University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The first Mountain Scenery.
Alphonso, Amazilia.
ALPHONSO.
Forget me, hate me, lovely Amazilia;
And let me fly, and yield me to despair.

[Going.
AMAZILIA.
Whither?—Whither?

ALPHONSO.
Where I may never more
Behold thy fatal charms!

AMAZILIA
(with desperation).
Nay, if thou dost,
I will not live!—No, by yon Heaven, I will not!
An Indian knows a thousand ways to death,
No death so frightful as were life without thee.

ALPHONSO
(after gazing on her earnestly).
I dare not trust my eyes—thy every look
Exerts a several destructive power!

AMAZILIA.
Kill me, if I am in my nature hurtful!
Kill me! but fly me not—Yet wherefore hurtful?
My heart goes forth to every thing that lives
With kindliest will. I would not crush the reptile
E'en though it stung me. Am I then more cruel
Than venom'd reptiles? for they spare their kind,
But I, thou say'st, injure whom most I love.

ALPHONSO.
Nay, nay; it is involuntary wrong!—
Alas for poor Houaco! slavery, tortures,
Were powerless to dash his bosom's firmness.
Thy scorn alone could break that noble spirit.

AMAZILIA.
I do not scorn Houaco. Must I wed
One whom I cannot love—as now I feel
This heart can love?
(With enthusiasm).
Oh yes! it would revere
Its object, as above the human race;
And, hanging on his words, his looks, would catch
A new soul, and new hopes, and glorious thoughts!

ALPHONSO
(aside).
Oh gratitude! Oh friendship! bar each sense!

AMAZILIA.
Alas! and can I honour thus Houaco?
Returning from the battle, if he bear
An hundred scalps of those his hatchet slew;
If on his steps, when crown'd with victory,
His fellow creatures manacled attend,
To bleed before the altars of our gods;
Say, shall these eyes, by thee unseal'd to truth,
Behold with sympathy that husband's triumph?
If thou would'st doom me to a fate like this,
Oh! why dispel the darkness of my soul,
And break upon me, as Heaven's glorious beam
Darts through the mountain chasm, by lightnings rent,
Awaking life and joy, where since creation
Darkness, and silence, and inaction dwelt?

ALPHONSO.
Dear, lost enthusiast!—Curse! Oh, curse the hour
I led thy glowing fancy—

AMAZILIA.
Hold! for mercy!
Curse not the gleam of bliss this heart has caught,
To sweeten the long life of misery
To which thou doom'st it now! (With sudden earnestness).

But whence the law?—
Haply of some more cruel God than ours
Thou hast not told of yet;—for not of nature
The law that bids thee give me to Houaco.

ALPHONSO.
Friendship, and gratitude—

AMAZILIA.
Hast thou no friendship?
Hast thou no gratitude for Amazilia?
Must all—all be Capana's and his son's?
Thou said'st I saved thy life—have they done more?
And do they love thee, honour thee as much?

ALPHONSO
(after a conflict).
Believe me, Amazilia, this poor life
Has worth but as thy gift! and for thy sake
To lay it down were joy! but thus to live!
Oh no! thy sweetness cannot—must not guess
The torturing force stern honesty exerts
To rule this breast; for might I loose the curb
Of headlong passion, at full bliss to aim,
What were it, think'st thou, but to see thee ever,
To claim thy tenderness, to call thee mine!

AMAZILIA.
Thine—thine I am! the fates have will'd it so!
'Tis nature's strong decree! 'tis Heaven's! 'tis virtue's!

ALPHONSO.
Hold! Hold!—Does virtue bid us seek delight
Reckless of all beside? I to Houaco
Have sworn a brother's faith—to him thy father
Gave thee!—He lives! and I, with holy love,
Must honour thee as my Houaco's wife!
[A pause of consternation.
Shall we, who boast of Christian virtues, own
A thought, a wish, so selfish, and so base,
As our own bliss by his destruction purchased?
Nay, is there bliss for them who know remorse?
And what remorse were ours!

AMAZILIA.
No more, Alphonso!
Thy awful words confound th' astonish'd sense,
Yet woo my trembling soul to higher thoughts
Than e'en—the heaven I dream'd—to live for thee!
Say—were I—by such self-devotion, stamp'd
A being worthy of thy fellowship?
Of thy regard? to thee a kindred spirit?

ALPHONSO.
Thy matchless virtue were as far above
My humbler aim, as are thy matchless charms
Above the sum of loveliness dispensed
To all thy sex beside; and I should live
(If live—I—must) to honour—to adore!

