University of Virginia Library

XARIFA,

A TRAGIC DRAMA.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

• Abdallah, king of Granada.
• Moraizel, of the race of the Aben-Zurrahs, leader of the troops, and father of Xarifa.
• Albin Hamad, nephew to Moraizel, and betrothed to Xarifa.
• Alhamut, Moorish knight of the race of the Zegris, at enmity with the Aben-Zurrahs.
• Ali, Moorish knight of the race of the Zegris, at enmity with the Aben-Zurrahs.
• Don Juan de Chacon, the Spanish general.
• Don Diego.
• Xarifa, betrothed to Albin Hamad.
• Esperanza, a Spanish slave, her attendant.
• Moorish and Spanish Soldiers, Guards, &c.

SCENE, Granada, and the Spanish camp under the walls of the city.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Scene on the walls of the city overlooking the field of battle. On the distant hills is seen the Spanish camp. Moors pass hastily across the stage, and look anxiously over the walls on the combatants beneath. Two Moors come forward from the crowd.
FIRST MOOR.
They yield—they yield on all sides to the foe!

SECOND MOOR.
Their ranks are broke.

THIRD MOOR
(from the walls).
Mark, yonder on the left
They make a stand.—

FOURTH MOOR
(on the walls).
'Tis but to check the bands
Of fierce Castilians pressing on the rear.
And see! our friends along the valley pour
With breathless speed—

THIRD MOOR.
They throng the eastern gate!

FIRST MOOR.
Granada! oh my country! woe for thee!
Press'd by the foe without—within thy walls
Tumult and civil strife! The envious Zegris!
They have fall'n off to blast Moraizel's fame,
The Aben-Zurrah chief who led them forth!

SECOND MOOR.
The chief is brave, but bends beneath his years:
Youth's fire is quench'd. Had Albin Hamad led
The morning's onset, it had not been thus.
He is alike of Aben-Zurrah lineage,
Nor envy prompts my speech.

FIRST MOOR.
True, he is nobly gifted: yet, methinks,
Of youth too green, too confident, too rash,
To hold a leader's charge; but I will haste
And meet our hapless friends, of them to learn
The worst that has befallen.

SECOND MOOR.
'Tis well advised.
And see—the beauteous daughter of Moraizel,
With hurried step, disorder'd, and her train
Of Moorish damsels, on the ramparts throng.

FIRST MOOR.
The clamorous grief of women is not music
To the dull ear of age. I will avoid them.

[Exeunt two Moors.
The train of women are looking anxiously over the battlements, with actions expressive of various emotions, while Xarifa, as if unable to bear the sight any longer, totters forward, supported by Esperanza.
XARIFA.
Look, Esperanza, look:—survey the field—
Say, is the last sad remnant of our troops
Received within the gates?

ESPERANZA
(after looking over the walls, returns).
Alas! dear mistress,
Few, few remain upon the fatal plain,
Save those who never more—

XARIFA
(hiding her eyes).
Oh dreadful sight!
Confused through tears, the hill, the valley, all
To me appears one mingled mass of horror.
Yet look again—thou hast no father there!
See'st thou the milk-white steed, the crimson vest,
The lofty turban, ensign of command?

ESPERANZA
(looks again, and returns).
Alas! no—nothing. But, perchance, Moraizel,
When treacherous fortune frown'd upon his arms,
With the first band return'd.

XARIFA
(indignant).
Ha! Esperanza,
Speak'st thou of brave Moraizel?—of my father?

ESPERANZA.
Pardon, dear mistress; I would calm thy fears,
And weigh not well my words.

XARIFA
(kindly).
Thy thought was kind;
Yet, Esperanza, know, although 'tis hard
To tremble for his life, 'twere not relief
To deem his glory tarnish'd.

ESPERANZA.
Yet be patient.
The valiant Albin Hamad will, ere long,
Bring tidings fraught with comfort. Well thou know'st
The band he leads this morning went not forth.
And is it not some joy to think that he,
The faithful youth, thy bosom's chosen lord,
Was spared a part in this disastrous day?

XARIFA.
Thy gentle cunning now has touch'd the theme
That best might soothe my cares. I thank thee, friend;
But Albin Hamad tarries long, methinks:
To-day his post was at the eastern gate.

ESPERANZA.
E'en while I look'd, the eastern gate was closed.

XARIFA.
Then is he free to come. Does he forget
How dear her father to Xarifa?

ESPERANZA.
Nay,
Since the eastern gate was closed, an arrow's flight
Had scarce the distance measured—and behold,
Unjust Xarifa! Albin Hamad comes.

Hamad enters, takes Xarifa's hand, and appears unable to speak.
HAMAD.
Xarifa! oh!

XARIFA
(terrified).
Thou canst not speak thy tidings!

HAMAD.
Our troops repulsed with loss—

XARIFA.
But say—my father!—
Speak!—how fares Moraizel?

HAMAD
(clasping his hands).
Good Moraizel!

XARIFA.
Have pity yet. Oh say not he is slain!

HAMAD.
No, dear Xarifa, no!—thy father lives!

XARIFA.
All powerful Heaven, thanks!—But yet methinks
Thy looks, thy tone of sadness, ill accord
With these glad tidings. Oh my fears! he is wounded?

HAMAD.
Not so.—The scars that grace the hoary chief
Bleed not afresh!

XARIFA.
Then all, methinks, were well,
If Hamad's brow but wore its wonted cheer;
And I to-morrow—so my father bade—
Should vow to Hamad all a wife's obedience.

HAMAD.
For us to-morrow is no day of joy.

XARIFA.
Ah! wherefore? wherefore?—Is it Hamad speaks?

HAMAD.
Could'st thou know joy, Moraizel far away?
Say, who but he can give Xarifa's hand?

XARIFA.
Nor slain! nor wounded! Yet these dreadful words!
Oh! worse than all!—a captive—

HAMAD.
Doom'd to chains
Those noble hands from youth to veteran age
Used but to wield the terror-flashing sabre,
Till now so fatal to Granada's foes!

XARIFA.
What! fasten chains on him?—Oh no, they durst not—
They durst not for their lives!—His eye, in anger,
Would dash their hardihood. His reverend head
Wears awe and strong control: no, their rude hands
Would slacken—but thou smil'st in tender pity.
Are they so hard?—have they no mercy?—none!
And will they tear the father from his child?
[After an agony of tears.
Has filial love but unavailing tears
To give a father? Yes, it has—it has
A worthier boon! Farewell, my Albin Hamad!
Yes, I must follow in captivity
My honour'd father. From my infant years
I have been his heart's best joy! he told me so
But yesterday, and press'd me to his bosom.
His tears fell on my tresses as he spoke,
And then he thought but to have given me, Hamad,
To thee and happiness! 'Tis mine to follow,
And in the stranger's land to tend his age.
Nay, stay me not!

HAMAD
(detaining her).
Thy looks and words how wild!
Think of the guarded walls that bar thy way!
Think of thy youth! thy sex! thy matchless beauty!
Thou would'st but rush on danger, or dishonour,
The sport, the mock of brutal, pitiless men!
Spurn'd haply by their chief! the haughty Juan!

ESPERANZA.
Oh, speak not thus!—Born in Andalusia,
The blood my parents gave me swells my heart
To hear my generous countrymen so slander'd.
While I was yet a child in Carthagena,
Don Juan was the universal theme
For deeds of courtesy no less than valour.

XARIFA.
Pardon, good Esperanza!
(To Hamad).
Yes, full oft
She has with tales of noble Juan's worth
Beguiled the heavy hour—and portray'd him
As one who own'd, beneath a soldier's sternness,
The kindliest feelings: e'en so gently temper'd,
That when war's clarion ceased to rend the air,
His ear would drink the lute's soft mingled sounds,
Till he was lost in pleasing ecstacy;
And he would lend his fancy to the tale
Of fabled woe, till from his ardent eye
Big tears would follow each disastrous chance.

ESPERANZA.
Oft have I seen it! Oh that he were here!
And young, and pitiful as then!

XARIFA.
Ha! “pitiful!”
Was that thy word? and “would that he were here,”
Said'st thou?—Thou thinkest then Xarifa's plaint
Might touch in noble Juan's heart the string
Would answer to the lute, were she to plead
As filial love should prompt?

ESPERANZA.
My life upon it!

XARIFA
(with enthusiasm).
Thanks, Esperanza, thanks! Dear Hamad, come!
Honour and knighthood shall protect and guard
The suppliant and the woman! Come, away!
Yes, I will throw me at the victor's feet,
Prone in the dust, and clinging to his knees,
Will claim my father with an orphan's cry!

HAMAD.
Thou art inspired! Thy ardent eye, thy words
Burn with a fire the prophet's self has lent!
My soul has caught thy hope! all fear is fled!
Thy promised husband, I attend thy steps.
Let us go forth—
[During this speech the King, Alhamut, and attendants, appear on the battlements. As Hamad is leading Xarifa off he sees them.
Ha! yonder walks the king,
With looks disturb'd! I would avoid his eye.
My love, why didst thou stray so near the tower
Whence 'tis his custom to survey the plain?

XARIFA.
Led on by anxious fears, and step by step—
But whither shall we turn? The king has mark'd us!
See—he approaches! Let us stand apart.

The King advances in conversation with Alhamut.
KING.
The flower of my warlike bands mow'd down;
Moraizel taken, say'st thou?

ALHAMUT
(with affected sorrow).
Even so!
Yet gallantly, my liege, your troops bore on,
Till their brave leader lost, their order broken—

KING.
No more!—For this we must not to the foe
Present a heavy brow, and hang the head;
But with to-morrow's sun, in prouder cheer,
Pour from the gates, and bear ourselves in all
As men who follow up late victory.
(Observing Hamad and Xarifa avoiding him).
Young Albin Hamad—is it not? Draw near—
Yet nearer—
[Takes him aside, watching Xarifa.
Noble youth, who is yon fair one
Who from my presence would withdraw close-veil'd?

HAMAD.
My liege, she is the daughter of Moraizel,
And weeps her father's fate.

KING.
Tell her the king
Partakes her grief. Conduct her hither, Hamad.
(Aside).
Fame speaks her passing fair; 'tis haply, therefore,
Secluded from my sight, her father ever
Would find some specious reason—
[Hamad leads her forward, veiled.
Gentle mourner,
Teach me how best to soothe thy virtuous sorrow;
But first, I pray, remove thy folding veil,
That I may read thy story in thy eyes,
And sympathize ere thou canst speak thy pain.
[She meekly unveils; the King starts.
Ha! Fame has wrong'd thee much, bright excellence!

XARIFA.
Give me thy royal sanction, great Abdallah!
That I go forth and seek the Spanish chief;
Bow'd at his feet redeem my captive father,
Or follow him, and share his chains.

KING.
Nay, rather stay where never chains shall bind
Those graceful limbs, save such as Love may weave
Of thornless roses, and unfading myrtle:
Thou art too fair to meet the lawless gaze
Of mail-clad ruffians. By Mahomet, methinks,
Should the bold winds too rudely kiss that cheek,
Or flutter on those lips with fond delay,
They were my envy!

