 | Poems, dramatic and miscellaneous |  |
163
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Maria,with her young Son clad in mourning—a Standard borne before him, on which is represented his Father's Death—accompanied by Zamora and a Procession of Friends—she addresses the Citizens, Soldiers, &c. &c. &c.
Behold, ye virtuous citizens of Spain,
The remnant of Don Juan's noble house;
See here the son of your late murder'd lord;
Behold his infant innocence that weeps
A father's fall, ere yet he'd learn'd to lisp
That sacred name, which cruelty dissolv'd.
The remnant of Don Juan's noble house;
See here the son of your late murder'd lord;
Behold his infant innocence that weeps
A father's fall, ere yet he'd learn'd to lisp
That sacred name, which cruelty dissolv'd.
If heaven and earth decree the world to Charles—
If Spain's prepar'd to wear the badge of slaves,
And degradation marks the bleeding realm—
Then, in the front of this respected band,
Grant me one boon—that yet some gen'rous arm,
Unstain'd by vice, or dip'd in guiltless blood,
Would smite the breast of this his infant son,
And lay him gently in his father's tomb,
As the last heir of Spain's expiring worth
That freedom's genius offers to the gods:—
She stoop'd, and dip'd her target in the gore
That copious rush'd from noble Juan's wounds.
'Tis the cement, she cry'd, in stronger league
To bind the liberal and unite the brave.
If Spain's prepar'd to wear the badge of slaves,
And degradation marks the bleeding realm—
Then, in the front of this respected band,
Grant me one boon—that yet some gen'rous arm,
Unstain'd by vice, or dip'd in guiltless blood,
Would smite the breast of this his infant son,
And lay him gently in his father's tomb,
As the last heir of Spain's expiring worth
That freedom's genius offers to the gods:—
She stoop'd, and dip'd her target in the gore
That copious rush'd from noble Juan's wounds.
'Tis the cement, she cry'd, in stronger league
To bind the liberal and unite the brave.
'Tis in thine option, wisely did ye judge,
To flourish long beneath her lenient reign;
But if, ungratefully, ye spurn the gift,
And fly the field, and yield the proffer'd prize—
Bend thy weak necks, and servilely submit,
Affronted virtue leaves such dastard slaves
To faint and tremble at a despot's nod.
To flourish long beneath her lenient reign;
But if, ungratefully, ye spurn the gift,
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Bend thy weak necks, and servilely submit,
Affronted virtue leaves such dastard slaves
To faint and tremble at a despot's nod.
I, for myself, a bolder part design;
And here, before the soldiers and the Cortes,
In presence of the eternal King, I swear,
Most solemnly I bind my free born soul,
Ere I will live a slave, and kiss the hand
That o'er my country clanks a servile chain,
I'll light the towers, and perish in the flames,
And smile and triumph in the general wreck.
And here, before the soldiers and the Cortes,
In presence of the eternal King, I swear,
Most solemnly I bind my free born soul,
Ere I will live a slave, and kiss the hand
That o'er my country clanks a servile chain,
I'll light the towers, and perish in the flames,
And smile and triumph in the general wreck.
Come, shew one sample of heroic worth,
Ere ancient Spain, the glory of the west,
Bends abject down—by all the nations scorn'd:—
Secure the city—barricade the gates,
And meet me arm'd with all the faithful bands:
I'll head the troops, and mount the prancing steed;
The courser guide, and vengeance pour along
Amidst the ranks, and teach the slaves of Charles
Not Semiramis' or Zenobia's fame
Outstrips the glory of Maria's name.
Ere ancient Spain, the glory of the west,
Bends abject down—by all the nations scorn'd:—
Secure the city—barricade the gates,
And meet me arm'd with all the faithful bands:
I'll head the troops, and mount the prancing steed;
The courser guide, and vengeance pour along
Amidst the ranks, and teach the slaves of Charles
Not Semiramis' or Zenobia's fame
Outstrips the glory of Maria's name.
[Exit.
[The people shout, and fly to arms.
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SCENE II.
A Battle without—the City taken by Conde Haro—Donna Maria fled to the Citadel—the little Son of Don Juan asleep on a Sofa—Maria weeping over him.Maria.
Though all is lost, and subjugated Spain
Lies bleeding at the footstool of a king,
I yet would live, for this young cherub's sake:—
Yet what insures his mind unstain'd and pure?
Nurtur'd in venal, sycophantic schools—
Eras'd each sterling virtue of the soul—
Debas'd—new coin'd in flattery's servile mint,
He may become a pander to a prince.