AMAZILIA.
Firm as thyself in virtue's path, Alphonso,
Thou shalt admire, and wonder at thy victim.
See, at thy feet I welcome wretchedness!
[With profound resignation.
I am Houaco's wife!

ALPHONSO
(aside).
(Oh! dreadful sounds!
'Tis agony I feel that should be joy!)
I thank thee, Amazilia; yes, I thank thee,
With fervor, as when pleading for my life
Thy angel tongue preserved me!— (Turning from her).

Spare me now!
Let me not look on thee!—I pray thee go.
Thy Laila waits thee, and thy happy lord
Claims thee—his own!—(Stern honour, holy friendship,
Blot out the madd'ning thoughts that rise!) (As she approaches meekly).

Oh! leave me!
I do beseech thee, leave!—in pity leave me!
[Amazilia goes submissively and dejectedly.
Accept the sacrifice, my benefactor!
I, who might fold her to my burning bosom,
Yet, for her thousand, thousand glowing charms,
Embrace despair!
[Throws himself on the bank, then starting up with horror.
It is my father's curse,
Wretch that I am, pursues me to the end!
Shun me, Houaco! Shun me, Amazilia!
I bear destruction wheresoe'er I go!
With deadly influence, as the baleful mildew,
O'er the young harvest of your loves I pass'd,
That but for me (the winter fled) had been
Fair ripening now beneath a smiling sky.

[He sinks on the bank in despair.

SCENE II.

A different and wilder Part of the Mountains.
HOUACO
alone.
Ye angry Gods, by my forefathers worshipp'd,
How terrible ye crowd upon my soul!
What spoke your thunders, rolling o'er my head,
Through the black vault of night? Your fiery bolt
Flashing on the lithe rattlesnake that lay
Coil'd at my feet?—They spoke thy will, Illapa,
Demanding thus thy victim at my hands,
And imaging, in the insidious serpent,
The Spaniard who has stung me to the soul.
My father wrong'd thee, vengeful Deity!
Of blood, thy due; and I, more guilty still,
Won by Alphonso's blandishments, forgot
The hate, the deep unconquerable hate,
I vow'd to fell Pedrarias' race—Nay, more,
Gave him the friendship of an honest heart,
And lent my easy ear to his smooth words,
While joy and hope won softly on my soul:
Joy—the attendant of the thoughtless child,
And hope—that waits on fools!
[Thelasco and a troop of Indians are seen approaching among the rocks.

THELASCO.
All powerful Heaven!
Or does a wreathing vapour mock my sight,
Or art thou from the land of spirits come
To warn us of impending ill?—Oh stay!
Whate'er thou be, thou seem'st Capana's son,
And thus my heart acknowledges the semblance.

[Bowing down before him.
HOUACO
(starting from his reverie).
Friend of my youth! my father's friend! Thelasco!
[Embraces him.
How fares it with the good Cacique, Capana?

THELASCO.
He lives! and in his son restored, is happy.
Come, let me lead thee to him.

HOUACO.
Stay, Thelasco!
Oh stay! I am not yet prepared; thou see'st
How the firm temper of my soul is shaken!
Think not the ills our cruel foes inflicted
E'er moved me thus!—'Tis here, Thelasco, here
[Beating his breast.
It rankles e'en to madness.—Yesterday—
Oh! yesterday!—

THELASCO.
Forget the pass'd day's ill:
Think of to-day! th' auspicious day that brings thee,
After two years of sorrow for thy loss,
To share our happiness, thy father's gift!

HOUACO
(not attending to him).
Virtues fantastical!—By Christians dream'd!
Ye are vain names! flowers that wreathe the dagger
They plunge into our breasts!
(To Thelasco, eagerly and wildly).
Valour in war,
And fortitude that tortures cannot shake—
Say—are not these the virtues of the Indian?
Revenge, if wrong'd, his duty and his solace?
Is it not so, Thelasco?

THELASCO
(astonished).
Surely, so!
But wherefore hang dark thoughts upon thy mind
When all is joy? Each social bliss awaits thee;
A people's welcome—friendship—love!

HOUACO
(with a bitter laugh).
Ha! ha!
[Then falling into his former melancholy.
I have no friend, Thelasco!—Idle love
Is for the fortunate!

THELASCO.
As thou shalt be!

