all! but it is dreadful:
It makes the cold chill o'er my limbs to creep:
It is not well: it is not holy. No!
O no, my noble love, mine honour'd love!
Give to thy fallen lord all that the soul
To widow'd love may give, but oh, stop there!
Heav'n will protect thee in the hour of need;
And for the rest, erase it from thy thoughts,
Give it no being there.

Val.
It hath no being there. Heav'n will protect me:
And he who thinks me helpless thinks me mean.

Con.
I think thee all that e'er was tenanted
Of noblest worth in loveliest female form:
By nature excellent, defective only
In this, that fortune has thy virtues link'd
To the vex'd spirit of a ruin'd man,
Who in his hours of anguish has not prized them
As did become their worth.

Val.
(rushing into his arms).
No, thou hast prized them,
In thy blind love, far, far beyond their worth.
My uncurb'd passions have alas! too oft
Vexation added to that burden'd heart
I should have cheer'd and lighten'd: on my head
Rests all the blame that e'er between us pass'd,
And I alone have need to be forgiven.

[They weep on one another's necks without speaking, when an alarm bell is heard at a distance, and Constantine breaks suddenly from her.
Con.
It is the 'larum of my farther watch.

Val.
I scarcely heard it: art thou sure of it?

[A second alarm bell heard nearer.
Con.
And hark! a nearer tower repeats the sound.
The enemy's in motion.—I must arm,
And instantly.

Val.
Then let me be with thee till the last moment!
I have a holy relic of great power;
It is, I trust, worth all thine arms beside;
And from this hand of love thou shalt receive it.

Con.
(smiling sorrowfully).
Thanks, sweet Valeria! from thy hand of love
I will with love receive whate'er thou wilt.
[A third alarm bell is heard still louder, and enter attendants in haste.
Yes, yes, I heard it; go, prepare mine arms.

[To attendants, and exeunt.

SCENE V.

A spacious hall in the palace.
Enter Rodrigo, with Ella hanging fondly upon him, and continue their way as if intending to pass through it, when a trumpet sounds without, and they stop short.
Rod.
It is the sound that summons us to meet:
There is no farther grace: therefore, sweet Ella,
My pretty Ella, my good loving Ella,
My gentle little one, that hangst upon me
With such fond hold, in good sooth we must part,
Here bid heav'n bless me, and no farther go.

Ella.
Must it be so? I will bid heaven bless thee,
And all good saints watch o'er thy precious life;
And they will bless and guard thee in the hour
Of fearful death. In this I have true faith;
Yet, on the very brink, to hold thee thus
Clasp'd in my grasp, and think how soon—Alas!
From many points will fly the whizzing balls,
And showering darts, and jav'lins sent afar,
Aim'd by fell strength; wilt thou escape all this?

Rod.
Fear not, sweet Ella! whizzing balls there be,
That, in midway, are from their course declined
By the poor orphan's little lisped prayer;
And there be arrows that are turn'd aside,
In their swift flight, by the soft sighs of love,
Unheard of earthly ears. This is a creed,
In the good faith of which poor seamen climb
Their rocking masts, in the full roar of battle,
And we'll believe it.

Ella.
It is a blessed one: I would believe it.

Rod.
Yes, we'll believe it. Whilst our battle roars,
Thou'lt think of me in thy lone distant tower,
And be to me a gallant armed mate,
With prayers and wishes striving powerfully.
Give me thy hand: we will not weep and wail:
We will part cheerfully.—God bless thee, Ella!
Nay, hang not on me thus.
Thou lov'st a brave man: be thou valiant then,
As suits a brave man's love.

Ella.
O no! I've fondly fix'd myself upon thee,
Most worthless and unsuited to thy worth.
Like a poor weed on some proud turret's brow,
I wave, and nod, and kiss the air around thee,
But cannot be like thee.

Rod.
Heav'n bless thee, little flower! I prize thee more
Than all the pride of female stateliness.

Ella.
Dost thou? then I am happy: I am proud:
I will not wish me other than I am.

Rod.
Ah, if we part not instantly, my Ella,
I feel in faith, rude as my nature is,
I soon shall be like thee!—My friends approach:
Let us not meet their gaze—It must be so—
Sweet one, farewell!—Wilt thou still cling to me?

Ella.
O no, I go: they shall not see thee weep,
Though I do bless thee for it.

Rod.
(leading her hastily back to the door by which they entered).
Well then, brave lass, upon thy lovely head
Heaven's favour rest!—Nay, do not speak to me.
[Preventing her as she is endeavouring to speak.
Farewell! farewell!
[Exit Ella, and he returns to the front of the stage, where he stands musing sorrowfully; when enters to him Justiniani, and, going up to him, touches his shoulder.
What dost thou want?

