University of Virginia Library

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.