HOUACO
(not attending to him).
Had I nor eyes, nor ears? Where were my senses?
Did he not falter? did he not turn pale,
Oft as I named the maid? And when I told
How to my arms, when yet a sportive child,
Her dying father gave her, he exclaim'd,
“Oh! tie indissoluble! sacred!” clasping
His trembling hands; then, starting, blush'd, and smiled;
And on the sudden all was calm, serene,
As smooth hypocrisy's own brow!—Fool! fool!

[Striking his forehead, and relapsing into his thoughtful posture.
THELASCO
(alarmed, to the Indians).
My friends, the heavy ills our chief has known
Prey on his wounded spirit: wild disorder
Oft waits on thought intense in noble minds.
Bear the glad tidings that Houaco lives
To all around. Summon our people straight
In joyous bands, with festive song and dance,
To welcome home Capana's warlike son. (To Houaco).
[The Indians go.

In yon deep-bosom'd glen, 'mong beetling rocks,
Dwell the surviving few of the young band
That follow'd thee in thy first days to battle.
There, sorrowing for thy loss, in gloomy caves
They hang their idle hatchets, till they hear
Thy voice, Houaco! thy awakening voice!
Rousing them from their sad inglorious ease,
To lead them forth.

HOUACO.
Ha! there again thou strikest!
My youthful band of friends!—Oh, hide me from them!
They still are free, and on their native mountains
Share with the savage of the wilds his prey;
They ne'er felt chains!—Oh, no! The lasco, no!
'Tis not the slave must lead the freeman forth!

Troops of Indians advance from among the rocks, with festive garlands, &c.
CHORUS OF NATIVES.
Is the patriot chief restored?
He whom India's sons deplored,
He who sank on slaughter's field,
Where new forms of death appal;
He who bade us bleed and fall,
Nobly fall—but never yield!

CHOSEN BAND OF WARRIORS.
A people's vow
Has won our leader from the tomb!
His sadden'd brow,
Hung with dark affliction's gloom,
Shall smile again beneath the victor's meed,
And hail! with transport hail! his injured country freed!

CHORUS OF NATIVES.
Bearing on with hope elate,
From his beaming eye flash'd fate!
He th' avenger's work began,
The spell of panic terror burst;
And his daring hatchet first
Proved the invader was but man!

BAND OF WARRIORS.
To yield the breath,
And give to dust the mangled frame,
This is not death!
It is the warrior's birth to fame!
On! to the field of glory lead again,
And drive the invader back,—back to the guilty main!

[The Indians crowd around Houaco with wonder, joy, and affection.
LASCALA.
Noble Houaco! thy return brings joy,
Brings hope, brings life, to every Indian warrior!
Bliss to our great Cacique! But I—I, too,
Had sons I loved! to war with the invader
They follow'd thee. Trembling I ask their fate.

HOUACO.
Lascala, the brave youth who bore thy name,
Beneath his hatchet saw a Spaniard fall,
Ere to the land of spirits he was welcomed
By his forefathers.

LASCALA.
Oh! had I died so!

[He is lost in grief, while and old woman comes forward.
WOMAN.
And at thy feet I ask my Zama's fate:
Zama, from whose strong arm the arrow sped
Unerring in the chase.

HOUACO.
Nor err'd in war.
But the forged thunders of th' invading foe
More fatal sped, alas!

WOMAN.
Ah me, my boy!
And shall he never more, at evening's close,
Bear homeward from the mountain's side the prey
To cheer our cabin hearth? And shall Nayati,
His faithful wife Nayati, never more—

HOUACO.
Ha! faithful, say'st thou? Was Nayati faithful?
She shall be honour'd above all her sex!
Let her be crown'd—be led in triumph hither!
I thought there was no faith in womankind;
There is, it seems—there is—but not for me—
Houaco only is to no one dear.

THELASCO
(aside).
How strange his words!

LASCALA
(with trembling anxiety).
But say my Azlan lives;
One lives, at least, to close his father's eyes.

HOUACO.
He lives—

LASCALA.
He lives? and follows not thy steps?

HOUACO
(with bitterness).
He lives; and shares the fate—the bitter fate—
Of great Capana's son.

[He bares his wrist, and shows it to Lascala
LASCALA.
These marks, Houaco,
What may they mean?

HOUACO
(with the utmost bitterness).
Chain'd!—manacled!—a slave!
Capana's son has lived!

LASCALA.
Say'st thou “has lived?”
And has th' invader bound e'en mighty Death
To do his will? Can Death no longer free
The man who will not live?

