 | Mustapha |  |
SCENE VII.
Solyman, Mustapha.Solyman.
Mustapha, sit—My order is obey'd:
And thou art come.
Mustapha.
While life informs this frame,
Your will, my Lord—
Solyman.
It now enjoins thee silence.
Attentive mark my words, till I command
An answer.—When that Power, whose will is fate,
First call'd me to the cares of royalty;
And when those cares had waken'd me to thought,
To grave reflection; Ignorance, I found,
Black, heavy, total, had o'erspread my realms.
Her steril darkness, to a people rude
As nature at the birth of human-kind,
Seem'd venerable; seem'd the proper state
Of greatness: and as blindness is most vain,
The proud Barbarians, all they knew not, scorn'd.
Amid this general night, I turn'd my view
Back to th' enlighten'd time of Greece and Rome;
The times of science and of glorious deed:
And saw, with pleasing wonder, to what heights
Instruction and example lift the mind!
Their story I revolv'd; and reverent own'd
Their polish'd arts of rule, their human virtues;
The lustre and the dignity of man.
Till, what I long admir'd, at last I try'd
To emulate: nor found the trial vain.
Hence was my soul with nobler aims enlarg'd
In war and peace. Heaven seconded my cares:
My neighbours fear'd, my subjects blest, my sway:
But chief my family, where blood-stain'd Rage
No longer rioted in scenes of death.
Attentive mark my words, till I command
An answer.—When that Power, whose will is fate,
First call'd me to the cares of royalty;
And when those cares had waken'd me to thought,
To grave reflection; Ignorance, I found,
Black, heavy, total, had o'erspread my realms.
Her steril darkness, to a people rude
As nature at the birth of human-kind,
Seem'd venerable; seem'd the proper state
Of greatness: and as blindness is most vain,
The proud Barbarians, all they knew not, scorn'd.
Amid this general night, I turn'd my view
Back to th' enlighten'd time of Greece and Rome;
The times of science and of glorious deed:
And saw, with pleasing wonder, to what heights
Instruction and example lift the mind!
Their story I revolv'd; and reverent own'd
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The lustre and the dignity of man.
Till, what I long admir'd, at last I try'd
To emulate: nor found the trial vain.
Hence was my soul with nobler aims enlarg'd
In war and peace. Heaven seconded my cares:
My neighbours fear'd, my subjects blest, my sway:
But chief my family, where blood-stain'd Rage
No longer rioted in scenes of death.
Thee, of my sons the eldest, best belov'd,
I cherish'd with distinguish'd fondness; rear'd
In arts and arms; with morals and with honor
Season'd thy tender thought: whence, to my self
I hop'd a worthy son; and to mankind,
When fate should summon me, an equal master.
This have I done: but where is my reward?
What hope, what comfort to my age remains,
If thou, impatient to ascend my throne,
Wouldst rather, now, invade it, than await
Till time and right have made it fairly thine?
Speak: thou hast leave.
I cherish'd with distinguish'd fondness; rear'd
In arts and arms; with morals and with honor
Season'd thy tender thought: whence, to my self
I hop'd a worthy son; and to mankind,
When fate should summon me, an equal master.
This have I done: but where is my reward?
What hope, what comfort to my age remains,
If thou, impatient to ascend my throne,
Wouldst rather, now, invade it, than await
Till time and right have made it fairly thine?
Speak: thou hast leave.
Mustapha.
For this indulgence, Sir,
To heaven and you I bend my heart in thanks:
And as I would deserve it, all my words
Shall be to holy truth severely just.
To heaven and you I bend my heart in thanks:
And as I would deserve it, all my words
Shall be to holy truth severely just.
E'er since reflection beam'd her light upon me,
You, Sir, have been my study. I have plac'd
Before mine eyes, in every light of life,
The Father and the King. What weight of duty
Lay on a son from such a parent sprung;
What virtuous toil to shine with his renown;
Has been my thought by day, my dream by night.
True to the fair example in my view—
Forgive the boast of youth—my aim has been
To merit rather than to wear a crown.
I courted fame, but as a spur to brave,
To honest deeds: and who despises fame,
Will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it.
But first, and ever nearest to my heart,
Was this prime duty; so to frame my conduct
Towards such a father, as, were I a father,
My soul would wish to meet with from a son.
And may Reproach transmit my name abhor'd
To latest time—if ever thought was mine
Unjust to filial reverence, filial love!
