University of Virginia Library

SCENE VIII.

THE VICEROY, GARCIA, SYLVEYRA, CONSTANTIA, &c.
CONSTANTIA,
(throwing herself before the Viceroy.)
Save him! O save him, Castro! 'tis thy son!
The son of Isabel! thy injured wife!
Behold her proud heart prostrate at thy feet!

THE VICEROY.
Good Heaven! thy piercing accents have convulsed
All my weak springs of life—look up! O shew me
Thy features, thou! that hast assumed a name,
Whose very sound is torture to my soul!
Thou blessed form! my Isabel herself!
My innocent, my living Isabel!
Enough—ye powers of mercy! 'tis enough—
I fain would bless thee—but—

(Faints.
CONSTANTIA.
Alas! he dies!—
Wretch that I am! my blind precipitate haste
Has cruelly abridged the few short minutes
Of his lost life.—Thou dear, unhappy Castro!

GARCIA.
Despair not, gentle lady! this surprise
O'erpowers enfeebled nature; but I see
Returning life—it flushes on his cheek—
(To the Council.)
My honored friends, your presence may distress
His wounded spirit; then awhile retire!
And when he gains some slight return of strength,
I will myself inform you of his wishes—

(the Officers withdraw.
THE VICEROY.
Where art thou, blessed spirit! tell me where!
I thought my Isabel informed my soul,
She was not murder'd by the cruel Castro—
Now my lost love! I hold thee once again:
Speak to me! let thy soft angelic voice,
If thou indeed art Isabel, disperse
This darkness of my soul, that makes me fear
A blessing, so beyond the reach of hope,
Is but the mockery of mere delirium.

CONSTANTIA.
Thy Isabel yet lives: O! could her love
Yet save thy dearer life!

THE VICEROY.
Kind angel! spare,
Spare that vain thought! the hand of righteous Heaven
Has marked my hour of death—I feel it near;
But thus to know, that I have not destroyed
Thy innocence; to fold thee thus,
And fondly resting my repentant spirit
On the kind softness of thy tender bosom;
To breathe my last in thy forgiving arms
Is worth long centuries of guilty life—
But haste to tell me all thy wondrous fate.

CONSTANTIA.
If, in these moments of reviving love,
I must again resign thee, yet my Castro!
Yet in thy parting soul let me awaken
The blest emotions of paternal joy.
Let Isabel to thy embraces give
A son most worthy of thy honored name!
This injured youth, this brave accomplished hero,
Formed by thy care, and child of thy adoption,
Thy loved Sylveyra, is thy real son.

THE VICEROY.
Amazement! transport! Heaven my son restored!
Come let me press thee with my dying hand!
And pouring penitent tears into thy bosom
Thus from thy pure heart wash the painful record
Of all thy father's cruelty and guilt.

SYLVEYRA.
His worth, his kindness live for ever there

THE VICEROY.
Dear Garcia, seek that injured excellence
The sweet Velora—I have learnt the story
Of their chaste loves, and her concealed attachment
To our pure faith: it is by her alone,
That I can make atonement to their virtues.
(Exit Garcia.
Tell me, my Isabel, and haste to tell me,
How gracious providence has been thy shield!

CONSTANTIA.
Thou know'st that far from Lisbon, and my father,
Within my sister's castle, 'twas my hope
To hide the offspring of our secret marriage;
There first I learnt, that frantic jealousy
Impelled thee to desert thy injured wife—

THE VICEROY.
That cruel jealousy was raised to madness
By the curst arts of a defeated rival.

CONSTANTIA.
The power of innocence, and pride of virtue,
With the pure spirit of maternal love,
Sustained my wounded heart: my generous sister
Contrived the artful tale which haply led
My friends, my father, and e'en thee to think me
Sunk in the wished asylum of the tomb:
So I was free to watch, with ceaseless care,
The precious fruit of thy ill-fated love—

THE VICEROY.
Thou miracle of pure maternal virtue!
O let me thank thee with these bursting tears
Of fondest admiration!

CONSTANTIA.
When the mind
Of my sweet boy first glowed with young ambition,
It chanced thy valour raised thee to this sphere:
I then resolved beneath a borrowed name,
To visit India, with a hope to see
Thy unsuspected son by youthful merit
Attract thy notice: this, my dearest aim,
To brave Sylveyra, thy departed friend,
I first unfolded—as his widowed sister,
He sheltered me with well-devised concealment:
That virtuous hero aided all my views
With noblest zeal, and to thy wakened love
Meant to restore us, when the afflictive chance
Of battle robbed us of his kind support.

THE VICEROY.
My generous friend! I well remember all
His care to fix in my unconscious heart
The virtues of my child—Oh! Isabel,
To what long years of suffering has my frenzy
Reduced thy spotless heart! and canst thou pardon—