HOUACO.
To die, old man,
Were easy, as 't were sweet. The very weeds
Our careless footsteps bruise, with juices teem
Will loose from life. 'T were but to have refused
A little maize, and I had slept the sleep
Th' invader could not break: but sweet revenge
Had then been lost! Who would not live, Lascala,
And shake off death, e'en though within his grasp,
Nay, snatch at life with strong convulsive fondness,
Whose country's wrongs, whose private injuries,
For vengeance call?

LASCALA.
There spoke Capana's son.
Yes, we will follow thee where vengeance leads,
And free my Azlan.

HOUACO.
Stay, Lascala—stay!
Vengeance is slow. I, to Capana, must
Unfold the deep and secret means, nor strike
Till sure the blow. Thy Azlan's self would bleed
Were this hand rash.
(To Thelasco).
Valiant Thelasco,
Lend me that weapon in thy girdle fix'd.
[Thelasco hesitates.
Yes, Amazilia had been faithful too,
But for the potent spells these treach'rous men
Have foully wrested from mysterious nature.
Give me that weapon, and await me here;
Anon I will return with new life fraught,
And freer thoughts. I cannot yield my soul,
E'en to my country's claims, my father's love,
Till I have satisfied a private duty
Of strong imperious urgency. The weapon!
Give it, Thelasco, to my eager grasp.

THELASCO.
Take it, and may'st thou plunge it to the hilt
Where I would see it buried!
[Houaco rushes out with the dagger—Thelasco watches him.
With eagle speed,
By godlike vengeance wing'd, see how he darts
From cliff to cliff. We at a distance, friends,
Will follow on his steps, to grace his deeds,
Or, if aught ill befall, to give him aid.

[Exeunt, with music, as they entered.

SCENE III.

Alphonso lying on the bank where he had thrown himself in despair—Laila behind him scattering weeds around his head, unobserved by him. He sinks to sleep, and she comes gently forward.
LAILA.
At length a dull, and drowsy torpor steals
O'er his torn bosom: such the lulling virtue
Of this pale weed, whose chilly blossom shrinks
From the fierce glare of day, expanding wide
To the moist moon, that nightly brims its cup
With vapours dank, of power to lock each sense,
And lap the limbs in motionless repose.—
Soft—soft!—methought he moved.
[She scatters more weeds.
Deep sleep be on thee!
Thou creature of another world, beyond
The vast, and terrible ocean!—Thou, so noble!
And yet, so fatal!—Slumbers deep be on thee!
While I (so prosper Heaven my true affection!)
Seek the deluded, desperate Amazilia,
Win back her faith to him, her destined husband,
And to our peaceful valley lure her steps.

[Exit.
Enter Houaco, not seeing Alphonso.
HOUACO.
Yes, yes,—I will avenge my country's wrongs!
Appease the Gods of India! claim my wife!
And, more than all, pierce fell Pedrarias' breast!
Wring from him, pang by pang, and groan by groan,
Th' atonement of each several broken heart,
That drags out life upon this ruin'd land!
The thought awakes a dark, and sullen joy,
Worthy of him who was Capana's son—
Blasted by slavery, and to glory lost.
[Turning to go, sees Alphonso.
Thanks, ye immortal powers! who thus present
The sacrifice to th' injured Godhead due!
[He contemplates him.
How still his slumbers! And can treachery sleep?
How calm and open is his brow! Has guile
So fair a habitation? It has—it has—
And shall not lurk beneath a form so gracious,
To lure th' unwary to destruction. Thus—
[Going to strike.
Why shakes my coward hand? It is a deed
Of highest virtue!—pleasing to our Gods!—
I will not shrink—
[Advancing resolutely, and removing the garment from Alphonso's breast, starts back.
The pledge of amity
My father gave him, shields the very spot
Where I would strike!
[Returning with assumed resolution.
I must remove it.—No—
I dare not!—no—
[Trembles, and drops the dagger.
Capana guards thy life!

ALPHONSO
(starting up).
Is it a joyous vision? or, indeed,
Do I again behold my lost Houaco?

HOUACO.
Alphonso, thou behold'st thy murderer!
But that this hand has fail'd.—That sacred pledge
Stood between thee and death!

ALPHONSO
(affectionately).
Thou rav'st, Houaco.
Come to my bosom!—Art thou not my friend?

HOUACO.
Stand off, false Spaniard!—Bind these limbs with chains!
Give to the rack (if thou would'st live secure)
Th' assassin of the tyrant's guiltier son!
But I will brave thy rage, and scorn thee still!