XARIFA.
King! these flattering words
Distasteful strike on misery's sicken'd sense.
I do entreat your royal nobleness,
Let my soul's honest purpose but have way:
A secret voice within my bosom whispers
Assurance of success.

KING.
To dry those tears
My coffers shall be tax'd for boundless ransom!

XARIFA.
Pardon, my liege; methinks that proffer'd gold
Were held offence to knighthood.

KING.
Yet be cheer'd,
A monarch's suit shall soothe the Spaniard's pride!
A monarch's awe strike off thy father's chains!

XARIFA.
The orphan's prayer will oft times more prevail
O'er sterner tempers than a monarch's awe.
Fierceness itself in lions, and in wolves,
Has pitying stoop'd to infant innocence;
And haughtiest spirits put not on defence
When lowliness assails.

KING.
There is no spirit
So savage, or so brutal, could resist
Thy sweet persuasion! Reason sinks abash'd,
Robb'd of her argument, and wisest deems
Whate'er wild fancy counsels by thy voice.
Then be it as thou wilt:—but come thyself,
And bring thy rescued father to my presence;
From thy hand only will his king receive him.
(To Hamad).
Tend her, brave Hamad, as a sacred trust
Committed by Abdallah to thy faith.

HAMAD
(indignant).
Moraizel's daughter is a charge so precious
To Hamad's faith, not thou canst make it more so!

KING
(indignant).
Ha! heard I well? was it a subject spoke?

XARIFA
(anxiously interposing).
From childhood he has honour'd—loved my father.
Great king! his eager thought is gone before;
And for the Spaniard's ear that firmer tone—

KING.
'Tis well, sweet maid! since thou wilt have it so.

XARIFA.
Thanks, gracious king! Permit me to retire.

[As she goes with Hamad and Esperanza, he gazes after her.
KING.
And must it be?—so soon?—Alhamut, mark
Her graceful carriage!—Sure she treads in air,
And draws the willing spirit from my bosom
To float the way she leads. I never yet
Beheld the form so robb'd me of myself.

ALHAMUT.
The maid is fair, I grant.—Yet think, my liege,
How many fairer share your smiles already.
The gentle Miriam! Shall another rival
Dim her dark eyes with tears? Circassia's maid!
Whose bosom scarce has ceased to heave with sighs
For her lost country, and the home she loved.
The blue-eyed Christian damsel, so demure,
Who with her faith so prettily waged war
In Love's victorious cause!

KING
(not attending to him).
Did'st thou speak her name?

ALHAMUT
(with suppressed vexation).
They call the maid
Who parted hence, Xarifa.
(Aside).
Blast her charms!
His soul is fired!

KING
(thoughtful).
Young Hamad—is't not so?—
Is kinsman to the maid.—How near of blood,
That she should be “so precious to his faith?”

ALHAMUT.
He was bequeathed an infant to Moraizel
By a loved sister, twice ten winters since
In sack'd Cardela lost; and with his daughter,
The orphan youth has shared a father's care.

KING.
'Tis well.—How gracefully she shrunk, abash'd,
From my too ardent gaze! What hidden power
Lurk'd in her meek deportment, so to o'erawe
My sovereign will that would have stay'd her steps,
Yet fear'd to offend? I have heard of potent spells,
Of fascination strange, ta'en by the eyes,
That fetters fast each limb, locks up all use
Of wholesome judgment.

ALHAMUT.
Yes—I have heard it said—
The prophet's foes know to compel foul spirits
By charms, and magic, and unholy things,
Unto their service.

KING.
What would'st thou infer?
Why dost thou measure me with anxious looks
And broken speech? Give utterance to thy thought.

ALHAMUT.
The Christian slave, who waited on Xarifa,
Is much suspected to have won her youth
From the pure Moslem faith to rites abhorr'd;
And it should seem, my liege, to see you thus—
Let not my loyalty and love offend!
Might I presume to urge a timely counsel,
Admit her not again.

KING.
Peace, slanderer, peace!
We know the enmity you Zegri knights
Bear to Moraizel, and the Aben-Zurrahs.
Now, by my faith, the maid should rather seem
Graced by the prophet's self with gifts so rare,
The chosen houri of his blissful hours,
Than faithless to his worship. Ha! thou smil'st,
And bit'st thy lip the while.—Leave me, Alhamut;
(Aside.)
Must a king ever be surrounded thus
By prying eyes, officious, that would scan
His inmost thought?
[Going, Alhamut follows humbly; the King waves him off.
I would not be attended. [Exit.
[Alhamut remains confounded—to him Ali.


ALI.
Alhamut, thou art disturbed. Hast thou not heard
The proud Moraizel's ta'en?—our hated foe,
Abdallah's favour'd chief.

ALHAMUT
(impatiently).
I know it all.

ALI.
Oh! 'twas well done!—Our faithful Zegris mark'd
The chief o'erpower'd by numbers, yet delay'd—

ALHAMUT.
Tush! what avails it?—Even now his daughter—
Perdition seize her charms!—with tears and sighs—

ALI.
Well may she weep her sire and fortunes lost!

ALHAMUT.
We, we have cause to weep. Abdallah saw her:
I mark'd the subtle fire that sudden stole
Through all his frame. The slave of lawless passion!
Yet skill'd to bend each adverse circumstance,
By deepest art to work his soul's dark purpose,
That so his tyrannous will may wear the semblance
Of strong necessity!—Was't not enough
The Aben-Zurrah chief should lead the battle,
While in the scabbard slept perforce our sabres,
Forbid to dim the lustre of his deeds;
But now his daughter with her blandishments
Shall trick defeat in triumph's wreaths, and bring him
To claim a victor's meed?—We are undone.
With frowns the king forbade my due attendance.
Displeased he parted hence.

ALI.
Our hopes are blasted.
What! of the Aben-Zurrah race, shall she,
She—curses on her!—rule Abdallah's breast,
And lord it o'er us?—No—it shall not be!

ALHAMUT.
It shall not be—brave Ali, we have said it—
No, perish first the Zegris man by man!

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Spanish Camp.
Don Juan, Diego, and Spanish troops. Moraizel and Moorish prisoners.
JUAN.
How fare our wounded friends?

DIEGO.
Their gashes bound,
In eager thought, already, noble Juan,
Beneath thy banners they renew the fight.

JUAN.
Lead on the prisoners.
[The prisoners pass in review.
So! prepare an escort
To guide them to th' interior of Castile.
Come hither, Diego.
Takes Diego apart.
He, the Moorish chief,
Our noble captive, let his reverend age
Claim due observance. Said'st thou not, he is
Of Aben-zurrah lineage?

DIEGO.
True, my lord.
But why thus moved?

JUAN.
The very name, good Diego,
Awakens recollections twice ten years
Have not yet lull'd. My loved, my lost Daraxa!
It was her boast the Aben-zurrah's blood
Enrich'd her veins!

DIEGO.
Daraxa!—So you call'd
A Moorish maid, the choicest spoil you bore
From sack'd Cardela's walls.

JUAN.
We loved, Diego,
And seal'd by holy ties our mutual vows.
Spain's sovereign claim'd my service on the sudden.
My cruel father, in my absence, wrought
To annul the bond with one of Moslem faith.
She could not brook dishonour!—fled, and, dying,
Consign'd the pledge of our unhappy loves
To one—'twas all I e'er could learn—who swore
To rear the boy in my Daraxa's faith:
Or who, or where, nor if he live, I know not.
Ha! who are these? and this low bending train
Veil'd from my view?
Hamad, Xarifa, and a train of Moorish damsels, enter from the back of the stage while he is speaking, and throw themselves at Juan's feet.

HAMAD AND XARIFA.
Mercy, victorious Juan! Mercy, Christian!

XARIFA
(on seeing her father, starts up and runs to him).
My father! my dear father!

MORAIZEL.
Xarifa! Oh, my child! Why art thou here
In hostile camps? Why from thy peaceful home?

XARIFA.
The daughter's home is by her parent's side.
[Throwing herself on his bosom.
Now—now, my father, is thy child at home!

MORAIZEL.
Quit the defenceless bosom of a captive!
Why would'st thou rob me of a soldier's firmness?
Return—return!

XARIFA.
Never without my father!

MORAIZEL.
Nay, loose thy tender grasp!
(To Juan).
As thou art brave,
Give her safe convoy to the city's walls.
I am prepared to meet my fate. The arm
That could no longer guard this aged head,
Is justly doom'd to wield no more the sabre.
Farewell, my child!—Lead on.

XARIFA
(at JUAN'S feet).
Victorious chief!
Never was valour link'd with cruelty:
The generous foe conquers to spare; for victory,
Not slaughter, thirsts his spirit; and sweet mercy,
The glorious labour o'er, claims all his soul!

JUAN.
Yet victory may bear foul slaughter's name,
If wisdom fail to profit by her gifts.

XARIFA.
Wisdom and Mercy still go hand in hand.
Wisdom is not so stern to bar thy ear
Against the orphan's prayer; and Mercy ever
Showers her own gifts on those whom she has school'd:
Then give a father to a daughter's tears!

JUAN.
Trust me, fair Moor, I pity thy distress;
But shall the leader of the Christians, leagued
To war against the infidels, release
The captured chief who led th' embattled foe?
Thou mock'st me, lovely maid;—it must not be.

XARIFA.
Oh then, deny me not to follow him!
Bold as he is, and dreadful in the fight,
See, he is bent with years—his locks are silver'd!
Sickness not yet impairs his veteran strength,
But now, methinks, will find the access easy
To one heart-stricken. Then let me be near!
These hands can best prepare the cooling draught,
Or bind the aching brow.
[Juan turns away.
Turn, noble Juan!
Hast thou no little ones, whose lisped love
Has taught thy heart how dear the tie that binds
The father and his child?

JUAN.
Sweet pleader, no;
To all domestic ties—long—long a stranger.

XARIFA.
Owns not thy bosom one dear bond of nature
May wake thy sympathy for private sorrow?

JUAN
(with a heavy sigh).
Not one. I am but a soldier.
[As she presses towards him, observing his emotion, he turns from her.
Nay, fair maid!

XARIFA.
No, not the unbending brow, the haughty carriage
Stern war must needs assume, can still the voice
Of nature in thy breast. Thou hast a heart!
Oh yes! it beats in secret for my pain!
I have no other parent, noble Juan,
And twice am orphan'd if thou tear him from me.

[As Juan strives to get from her, Hamad rushes forward.
HAMAD.
Behold, hard Spaniard, one in youth's full prime,
The promised husband of this maid! These limbs,
These suppler limbs, in all their pith and strength,
Shall wear her father's chains—But give Moraizel,
Oh give him to her tears!

JUAN.
Shall I be baited?
Though knighthood doff the helm to suppliant beauty,
To thee, bold youth, I am the Spanish chief!

XARIFA
(hanging on HAMAD'S arm, while he and JUAN fix each other).
And would'st thou leave me, Hamad? this thy love?

HAMAD.
Proud victor, yes!—to thee, the Spanish chief,
Boldly I say, accept my hardier youth.