Ah!—thus to see Don Juan's son enslav'd,
Shocks more than death in its most frightful form.
O guard him, angels—guard him, powers supreme,
From the contagion of each vulgar vice,
Or the more splendid guilt that stalks in courts!—
Enter CONDE HARO.
Lies bleeding at the footstool of a king,
I yet would live, for this young cherub's sake:—
Yet what insures his mind unstain'd and pure?
Nurtur'd in venal, sycophantic schools—
Eras'd each sterling virtue of the soul—
Debas'd—new coin'd in flattery's servile mint,
He may become a pander to a prince.
Ah!—thus to see Don Juan's son enslav'd,
Shocks more than death in its most frightful form.
O guard him, angels—guard him, powers supreme,
From the contagion of each vulgar vice,
Or the more splendid guilt that stalks in courts!—
Why this fresh insolence, thou barbarous man!
Thus to obtrude and doubly wound my soul,
And blast my eyes by such a hated sight,
The blood stain'd murd'rer of my injur'd lord.
Thus to obtrude and doubly wound my soul,
And blast my eyes by such a hated sight,
The blood stain'd murd'rer of my injur'd lord.
De Haro.
O hear me once, and then pronounce my doom.
Maria.
Thy every word accumulates thy guilt,
And barbs the pointed dagger in my breast.
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Fain would I sooth and mitigate thy grief.
[Advancing.
Maria.
O death relieve, and shroud from mortal eye—
Give my indignant soul a larger field—
It burns—it beats—it bursts—oh! give it way,
Ere it in atoms tears thy trembling frame—
This shatter'd casement opes— [Lays her hand on her breast.
Traitor, stand off—
Or, like a furious spectre, bath'd in blood,
Arm'd with the fangs of horror and despair,
It hastens on, and drags thee down to hell.
[Runs wildly across the stage.
De Haro.
Though nature works this storm of passion up,
Reason must calm, and justice hear my plea.
[Follows, and detains her.
Maria.
By force detain'd a prisoner—a slave—
Oh! heavens and earth, and gods and men relieve—
Revenge this outrage on my feeble sex!
De Haro.
Not disrespect—'tis veneration holds;—
The Conde Haro's not the guilty thing,
Thy sufferings, fate, and fortune represent.
I fought Don Juan as my duty urg'd,
Yet my heart bled when brave Padilla fell;—
Now once permit—I'll lay a bosom ope,
And bare a breast that heaven itself may read.
The purest passion had subdu'd my heart,
Before ill fortune made me Juan's foe;
O! heav'n forgive—I lov'd his virtuous wife,
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I lov'd in silence—smother'd all my flame—
While honour—justice—every sacred tie,
Had made its utterance the blackest crime.
Maria.
And dost thou think to mitigate thy guilt,
Thus to torment the brave Don Juan's wife?—
To add to wretchedness—to fill up woe—
Force her to hear thy black adulterous tongue?—
Alas! the dismal croak—the voice of love
From hell's dark gloom, would less dismay than thine.
De Haro.
I wept the pangs that thy great soul must feel
When thy Padilla was my prisoner made.
Just heaven can witness what my soul endur'd
When martial law announc'd his forfeit, life—
A debt his sovereign and the state might claim.
My ear reluctant, heard the sentence pass'd,
And instant death decreed to worth like his.
Maria.
Forbear thy false dissimulating strains;
Thy tongue pronounc'd the vile inglorious doom,
That wrap'd in death the hero and the saint?
And now complet'st the measure of thy guilt,
Thus by compulsion, to detain his wife,
To hear a moment thy detested love.
De Haro.
What furious passions play in that fair breast!—
Maria.
Old time shall tell, and every age record,
Don Juan's worth, contrasted with thy guilt,
When curious eyes shall seek the mouldering tomb;
Where freedom wastes in tears beside the turf,
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Where death enrols her last distinguish'd son,
Urg'd to his fate by probity and zeal,
To save his country from a servile yoke.
De Haro.
I, the first witness of his merit stand—
A generous wish to save and bless mankind,
Urg'd him to glory in a devious path;
No man can tread, but on perdition's brink,
While standing armies swell the monarch's train,
And kingdoms bend, and empires own the claim,
Of mighty Charles, to keep the world in awe.
Maria.
Away, thou coward!—cringing, dastard slave!
Go fawn on kings, and boast thy prowess there;
Tell that the brave, who ne'er could meanly bend,
By cowardice were hurry'd to the block:
'Twas coward fear that hasten'd Juan's death:
As fortune play'd him once a losing game,
Thou durst not let him live another day.
