University of Virginia Library

1. PART I.

Scene—The Rancho del Venadito, on the hacienda of Tlachiquera, near the city of Guanaxuato, in New Spain. Time—evening and the night succeeding. Mina seated by an open lattice, and Rosario, his page, dimly seen at the extremity of the room.
MINA.
In this lone mansion of my youthful friend,
Don Mariano, will I rest awhile
From war's tumultuous turmoil and the rage
Of sanguinary horrors, and forget
For some brief space, 'mid nature's still repose,
The miseries of nations. O thou blest Spirit,
Immutable, eternal Liberty!
Thy home is on the mountains and thy sons
Must toil and bleed to gain thy holy shrine,
And break the tyrant's sceptre and bestrew
Their gory pathway with the murderous tools
Of fiendlike dominance;—their midnight couch
Must be the cold damp earth—their bosom friends
The full-charged carabine and sheathless brand,
And the wild cries of forest animals
Or lone responses of tired sentinels,
Their broken slumbers' lullaby. The roar
Of enfiladed musquetry—the clash
Of gleaming sabres, and the shrieks and shouts
Of onset, triumph, agony and death,
Must be the softest accents that awake
The patriot soldier from his tented bed,
And break his feverish dreams of distant loves.
But, oh! where breathes the base degenerate wretch
Who dares not vindicate the holy laws
Of all presiding nature, trampled on?
Who crouches at the tyrant's beck and does
The tyrant's bidding on his suffering peers,
Hath lost the privilege of man and sunk
Nature below her just prerogative.
Where'er one man by conquest or descent
Doth lord it o'er his fellows, and usurp
Power from the nation, who alone may rule,
There let the patriot rise in wrath and hurl
The despot to the dust from which he sprung.
For thee, O heaven descended goddess! thron'd
In man's expanding soul e'en at his birth,
The pride, the glory of his being—long
And deeply hath my heart in silence bled.
Torn from life's best affections—from the love
Of mother, kindred, friend—and, more than all,
Of her who was the birth-star of my fate—
I have devoted my best years to thee:
But now awhile I may count back the links
Of fortune's cankered chain—and trace the clue
Of being through the sufferings and the woes
Of ever-varying destiny, till again
I may behold in memory's light the scenes
Of other days. Alas!

ROSA.
My lord, did'st call?

MINA.
No, good Rosario; dastard nature seeks
To play the tyrant, and perchance I shrunk
A moment from my spirit's dignity.
Prisoned in gross material substance oft
The heav'n-born soul will droop beneath the weight
Of its vast energies, and leave the heart
Sole lord of all its powers; but now 't is past,
The encroaching weakness.—But thy fragile frame,
My little page, unused to war's rude life,
And wasting toils and dangers imminent,
Claims due repose; for me, since early youth
The starred heaven hath been my canopy,
The rock or heath my bed; and I have slept
Among blood-dripping banners, shattered arms,
And corses not yet cold in death, so long
That 't is a luxury, unknown for years,
To slumber 'neath a roof;—guerilla chiefs
Not often find a rancho for the night.
Go to thy slumbers, lovely boy!

ROSA.
My lord,
Can I do nought to serve thee—nought to give
Relief to thy fatigued and war-worn frame,
That may assist thy tranquilizing sleep?
Could I but soothe thy spirit into soft
Repose or by most fearful venture find
An opiate for thy heart, I should indeed
Be blest—oh, more than blest, my dearest lord!

MINA.
Thou art a faithful and sweet boy; but what
Canst thou, with all thy tenderness and kind
Observance, do to heal a broken heart
Or still the torrent of a warlike soul?
Canst thou allay the anguish of the past
Or kindle hope into fruition?—On
Thy youthful brow there hangs the solemn shade
Of something ill by-gone; and canst thou pour
Balm o'er a bosom robbed of all its joys?
Thou well mayst turn away when such a task,
Beyond all skill of mortal surgery,
Is set before thee.