[Turning angrily.
Jus.
Thou'rt thoughtful.

Rod.
No, I think as others do
With such day's work before them, in good truth,
Not passing merrily.

Jus.
From the high tower I've seen th' approaching foe:
It seems a dark and strangely-mixed mass
Of life, wide moving in the misty light
Of early dawn.—I've fought in many a field,
As valiant men and armed warriors fight,
But such a strange assemblage of new modes
Of mingled war as we this day must face,
I never yet encounter'd.

Rod.
Well, we shall know the scent and flavour of it,
When we have tasted it.

Jus.
We shall be smother'd up with the mean press
Of worthless matter, as a noble steed,
Beneath the falling rafters of his shed
Ignobly perishes.

Rod.
Fear not, proud soul; we shall have men to fight,
And room enough in some nook of the breach
To grapple with them too.

Jus.
Good fortune ever shone on thee, Rodrigo:
Thou still hast been a bold careering bark,
Outriding ev'ry storm. If thou shouldst e'er
Again return to our dear native land,
Tell to my countrymen whate'er thou knowst
Pertaining to my fate this fateful day:
Let me not be forgotten.

Rod.
I will, my friend: but better fate than thine
I look not for, though still I bear myself
As one assured of good.—Thou'rt dark and gloomy—
Does aught rest on thy mind?

Jus.
(striding away from him gloomily).
No, nothing, nothing!

[A trumpet sounds without.
Rod.
Ay, hark! another of our gallant band
Has join'd us with his followers.
[Another trumpet sounds.
And now another: are they all assembled?

Enter Othus, and several of the imperial friends.
Othus.
On their high wooden turrets, and huge beams
Of warlike engines, raised aloft in air,
Gleams the first light of this high-fated day;
And, wide expanded, through the farther mists
Moves the dark Turkish host.
Thou'rt a tried soul, Rodrigo, I but new
To such tremendous, strange expectancy:
Now is the hour when the soul knows itself.

[Rising on tiptoe with a conscious smile.
Rod.
Ay, Othus, thou dost wear the countenance
Of a true man: give me thine honest hand.
Are all our friends assembled?

[Trumpet sounds.
Othus.
This says they are: and here comes, last of all,
Our northern friends. Enter more of the friends.

Now we are all assembled. Constantine,
He also comes; and sadly by his side,
In mournful dignity, moves his high dame,
Proudly contending with her woman's heart.

Enter Constantine and Valeria, attended.
Con.
(returning the general salute of the chiefs).
Good morrow, noble brothers and brave leaders:
Are we all here convened?

Othus.
Yes, our great chief and brother: of your friends
There lacks not one.

Con.
Then to their love, so help me, Mighty Power,
Who holdst within thy grasp the souls of men!
Neither shall we be lacking.—Now, Valeria.

[Drawing himself up with a proud but tender smile, as if to encourage her to behave nobly.
Val.
I understand that smile.
Here with thy gen'rous friends, whose love to thee
Most dearly cell'd within my heart I wear,
And unto whom I have desired much,
Before we part, these grateful thanks to pay—
[Making grateful obeisance to the chiefs.
Here to those noble friends, and to God's keeping,
I leave thee.—Yet, be it permitted me—
For that thy noble head and lib'ral brow
Have ever cheer'd me as my star of day,
Blessings and blessings let me pour upon them!
[Putting her hand upon his head fervently, and kissing his forehead.
For that thy gen'rous breast has been the hold
Of all my treasured wishes and dear thoughts,
This fond embrace.
[Embracing him.
Yea, and for that thou art
My sire, and sov'reign, and most honour'd lord,
This humble homage of my heart receive!

[Kneeling and kissing his hand.
Con.
(raising and embracing her with great emotion).
No more, my dearest and most noble love!
Spare me, O spare me! Heaven be thy protection!
Farewell!

Val.
Farewell!

[Valeria is led off by her attendants, whilst Constantine continues looking sadly after her for some time, then turning to his friends, who gather about him, without saying a word, they go all off the stage together in profound silence.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

An open space near the walls of the city, with halfruined houses on each side, and a row of arched pillars thrown across the middle of the stage, as if it were the remains of some ruined public building; through which is seen, in the background, a breach in the walls, and the confused fighting of the besieged, enveloped in clouds of smoke and dust. The noise of artillery, the battering of engines, and the cries of the combatants heard as the curtain draws up, and many people discovered on the front of the stage, running about in great hurry and confusion, and some mounted upon the roofs of the houses overlooking the battle.
Voice
(calling from the wall).
See! see! how, cluster'd on each other's backs,
They mount like swarming bees, or locusts link'd
In bolt'ring heaps! Pour fire upon their heads!