JUAN
(aside).
He has a look that powerfully pleads.

XARIFA
(to JUAN).
Oh! spare my husband! Say, shall I be widow'd
Ere yet the vow be breathed that makes me his?
Brave Juan, hadst thou known the tie that binds
Two faithful hearts, thou would'st not sever us.

JUAN
(aside).
Oh memory! I thought the chords were snapt
That vibrate here to agony!

MORAIZEL
(interposing).
No more!
Return, my children, with a father's blessing.

XARIFA.
No, no, my father, never will I quit thee.

MORAIZEL.
And wilt thou, faithless, rather leave thy husband?

XARIFA.
Faithless to Hamad?—No, may Heaven's bolt
Fall on my perjured head, if e'er in thought,
In word, or deed, I wrong my chosen lord,
The husband thou, my father, bad'st me love!

MORAIZEL
(joining their hands).
Hamad, lead hence thy wife.

HAMAD.
Moraizel, thou
Lead hence thy daughter.

JUAN
(who has watched HAMAD during this debate).
It should seem, methinks,
That I have met his ardent eye ere now.
But where?—'tis as a dream.

HAMAD
(earnestly to JUAN).
See, at thy feet
I ask Moraizel's chains.

XARIFA
(in the same supplicating attitude by his side).
The faithful wife
Follows her husband's fortunes. So the father
His daughter's duty points.

MORAIZEL.
And would my children on my white head heap
Such wretchedness? bereft of all I love,
To drain the dregs of age's tasteless cup!
Such foul dishonour, as to hold these days,
So few, so sad,—I will not say of life,—
At such a price!—am I so poor of soul?
To nature recreant? the shame of knighthood?
I blush, brave Juan, at this idle strife:
Lead on—lead on.

JUAN
(aside, after a conflict).
No, not for worlds by me
Shall their young loves be torn asunder.
(To Xarifa).
Rise!
Rise, lovely maid! I am not, as ye think,
Of stuff impenetrable, noble Moors!
Used but to scenes of blood, this gentler war
Of loving hearts makes Victory dash the wreath
From her vain brow, and deem her honours poor.
(Presenting Moraizel to Xarifa).
Lady, receive thy father. Still a captive,
Be thou his only jailer. Thou forbid
That he against us lead Granada's troops.

XARIFA.
How poor are words to speak my bursting soul!

MORAIZEL.
Oh generous! great!—believe an old man's tears!

JUAN
(to HAMAD).
Thou, noble youth, art free. We claim no slaves
Save those in battle taken. No restraint
Can I impose, with justice, on thy valour:
Yet let me pray thee, husband of Xarifa,
Avoid Don Juan in the bloody strife.
The time may come when war, as 'twere a beast
Of prey o'ergorged, may sleep, and then I would
That we might meet as friends.

HAMAD.
Thus bound to thee,
Heaven's swiftest lightning sure would blast this arm,
Were it upraised against thy godlike breast!
Xarifa's benefactor! mine! and his,
My more than father! his, who rear'd my youth
From orphan'd infancy!

JUAN
(starting).
An orphan!
(Aside, mastering his emotion).
Sure
'Tis weak compassion moves me thus—no more.
(Resuming tranquillity).
Depart, brave veteran. Lovely maid, farewell!
(To the attendants).
Give them safe convoy to the city's walls.
[Moraizel, Hamad, Xarifa, and train move offin procession. Juan follows Hamad with his eyes.
Why of his fortunes did I not inquire?
Oh! thou tormentor, Hope! must I still listen
To thy suggestions, idle, vain, delusive?

[Exeunt Spaniards on the other side, Juan thoughtful. Scene closes.

SCENE II.

Royal Apartments in the Alhambra.
The King with Galefo, and proper attendants.
KING
(thoughtful and disturbed).
Fool that I was to grant her suit! and yet
'Twere shame to knighthood and to public faith
Should he detain the maid. The haughty Juan
Was ever noble.
(To an attendant).
Hast thou o'erlook'd the plain?
Saw'st thou the youth and lovely maid returning?
Leads she her rescued father?

ATTENDANT.
No, my liege,
I nothing saw when last—

KING.
Peace, fool!—Galefo,
Haste to the eastern turret. Yon dull clod
Nor sees nor hears aright. Thy eye is keen,
Glance o'er the plain;—return with lightning's speed.
[Galefo goes. The King is again thoughtful.
'Twere idle to suppose the Spanish chief
Would such a prize release.—No—no! and he,
Moraizel, may assert a father's right.
Yet a fond father would not doom his child
To sad captivity. She will return—
I yet shall see her.
Galefo enters.
Ha! thou smil'st, Galefo!

GALEFO.
They come, my liege, they come! within the walls,
E'en now, the joyous troop approach th' Alhambra:
They lead Moraizel.

KING.
Thanks, Galefo, thanks.
Thou see'st my joy to greet the rescued chief.
(Aside).
She comes! victorious fair! My spirits all
Rush with tumultuous throbbings to my breast,
That scarce I can find utterance.—'Tis she!

Enter Moraizel, Xarifa, Moorish damsels, &c. in a festive and triumphant train. Moraizel kneels to the King.
MORAIZEL.
Lo! at your feet, my sov'reign lord, behold
Your faithful subject! from the Spaniard's bonds
By filial tenderness redeem'd.

KING.
Most welcome!
Rise, valiant chief! thy monarch holds thee dear
For thy own worth, and for thy peerless daughter's.
(Turning to Xarifa).
Say, how may we, fair excellence, repay
Our own particular debt, to hold again
The honour'd veteran we lamented lost?

XARIFA.
I am too well repaid, my gracious liege;
No thanks are mine—'twas Hamad's prayer prevail'd.

MORAIZEL.
'Tis thine, my child, by duteous tenderness,
Still to repay tenfold the generous deed.
Long promised to the noble youth, my liege,
I had appointed to bestow, to-morrow,
My daughter on his faith.

KING
(much agitated).
Bestow thy daughter?
Said'st thou long promised? She—the fair Xarifa?
I knew not this.—Moraizel, thou art secret!

MORAIZEL.
The humble fate of old Moraizel's child,
Methinks, were not of moment to arrest
The royal thought.

KING.
The fate of one so fair,
And of a race so noble, well might claim
A monarch's watchful care—nor can we sanction
That thou unworthily should'st match the maid.

MORAIZEL
(with respectful firmness).
My word is given. Hamad well deserves her.

KING.
Hamad deserve her?—Ha! what mighty deed
Has yet graced Hamad's arms? A thousand swords
Of proof, by Hamad's single valour wrested
From thousand Spaniards' grasp, would warrant ill
So high an aim!

MORAIZEL
(more firmly).
My liege, she is my daughter.

KING.
She is my subject! and thou shalt not doom
To low obscurity, to household cares,
A maid whose charms might fire a monarch's breast.

MORAIZEL.
Ha! “shall not!” Heard I well?

KING.
Dost thou reply?
Let Hamad first by deeds of arms deserve
Abdallah's favour, and Xarifa's hand!
Meantime this jewel of Granada's crown
Within the Alhambra palace shall be lodged.
Start not, old man. Thy daughter shall be honour'd,
Thou hast my royal word.

MORAIZEL
(bows with suppressed indignation, and then aside with agitation).
He durst not—no—
I will be calm.—
[Xarifa presses close to him.
My child!

XARIFA
(with inquiring looks).
Speak—speak, my father!

MORAIZEL.
Xarifa! Oh! I cannot speak my thoughts!

XARIFA.
I read them all in this parental tear.
This trembling grasp that holds me to thy bosom,
Each speaks a several blessing!

MORAIZEL.
That my blessings
Might as a guardian host—

KING
(interrupting them).
Sweet excellence!
Retire, I pray, where there thy slaves will tend thee.
Let every knee bend to the fair Xarifa.
Read in her eyes her will, and all obey!

XARIFA
(terrified, and clinging to her father).
Oh! leave me not, my father!

KING.
Stay, Moraizel!
(To Xarifa).
Fear nothing thou.—
(To Moraizel).
Nay, I command thee stay.
[Xarifa is led out.
Why dost thou frown, and mark with grudging eye
The honours on thy daughter's worth conferr'd?

MORAIZEL.
My liege, I have been silent, for I fear'd
To wake in her pure thought the least suspicion
Of what her father dreads.

KING
(with levity).
And does thou dread
A king should think her fair?

MORAIZEL.
I do, my liege.

KING.
Know then we love her! that we have resolved
To snatch her from the fate, the abject fate,
To which her father dooms her matchless charms.
Nay, smooth thy brow—she must, she shall be mine.
Why thus disturb'd, Moraizel? Moorish maids
Account it fame to win a monarch's love!
What should'st thou fear?

MORAIZEL.
True, what should I fear?
Thou canst but ease me of my weight of years.
Behold this faithful bosom! here strike home!
For till thy hand has still'd life's last pulsation,
Thou shalt not, king, dishonour old Moraizel!
And have I shed for thee in glory's field
More blood than frolics in thy wanton veins,
To be rewarded thus?

KING.
Old man, take heed.
As yet thy daughter's graces stand between
Thee and Abdallah's wrath!

MORAIZEL
(clasping his hands with passionate tenderness).
My bosom's pride!
My virtuous child! Rear'd in such innocence
That she pass'd on, nor read the fell intent
Thy eye's wild flash proclaim'd!

KING.
Peace, dotard, peace!

MORAIZEL.
Hast thou forgot the race of which she springs?
The Aben-Zurrahs will avenge her wrongs.

KING
(starts, and appears disturbed).
The Aben-Zurrahs! Ha! too oft they have shook
Granada's throne; and now, its best support!—
At such a time as this!—It must not be.
Where was my better judgment? This sweet frenzy
Possess'd my soul with such resistless sway,
I lost all thought but to obtain the maid.
[After a pause of thought, while Moraizel appears wrapt in grief.
My queen! my wife!—Yes, she would grace a throne.
(To Moraizel).
I will forget thy warmth. Thou didst mistake
Our purpose, good Moraizel. Is a diadem
So poor a gift?

MORAIZEL.
I understand you not.

KING.
The lovely maid shall be Abdallah's queen.

MORAIZEL.
May I believe your words, my gracious liege?
Have I so much misjudged my sov'reign's thought?

KING.
Anger will hoodwink judgment! Yes, my friend,
Xarifa's noble birth, and spotless fame,
As to thyself are to Abdallah sacred.

MORAIZEL.
Yet still, my liege, I crave a patient hearing.
Young Hamad has my word. By my consent,
Their interchange of vows, and mutual faith.

KING.
I will deal nobly with him. Summon him.
[Exit Moraizel.
The youth is of high mettle. I will touch him
That he shall sue for danger as a boon.
Nor shall he vainly sue! I will confer it
As most especial favour. Re-enter Moraizel with Hamad.