ROSA.
Good my lord, didst say
Thy heart was robbed of all its former joys?

MINA.
Ay, thus I said in bitterness; I was
So happy once, it poisons all my speech
To tell my present sorrows. Wouldst thou know,
Rosario, all the pleasures of my youth
And all my past enjoyments—go and ask
The Alpine solitudes of bold Monreal,
The groves that skirt the vallies of Navarre,
The cliff-arched grottoes of the Pyrenees,
And many a bower of bliss that blossoms yet,
And all will tell the tale. But what avails
Weak reminiscence? I have wedded war—
War for the rights of man, and holy bands
Have hallowed my espousals—o'er crossed swords
The irrevocable vow hath soared to heaven,
And deeds have stamped it with the seal of fate,
Unchangeable as Deity! Let the past
Sleep in the unfathomed ocean of the soul
Amid the wreck of glorious things, till time
And chance and change no more have influence
O'er man's fresh budding hopes—to blast and wither!
But why so sad and pale, Rosario?

ROSA.
A thought passed o'er my mind, as thou didst speak,
And I unwittingly upon my brow
Did picture it—but now 't is gone.

MINA.
It was
A thought of gloom: I may reciprocate
Thy generous offering now and seek the cause
Of sorrow in thy soul; perchance, my fate
May teach thee moral warfare with the foes
That make the heart their battlefield, while thou
Art day by day familiar with the strife
That nature's children wage for liberty.
Thou well dost know that this my warring life
Suits not the feelings of my heart; had Spain
Been other than a dungeon of despair,
Contending hosts had never known my name.

ROSA.
I thought, my noble lord, of thy bold deeds
Of high emprise, and as I followed on
From great to greater—from Marina's walls
To San Gregorio, I could but think,
Had'st thou in either of thy battles fall'n,
How many eyes the story of thy fate
Had filled with bitter tears; how many hearts
Writhed in deep anguish at thine early doom!

MINA.
Thanks for thy friendly thought; but why forestall
What fortune's chances may too soon achieve?
Or why imagine, were I gone, no chief
More worthy would be left to wage the war?

ROSA.
But, Signor, thou ere while didst speak of loves;
Their hearts would surely bleed if thou wert gone.

MINA.
There thou art certain and thou well may'st be.
Yes, many would bewail me—many weep
And mourn awhile and then resume their smiles;
There is but one who never would forget
Or cease to sorrow for the daring chief
Who fell on foreign strand; but she's afar
And dead, perchance—away! thy boding speech
Would make a dastard of immortal Mars.
Go, bear my best affection to our host,
The gallant Mariano, and desire
The chief for converse of avail and high
Import to meet me here ev'n now; and then,
Rosario, seek thy couch and court repose,
Drowning thy fancies and thy fears alike.

ROSA.
Be heaven the guardian of my noble chief!

MINA.
Amen, my little page! good-night, Rosario!
(Exit Rosario.)
So he hath gone, poor boy! his gentle heart
Owns not the warrior's ardour in the rage
And havoc of conflicting elements;
But, oh, how often hath he soothed the last
Dread moments of the soldier's agonies—
Stanched the deep wound, allayed the burning thirst,
Composed the bloody pillow, raised the head
Delirious with anguish, and with soft
Assuasives lulled the fevered pulse! How oft,
Bent o'er the gory bed, hath he upheld
The blessed crucifix before the eyes
Of dying patriots and warmly breathed
Their parting orison when o'er them came
The shadows of untravelled worlds—the deep
Darkness that wraps the spirit in the vale
Of cold obliviating death, where yet
Chaos maintains its old dominion dire.
I fondly love that sad mysterious youth.
Until this eve he hath been silent—watched
My wants and answered to my wishes ere
Articulated; ever by my side,
In thoughtful silence he hath glided on,
Searching for foes and warning their approach
Long ere they came. So much devotion flows
From some o'ermantled cause, beyond the grasp
Of calculating thought—but I will search—
Enter Don Mariano.
Friend of my youth, I greet thee well! 't is long
Since the wild waves of desolating war
Sundered our fortunes, but again we meet
The same as in the antique halls and towers
Of venerable Saragossa.