2d voice.
Cast down huge beams upon them!

3d voice.
Hurl down the loosen'd fragments of our wall!

4th voice.
Ho! more help here! more stones! more beams! more fire!
Weapons are useless now.

1st voice.
See how that giant Turk, like an arch fiend,
Climbs on you living mountain of curved backs!
He gains the wall! O hurl him headlong down!
He is hurl'd down.

[A great shout from the besieged.
2d voice.
Send to the emperor or to Rodrigo:
They on their diff'rent stations hold it bravely;
This is the weakest point. Ho! send for aid!

[Exeunt several soldiers from the walls, as if running for succour. The noise of artillery, &c. is heard as before, and afterwards a loud crash as of some building falling. Enter many people in great terror from the walls, running off by the front of the stage different ways, and enter at the same time Constantine and some of his friends, who stop them.
Con.
Turn, turn! O turn, my friends! another push!
Let us still stop the breach, or fall like men.
[Enter Justiniani from the walls with a hasty and disordered step, pale and writhing with pain.
Merciful heav'n! do mine eyes serve me truly?
Justiniani, with pale haggard face,
Retiring from his post!
Where are you going, chief!

[Stopping him sternly.
Just.
Where nature, urged beyond the pith of nature,
Compels me. 'Midst yon streams of liquid fires,
And hurling ruins and o'erwhelming mass
Of things unknown, unseen, uncalculable,
All arms and occupation of a soldier
Are lost and turn'd to nought: man's strength is nought:
The fangs of hell are in my new-torn flesh:
I must on for a space and breathe fresh air.

Con.
Go to! this moment is the quiv'ring ridge
That stands between our success or our ruin:—
The sight of thy turn'd back from their screw'd pitch
Will turn more hearts than all the pressing foe:
Thou must not go.

Just.
I am a mortal man:
The fangs of fiends are in my new-torn flesh:
Nature compels me, and I must have succour.

[Exit hastily, and writhing with pain.
Con.
Alas! God pity him! one luckless moment
Of weakness and of anguish brings to him
A wound that cannot be up-bound. Poor nature!
[Enter many fugitives from the walls.
Turn, turn! O soldiers! let not this shame be! [To the fugitives.
[As he is endeavouring with his friends to rally them and push forward, a terrible shout is heard, and enter a great crowd of fugitives from the walls.

What shout was that?

Fugitive.
The Turks have gained the breach, and through it pour
Like an o'erboiling flood.

Con.
Then is the city lost—the dark hour come—
And as an emperor my task is closed.
God's will be done!
[Throwing away the imperial purple.
Now is there left for me these sinew'd arms,
And this good sword, the wherewithal to earn
A noble soldier's death.
Come on with me who will, and share the fate
Of a brave comrade.

A fugitive
(joined by several others).
Yes, we'll share thy fate,
Comrade or sov'reign, noble Constantine!
We will die by thy side.

[Exit Constantine, followed by his friends and several of the fugitives, and passing through the pillars to the background, rushes amidst the confusion of the fight. A terrible noise of arms, &c. and presently one of the pillars in the middle of the stage falling down, a wider view of the battle is opened, and the Turks are seen rushing through the breach, and bearing every thing before them.
Re-enter Constantine wounded, but still fighting bravely, though oppressed with numbers, and falls down near the front of the stage, the enemy passing on and leaving him.
Con.
Am I then left?
Oh, is there ne'er a Christian soldier near me
That will cut off my head? Ho! thou Turk there!

[To a Turk who is going to pass him.
Turk.
Art thou not dead?

Con.
No, one half of me, Turk, is living still,
[Raising himself half up from the ground.
And still a match for thee.

Turk.
Ha! sayst thou so? we'll put it to the proof.
Yet thou'rt a brave man, though thou art a Greek,
I would far rather let thee die in peace.

Con.
No, no! have at thee!
[Pushing at the Turk with his sword, who, turning against him as he is half raised from the ground, thrusts him through the body.
I thank thee, friendly foeman, this will do:
Thou hast done me good service.

Turk.
And thou art welcome to it. Fare thee well!
A good death to thee! for thou art no Greek.

[Exit.
Con.
Ay, this will do: this hath the true stern gripe
Of potent speedy death. My task is closed.
I now put off these weeds of flesh and blood,
And, thanks be unto Him who clothed me in them!
Untarnish'd with disgrace. What cometh after
Full surely cometh well. 'Tis a dark pass.—
[Catching at a dropped garment that has been left by some of the fugitives on the ground near him.
Here is a ready shround to wrap my head:
This death deals shrewdly with me.

