Miscellanies in Prose and Verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Alas! my mind presag'd her fate too well;
Vain are my toils: in vain I seek, and call
Her much lov'd name: these eyes perceive not yet
The smallest track of her my soul adores.

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But where's my friend?—perhaps more fortunate—
What hoa! Henriques!—Let me seek him—Heav'ns!
I can no further—weariness and grief
Weigh down my strength—here in this friendly rock
I'll rest awhile and wait for his return.
What see I? European characters!
Almighty Pow'rs! behold my name inscrib'd!
Whence this inscription, from what hand unknown!

“Constantia, by Gernando's guile betray'd,
“Forsaken here, on this far distant coast,
“Clos'd the sad remnant of her wretched days.”—

O Heav'ns! I faint—

[To him.]
HENRIQUES.
Speak comfort, my Gernando;
Yet know'st thou aught of poor Constantia's fate?

GERNANDO.
Constantia's dead!

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HENRIQUES.
What says my friend?

GERNANDO.
Read there.

HENRIQUES.

Unhappy fate!

[Reads.]

“On this far distant shore,
“Clos'd the sad remnant of her wretched days:
“Whoe'er thou art that read'st these mournful lines,
“If savage fierceness dwell not in thy breast,
“Revenge or pity—

There the sentence stands
Unfinish'd.

GERNANDO.
There her vital spirits fail'd.

HENRIQUES.
O tragic issue of disastrous love!
Yes, weep, Gernando, for thy tears are just:

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Mine too shall flow in sympathy with thine,
Ev'n rocks shall feel thy grief. But yet, my friend,
'Midst all thy woes one comfort still remains,
(Nor think that comfort little) no remorse
Preys on thy soul: thou hast fulfill'd each duty
Which love, or faith, or reason could require:
But Heav'n was pleas'd to render vain thy cares.
No more remains, but with a pious mind
To bend submissive to this awful stroke,
And fly, as wisdom bids, these fatal shores.

GERNANDO.
Forsake these shores! And whither must I turn?
Where dost thou think I more shall find repose?
O no! here Heav'n has fix'd my last abode,
Here on this spot—

HENRIQUES.
What means my friend!

166

GERNANDO.
While life
Informs my breast, I'll breathe the vital air
Constantia breath'd; each object here shall feed
My faithful grief; each moment I'll return
And kiss this rock; here live in ling'ring pain,
With her dear name for ever on my lips,
And dying here complete my cruel fate.

HENRIQUES.
O, my Gernando, what hast thou resolv'd?
Would'st thou abjure thy country and thy friends,
Thy father bent with age—

GERNANDO.
To see me thus
I know would bow his years to earth with sorrow.
Then go, my friend, give comfort to his age,
Be thou for me a son; and if he seeks

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To know my fortune, spare a parent's ear,
Soften the tale, and speak but half my suff'rings.

HENRIQUES.
And canst thou hope that e'er—

GERNANDO.

My friend, farewel.
Attempt not, while my sorrows flow,
With empty words to soothe my woe:
No mortal shall my torments share,
I ask no partner but despair.

On these lone shores what ease could flow
From kind compassion's social woe?
A friend would but increase my pain,
And swell the griefs he felt in vain.

[Exit.