You, Sir, have been my study. I have plac'd
Before mine eyes, in every light of life,
The Father and the King. What weight of duty
Lay on a son from such a parent sprung;
What virtuous toil to shine with his renown;
Has been my thought by day, my dream by night.
True to the fair example in my view—
Forgive the boast of youth—my aim has been
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I courted fame, but as a spur to brave,
To honest deeds: and who despises fame,
Will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it.
But first, and ever nearest to my heart,
Was this prime duty; so to frame my conduct
Towards such a father, as, were I a father,
My soul would wish to meet with from a son.
And may Reproach transmit my name abhor'd
To latest time—if ever thought was mine
Unjust to filial reverence, filial love!
Solyman.
But yet, the genius of imperial rule,
All-incommunicable, knows no equal;
Nay knows no second. Thou hast borne thy self
Above a subject's state: by secret arts,
By dangerous popularity, hast dar'd
To taint my armies, and divide their homage.
Too well I know the native bent of man:
From towering thoughts to traitorous designs
He climbs apace. If I at last must fear
A rival in my slave (for such thou art)
Thy virtues all are crimes. And were there none,
Not one of Othman's blood to heir his empire;
By that eternal Mind who form'd my soul!
If guilt is found upon thee—true, thy father
Will be unhappy—but thou art undone!
Mustapha.
And may that Power, whose ever-waking eye
Explores the depth of human hearts, and sees
Each wish, each secret purpose, rising there,
Disclose all mine before you!—O my father,
Source of my being, ever lov'd and honor'd,
Yes, let Inquiry, rigorous Inquiry,
Call the whole tenor of my life to tryal,
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Have stain'd me but in thought; let open shame,
Let tortures such as wait the wretch accurs'd,
The parricide, attone their guilt.
Solyman.
This wears
A face of virtue.—Mustapha—the father
Would favor thee: the judge must know no biass:
Their differing titles call me separate ways;
And each would have its due.
Mustapha.
My failings, Sir,
Will want th' indulgence of a father's love:
My honesty of heart dares well abide
The judge's searching eye.—O think, my Lord;
Why am I here alone? Had my own thoughts
Borne evidence against me, would I thus
Provoke examination? thus embrace
Perhaps the nobler, but th' unsafer, part?
For I have foes—
Solyman.
What foes? Be warn'd, and know,
By charging others, guilt would screen himself.
Mustapha.
Look on me, Sir. Suspected tho' I be,
I am your son: I still inherit from you
A generous pride that cannot stoop to baseness,
The baseness of a lye. Most true, my foes
Had form'd a dark design against my life.
Solyman.
Ha! what design?
Mustapha.
By poison to destroy me.
Solyman.
Poison? astonishment!
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And of a kind
Exalted to such power, such deadly keenness,
That he, the slave who first essay'd its rage,
Tasted at once and died!
Solyman.
Merciful heaven!
Mustapha.
My people saw, and trembled to behold
The horrid scene!
Solyman.
I tremble too—O Nature!
A parent cannot banish thee for ever—
Was no enquiry made? Canst thou not guess
This cruel foe?
Mustapha.
I can forgive, my Lord.
Solyman.
What should I think?—Thy brothers are thy friends.
My Roxolana—but 'tis profanation
To mention her. She never was thy foe.
Mustapha.
I never gave her cause.
Solyman.
Her faith to me
I oft have prov'd, and ever found sincere,
Her tongue too has been lavish in thy praise:
By heaven, it has.
Mustapha.
Betwixt my foes and me
Let heaven be judge.—But if their arts can win
On him, a father whom my soul reveres
With all the sanctity of truth and love,
To think me base, ungrateful and unjust:
Hear, Honor! and approve me while I swear—
[Kneels.
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As he is—Pangs like mine were well exchang'd
For death's short agonies—
Solyman.
Forbid it, Virtue!
Thou must not talk thus.
Mustapha.
Had I perish'd then,
I should have clos'd mine eyes in peace—convinc'd,
You never thought me false—convinc'd, my fate,
Unmerited, untimely, would have drawn
A tear of pity from a parent's eye—
Alas! my Lord—
Solyman.
O Mustapha—my son!—
For such again thou art, belov'd! endear'd!
I mix my tears with thine.
Mustapha.
My king and father!
'Tis joy, 'tis bliss too powerful clouds my sight
With this soft moisture.
Solyman.
Hence each doubt and fear,
Children of dark distrust. My soul receives thee
To love and confidence.—And now, my son—
But whence these horrid shouts?—Osman, what news?
| Mustapha | |