[Covers his face and dies, after a considerable struggle.
Enter Rodrigo, Othus, and Marthon, with two or three of their followers, fighting bravely with a party of Turks, whom they beat off the stage.
Othus.
Now for a space those ruffians stand aloof:
This is a pause that calls upon the mind:
What shall we do?

Rod.
How do men act, when they together stand,
On the last perch of the swift-sinking wreck?
Do they not bravely give their parting cheer,
And make their last voice loud and boldly sound
Amidst the hollow roarings of the storm?
E'en so will we: we'll bear our manhood up
To the last push.

Othus.
Thou speakest well, brave seaman: thou dost speak
What the heart owns: we will do even so.
But oh, that our brave leader now were near us,
Living or dead! Doth no one know his fate?
I thought by him to have died.

1st fol.
What corpse is this so cover'd? on its sandal
It wears th' imperial bird in fretted gold.

Othus.
Then it is he!
[Tearing off the covering eagerly from the head of Constantine.
O thou brave heart! thou hast gone to thy rest
With honour. Heav'n be praised that thou hast!
Here round thee our last gathering point shall be:
Here will we fight, nor shall thy honour'd body
Suffer, whilst one of us has strength to fight,
The slightest insult.

Rod.
Ay, they shall hack us into raven's meat,
Ere on his gallant corpse there be impress'd
One touch of impious hands!

[A loud noise of shrieking and terror heard without.
Othus.
Hear the wild cries of terror and despair,
Mix'd with the din of carnage! Now those cowards,
Who let this brave man all unaided perish,
Are suff'ring that which, in his fellest pinch,
The valiant never suffers.
But see, the enemy again returns
With doubled fury!

Rod.
Come they? then we are ready for them. Yonder
Stands a small walled dome, within whose portal
We for a time may face ten thousand foes:
There will we take our stand, and there will we
Do our last deeds of men. Come on, brave mates!
Take up our honour'd treasure; and, so burden'd,
He that doth grapple with us had as lief
Pull from the lion's hug his bosom'd whelp.

[The followers take up the body, and Othus and Rodrigo retire, defending it bravely from a party of Turks, who enter and fall upon them as they are bearing it off.

SCENE II.

An apartment in one of the towers of the palace.
Enter Valeria in great alarm, followed by Lucia and attendants.
Val.
Louder and louder still the dreadful sound
Of battle swells. Is it not nearer us?
This lofty tower the widest view commands;
Open that lattice quickly.
[Pointing to a window which Lucia opens, and then, rushing on eagerly to look, shrinks back again.
I pray thee look thyself, mine eyes are dark,
And I see nothing. Oh, what seest thou?
Tell me, whate'er it be.

Lucia
(looking out).
Nothing but clouds of smoke and eddying dust:
A dun and grumly darkness spreads o'er all,
From which arise those horrid sounds, but nought
Distinctive of the sight can I discern.

Val.
(after pacing backward and forward with an unequal, restless, agitated step).
Oh, will this state of tossing agony
No termination have! Send out, I pray thee,
Another messenger.

Lucia.
Indeed I have in little space of time
Sent many forth, but none return again.

Val.
In little space! Oh it hath been a term
Of horrible length! such as rack'd fiends do reckon
Upon their tossing beds of surgy flames,
Told by the lashes of each burning tide
That o'er them breaks. Hark! the quick step of one
With tidings fraught! Dost thou not hear it?

Lucia.
No;
I hear it not.

Val.
Still is it the false coinage of my fears?
Ah! hearing, sight, and every sense is now
False and deceitful grown. I'll sit me down,
And think no more, but let the black hour pass
In still and fixed stupor o'er my head.

[Sits down upon a low seat, and supports her bended head upon both her hands.
Lucia
(listening).
Now I do hear the sound of real feet
In haste approaching.

Val.
(starting up).
Some one brings us tidings.
What may they be? Quick steps should bring us good. Enter Messenger.

Say all thou hast to say, and say it quickly.
If it be good, hold up thy blessed hand,
And I will bless the token. No, thou dost not!
'Tis evil then. How is it with my lord?
What dangers still encompass him?

Mes.
No dangers.

Val.
And dost thou say so with that terrible look?
Is he alive? Have all deserted him?

Mes.
No, round his body still some brave men fight,
And will not quit him till they be as he is.

[Valeria, uttering a loud shriek, falls back into the arms of her attendants, and is carried off, followed by Lucia and the messenger.

SCENE III.