Lest his good genius might have lent the means
To extricate his country and himself,
Thou'st added murder to thy list of crimes.
De Haro.
Reproach like this from any tongue but thine,
Should on itself recoil, and blast the lip
That wounds my honour—ne'er before impeach'd.
Maria.
Resent it as thou ought—I'm not afraid
Of Conde Haro's sword—strike here, assassin!
[Lays her hand on her breast
And complete thy work—dar'st thou not strike,
Who hast beheld Don Juan on a scaffold,
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Give me a sword, I'll measure it with thine,
For by the powers above, to thee I swear,
Maria lives but to avenge his death.
De Haro.
What lioness has nurs'd thy tender years?
Or can'st thou feel for every pain but mine?
Maria.
Then let me haste, and fly thy sight forever.
De Haro.
Pardon me, madam, while I urge my suit;
I have some merit—so thy Juan thought—
When grateful tears ran down his manly cheek.
I have one plea that may restore my fame.
A short adieu permitted by Velasco,
I left my tent, and hasten'd to Don Juan,
To sooth the sorrows of his noble soul,
And make the tenders of a generous friend.
'Twas his last wish—the latest boon of life,
To see thee once, before the fatal stroke,
Sever'd forever from the world's best gift:—
I, in a soldier's habit, sent him on,
As with a message from De Haro's hand,
Myself a prisoner till he should return;
As well I knew, not wealth, or crowns, or life,
Nor thy superiour charms, would tempt abuse
Of confidence thus plac'd in honour's breast.
Maria.
Immortal powers!—am I a debtor made
For the last blissful moment of my life,
To him my soul, of all mankind, abhors?
De Haro.
The debt was cancell'd when he call'd me, friend,
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Wipe off Maria's tears, and save her son,
And guard them both from peril and disgrace:
Not honour's self, or gratitude, or love,
Can plead a claim his merit don't erase.
The godlike pleasure of conferring good
On hearts so worthy, leaves me in arrears:—
I stand indebted to thy noble lord.
Maria.
To what extremes is human nature wrought!—
Can dignity and real greatness dwell,
Thus mix'd and blended, in a servile soul?—
Or hast thou seen thy error, and renounc'd
The bloody standard of the tyrant Charles?—
To make atonement to the injur'd dead,
Come, wield thy sword in a more glorious cause,
And lend thine arm to make thy country free.
De Haro.
Tempt not my loyalty, nor wound my fame.—
Maria.
If there is aught of truth or love in thee—
Hast thou a wish to see Maria more—
These are the terms from which she'll ne'er recede.
But see thy vengeful sire bends this way;—
Where shall I find an asylum for woe?
De Haro.
Live as a queen in Don Emanuel's court.
A trusty friend escorts thy son and thee
To Portugal's more hospitable shore,
Beyond the reach of Don Velasco's rage,
Till time restore thy peace, and make thee mine.
[Maria and her son hurried off the stage by De Haro's friends and guards.
[Exit.
171
SCENE III.
DON VELASCO and CONDE HARO.Velasco.
Wretch that thou art!—thou hast debas'd the house,
The noble name—the blood of Don Velasco.
De Haro.
None but thyself, should, with impunity,
Upbraid a man, whose honour ne'er was stain'd
By one base act—whose soul disdains a thought
But what ennobles both thy son and thee.
Velasco.
My son—no, I renounce the claim,
And rase thy memory from thy blasted line;
A mean soul, prostrate at a woman's foot—
A traitoress, both to her God and king,
Was ne'er ally'd to the Velascan blood.
De Haro.
If virtue stands at variance with worth,
Or if true greatness can abuse the wretched,
Then may my father's much revered lip,
With cruel insult, wound the fairest same.
Thou knowest not the lustre that adorns
Maria's soul, and lifts her o'er her sex—
The virtues that combine to make her great:
Her angel form commands profound respect;
Her beauty, grace, her constancy and truth—
Her noble mind and energy of thought,
Would dignify the most illustrious name.
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Thy love tales whine in her disdainful ear.
This idle, rapturous pageantry of words,
This play of fancy, fann'd by lustful gales,
These loose, mad ravings of a hot brain'd youth,
Have made me sick of life. Oh! how debas'd
Is honour—duty—gratitude and fame!—
How are thy laurels stain'd, and meanly laid
Beneath the pedestal of wanton love;
A transient beam, shot from a sorc'ress' eye,
Whom mercy yet has spar'd to rave and weep
Her husband's fall—her disappointed pride.