Gallant Hamad!
Brave youth, approach! Think not I doubt thy worth,
Yet are Xarifa's charms of higher price
Than good Moraizel deems. It were not well
That she, so excellent, so fair, so virtuous,
Were thine, ere thou hast proved in fight that valour
We all believe thou own'st. It were not well
That slander on Moraizel's choice should glance,
And say his age misplaced the precious gem
Would grace a monarch's crown.

HAMAD.
My gracious liege!
Your words are just! Oh put me to the proof!
Yet let me sue—by love's impatience sue—
That I, not later than to-morrow, vindicate
My valour on the foe. In this dear cause,
All tasks were light save such as ask delay.

KING.
One sun for thee shall, in its circling course,
Include a life of glory. The proud task
Not without danger, that shall stamp thy fame;
But glory, well thou know'st, on danger waits.
The blood that mantles in thy cheek assents,
While on thy brow sits crested honour throned!
Yes, thou wilt justify Moraizel's choice!

HAMAD.
Or leave my life upon the bloody plain!

KING.
Know, with ourself in equal poize we hold thee,
In Fortune's adverse scales. We are thy rival!
We love Xarifa! on Granada's throne,
Would place her matchless virtues.

HAMAD
(aside, thunder struck).
Help me, Heaven!

KING.
Our will were absolute! yet as man to man,
Thy king says—“Win her, Hamad, she is thine.”
So wilt thou doubtless. Yet we rule not, youth,
The shifting fates, and if thou win her not,
As frankly yield her thou!

HAMAD.
What say'st thou? Yield her?
Yield my Xarifa?—Never but with life!
Abdallah, no! Thou bad'st me win the maid.
Methinks a thousand scorpions nestle here
Till I go forth. See there be danger, king,
To shame proud knighthood's blazon'd feats till now,
Or the light task might but disgrace the prize.

KING.
Thy speech is big: no doubt thy deeds will match it.
Thy kinsman band of valiant Aben-Zurrahs
Beneath the sacred standard thou shalt lead.
Thou know'st the law! Beneath that holy ensign,
To turn aside before the world in arms,
Incurs dishonour! and to lose it—death!

HAMAD.
Thanks, thanks, my gracious liege! A band of knights,
Though unmatch'd, few, against the Spanish host
Flush'd by late victory! the enterprise
Is worthy of the blood we boast. To-morrow
Victorious Hamad claims Xarifa's hand!

KING.
Go, noble youth! summon th' intrepid band—
Go forth ere dawn—the word be “Love and Glory.”—
So the young eagle springs into the sky
To meet the eye of day, with lusty wing
Winnowing the chequer'd clouds, then, poised a space
Firm in mid air, stoops on the careless quarry
Ere from his plumes he shake the dews of night.
[Moraizel and Hamad speak apart. Moraizel appearing to encourage, and dismiss him kindly.
How easy 'tis to urge fond, headlong, youth
To self destruction! As a noxious reptile,
That chanced to cross my path, I might have crush'd him,
Or whisper'd some dark Zegri in the ear,
“Hamad obstructs my way!” But were it wise
To buy Xarifa's hate? or live to feel
Th' accomplice Zegri tyrant of his lord?
More skilful—nay, more honest, sure, to say,
“Thou art my bane—kind youth, remove thyself.”
[Having dismissed Hamad, Moraizel rejoins the King.
Moraizel, art thou satisfied?

MORAIZEL.
My liege,
The task, methinks, o'ermatches Hamad's youth.

KING.
Brave Hamad thinks not so.—Art thou content,
If Hamad win her not, thy peerless daughter
Grace King Abdallah's throne?

MORAIZEL.
To glory dead,
Of abject soul, I were, if such high honours
I could unmoved contemplate. Yet, my liege,
The youth has claims upon my love:—to-day
He would have worn my bonds.

KING
(impatient).
No more! no more!—
The Prophet will decide our claims, old man.
Go thou and calm thy daughter's fears. Ere long,
Abdallah at her feet will tell his love.

[Exit.
MORAIZEL
(alone).
My daughter on Granada's throne! The Zegris,
Their proud crests fall'n! 'Twere glorious!—But her tears!
The gallant Hamad's worth! My honour pledged!—
Though pure, and gentle, is she not a woman?
Splendour, and power, and greatness in the queen
Will dry the maiden's tears, as mid-day suns
Disperse the dews of morning.—“Hamad's worth!”
Xarifa shall reward it from the throne.—
“My honour pledged!” I nought infringe my word:
'Tis the king rules, not I.—I needs must yield.
Abdallah nobly said, “Let Hamad win her!”
And wisely, “The Prophet will decide our claims.”
Shall I pluck from my daughter's brow the diadem,
If Mahomet decree to place it there?

[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Plain before the Walls of the City.
Spaniards in great numbers are driven back by the Aben-Zurrah knights. After the skirmish, two straggling Spaniards meet on the stage.
FIRST SPANIARD.
What is our veteran band o'erthrown alike?
This is most strange and fearful!

SECOND SPANIARD.
Dost thou wonder?
Roused from their slumbers ere the dawn of day!
Sore from late hard-earn'd victory, our soldiers
Marshall'd in haste, scarce arm'd—

FIRST SPANIARD.
Good Heaven befriend us!
A band of madmen sure this Moorish troop.
I never saw such desperation rage.
Didst mark their headlong leader?—One would say
He, in youth's proud conceit, had ta'en the burthen
Of the long war that wastes alike both states
On his gay shoulders—confident to end
The strife at once!—But mark!—with eagle flight
He stoops this way.—I'll not encounter him. [Exeunt.
[Routed Spaniards again cross the stage. Hamad remains with the Moorish knights and the sacred standard.


HAMAD.
Is the day ours, completely ours, my friends?
And am I blest beyond all mortal thought?

FIRST MOORISH KNIGHT.
We have not met Don Juan in the field;
The sun is not yet high; although dispersed,
The foe may rally. Juan not o'ercome,
I cannot hold the victory ours.
[To Hamad.
Hast thou
Encounter'd him?

HAMAD.
Not I! the Gods be praised!

SECOND MOORISH KNIGHT.
Were it not Hamad's voice, those tones, methinks,
Might argue fear.

HAMAD.
Ha! fear?—Hadst thou not wrought
Such wonders for my sake—

SECOND MOORISH KNIGHT.
Nay, thou wast moved.

HAMAD
(recollecting himself).
I was, good kinsman; and if that be fear,
It was with fear—to do a deed of baseness
Would darken this bright day.

SECOND MOORISH KNIGHT
(aside to the first).
What mean his words?
And mark his alter'd brow!

THIRD MOORISH KNIGHT.
Look yonder, friends!
A troop in gallant cheer advancing!

FIRST MOORISH KNIGHT.
They come!
The flower of Spain!—Don Juan at their head!
Now, Hamad, will the day indeed be ours!

SECOND MOORISH KNIGHT.
In firm array the sacred standard circle!
Nay, Albin Hamad, 'tis no time for thought.

HAMAD
(with effort).
True, true, brave knights, my kinsmen, and my fellows!
Victory or death!—since it must needs be so!

SECOND MOORISH KNIGHT.
Sure his voice dies away!—Is he o'erspent?

FIRST MOORISH KNIGHT.
It were no wonder:—he, like us, is human,
And has done more than squares with human powers.
See, they approach.

HAMAD
(with great effort).
Charge—charge! “for love and glory!”

Enter Juan and his troop.
JUAN.
Stand, Moor! who as the ravening wolf hast leapt
The fold, concealed by thievish night!

HAMAD.
Don Juan!

JUAN
(astonished).
Husband of Xarifa!

HAMAD
(with desperation).
Nay, come on—come on!

JUAN.
Why dost thou seek thy fate?

HAMAD.
I am victorious!
A victor, or a corse, must I return!

JUAN.
Neither—neither, youth.
(To his soldiers).
My friends, forbear,
And stand apart.

[Soldiers retire.
HAMAD
(aside).
Delay not!—lest I think—

JUAN.
Hamad, Don Juan would not take thy life.

HAMAD
(with passion).
Would thou hadst ta'en it when I knelt before thee!
Then had my soul escaped Hell's foulest stain,
Ingratitude!—for now in mortal fight
'Tis mine to meet thee:—thee!—my benefactor!
Yes, noble Juan!—lift the godlike hand
That raised me from the earth!—Defend thyself!

JUAN.
Nay, turn aside.

HAMAD.
That would incur dishonour!
No—I must on!—Xarifa's hand the prize!

JUAN.
Vain were the thought again beneath yon standard
To seek your homes—Spain claims it of our swords!
The price were great were Hamad's life the forfeit.

HAMAD.
Yet, noble Juan, while life's current warms
This guilty breast, thou shalt not grasp yon standard.
[Lifting his sword, then dropping his arm, and turning away.
Oh! every way undone! If by my sabre
My benefactor fall, I live the victim
Of dark remorse! a terror to myself!
But fame, and fair Xarifa, both are mine!
Nor shall Abdallah tear her from my arms.
(With renewed desperation).
Come on! for in this thought a demon rages
Would raise my hand against a brother's breast.

JUAN.
Ha! would Abdallah tear your loves asunder?
Live, Hamad, live! to rescue thy Xarifa
From splendid wretchedness!—Avoid my sword!

HAMAD.
Let me fall rather by thy generous hand,
And scape such guilt! such ills! in glorious death.
Come on, nor fear to strike.

JUAN.
I will not, Hamad.
This is thy first assay!—Methinks it were
As one should heave the pond'rous axe to crop
The flowers of spring, were I to lift my sword
(Temper'd by a long course of hardihood)
Against thy youth's fair promise.

HAMAD.
Haughty Spaniard!
Disdains thy pride to meet my youth in fight,
And shall I live thus shamed?—Insulted honour!
Stifle all weak regards, and nerve this arm,
This arm he scorns, to reach his vaunting soul!
Thou, who to Xarifa gav'st her father—
Whose galling pity (it should seem) refused
To bind these limbs, their every swelling sinew
Is braced to thy destruction!

JUAN.
Think what thou dost!
Think of Xarifa!

HAMAD.
Yes!—'tis she I lose,
And am dishonour'd!—by thyself despised
If I but think of what I do!—Come on!
This to thy heart!
[They fight—Hamad with wild desperation, Juan on the defensive, with skill and caution.
Thou mock'st me still, proud Spaniard!
Thou ward'st off my point!—Nay, take my life,
Or yield the day.

JUAN.
Don Juan never yielded:
That is thy part.

HAMAD.
And lose Xarifa!—Hell!

[They fight again; Juan disarms Hamad. In the mean time the Moors are overpowered, and the standard taken.
JUAN.
Thanks! thanks! kind Heaven!
(He raises Hamad).
Hamad, take thy sword,
And deem it not disgrace, that one grown grey
Beneath war's iron harness—valiant youth!
Though not more brave than thou, should prove more practised
In the cool swordsman's skill.