A hall in the palace.
Enter a crowd of frightened women, and seem hurrying on to some place of greater security.
1st woman
(stopping).
No, we are wrong; we'll to the eastern tower,
That is the most retired; that last of all
Will tempt their search.

2d woman.
In the deep vaulted caverns of the palace,
Might we not for a while conceal'd remain,
Till heav'n shall send us means?

Omnes.
Ay, thou art right; that is the best of all:
We'll to the vaults.

[As they are all turning and hurrying back again, enter a domestic officer of the palace, and stops them.
Offi.
Where do ye run with such wild looks of fear?
Think ye the Turks are passing through the city,
Like the short visit of a summer's storm,
That you in holes and rocks may safely hide
Until it be o'erblown?

1st woman.
Oh, no! we know that they are come for ever!
Yet for a little while we fain would save us
From fearful things.

Offi.
I come to tell you that by Mah'met's orders
The cruel Turks have stopp'd their bloody work,
And peace again is in our walls.

1st woman.
Sayst thou?
And art thou sure of this? and hast thou seen it?

Offi.
Yes, I have seen it. Like a sudden gleam
Of fierce returning light at the storm's close,
Glancing on horrid sights of waste and sorrow,
Came the swift word of peace, and to the eye
Gave consciousness of that which the wild uproar
And dire confusion of the carnage hid.

1st woman.
Alas! be there such sights within our walls?

Offi.
Yes, maid, such sights of blood! such sights of nature!
In expectation of their horrid fate,
Widows, and childless parents, and lorn dames,
Sat by their unwept dead with fixed gaze,
In horrible stillness.
But when the voice of grace was heard aloud,
So strongly stirr'd within their roused souls
The love of life, that, even amidst those horrors,
A joy was seen—joy hateful and unlovely.
I saw an aged man rise from a heap
Of grizly dead, whereon, new murder'd, lay
His sons and grandsons, yea, the very babe
Whose cradle he had rock'd with palsied hands,
And shake his grey locks at the sound of life
With animation wild and horrible.
I saw a mother with her murder'd infant
Still in her arms fast lock'd, spring from the ground—
No, no! I saw it not! I saw it not!
It was a hideous fancy of my mind:
I have not seen it.
But I forget my chiefest errand here.

1st woman.
And what is that!

Offi.
It is to bid you tell your royal mistress,
It may, perhaps, somewhat assuage her grief,
That Othus and Rodrigo, with some followers,
The last remains of the imperial band,
Fighting, in all the strength of desperation,
Around the body of their fallen chief,
Have moved to gen'rous thoughts the Sultan's breast;
Who has their valour honour'd with full leave,
In blessed ground, with military pomp,
Becoming his high state and valiant worth,
To lay his dear remains. This with their lives
On honourable terms he freely grants.

1st woman.
And do those brave men live?

Offi.
They do; but Othus soon I fear will be
With him he mourns.—Delay no more, I pray:
Inform the empress speedily of this.

1st woman.
Alas! she is not in a state to hear it:
The phrenzy of her grief repels all comfort.—
But softly!—hush!—methinks I hear her voice.
She's coming hither in the restless wand'rings
Of her untamed mind.—Stand we aside,
And speak not to her yet.

Enter Valeria with her hair dishevelled, and in all the wild disorder of violent sorrow, followed by Ella and Lucia, who seem endeavouring to soothe her.
Val.
Forbear all words, and follow me no more.
I now am free to wander where I list;
To howl i' the desert with the midnight winds,
And fearless be amidst all fearful things.
The storm has been with me, and I am left
Torn and uprooted, and laid in the dust
With those whom after-blasts rend not again.
I am in the dark gulf where no light is.
I am on the deep bed of sunken floods,
Whose swoln and welt'ring billows rise no more
To bear the tossed wreck back to the strand.

Lucia.
Oh, say not so! heav'n doth in its good time
Send consolation to the sharpest woe.
It still in kindness sends to the tried soul
Its keenest suff'rings. So say holy men;
And therein good men trust.

Val.
I hear, I hear thee! in mine ear thy voice
Sounds like the feeble night-fly's humming noise,
To him, who in the warfare of vex'd sleep,
Strives with the phantoms of his inward world.
Yes, there is comfort when the sun is dark,
And time hath run his course, and the still'd sleepers
Lift up their heads at the tremendous crash
Of breaking worlds.—I know all this.—But here,
Upon this living earth, what is there found?
It is a place of groans and hopeless woe.
Let me then tear my hair and wring my hands,
And raise my voice of anguish and despair,
This is my portion now, all else is gone.

Lucia.
Nay, think not virtuous innocence forsaken:
Put in high heav'n thy trust, it will sustain thee.