MARIANO.
Ay, the same,
Or more, O lion-hearted chief! thy praise
Fills every heart that feels for human weal,
And every tongue breathes eloquence when thou
And thy achievements are the inspiring theme.
Eternal glory and undying fame—

MINA.
Beshrew thy present speech, my noble friend,
And cull thy words more carefully. It ne'er
Doth appertain to principles of true
And genuine liberty thus to o'erween
The simplest acts of duty; freedom's sons
Should never mimic royal pageantries,
Nor deal in adulation, nor indulge
In undue forms of reverence to those
Whose names are heralded by bugle-horns,
The eternal order of revolving worlds
Is simple as sublime; let man's applause,
When due, be the still look of gratitude!

MARIANO.
Disclaim, with such high terms and looks sincere,
The extorted homage of the world, and thou
Might'st reign in every human heart, the lord
Of mind—an empire tyrants ne'er enslaved.

MINA.
Thy pardon, Signor! but I wished to speak
Of things essential to the present weal
Of myriads. Thou know'st the nature close,
Subtle and envious of Torres' soul;
How by most guileful artifice he worked
My misadventures in the vicinage
Of Sombrero; and how, when Linan drew
His lines of siege round San Gregorio,
And threatened ruin to the coward priest,
He violently retained my choicest troops
To guard his Reverence; and sent me forth
With clowns undisciplined and unobeying,
To urge the siege of Guanaxuato. There,
First deed of shame that e'er befel me—there
Disgrace frowned on my once victorious banner!
But I'll not think of that discomfiture,
For I would yet preserve my reason clear.
Now for thy counsel—thou art wise in war;
Abide we here or seek the open plains
Of ever-blooming Silao?

MARIANO.
No foes
Can thread yon deep barrancas unbeheld,
And none dare force the pass that intervenes
Us and Orrantia; therefore danger seems
Afar from thee and thy guerilla band
For a brief time; thou canst augment thy strength
In silence here, and burst upon the foe
Again in all thy terrors when he sleeps
In lethargy of fancied safe repose.

MINA.
So be it then; Orrantia I despise
Ev'n as the Pyrenean huntsman doth
The spectre-haunted hind; 't would better fit
The pampered parasites of ruthless power
To play the matador, than thus to lead
Things human to the war of sacrilege.
The dastard cravens dare not wield the brand
In manly fight, but steal behind and stab
I' the darkness—and if by the sheerest chance
They seize a prisoner, straight they bear him on
To the camp's centre and display their valour
In cruel slaughter of a pinioned man:
Mother of God! it is beyond the calm
Endurance of my nature to behold
Such demons triumph in a nation's wrongs.

MARIANO.
Heaven speed the day when they shall meet the doom
Their cruelties have earned. But, noble chief!
Or if thou wilt, good friend! 't is time that thou
Should'st woo thy needful rest.

MINA.
Thou dost not err,
For well thou know'st the soldier's wakeful nights.
But first I'll post videttes upon yon cliffs
To guard contingencies. 'T is ever thus;
Our safety must be bought with others' danger,
And their's with ours; peace cannot reign below
With holy liberty, but men will sigh
For dignities beyond the common lot,
And spurn the holiest laws, and trample down
The highest principles of things to gain
The privilege of being cursed by broken hearts
With all the bitterness of hopeless woe.

MARIANO.
When I think o'er thy sufferings and thy deeds,
My noble friend, since last we met, I scarce
Can reason wonder to belief of fact.

MINA.
The warrior's course is like the boiling torrent,
Roaring and flashing through tumultuous scenes,
Till the uncertain fountain disappears.
Come, Signor, we will tread the camp of death
Again together; 't is perhaps the last
Meeting of two oppressed and injured men
Whose boyhood passed in words and acts of love.