HAMAD.
Too noble foe!
Ah! guilty thus!—thus lost to happiness!
The life thou didst disdain to take—this hand—

(Attempts to fall on his sword).
JUAN.
Hold, frantic boy!—Ye noble Moors, his friends,
Watch o'er him, save him from his rash despair.
(To Hamad).
Recall thy better thoughts. Be free—return—
Xarifa's husband—rescue her thou lov'st!
[To the Moors, gazing on Hamad with admiration as he goes off.
He is a gem in knighthood's coronal!
To King Abdallah say, if many such
His walls pour forth, our sturdiest knights must gird
Their blades of proof to the encounter. Yes,
This Moor would honour the best blood of Spain!
His foe thus speaks his worth! Sirs, lead him hence.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

Xarifa's Apartments in the Alhambra.
Abdalla, Xarifa avoiding him.
KING.
Why dost thou fly me? stay, beloved Xarifa!
Have greatness, honours, power, no charm for thee?

XARIFA.
My thoughts are humble, and in lowliness
Content to dwell with him my father chose.
Hamad, my liege, will prove invincible!
He fights for his Xarifa!

KING
(fixing her with significant looks).
Should he fail?

XARIFA.
'Twas confidence in Heaven's mercy led me
To seek my father at the victor's feet!
'Twere impious then to doubt that Heaven's mercy
Protects my innocence, and Hamad's virtues.
E'en now my husband—my victorious husband,
Is haply at the gates!

[Going, he interrupts her.
KING.
Patience, sweet maid:
Ere long we shall have tidings.
(Aside).
Her resistance
Provokes the fire that rages in my bosom.
My senses palled by slaves who woo my smiles,
What keen delight to tame this graceful pride!
To banish from that radiant brow those frowns!

XARIFA.
Hark! hark! what sounds are those?—My trembling heart,
Is this thy confidence? One comes, and bears
My fate.

(Enter a Messenger breathless with haste, introduced by Esperanza.
MESSENGER.
My liege, the noblest victory!

KING
(betraying his disappointment).
Ha! victory?

XARIFA
(exultingly).
Yes, victory! Victory to Hamad!

MESSENGER.
The noblest victory that human valour
Ere yet achieved! but in a moment snatch'd
From Hamad's brow! The sacred standard taken—

KING
(eagerly).
And Hamad slain?

MESSENGER.
Don Juan's self, my liege,
After fierce conflict, man to man, disarm'd him.

KING.
Lives Hamad then?

MESSENGER.
He does:—but were he not
By friends surrounded, who restrain his hand,
A thousand times he had the dagger plunged
Deep in his desperate heart.

KING.
Enough!—retire.
(Aside).
'Tis well—'tis well—the sacred standard lost.
Xarifa faints.
Look to the lovely maid!—The female train,
Where linger they?
[Her attendants rush in.
Support her head—she sinks—
Soft—lead her in!—Nay, give her to my arms!
He supports and contemplates her.
She on my bosom rests!—Reclining thus,
Thus unresisting clasp'd, unconsciousness
A moment wears the semblance of consent.
Her fluttering heart beats faster—half unclosed
Her eyelids seek the light. That heavy sigh!
'Twas Heaven's own breath!—but was it not for Hamad?

XARIFA
(reviving).
Hamad!—my husband!

KING.
Thou art with one who loves thee!
Loves thee with ardour such as subjects know not.
Who at thy feet would lay an empire's crown!
Beauties from every clime—thy rivals once—
Low bending in thy train!

XARIFA
(struggling, and getting from him to ESPERANZA).
The king!—Oh horror!
Save me!—save me!

KING.
Save thee from whom?—Abdallah
Were thy best friend, would'st thou but have him so.

XARIFA.
Thou! thou my friend! who sent my Hamad forth?

KING.
Nay, Hamad sued for danger as a boon,
Mock'd the slight task that asked but human powers.
Th' aspiring youth has highest aims!—would snatch
With one bold grasp all Fame can give!—His meed,
All that the prophet promises of bliss
To long-tried warrior saints!—Am I to blame
That Hamad was presumptuous?

XARIFA.
Thankless king!
Thou should'st have slaves, that to the dust abased
Shrink from thy banners while they kiss thy feet—
Not noble knights thy subjects!—loyal, true,
Of matchless valour!

KING.
Ha! Moraizel's daughter!
Fair as thou art, presume not thou too far!
It had been deem'd forbearance in a king
To let one live, so long, who barr'd the way
To what his soul desired; but I, more generous,
Bade Hamad win thee by fair deeds of arms.
'Tis this same “matchless valour,” as thou call'st it,
More justly term'd presumption!—arrogance!
Blots from the roll of chivalry his name!
Forfeits his monarch's favour—and thy love!

XARIFA.
Oh never, never, king! In lowest fortunes
Dear to this heart as though the proudest throne
Of all the world were his!—Nay, dearer far!
For now 'tis mine alone to make him blest.
Then let us go for ever from thy sight
In poverty—disgrace—with all thy hate!
So we but go together, pathless wilds
Shall nothing lack of home! of home's best joys!
The breath of Fame is worthless to the brave
If it but wait on Fortune!—Scornful king!
I will so honour him, he shall not miss
Or thine! or the applause of multitudes!
Love has a thousand shifts thou little think'st
To steal away each care!

KING.
Dost thou insult me
With bold avowal of thy shameless passion?
Know Hamad's life is forfeit to the law,
The sacred standard taken!—Dost thou tremble?
[She sinks at his feet.
Ha! haughty fair one! dost thou sink abash'd?
Who shall resist the law?

XARIFA.
Thou, king!—thyself!
'Tis thine to pardon!—Heaven's own privilege!

KING.
Not even kings may, on each slight pretence,
Sport with the laws.

XARIFA.
Is there no hope of mercy?

KING.
Hamad must die!

XARIFA
(rising).
Say too Xarifa—tyrant!

KING.
No, thou must live!—live honour'd, fear'd, and loved!

XARIFA.
And hast thou power to bid the wretched live?
Canst thou allay the pang that gnaws the heart?
Or blot out memory's strong and faithful transcript?
Herbs, by the peasant's thrifty hand distill'd,
Can slack the fever's rage—but not thy frown
Arrest one pulse-throb hurrying life away.
Despair will mock thee from her hollow eye,
And with her last sad feeble laugh, elude thee
In Death's kind arms!—The godlike power thou hast
Thou wilt not use,—and that thou would'st assume,
Heaven gives not even to kings!

KING
(with passion).
But thou, fair maid!
Thou hast each power thou nam'st.—Oh yes! 'tis thine
To rescue from the law its victim!—thine
To bid the wretched live!—to still each pang!
Arrest the fever warring here with life!
And teach Despair to lose herself in joy!

XARIFA
(shuddering).
How may this be? What mean thy eager looks?

KING.
Adored Xarifa! Yes, brave Hamad's chains
Fall at thy bidding!—Pardon, royal favour
Await him at thy word! Say—shall he live?

XARIFA.
I tremble while I say—he shall!—for there—
There—in thy eyes—I read—I know not what
Of cruel triumph—of strange—horrible joy!
Yet—will I say—he shall!—if with me rest
The power to save:—for can ingenious malice
Inflict, or dream the torments and the racks
I would not welcome, and esteem delights?—

KING.
Talk not of racks and torments. Force shall never
Oppose in aught thy will!—save Love's soft force,
That would constrain thy sweetness to be blest,
In blessing him who cannot live without thee!
Away with idle tales of constancy
To vows extorted from simplicity,
Unknowing of its worth!

[Seizing her hand.
XARIFA.
Loose me, Abdallah!
'Twas Death I welcomed, though beneath the rack,
Not life—with thee to live!—and bought by perfidy
To Hamad! Nay, by perfidy alike
To thee thyself!—were I to vow thee love,
And hate thee while I swore!

KING.
Hate!—said'st thou hate?
Beware, ungrateful woman! lest thou rouse
The hand of power—of sov'reign power—to vengeance!
Yes, there are deaths more frightful than thou dreamest!
They wait upon my nod!—To which of these
Think'st thou that nod shall doom thy minion—Hamad?

XARIFA
(frantic with terror).
His life!—his life!—'tis all I ask—Be mine
Death in each frightful form—

KING.
Thou hold'st his fate!
For him on thy next word hang lingering tortures,
Multiplied, various, keeping death at bay!
One moment yet is given thee to relent.
Say, wilt thou be my wife?

XARIFA
(after a pause of agony).
Impossible!

KING.
Xarifa has doom'd Hamad's death!—Ho! guards,
To instant execution—

[Guards enter.
XARIFA
(clinging to him).
Tyrant—hold!
Or let me die with him.

KING.
No, thou shouldst live,
If 'twere but to revenge me of thy slights.
[She embraces his knees in speechless agony. He contemplates her in her abject posture with savage joy, then relenting,
Yet such my weakness still—I blush to own it—
I, for thy beauty's sake, could pardon him,
So thou would'st be more kind!

XARIFA.
Oh let him live!
Let Hamad live!—Heaven will dispose the rest.

KING.
Thou know'st the terms!

XARIFA.
Let Hamad live!—Xarifa
Will be—will be—
(Aside, turning from him.
Oh yes! will soon be—nothing!

KING.
Will be Abdallah's wife! Granada's queen!

XARIFA
(aside).
Death cannot tarry long! within my bosom
I feel his icy grasp.

KING.
Turn, fair Xarifa!
Turn thy averted eyes, that I may gaze,
And take in draughts of bliss too heavenly sweet
For the weak sense!—Thy willing hand in pledge!

XARIFA
(trembling and faltering, gives her hand).
Swear—swear Hamad shall live!

KING.
He shall!—he shall!
The vow that makes thee mine once seal'd, I swear,
Hamad is free!—thyself with royal favour
Shalt grace his worth! Then clear thy brow! let smiles
Play round those lips again, as sportive beams
Dance on the dimpling ripple of the shore,
That all my soul may yield to thy soft sway,
And snatch a foretaste of the prophet's heaven!
[To the guards.
Let every minaret throughout Granada,
By the muezzin's voice, proclaim my bliss!
Prepare the nuptial rites! adorn the mosque!
[Taking her hand and leading her off in a state of insensibility.
Come on, my fair! my love! my wife! my queen!

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Mosque, magnificently illuminated. A splendid marriage procession. Xarifa, supported by Moorish ladies, seems scarcely able to advance. When the procession has entered the Mosque, Alhamut and Ali remain.
ALHAMUT.
I will not to the Mosque; nor wilt thou, Ali,
If on thy brow I read thy thought aright.

ALI.
No, truly; why should we be there, to cringe
Before the Aben-zurrah's haughty daughter,
Who from the giddy throne prepares to frown
Annihilation on the Zegri race?

ALHAMUT.
With what deep art Moraizel long conceal'd
The serpent in his bosom hatch'd to sting us!

ALI.
Yes, feigning still his daughter was betrothed
To Albin Hamad. But when time is ripe,
The youth is sent where sure destruction waits;
And now, condemn'd to death, the trusting fool—

ALHAMUT.
No, Ali, no! the Aben-zurrah's daughter,
Ere yet the crown was on her brow, had tasted
The sweets of sovereignty. O'erturn'd at will
Granada's laws! extended royal pardon,
Condemn'd—protected—with the practised grace
Of long accustom'd sway.

ALI.
What mean thy words?