Val.
Ah! I did think when virtue bravely stood,
Fronting its valiant breast to the fierce onset
Of worthless power, that it full surely stood:
That ev'ry spiritual and righteous power
Was on its side: and in this faith, ofttimes,
Methought I could into the furnace mouth
Have thrust my hand, and grasp'd the molten flames.
Yet on his head it fell: that noble head,
Upon whose manly gracefulness was fix'd
The gaze of ev'ry eye.
Oh! on his lib'ral front there beam'd a look,
Unto the which all good and gen'rous hearts
Answer return'd.—It was a gentle head,
Bending in pleasant kindliness to all;
So that the timid, who approach'd him trembling,
With cheer'd and vaunting steps retired again.
It was a crowned head, yet was it left
Exposed and fenceless in the hour of danger:
What should have been his safety was his bane.
Away, poor mock'ry of a wretched state!
[Tearing the regal ornaments from her neck, and scattering them about.
Be ye strew'd to the winds! But for this let
We had been blest; for he as truly loved,
In simplest tenderness. as the poor hind,
Who takes his humble house-mate by the hand,
And says, “this is my all.”—Off, cursed band!
Which round our happiness hath been entwined
Like to a straggling cord: upon the earth
Be thou defaced and trampled!

[Tearing the tiara from her head and stamping upon it, then pacing up and down distractedly.
Lucia.
Alas! my royal mistress, be entreated!
This furious grief will but enhance its pain:
Oh, bear yourself as more becomes your state!

Val.
Yes, I will bear me as becomes my state.
I am a thing of wretchedness and ruin.
That upon which my pride and being grew
Lies in the dust, and be the dust my bed.
[Throwing herself upon the ground, and pushing away Lucia and her other attendants, who endeavour to raise her up again.
Forbear! forbear! and let me on the ground
Spread out my wretched hands! It pleases me
To think that in its bosom is a rest—
Yea, there lie they unheeded and forgotten,
To whom all tongues give praise, all hearts give blessing.
Oh, ev'ry heart did bless him though he fell,
And ne'er a saving hand was found—Oh! oh!

[Bursting into an agony of grief, and laying her head upon the ground, covered with both her hands.
Ella
(to Lucia and attendants).
Do not surround her thus! I'll sit and watch her.
I will not speak, but sit and weep by her;
And she shall feel, e'en through her heavy woe,
That sympathy and kindness are beside her.

Val.
(raising her head).
There spoke a gentle voice: is Ella near me?

Ella.
Yes, I am near, and shall be ever near you.

Val.
Wilt thou? I do believe, sweet maid, thou wilt.
Lay thy soft hand on mine.—Yes, it feels kindly.
Had he, thy valiant love, been near his lord—
Ay, they did love each other with that love
Which brave men know—Oh, ev'ry noble stranger,
In admiration of his noble worth,
Did call him lord; whilst they, his native subjects,
They who had seen him grow within their walls,—
Alas! where lightly tripp'd his infant steps;
Where in gay sports his stripling's strength was tried;
Where tower'd in graceful pride his manly bloom;
Even there a lifeless, ghastly form he lies.

Enter another domestic officer, and, seeing Valeria on the gr ound, steps back.
Lucia
(to the officer).
What wouldst thou here?

Offi.
I must, perforce, speak my unwelcome tidings.
The Sultan is already in the palace,
And follows hard my steps with a fix'd purpose
To see the empress.

Val.
(raising herself half from the ground).
What fearful words are these? in my soul's anguish
Comes this so quickly on me? Be it so!
I cleave to th' earth! what have I now to do?
I am a stilled thing, abased and crush'd;
What boots it now who gazes on my woe?

Enter Mahomet with Osmir and his train.
Mah.
(to Osmir, after looking at Valeria steadfastly).
She stirs not, Osmir, e'en at my approach,
She sits upon the ground, unmoved and still.
Thou sorrow-clouded beauty, not less lovely
[Going up to her.
For this thy mournful state!—She heeds me not.
Empress and sov'reign dame, unto those titles
Which thou shalt ever wear, vouchsafe regard.
(To Osmir.)
Still she regards me not.
(After a pause.)
Widow of Constantine—

Val.
(rousing herself quickly).
Ay, now thou callest on me by a name
Which I do hear. There is strength in the sound
To do all possible things!
[Rising quickly from the ground, and accosting Mahomet with an air of high assumed state.
What wouldst thou say to her who proudly wears
That honour'd title?