But by the eternal thunderer above,
She shall not triumph thus—
Mine aged arm, inur'd to war and blood,
Is not so worn by time, nor yet so weak,
But it can send her murmuring soul to hell;
Nay, harder still, has strength to grasp the hist,
And plunge this vet'ran sword in thy base breast,
To let out that false blood that taints thy soul
And poisons all my peace.
[Draws.
De Haro.
What means my sire?—
Velasco.
To make thee worthy of thy noble name.—
De Haro.
If death alone entitles to the claim,
I fear it not in any form but this.
[Retires backward, and bows respectfully as going off.
Velasco.
Fly not my vengeance—dastard—villain—slave!—
De Haro.
Hah!—dastard—villain—slave—Oh! heavens!
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To such reproach—ev'n from a father's lip?—
[Suddenly lays his hand on his sword.
Velasco.
Come, try its point against my wounded breast,
Or hoary head, grown grey in honour's path—
That bends and bows and blushes for his son.
De Haro.
Not the rich sands of Chili or Peru,
Nor all the wealth Potosi has in store,
Shall bribe me from my duty and respect,
My filial love and reverence for thee.
[Bends on his knee.
Velasco.
I do not wish to make thee more a coward.—
De Haro.
A coward—traitor—villain and a slave!—
My honour stain'd by epithets so vile.—
None but thyself within this ample round,
Should dare unite a base, opprobrious term
With Conde Haro's name—but thou'rt my sire—
Then take a life I wish not to preserve.
[Throws his sword from him, and bares his breast.
Velasco.
Take up thy dagger—plunge it in my breast,
Or give thy foolish passion to the winds.
De Haro.
No—neither.—
Velasco.
Bring back the fugitive to justice' arm—
Renounce thy love.—
De Haro.
Never.—
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Never!—
De Haro.
Not if Maria hears my faithful vows—
'Tis honour, wealth and empire to my soul.
Velasco.
Fly from my vengeful hand—thou'rt not my son—
I've been deceiv'd—alas! too long deceiv'd.
Thou art some low—some vile imposter—palm'd
Upon my house—and nature feels no pang,
To send thy soul to wander with the dead.
[Makes a furious pass at De Haro, but is so enraged be trembles and drops his sword.
De Haro.
When nature shall cut off thy thread of life,
I'll meet thee there, by thy Zelinda's side—
That angel form that gave a son to thee.
Velasco.
Hah!—my Zelinda—her sacred name
Has wak'd the father up, and checks my rage;—
Oh! had this rash, this guilty hand sent down
The mangled ghost of her belov'd De Haro—
Her darling son—slain by a father's hand—
In Hades to accuse his barbarous heart
For such an outrage on so brave a son;—
Both wandering spirits, and the saints above,
Alike would curse his cruelty and crime;—
But as thy sword—thy valiant conquering arm
Has quell'd rebellion, and cut off their chiefs,
Let me intreat—
[Enter Don Francis—a bloody sword
extended in his hand.
Has wak'd the father up, and checks my rage;—
Oh! had this rash, this guilty hand sent down
The mangled ghost of her belov'd De Haro—
Her darling son—slain by a father's hand—
In Hades to accuse his barbarous heart
For such an outrage on so brave a son;—
Both wandering spirits, and the saints above,
Alike would curse his cruelty and crime;—
But as thy sword—thy valiant conquering arm
Has quell'd rebellion, and cut off their chiefs,
Let me intreat—
—Hah! what do I see?—
Heav'n blast my eyes!—Say, can Don Francis live?—
Heav'n blast my eyes!—Say, can Don Francis live?—
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—Thou see'st thy duteous son—
The wedded husband of thy lov'd Louisa—
Thou see'st his sword wet with the blood of Pedro,
Who would have robb'd me of my lovely bride;
His coward ghost now murmurs in the shades
And groans repentance for his faithless deeds.
Velasco.
Thy rebel insolence my hand shall crush
When thou hast told by what infernal fiend,
Or hellish arts, thy life's protracted thus,
To plunge my house in infamy and guilt.
Francis.
Thy generous son has sav'd me from the grave;
That noble friend, when, on the verge of death,
Set ope the prison gates, and bade me fly
To mighty Charles, and boldly sue for grace.
Know'st thou thy lov'd Zelinda's bridal ring?—
[Presents it to Velasco.