ALHAMUT.
The royal nuptials solemnized, I bear
The mandate for young Hamad's liberation.
And see this scroll! these magic words have power
To topple from her height this meteor queen.

ALI
(reads).
“If thou would'st rescue her thou lov'st, repair
With speed of thought to the Alhambra gardens.
A Mute will loiter near the orange grove,
And point the secret way.”—How may this work?

ALHAMUT.
This by a faithful hand to Hamad given!—
He loves!—is bold—nor will suspect the snare.
My office gives me access to the gardens—
Dost thou not guess the rest? Love's twilight hour!
The gardens sacred to the queen!

ALI.
Enough.
Mad jealousy, in fierce Abdallah's breast,
Will colour high the picture to our wish.

ALHAMUT.
Come on, my friend!

ALI.
I will not quit thy side,
But share each danger that may free the Zegris
From the detested Aben-zurrah's sway.

[They go.

SCENE II.

Hamad chained in a dungeon.
HAMAD.
How short were years of ill, sure, palpable,
To hours of this suspense!—Oh! my Xarifa!
Did I say mine?—Mine never, never more
Till hideous Death unite us!—Death, whose hand
Must dash the roses from that cheek! deface
What all fond nature's care but once could form
Of fair! of lovely!—steal the melting lustre
From those dear eyes!—for ever seal those lips,
Cold, pale, and motionless!—Hold! ruthless power!
And is it thus thou wilt present my bride—
Enter Esperanza.

ESPERANZA.
My lord!

HAMAD.
Kind Esperanza!—Speak—Oh speak!
And yet I dread to hear!—Is my Xarifa—

ESPERANZA.
From her I come. She bids thee be of comfort.
She bids thee live!—live if thou hold'st her dear,
Yet fly Granada's walls.

HAMAD
(pointing to his chains).
Can I obey?

ESPERANZA.
Hamad, thou can'st. Ev'n now thy chains will fall,
And, free as nature made thee, thou may'st range
The wide world o'er in liberty and peace.

HAMAD.
Is Hamad fetter'd by no chains but these?
What hand shall loose the bonds of strong affection
In childhood woven—closer knit by time?
What giant arm shall from this bosom heave
The load dishonour heaps?—Impel the spirit
With renovated spring to range the world?
To me—the desert world—Xarifa lost!
Disgraced—condemn'd—I cannot—will not fly!

ESPERANZA.
Not so. Restored to fame, to royal favour,
E'en now the officers of state attend
To loose thy chains.—They must not find me here.

HAMAD.
A moment stay, thou niggard of thy speech!
Oh, when the finest chord of all that make
The bosom's harmony is snapt asunder,
The touch of joy but wakes harsh dissonance.
Then with one word attune my soul, and say—
Say—she still loves!

ESPERANZA.
Too well she proves her love!
No farther ask—But live!—She thus commands—
And fly!—Oh fly!

[Exit.
HAMAD.
Restored to fame and honour!
Xarifa true!—Yet that I fly enjoin'd!

Enter Alhamut and Officers of State, &c. They loose Hamad's chains, and Alhamut presents him his sword.
ALHAMUT.
'Tis King Abdallah's will that Albin Hamad,
The flower of Moorish knights, receive his sword,
And live, renown'd for deeds of martial prowess,
Which forced applause from the astonish'd foe.

HAMAD.
Oh, let me at my monarch's feet—
(Aside, checking himself).
But no—
He loved her—Gods! what dreadful thought has flash'd
Athwart my madd'ning brain?—Away—away,
Dastard suspicion! No—he spoke me fair.
(To Alhamut, &c.)
Thanks, my good friends, thanks for your courtesy:
I pray you leave me.
[They go.
Peace, tumultuous thoughts!
[A Mute lingers behind, and puts the scroll into Hamad's hand—he reads it eagerly.
She bids me rescue her!—Now all is clear—
Thy words of mystery, good Esperanza,
Were love's own language!—Yes, she bids me live,
And live for her!—She bids me fly these walls,
But with her fly! with her in native freedom
Range the wide world in liberty and peace!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

The Alhambra Gardens. Xarifa in bridal robes, surrounded by a train of Moorish ladies. She is seated, and appears insensible to every thing around her.
FIRST LADY.
The queen revives! the flower-perfumed airs,
And rich delights th' Alhambra gardens yield,
Are grateful to her senses.—Royal mistress,
Accept our homage!

[They crowd around to do her homage; she turns away, shuddering.
SECOND LADY.
How may we best obey our sovereign lord
In duteous service to Granada's queen?

[They present offerings; she looks wild and distressed, and waves them off.
FIRST LADY.
Will not your majesty regard your slaves?

SECOND LADY.
The queen rejects our services, methinks.

[Esperanza enters at the back of the stage, and comes forward fearfully.
ESPERANZA.
My queen!—my mistress!—speak.
[As she draws near more tenderly.
My friend!—Xarifa!

[Xarifa starts on hearing her name pronounced tenderly, recognizes Esperanza, and falls on her neck in a flood of tears.
FIRST LADY.
Shall none but she, the Spanish slave, find favour?

SECOND LADY.
We yet may be revenged of these proud slights.

ESPERANZA.
Ladies, I pray withdraw awhile. The queen
Will meet ere long with smiles your gentle cares.
[They withdraw.
We are alone! 'Tis Esperanza!

XARIFA.
Lives he?

ESPERANZA.
He does.

XARIFA.
And free?

ESPERANZA.
Released from chains,
Blest in his monarch's favour—

XARIFA
(starting and shuddering).
Blest!—Ha!—blest!—

ESPERANZA.
Would'st thou not have him so?

XARIFA.
It was for that
I gladly would have died!—and have done more.
Have done what makes grim Death look lovely fair,
That I would fondly woo his cold embrace,
Change for his pure white shroud these bridal robes,
And lay me in his earthy bed for ever!
Oh yes! I would have Hamad blest!—and yet
'Tis hard to think him happy—and I—thus!
Hadst thou but said content!—Oh no, 'twere poor
By so much woe to purchase but content
To him I love!—
[Starting with horror.
Ha! “love!”—It is a crime
To speak that word!—A faithless wife already!

ESPERANZA.
Remember that he lives!—that Hamad lives!
Forget all else—

XARIFA.
“Forget!”—Thou hast not loved!
Or if thou hast, he whom thy heart had chosen
Forsook thee—

ESPERANZA.
No—he died.

XARIFA
(taking her hand with kind compunction).
Poor Esperanza!
Yet not like me, undone; for thou art free
To weep his loss!—Alas! thou art most happy! I must not even think of Hamad's worth—
Must nothing feel of all that seem'd life's functions,—
And yet must live!—The viewless air, if tainted,
The worthless reptile with its puny sting,
Can still this motion we call life!—and can
Nor madden'd brain, nor broken heart arrest
These stubborn beatings forcing on existence?

[She feels her heart and her temples, as if distracted.
HAMAD
(behind the scenes).
Xarifa!—My Xarifa!

ESPERANZA.
Hark! methought
Among yon clustering shrubs a voice—It breathed
Your name!—All gracious Heaven! who have we here?

HAMAD
(rushing in).
My love! my wife!—Oh, this repays all, all,
To see thee once again, and clasp thee thus!

[She sinks into his arms in speechless transport.
XARIFA.
My Hamad! Can it be?—Art thou restored?
Safe, and unharm'd? Thy looks speak nought but joy!
[After gazing at him, she takes Esperanza aside, and looking wildly and anxiously in her face.
Was't all a frightful dream?—Assure my senses.
[Esperanza smiles mournfully, and she looks around and recollects hereself.
Oh! no, no, no!—These fatal scenes!—too true!—
Irrevocably true!—
[Returning to Hamad with terror.
How camest thou here?
Oh fly! for ever fly!—'Tis well with me
If thou but fly, for now I know thou liv'st,
The power that pent my parting spirit in
For this dear hour—this last—last—sad farewell,
Will gently loose my bonds, that my wing'd soul
May seek the skies, and this forgotten form
Mingle with dust!—

HAMAD.
Forgotten!—thou—forgotten—
Mingled with dust!—Thy words, thy looks affright me.

XARIFA.
Already dead to thee.

HAMAD.
Ha! faithless! perjured!
Dazzled by splendor, has ambition tainted
Thy once pure bosom?—No—it cannot be—
Thou still art mine!—Come, let us fly, my love!

XARIFA.
Hold, Hamad, hold!—I never can be thine!

HAMAD.
Proud, cold Xarifa! does thy heart throw off
One Fortune has disown'd?—I fondly hoped
That King Abdallah's generous acquittal—

XARIFA.
Generous! say'st thou?—Hamad, know'st thou not
The cruel price? Behold these fatal robes!
These trappings of despair! and guess the rest.

HAMAD.
I will not tremble—No, I know thy truth!
I gave not back thy faith—thy father will not,
Cannot resume his gift—Thou art my wife!

XARIFA
(as he looks anxiously in her face waiting her answer, after an agony).
I am—most miserable!—Leave me—leave me!
Thou liv'st!—Ere long all will bewell!

HAMAD.
I live!
And live for thee! or will not live.

XARIFA.
Hamad!
The choice was mine to link thy name with death,
Or mine with wretchedness!—Thou see'st me wretched!

HAMAD.
Not yet—the fatal vow—thou art not yet—

XARIFA.
I am—another's!—but not long to be so.
There's something here assures me 'tis not long.

HAMAD.
No, not a moment longer!—We will fly!

XARIFA.
I never learnt to fly from duty's voice,
Till now so sweet! and still to be obey'd
However stern!—'Tis mine to stay—and die!
But fly! thou, once so loved, and still so dear,
Fly!—Seek thou happiness in other climes,
And tell thy heart thou seek'st it for Xarifa!
'Twill e'en be so!—Thy happiness will make
Her only joy, though in the realms of bliss!

HAMAD.
Cruel! In vain thou calmly bid'st me live.

XARIFA.
Would Hamad see Xarifa thus undone,
And rob her of the meed?

HAMAD.
Am I a stock?
A thing insensible to pain?—We are one!
From infancy are one!—Our earliest sports,
Our opening minds, our fellowship of thought,
Our first affections, sorrows, hopes, and fears,
All, all, were one!—Without thee I am nothing—
[He weeps.
I do not bid thee live!—I better know
How much we are one!—Then let me die, Xarifa,
Or be thou mine!—spite of the whole world, mine!

XARIFA.
Thy grief has robb'd thee of thy better self,
That thou should'st urge her, so respected once,
Unworthily to act. Yet is it well,
That thus, awakening slumbering conscience,
Thou warn me to preserve us both from crime.
The honour of my blood—my father's name—
The memory of my virtuous mother—all—
Rise in array against mad passion's dictates.
I am a wife! and in those holy bonds
Unstain'd will die!—I am a queen!—the throne
Is as the sun—the cloud that dims his lustre
Darkens the world beneath!—Then from the throne
Virtue's pure beams shall flow, and Moorish dames
In virtue's cause shall learn of me to suffer.