Mah.
Widow of Constantine; I come not here
In the stern spirit of a conqu'ror.
The slaughter of your people, by my order,
Is stopp'd; and to your bravely fallen lord
I have decreed such fun'ral obsequies
As suit a valiant warrior and a king.
Othus, and brave Rodrigo, and those men
Who to the last their master's corpse defended,
I have with honour graced.—Lacks there aught still
That, from the dark cloud which so deeply shades
That awful beauty, one approving ray
Might softly draw? Speak, and it shall be done.

Val.
Ask aught from thee!

Mah.
Yes, whatsoe'er thou wilt:
For now too well I feel I have no power
That can oppose thy will.

Val.
I give you thanks: I have a thing to ask.

Mah.
Name it, and it is granted.

Val.
A place in the quiet tomb with my fall'n lord,
Therein to rest my head. This is my boon.

Mah.
Well, and it shall be granted, fair Valeria,
When that fair form is fitted for such rest.
But whilst—

[Approaching her with an air of free admiration.
Val.
(putting him at a distance haughtily).
No more:—I do not ask it sooner.
Yet that it be a sealed deed between us,
Permit me here to put into your hands
A mark'd memorial. Some few paces off
It is deposited; I will return
And give it to you instantly.

[Exit, attended by Lucia, Ella, &c.
Mah.
(to Osmir, looking after her as she goes out).
See, with what awful loveliness she moves!
Did all our bower'd prisons e'er contain
Aught like to that?

Osmir.
It does indeed a wondrous mixture seem
Of woman's loveliness with manly state;
And yet, methinks, I feel as though it were
Strange, and perplexing, and unsuitable.
'Tis not in nature.

Mah.
Thinkst thou so, good vizir?
Thou'rt right, belike, but it is wondrous graceful.
[A loud shriek of women heard without.
What shrieks are these? Run thou and learn the cause.

[Osmir going, is prevented by Valeria, who re-enters with her robe wrapped across her breast, and supported by Lucia, and Ella, and her other attendants, who seem in great affliction round her.
Val.
(speaking as she enters).
Mourn not; the thing is past that was to be.
Conduct me to the Sultan: I have still
Strength to fulfil my task.

Mah.
Great Prophet! what is this? (To Valeria.)
What hast thou done?

Val.
Brought thee the mark'd memorial of my right.
[Showing a dagger.
And that I now am fitted for that rest,
The honour'd rest which you have granted me,
Being the fix'd condition of your promise,
Here is the witness.

[Opening her robe, and showing the wound in her breast.
Mah.
O sad and cruel sight! Is there no aid?
O live, thou wondrous creature, and be aught
Thy soul desires to be!

Val.
(after sinking back into a seat, supported by her attendants).
I now am what my soul desires to be,
And what one happy moment of strength wound
Beyond the pitch of shrinking nature makes me;
Widow of Constantine, without reproach,
And worthy to partake the honour'd rest
Of the brave lord whose living love I shared,
As shares the noble wife a brave man's love.

Mah.
Prophet of God, be there such ties as these!

Enter Rodrigo, and Othus wounded and supporting himself feebly upon his sheathed sword.
Val.
And here come, in good time, my living friends:
I shall once more those gen'rous men behold,
The sad remains of those who loved their lord.
[Holding out a hand to each of them.
You know, brave brothers, how it is with me;
For such you were to him, and such to me
My heart now truly owns you.

Othus.
Yes, we have heard: they told us as we enter'd.
Most noble woman, worthy of thy lord!

[Endeavouring feebly to kneel and kiss her hand, whilst Rodrigo does so on the other side of her.
Val.
This day's rough tempest's o'er, my good Rodrigo,
And thou still liv'st to strive in other storms:
Heaven's high blessing and my dying thanks
Rest on thy gen'rous worth!—I would say more,
But now I feel I may not.
Where art thou, Ella?
[Putting Ella 's hand in his.
Here do I return
The trust thou gavest me; and if the Sultan
Will yet to me one last request vouchsafe,
He will confirm this gift.

Mah.
It is confirm'd.

Val.
I thank you, gracious victor.
Heaven bless you both!
[To Ella and Rodrigo, who both kneel and kiss her hands.
Othus, the dead go to their silent rest,
[To Othus, looking fixedly at him.
And are no more remember'd: but thy lord—
He whom thou lovedst—he whom all hearts loved—
He who so noble and so gentle was—
Well skill'd art thou to paint the deeds of men—
Thou wilt not suffer him to be forgotten?
What means that woeful motion of thy head?
Mine eyes wax dim, or do I truly see thee?
Thy visage has a strange and ghastly look:
How is it with thee?

Othus.
As one who standeth at the city's gate,
Through which his earlier friends have pass'd, and waits
Impatiently, girt in his traveller's robe,
To hear the welcome creaking of its bars.

