University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Montezuma's Palace.
Enter Zelama and Telasco.
ZELAMA.
Come, my lov'd friend, for so I now can term thee,
Beneath this roof, which witness'd our first vows,
I greet thee once again our country's champion.
Haste hither, Montezuma! to thy bosom
Take my Telasco, hail him as thy brother.

TELASCO.
His brother! Sure there's magic in the sound.
Am I so blest? Speak it again—confirm it—
Tell me that all the visions of delight
Which rush upon my aching soul are true,
That I indeed behold thee, that this hand,
This tender yielding hand, at last is mine.
Oh! speak—compose my agitated senses,
Or, if too strong the mighty flood of joy
For my swoln heart to bear, let me expire
With such a foretaste of eternal bliss!

ZELAMA.
Oh rather live to justify my choice,
To win renown, and save thy menac'd country!—
See—the proud moment of my triumph's come,
For lo! my brother—
Enter Montezuma.
Welcome, trebly welcome!
Now can I hail thee king indeed! Behold
Our pledge of safety, Mexico's best hope,
Telasco!

MONTEZUMA.
How! I look'd not here to meet him,
Leagued as he was against me.

ZELAMA.
(To Telasco)
—I implore thee,
Restrain thyself awhile.—True, my best brother;
He was misled: for is he not a man,
With human frailties and with human passions?
Thou know'st the griefs, I term them not the wrongs,
Which drove him from thee: in his feeling soul
Deeply they rankled; his rejected love,
His blighted hopes fermented in his mind,
And vengeance fir'd his bosom, when this Spaniard
Lur'd him with gay delusive promises—

MONTEZUMA.
Who was't that lur'd him back?

ZELAMA.
I, I, my brother!
Mine was the glorious task, and mine the triumph.
I knew his worth, knew that his noble soul
Was still untainted: 'mid the hostile camp
I sought him, prov'd him, and have found him true.

TELASCO.
Like a bright seraph from high heav'n descending
With my redemption's tidings charg'd she came,
Restor'd me to myself, sav'd me from ruin,
And broke the compact which despair had form'd.
Oh she is all, that in her kindest mood
Nature e'er fram'd, or fancy can pourtray!
Sense, judgment, fortitude, angelic softness,
Whate'er proud man of excellence can boast,
Or fascinating woman most can grace,
Combine in her. She, she was my preserver,
She sav'd my honour, brought me back to thee—

MONTEZUMA.
Come to my heart! Henceforth may ev'ry thought
Hostile to friendship be for ever banish'd!
(To Zelama)
—Tell me how best I can return the gift
Which thou hast brought me. Do I rightly read
That eye, which mutely eloquent speaks more
Than words can utter? Is not this fair hand
Our surest pledge and bond of amity?
That smile confirms it.—Take it, brave Telasco,
Take it, my more than valued friend, my brother!

TELASCO.
'Tis mine! 'tis mine! Now fortune do thy worst—
I am beyond thy pow'r. (To Montezuma)
By this dear hand,
I am thine own. Command me; tax my service
To all that man can do, or nature dare.
I'd bare my bosom to heav'n's angry bolt,
To ward it off from thee!

MONTEZUMA.
Thanks, my good brother!
But proofs like this the time requires not now.
The cloud which gather'd o'er us is dispers'd.
With friendly purposes these Spaniards come.

TELASCO.
I joy to hear it: but observe them still,
For they're possess'd of such gigantic means
Of working harm, arms of such fatal pow'r,
Such potent empire o'er the elements
Of air and fire, that, should their projects prove
Hostile to Mexico, our utmost force
Might fail to oppose them.

MONTEZUMA.
Are they then so dreadful,
So irresistible?

TELASCO.
Thou'st known me long—
I need not tell thee I've been us'd to war,
How often in the bloody field I've fac'd
The primest force our Indian clime can boast;
But ne'er 'till now did I behold such warriors:
They seem above mortality; each man
Bears a charm'd life—

MONTEZUMA.
Whate'er may be their pow'rs,
They touch not us. I have their leader's faith,
His solemn oath; I hold him as my hostage
For its observance; he hath giv'n himself
As pledge and warrantry of future peace.

TELASCO.
I trust he's honest. When I spoke with him,
His words were friendly; and, though he express'd
A fearless confidence in his own strength,
He seem'd dispos'd to shun hostility.

MONTEZUMA.
So spoke he to myself.

TELASCO.
And yet I know not—
Perhaps I wrong him; but fair words may cloak
A treach'rous purpose. 'Tis for his advantage,
If he mean ill, to blind us.

ZELAMA.
Can ye doubt it?
Can ye give credit to a specious fiction,
Which the whole tenor of their course disproves?
Look round, and trace their devastating progress.
They have invaded us—the calm abodes
Of our poor countrymen they have destroy'd—
Pillage and booty are their open object—
They preach the doctrine of revolt—their hands
Are reeking with the blood of innocents—

MONTEZUMA.
'Tis true—so have we found them—

ZELAMA.
Will ye then
Repose in false security, while thus
Treason and all her direst train of ills
Are secretly at work, to raise a storm
Which may o'erwhelm you?

MONTEZUMA.
What would'st have me do?
My oath is plighted for these Spaniards' safety.

TELASCO.
Maintain it firmly, but in time prepare
Means of prevention, should suspicion end
In dreadful certainty. That task be mine.
I will go forth, and make such fit arrangements
As caution prompts.

MONTEZUMA.
Delay not, I beseech thee.
I trust myself, my Mexico to thee.

TELASCO.
Enough—I go. When danger is foreseen,
'Tis half averted.—Farewell, my Zelama!
Wish me success, and 'tis already mine.

[Exeunt.