This precious pledge made thy Louisa mine,
And, often seen upon Velasco's hand,
Procur'd and seal'd a pardon from the emperor.
Velasco.
That guardian angel of my happier days.
Sure hovers here, and guides my sanguine steps;
Protects her children from their father's rage,
And smooths my passions down the vale of life.
Go, Francis, see if yet Louisa lives,
And heaven forgive my cruelty to her!—
Each passion dies but love to my Louisa,
And strong affection to the best of sons.
[Exeunt.
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SCENE IV.
LOUISA,sola, on her knees, looking up to Heaven in agony, with her Father's Sword in her band, pointed to her breast.
Let this bright canopy spread o'er my head,
And all the wonders of the vast concave—
Each radiant flame that shoots its friendly beam
O'er nature's empire, and proclaims a god,
Lend me their aid to solemnize my soul;
To hush the tumult of life's various cares,
That rage without, or reign within my breast.
'Tis heav'n bids me leave this mazy world,
To its own guilt, ambition, pride and blood.
Hah!—does my purpose flag—
[Trembles, and drops the sword.
I feel my courage firm—yet fear my God—
Will he forgive a suffering wretch,
Weary of life—yet not afraid to die—
Who quits her post, ere nature makes demand—
Unbidden rushes to his awful throne—
A ghastly—grim—a discontented soul,
Bath'd in the blood of suicide!
My trembling frame shrinks at the dread idea—
Yet what—ah! what can sad Louisa do?
[Recovers the sword.
I cannot live—to see Don Francis die—
Yet worse to live, and be Don Pedro's wife—
I must not live—my father bids me die.—
[Stabs herself.—Don Francis and De Haro enter at the moment.
Francis.
Oh! my Louisa—my love—my bride!—
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Thy dreadful purpose hold!—
Louisa.
Ah! my dear lord—permitted thus to live
But to receive and aid on its escape—
My soul just rushing from my bleeding breast.
[Fainting.
Francis.
Thou must not die—Oh! lovely maid, revive—
Thy father's blessing beckons thee to life.
Louisa.
It was my father's will impell'd to death—
His rigorous command I have obey'd—
My filial design may God forgive,
Nor rank me with the hateful suicide,
Who rushes on his fate from passion storms,
And dies the martyr of his guilty hand.
His rigorous command I have obey'd—
My filial design may God forgive,
Nor rank me with the hateful suicide,
Who rushes on his fate from passion storms,
And dies the martyr of his guilty hand.
Retard me not—now on the marge of death—
My conscious soul, unstain'd by one base act,
Looks back serene on life's tempestuous surge,
Nor feels a pang, but for my Francis' sake;—
Yet bliss is crown'd by dying in his arms.
My conscious soul, unstain'd by one base act,
Looks back serene on life's tempestuous surge,
Nor feels a pang, but for my Francis' sake;—
Yet bliss is crown'd by dying in his arms.
[Dies.
Francis.
I'll catch in ether that last balmy breath,
And meet her gentle spirit in the skies.—
[Falls on his sword.
De Haro.
Ha! Francis, hold—nor cowardly revolt
From nature's post, assign'd by nature's lord.
From nature's post, assign'd by nature's lord.
Heaven has decreed the just, the brave, should die,
But 'tis a dastard soul that fears to live.
But 'tis a dastard soul that fears to live.
Francis.
Life lost all worth in her expiring sigh—
Adieu, my friend, for time has lost its charms.
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And soars and spurns a base, ignoble world.
[Dies.
De Haro.
Alas! the horrors of this awful hour—
What misery's entail'd on all mankind
But those who rise and view life from the stars!—
What misery's entail'd on all mankind
But those who rise and view life from the stars!—
Oh! thou whose word directs the pointed flame,
When the blue lightnings curl about the clouds,
And thunders roll across the ragged vault,
Let down thy benediction from the skies!—
To virtue bend the wayward mind of man—
Let not the father blast his children's peace
By rancour—pride—and cursed party rage;—
Let civil feuds no more distract the soul—
Blast the dark fiends who wake mankind to war,
And make the world a counterpart to hell.
When the blue lightnings curl about the clouds,
And thunders roll across the ragged vault,
Let down thy benediction from the skies!—
To virtue bend the wayward mind of man—
Let not the father blast his children's peace
By rancour—pride—and cursed party rage;—
Let civil feuds no more distract the soul—
Blast the dark fiends who wake mankind to war,
And make the world a counterpart to hell.
[Exeunt Omnes.
| Poems, dramatic and miscellaneous | |