Val.
Ah! art thou wounded then? Alas! alas!
Art thou too of our company? sad trav'llers
Unto a world unknown!

Othus.
Nay, say not sad, though to a world unknown.
The foster'd nursling, at th' appointed season,
Who leaves his narrow crib and cottage-home
For the fair mansion of his lordly sire,
Goes to a world unknown.

Val.
Ay, thou wouldst cheer me, and I will be cheer'd.
There reigns above who casts His dark shade o'er us,
Mantling us on our way to glorious light.
I have offended, and I should be fearful,
But there is sent in mercy to my heart,
For which I humbly give—O no, I may not!
Death is upon me now.—Ella and Lucia:
Stand closer to me: let me firmly grasp
Something that I have loved!
[Catching hold of them with a convulsive grasp.
It will soon cease:
Farewell unto you all! [Dies.
[A solemn pause, all standing round and gazing upon the body.


Othus.
And this is the last form that we do wear,
Unto the sad and solemn gaze of those
Who have beheld us in our days of joy.
Honour and deepest rev'rence be to thee,
Thou honour'd dead!

[Bowing respectfully to the body.
Mah.
Great God of heav'n! was this a woman's spirit
That took its flight?

Rod.
Let ev'ry proudest worship be upon her,
For she is number'd with the gallant dead!
Not in the trophied field, nor sculptured dome;
No, nor beneath the dark and billowy deep
Lies one, o'er whom the valiant living would
With truer zeal their lofty banners wave,
Or bid the deep-mouth'd cannon nobly tell
How brave men mourn the brave.
How is it, Othus? something in thine eye
Of joyous sadness looks upon me wistfully.

[To Othus, who takes him tenderly by the hand.
Othus.
Dost thou not guess?—But I would speak to thee
Of a brave soldier, who, in one short moment
Of nature's weakness, has a wound received
That will unto his life as fatal prove
As fellest foeman's thrust: who in his rest
Will not be mourn'd as brave men mourn the brave.
Justiniani in his cave of shame—

Rod.
And therein let him perish!
He hath disgraced a soldier's honest fame:
He hath disgraced the country of his birth:
He hath—It makes me stamp upon the ground
To think that one, who grasp'd with brother's hand
The noble Constantine, should basely turn.
Name not his cursed name!

Othus.
Art thou so stern? In a lone cave he groans,
On the damp earth, in deepest agony
Of the soul's shrewdest sufferings. I have
By an old soldier been advised of this,
And I would go to him, but that I feel
I needs must go where a more powerful call
Doth summon me.

Rod.
(softened).
Ah! must thou then so soon, my gen'rous Othus!
Must thou so soon? Well, ask whate'er thou wilt:
I give my chafed passion to the winds.
Ah! goest thou? Do I the last remain
Of those who loved the noble Constantine?
The last of a brave band? Alas! alas!

[Embracing Othus tenderly.
Osmir
(to Mahomet, who strides up and down in gloomy agitation).
Most mighty Mahomet, what thus disturbs you?
May not your slave in humble zeal be told?

Mah.
Away! away! thy humble zeal I know;
Yea, and the humble zeal of such as thou art.
The willing service of a brave man's heart,
That precious pearl, upon the earth exists,
But I have found it not.
[Turning to Othus and Rodrigo.
Ye valiant men who have so served your prince,
There still is in the world a mighty monarch,
Who, if he might retain you near his throne,
Shall he say near his heart, in such dear zeal?
Would think his greatness honour'd.

Othus.
Great Sultan, thou hast conquer'd with such arms
As power has given to thee, th' imperial city
Of royal Constantine; but other arms,
That might the friends of Constantine subdue,
Heav'n has denied thee.

Rod.
No, mighty prince; they who have served for love
Cannot like flying pennons be transferr'd
From bark to bark.

Mah.
(impatiently).
I understand you well, and you are free.
My arms, such as they are, of heav'n are bless'd;
That is enough.

Othus.
That were indeed enough; but heaven ofttimes
Success bestows where blessing is denied.
A secret spirit whispers to my heart,
That in these walls your weaken'd wretched race,
Slaves of their slaves, in gloomy prison'd pomp,
Shall shed each other's blood, and make these towers
A place of groans and anguish, not of bliss:
And think not when the good and valiant perish
By worldly power o'erwhelm'd, that heav'n's high favour
Shines not on them.—Oh, no! then shines it most.
For then in them it shows th' approving world
The worth of its best work.
And from their fate a glorious lesson springs;
A lesson of such high ennobling power;
Connecting us with such exalted things
As all do feel, but none with such true force,
Such joy, such triumph, as a dying man.

[Falling back into the arms of Rodrigo.