ALPHONSO
(seeing the dagger on the ground).
Too true;—this fatal weapon proves thy words.
This have I not deserved of thee, Houaco!
And thou shalt feel it, if thou hast a heart!
Did I not swear to thee a brother's love?
[Extending his arms affectionately towards him.
The brother's part is ever to forgive.
Oh then forget with me that thou hast wrong'd me.

[Taking his hand.
HOUACO
(confounded, turning away).
What powerful magic in his words o'ercomes me?
Can he, unmoved, thus grasp his murderer's hand,
Nor aught of anger, aught of fear betray?
What hinders that I seize again yon weapon,
And plunge it in his bold, unguarded bosom?
What hinders?—but that it were easier far
To bury it, and my confusion—here!

[Striking his breast.
ALPHONSO.
Combat no longer with thy better feelings!
Let thy heart speak, and, ere I clear myself,
'Twill bid thee rest thy head upon this bosom!
[Houaco, overcome, throws himself on Alphonso's bosom.
I am content.—Thy honour trusts in mine!
Be cheer'd;—brush off that tear, and meet with smiles
Thy Amazilia.—Her unalter'd faith
Shall prove my truth.—Houaco, I can suffer,
E'en as thyself, unmoved!

HOUACO.
Canst thou, Alphonso,
Canst thou forgive the headlong rage that arm'd
This hand against thy life?

ALPHONSO.
'Tis not remember'd.
Blot from thy mind alike—But see—she comes—
Be blest in her thou lov'st—'tis all I ask.
Let me conceal this weapon from her eyes.
[Conceals the dagger in his bosom.
Now all is well.—Resume thy tranquil mind.

Enter Amazilia in great agitation, breaking from Laila.
AMAZILIA.
Refuse me not to speak one last farewell!—
Houaco here!—in friendly conference!
Then am I lost indeed!—Their bond of union
Too well, too well I know—my wretchedness!—
Instruct me, Laila, to pronounce my doom!
And oh! Alphonso's God! support my courage!
[She advances with great effort, and throws herself at Houaco's feet.
Low at thy feet, behold thy wife, Houaco!
Thou, pardon the involuntary error
Of one, restored to duty—and to thee!

HOUACO
(raising her, and pressing her to his bosom).
Oh! spare me, Amazilia! lest my brain
Support not all the joy that breaks upon me!
(To Alphonso).
Thou, before whom I bend with soul subdued,
Disdain not the full triumph of thy goodness.
The virtues I have prized are savage Nature's—
Thine are from Heaven!

ALPHONSO.
Oh! no more—no more—
'Tis time that good Capana share our joy.

Thelasco and Indians approach in joyous procession. they stop suddenly with astonishment and terror on seeing Alphonso. Thelasco fixes his eyes on him with a menacing expression. The Indians seize their bows, and wait the signal to shoot.
HOUACO
(placing himself between Alphonso and the Indians.)
My friends! my countryment! replace your arrows.
This is the godlike youth Capana spared!
The Indian's friend!—Behold my father's pledge!
[Pointing to the pledge. They drop their bows, and replace their arrows.
To him I owe my liberty!—to him—
That I again thus clasp, my bosom's treasure!
(To Thelasco).
I was deceived, Thelasco,—thou shalt learn
How much I, to the generous Spaniard, owe!

THELASCO
(aside, after an expression of cold assent).
What magic drugs, what herbs of potent juice
Yield the strong spells that guard this wily Spaniard?
At his approach the God of Vengeance flies!
Th' uplifted weapon slackens in the grasp,
And every heart, with strange unwonted softness,
Gives its full confidence!

HOUACO.
Lead on, my friends.
Within your deep retreat a little space
We will repose:—this tender frame, o'ertoil'd,
Requires short respite.—Amazilia, say,
Shall it be so?

AMAZILIA.
Thy will, henceforth, is mine.

[Houaco, Thelasco, and Indians, move off in triumph, among the rocks at the back of the stage, Amazilia looking mournfully at Alphonso as Houaco leads her away. Alphonso lingers behind, in great agitation.
ALPHONSO.
Repose!—delay!—And must I, drop by drop,
Dwell on the deadly draught myself prepared?
Oh, that Time wore the driving Tempest's wing,
Whose headlong sweep might leave no pause for thought,
Till to Capana I restore his son,
And in his happiness find peace—or die!

[Exit, following.
The Scene closes on them.