HAMAD.
Where shall I hide me? worthless as I am!
Thus at thy feet, bright matchless excellence—

XARIFA.
Rise, rise—in pity—

Alhamut, Ali, and Janisaries rush in.
ALHAMUT.
Traitor!—tenfold traitor!
Is this thy gratitude to great Abdallah?

XARIFA.
Oh! hear me—hear me!—He is innocent.
Hold, merciless—

ALHAMUT.
Nay, bind him fast—Come on—
Now to the king.

[In the struggle Hamad drops the scroll.
HAMAD.
Farewell! beloved Xarifa!
Yes, death is sure!—Nor will the guilt be mine
To disobey thy will.—Farewell—for ever!

[As they are leading him off, the King with attendants comes hastily from the distant part of the garden.
KING.
What savage broil profanes the holy stillness
Of this blest evening, and these blissful bowers,
Held sacred to Granada's queen?—Her train,
Where loiter they?—thus negligent?

[The female train rush in from all parts, terrified.
ALHAMUT.
My liege,
Your faithful Zegris, to your service vow'd,
Seeing these haunts of royal privacy
Most foully violated, and your honour
Outraged by the Aben-Zurrah—

KING.
Ha! Hamad!
He, whom e'en now mistaken mercy spared?
But speak—be brief—tell all the hateful tale.

ALHAMUT.
Forgive if loyalty unwilling wound.
Foul passion's language struck our startled ears!
We nearer drew:—Of flight the villain spoke,
And caught her in his arms—the yielding fair!—
My liege, our zeal no longer knew control:
On him we rush'd, and as he fiercely struggled,
From his false bosom fell this treach'rous scroll.

[The King snatches, and reads it.
KING.
Accursed traitor!—Thou! abandon'd woman!
The law thy doom declares!—In flames to-morrow
Thy bosom must yield up its fouler fires!

XARIFA
(clasping his knees).
Oh, hear me, king!—'tis false.

KING
(putting her away with fury).
I will not hear!

XARIFA
(clinging to him).
Dash me to fragments! trample me to dust!
I will not—will not loose thee till thou hear me.

KING.
Away, thou serpent!—wind not round me thus.
(To the attendants
Prepare the rack! and see the flames be fierce—
They cannot match the fury raging here.

XARIFA.
Abdallah! hear me! hear me—thou! my husband!

KING.
That tender name! which to my heart erewhile
Had been so sweet! as sting of scorpion now
Is keen and poisonous.
[After an agony he turns to the Zegris enraged.
Ye envious Zegris!
At peril of your lives, and dearer souls,
Prove your tale true!—or I, by Allah, swear
My vengeance shall devise more bitter pangs,
More various, and more lasting, than even these
Your malice has inflicted!

ALHAMUT.
Is suspicion
All the reward of loyalty and faith?
Then, in this presence, thus our knighthood's pledge
We freely throw!
[Throwing down his gauntlet.
—and challenge chivalry
Throughout the world! of Moslem faith or Christian,
To take that gauntlet up!

KING.
The bold defiance
Be through the realm proclaim'd!—To-morrow's sun
Shall vindicate my queen from slander's charge,
Or smile upon the flames that wrap her shame.
The deepest dungeon, and the heaviest chains,
Meantime, be Hamad's portion—Thou, Galefo,
See this be done.—
[To the attendant ladies.
And ye, lead hence the queen,
Until our farther pleasure we make known.

[Exeunt severally.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Juan alone in his tent.—Night.—Illuminated with lamps—armour lying on the ground.
JUAN.
Strange that this Moorish maid, and gallant youth,
So haunt my fancy!—Yes, her silver tones
Struck on my ear as though Daraxa spoke;
And when he sunk in fight beneath my arm,
I could have snatch'd him to my heart, for then
His upward eyes' dark radiance beam'd on me
As hers was wont!
[He paces the stage thoughtfully.
'Tis rumour'd in the camp,
Xarifa is the fierce Abdallah's queen—
The youth condemn'd to death.
Enter Hamad, wrapt in a cloak.
What form is this?

HAMAD.
It is the form of one undone by thee!
And, for the spirit once its happy tenant,
By fell Despair inhabited!
[Throwing off the cloak.
Behold
The victim of thy goodness and thy valour!

JUAN.
Young Hamad!—Yes, 'tis he!—What joy is mine
That still thou liv'st!

HAMAD
(giving him a paper with sullen sadness).
These from Granada's queen!

JUAN.
Ha! from the queen!—Then is it true, poor youth!
Sever'd from her thou lov'st—

HAMAD.
Speak not of me!
I have no being, save what ministers
This one act of obedience to her will.

JUAN
(reads).
“Granada's slander'd queen in knighthood's name
On noble Juan calls, that in the lists
His spear maintain her cause against the Zegris.
By all condemn'd!—held guilty by her father!—
No Moorish knight defends the wrong'd Xarifa.
Heaven and brave Hamad know her innocence!”

HAMAD
(with sudden transport).
Oh she is pure as yon chaste orb!—as pure
As bending angels who attend to welcome
Her brighter spirit to their heavenly choir!
Give but a sword, brave Juan, to my grasp!
Nay, the bare sinews of this single arm,
Methinks, in virtue's cause should crush to dust
Base, trembling slander, though in mail of proof!

JUAN
(who has watched him with admiration).
Ye shall stand cleared before the world! Oh thou!
Who rul'st the battle! thou!—attest my vow
To save the wrong'd Xarifa and brave Hamad!

HAMAD.
Art thou a god?

JUAN.
I am a knight, young Moor,
And so art thou!—The cause of innocence!
Of slander'd chastity!—is knighthood's cause
In every clime alike.—Thou shalt have arms—
(JUAN considers him).
But who art thou, that, strangely moved, my heart
Should thus adopt thy fortunes?

HAMAD.
I am one,
From birth a wretch!—and now to death consign'd—
To shame, and to oblivion! Noble Juan,
Waste not a thought on me. Xarifa's fame
Rescued from slander's taint! and Hamad dead—
[Taking a string of gems from his bosom, and with great emotion.
Oh! give her this—'tis all that e'er was mine—
Tell her—

JUAN
(examining them with agitation).
Thine?—thine?—these gems!—Speak, youth—how thine?

HAMAD.
A mother, with her dying blessing, bound them
Around my infant neck, nor till this hour—

JUAN
(who has torn a similar one from his own bosom, compares them with trembling hands).
Are they not, gem for gem, the same?—say thou!
These eyes are dazzled—
[Brushes off a tear.
Haply they deceive me.

HAMAD
(takes them).
I am amazed!—nor know I which was mine.

JUAN.
'Twas on the day we pledged our mutual faith!
A mutual token each!
[Seems choked, then breaking forth.
And would she not
Thy infant lips should lisp thy father's name?
My son! my son! my lost Daraxa's image!

[Falling on his neck in an agony.
HAMAD.
Thou!—thou my father!—thou—our benefactor!
Against whose breast this parricidal hand
Erewhile was frantic raised! Oh outraged Nature!

JUAN.
Nay, rather own her strong mysterious power!
'Twas Nature spoke when Juan woo'd thy valour
To turn aside in battle!—Imperious Nature!
That summon'd to thy cheek Don Juan's blood,
Deep-mantling crimson at th' inglorious thought;
Nature that pitying warded off thy point,
Lest it should pierce a father's breast, and blunted
The sword of Juan raised against his son.

HAMAD.
My noble father!—canst thou thus excuse
The impious fury—

JUAN.
I, like thee, was young—
Like thee I loved.—And think'st thou, had I fought
For my Daraxa, with less deadly rage
This arm had dared?—Thy peerless mother was!—
My child! thou hast much of her!—Her brow! her eye!
She ruled my soul as only virtue can!
Not as dark braided locks, and laughing eyes,
In every city claim a soldier's homage.
'Twas a new being!—But I prattle idly
Of what has been—'tis past!—and thou, my son!
If it be true, to death condemn'd—how here?
How from Abdallah's cruelty released?

HAMAD.
A faithful Spanish slave who tends the queen
Besought my jailor in Xarifa's name—
I pledged my word to yield myself to-morrow
To meet my doom; and thus my jailor won.
Wrapt in his cloak I darkling pass'd the guard.
Thy outposts I eluded, practised well
To thread each tangled brake, each deep ravine.
But mark!—methinks already in the east
The fatal dawn!—and ere the sun go down
The fair Xarifa dies!—dishonour'd dies!—
Thou, noble knight! my generous foe! my father!
Haste—let us arm to vindicate my queen!
Then will I to my dungeon—with glad arms
Outstretch'd to meet my chains, and hug them close,
Till welcome death—

JUAN.
Talk'st thou of death, my son?
Glory awaits thee, victory, and bliss!
Oh! I have much to tell, and much to learn!
But now for deeds of arms! “For love and glory!”

[They retire into the tent, and the scene closes.

SCENE II.

Royal Apartments.
XARIFA
(alone).
The hour is near, and Esperanza comes not.
By all deserted!—miserable greatness!
A few days past, had the base Zegri knights
Blacken'd the fame of old Moraizel's daughter,
An hundred swords had from their scabbards leapt,
An hundred spears gleam'd in the rest !—But now
I am a queen!—a wretched queen!—all hearts
Have thrown me off to royal loneliness!
Methinks that else—the cause of the oppress'd
Were knighthood's proper cause!
[Takes a dagger concealed in her dress, and gazes on it.
Good Esperanza!
If thou succeed not, this, thy last kind boon,
From public obloquy—My father here!

Enter Moraizel.
MORAIZEL.
Thou of the Aben-Zurrah race the stain!
The sun already high!—the lists prepared—
No knight takes up the gauntlet by the Zegris
In proud defiance thrown:—so foul thy deed!
Thy guilt so plain!—At noon, death's iron hand
For ever seals thy shame!

XARIFA
(with dignified composure).
Not so, my father!
I still have hope—for I am innocent!
Shall I forget, so oft when on your knee
A happy child!—and Hamad at your feet—
To school our opening minds, from all around
You drew some theme of trust in Heaven's mercy?
If in the terrors of the storm I clung
Closer and closer to thy bosom, smiling,
Thou bad'st me lift my tearful eyes, and welcome,
Within the cloud's dark folds, the gathering flood
Salubrious, to fertilize the earth!
Admire the fires that flash'd from pole to pole,
Winnowing the air, with impure vapours clogg'd,
Noxious to life:—and mark, the tempest pass'd,
How bright! how fresh! how joyous nature all!
Thus train'd by thee, in Heaven's darkest frown,
To find a hidden mercy—I will hope!
For I am innocent!—to the last will hope
To leave a spotless name!—and thou, stern Death,
Suspend thy shaft, till some commission'd spear
Confound the slanderers!—and I own, once more,
No ills, save those thy hand can cure!

MORAIZEL.
My child!
I cannot look on thee and think thee false—
Yet, yet—the scroll!—thy train of damsels
Timely dismiss'd!—all, all, force strong conviction.
Despight of proofs so pregnant, could I hold thee
Still chaste, and pure from blame, my trusty blade
I'd buckle on, and grasp my toughest lance,
Old as I am!—these lusty knights should feel,
(Though to their banners rallied hell's dark powers),
With Heaven on his side, a father's vengeance!

Enter Abdallah.
KING.
Ere yet thou die, once more within these walls
Thou see'st thy injured husband, and thy king!
Thank partial nature, lavish to adorn
Thy outward form, that the recoiling hand
Shudders to mar the mould so wond'rous fair,
To strike at the deformity within.—
Would thou wert guiltless!

XARIFA.
If the unshaken purpose
To die in strict observance of the vow,
The fatal vow I breathed, be innocence,
My soul is free of all offence to thee!

KING.
Free of offence!—Ah! shameless!—at thy feet
A slave! a traitor! fired by lawless passion!
Had not the faithful Zegris interposed—
Ha! dost thou blush?

XARIFA.
It were thy part to blush,
If such thy thoughts of her thou hast compell'd
To share thy crown.

KING.
Would'st thou imply the crime
Was his alone?—By Allah, might I think it!—
But no—thou lov'st:—with equal guilt thou lov'st.

XARIFA.
I love—his virtues!

KING.
Thou lov'st him with the love
My due!—and purchased by a throne!—Confess
Thou lov'st him—Speak—

XARIFA.
Else why am I thy wife?

KING.
Accursed wretch! thou gloriest in thy guilt?

XARIFA.
I know not guilt. Thy queen is innocent.
I loved young Hamad better than myself
When I, for him, became Abdallah's wife!
But since I am thy wife, know, King Abdallah,
I hold my honour dearer even than Hamad—
And, for my honour's sake, am innocent!

KING.
Then is he guilty!—he alone!

XARIFA
(terrified).
Oh, no!—
Hamad is guiltless!

KING.
Thou, and he!—both, both.
Why tremblest thou?

XARIFA.
Not for myself!

KING.
For him
That quivering lip—that crimson tide now rushing
O'er thy blanch'd cheek!—Thou own'st it—all for him!
So young! so fair!—Is vice so bold? so reckless?

XARIFA.
No, innocence is bold! and wretchedness
Is, indeed, reckless.

KING.
Would'st thou urge this hand
Instant to search thy bosom's depths, and pluck
Th' adulterous passion forth, and, with it, life!
Hast thou no fear?

XARIFA.
Oh, spare me—spare me, king!
For I have fear—I fear to die dishonour'd!
And I have hope—hope in Heaven's justice still!
Then stay thy hand. Ere noon, with spotless fame,
The wrong'd Xarifa of thy rage may woo
The stroke, she for a moment would suspend.

KING.
Within an hour, irrevocable death
Will give thy name to infamy for ever.
Already multitudes have throng'd the lists.
The knights appellants, gay-careering, urge
Their foaming coursers o'er the vacant space,
Held by no knight defendant in thy cause.
[A trumpet heard.
The trumpet sounds! The ministers of justice
But wait my signal to conduct thee forth
To public execution!

XARIFA
(with great firmness).
I am prepared!
If Heaven protect not innocence below,
The greater its reward in realms of bliss!
And she thou would'st to infamy consign,
Closing her eyes in death awakes to glory!

[As she is speaking the Officers of Justice enter, and she is led to execution.

SCENE III.

The Lists.
In the farther part of the stage preparations for the execution of the Queen. The Zegri Knights armed cap-à-pie on horseback, with their lances in the rest. After they have paraded the lists, the Queen is led in, covered by a black veil, to slow and solemn music, and conducted to a seat apart from the King, who ascends a throne. Alhamut lifts his vizor, and speaks.
ALHAMUT.
Mighty Abdallah! see your faithful knights,
Who, when the morning dawn'd, already arm'd,
Their trusty lances grasp'd; and confident
In their good cause, in Allah, and the Prophet,
Thrice by the trumpet's voice have vainly call'd
On knighthood to defend thy faithless queen—
The hour appointed by the law is pass'd!
If none embrace her cause, 'tis Heaven's decree,
Thy queen is guilty!—Wherefore this delay?

KING.
Valiant Alhamut!—yes, thy words are just.
Allah has blest, my friends, the loyal swords
Your faith unsheathed against her double treason.
(Rising.)
The queen is guilty! Let devouring flames
Prey on those charms, by angry Heaven lent
To wreck a monarch's peace.

Moors enter with torches to light the funeral pyre, and as the Officers of Justice approach Xarifa, Esperanza rushes in, and the Queen falls on her neck. Suddenly a distant trumpet is heard—Esperanza clasps her hands, and exclaims,
ESPERANZA.
A challenge sounds!
'Tis on the gale!—Forbear, ye bloody men!
Again!—Again!

XARIFA.
Then Heaven has not forgot me!

ALHAMUT.
My liege, delay not. Justice claims her victim.

ESPERANZA.
Nearer, and nearer still!—They come! they come!

Enter Juan and Hamad on horseback, armed cap-à-pie, their vizors down. They stop before Xarifa, dismount, and kneel before her.
JUAN.
Low at your feet, behold, much injured queen,
Two stranger knights, who to your cause devote
Their arms, their lives!—Accept our service, lady,
And we will fall within this listed space,
Or see thy honour, clear'd from slander's stain,
Beam doubly radiant, as the glorious sun
Smiles in his might upon the cloud dispersed.

XARIFA
(rises, and raises them graciously).
Brave knights, and friends of the defenceless, rise!
The thanks and blessings of a broken heart
Were as a faded wreath, unmeet to grace
Your noble brows! But deeds of godlike goodness
Yield their own meed to souls of godlike mould!
Heaven is my witness that my cause is just!
And hope, that almost had forsook my breast,
In you reposed, becomes strong certainty.
Angels, to pure intentions ever friendly,
Will hover watchful o'er the kindred spirits
Lodged in those gracious forms!
[Aside to Esperanza, while the knights remount their horses, and prepare to fight.
'Tis Juan's self!
But who is he?—the younger knight who spoke not?
Methought he trembled.

ESPERANZA
(half smiling).
He alike is brave!

XARIFA.
Nay, guess my thought, dear Esperanza, he
Whom I dare not name—

ESPERANZA
(whispers).
'Tis he—'tis Juan's son!

XARIFA.
His son!—Mysterious Heaven!

ESPERANZA.
We are observed.

[The knights have now taken their positions.
JUAN.
Base, recreant slaves! true knighthood's lasting shame!
Thus in the rest I place my trusty spear
In the pure cause of innocence!

HAMAD.
And I!
I have no breath to waste in empty words,
Which could not speak your infamy.—Come on!
This to thy traitor's heart!

[Hamad engages Alhamut, and Juan, Ali. Their spears are broken; they dismount, and fight with their swords. Juan and Hamad conquer. Alhamut falls on the front of the stage. Hamad points his sword at his breast.
HAMAD.
Villain, ere yet this hand dismiss a spirit
Recoiling hell shall shudder to receive,
Declare Xarifa's angel purity.

ALHAMUT.
The voice of Hamad!—Heaven! thy hand is on me—
Release my bosom—Oh!—the skies are dark—
And Paradise—for ever—closed—

HAMAD.
Speak, traitor!

ALHAMUT.
Oh!—sheathe thy sword—already—Hamad—
Its cold—cold point—

HAMAD.
Ere yawning hell engulf thee,
The queen!—the queen!—

ALHAMUT.
The queen is—innocent!

[Alhamut sinks into his squire's arms, and is borne to the back of the stage. Shouts of triumph. Juan and Hamad lay the swords of the conquered Zegris at Xarifa's feet.
JUAN.
Lady, thou art free! a wretched queen no more;
The vow, at an unhallow'd shrine extorted,
Is void!—betroth'd to Hamad—perjury!
And he who casts thee from him, to the flames,
Has justly lost thee.

KING
(rushing from his throne).
Lost?—Presumptuous knight!
Thy valour claims a monarch's thanks; thou hast them:
But we give law within Granada's walls!
And thou, our queen once more, to fame restored,
We take thee to our bosom, and our throne.

[As he approaches to take her hand, she comes forward with disordered steps, avoiding him.
XARIFA.
Forbear, Abdallah!—Nay, approach me not.

HAMAD
(with exultation and impassioned expression).
Th' award of knighthood is held Heaven's decree!
Again thou art mine! my wife betrothed! my love!
Thou my lost happiness! my rescued bliss!
My life! my all!—

XARIFA.
Forbear!—forbear! alike.
[She motions all to stand apart with increasing agitation.
A little space I pray—Oh! farther yet.—
(To Hamad tenderly).
Thou, most of all!—My bursting heart would thank—
Would thank—my brave deliverers!—for fame—
Life's better part—restored—
[She appears unable to proceed—a pause of suspense and violent emotion on her part. Aside.
But not—for life!
To live the tyrant's wife!—Or worse—to give
To Hamad's love pollution! perjury!
Oh, horrible alike!—Death!—Death! alone.
(To Hamad with assumed firmness).
Th' award of knighthood cannot loose the vow
Breathed at the altar! breathed in truth and honour,
Howe'er extorted—
(To Abdallah with dignity).
King! I am thy wife!

KING.
Pattern of virtue! glory of my throne!

[As he approaches with rapture she still wards him off.
XARIFA.
A moment yet delay! I pray—a moment—
(To Hamad).
To thee, my Hamad, all I am was vow'd—
From childhood vow'd! lord of my first fond thoughts!
(Turning to Moraizel).
The husband thou, my father, badst me love!
And on my head (thou heard'st it) I invoked
Heaven's vengeance if in thought or deed I wrong'd him.
[She takes a dagger concealed in her breast.
Thus!—thus!—I seal, and quit alike each vow!

[Stabs herself.
KING
(rushing to support her).
Hold, frantic woman!

MORAIZEL.
Spare thy wretched father!

XARIFA
(to ABDALLAH).
I die—a virtuous queen—and spotless—wife—
Hadst thou—been gentle!—patient—I—had waited—
The sure—yet slower hand—of—sorrow.—
[She puts him gently from her, and makes an effort to approach Hamad, who rouses himself from stupefaction, and supports her.
Hamad!—
A few—pangs—yet!—to me they—are not—bitter,—
And—I am thine—again!—for ever—thine!—
[Hamad attempts to seize the dagger she has dropped. She makes an effort, and catches his arm.
Live! live!—to pay—my debt—of gratitude—
To him—thy—noble—father!—
[She motions Juan to approach, takes his hand, and points to Hamad.
Guard him!—save—him—
From—his—despair—Oh thou—my brave—preserver.
[She sinks again on Hamad's bosom.
Kind Death—deals—gently—with me.—'Tis not—hard
To sink—in sleep—thus gazing—on thee—Hamad!—
It had—been—hard—to live—another's—wife!—
And, stain'd—by broken—vows,—I were—unworthy—
[Seeing her father, who hangs over her in speechless sorrow.
Thy—blessing—on thy dying—child!—My Hamad!—
Oh!—I am—very—faint!—that pang!—it cancels—
The—fatal—vow!—and now—my love!—my husband!

[She dies in Hamad's arms, and the curtain drops.