University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—A charge is sounded: enter DON JUAN and DON ENRIQUE, fighting with the Moors.
ENRIQUE.
After them! The Moors already,
Vanquished, from the fight have flown!—

JUAN.
Spoils of mingled men and horses
Over all the fields are strown.

ENRIQUE.
Where has wandered Don Fernando,
That he cannot be descried?—

JUAN.
Doubtless his impatient valour
Leads him onward far and wide.

ENRIQUE.
Let us seek him out, Coutiño,

JUAN.
I am ever at thy side.

Exeunt.
Enter DON FERNANDO with the sword of MULÉY, and MULÉY with his shield alone.
FERNANDO.
In this desolate campagna,
Where, devoid of sense or breath,
Lie so many dead, or rather
In this theatre of death,
You alone, of all your people,
You alone, brave Moor, have stood:
All have fled, and even your war-horse,
After shedding seas of blood,
'Mid the dust and foam encircled,
Which it raised, and which it laid,
Leaves you here to be a trophy,
By my valorous right-hand made,
'Mid your late companions' horses,
Loosely flying o'er the ground.
I am prouder of this conquest,
Which to me doth more redound,
Than to see this broad campagna,
As with bright carnations crowned;
For so great has been the flowing
Of red blood on all around,
That my eyes, through deepest pity,
At beholding naught but dead—
Naught but ever new misfortunes—
Naught but ruins round me spread,—
O'er the desert plain went seeking
One green spot amid the red.
In effect, my arm subduing
Your courageous strength to mine,
'Mid the horses loosely flying,
One I seized, who was, in fine,
Such a prodigy, a wonder,
That, although he had for sire
Even the wind, his proud ambition
Claimed adoption of the fire;
Falsely thus, by both denying
His own hue, which being white,
Said the water, “'Tis the offspring
Of my sphere so silver white.
I alone could thus have moulded
Such a form of curdled snow!”
Like the wind he went in fleetness,
Lightning-like flashed to and fro;
Like the swan his dazzling whiteness,
Speckled like the snake with blood,
Proud of his unrivall'd beauty,
Fearless in his haughtier mood;
Full of spirit in his neighing;
In his fetlocks firm and strong,
In the saddle, on his haunches,
You and I thus borne along—
On a sea of blood we entered,
Through whose cruel waves we steered,
Like an animated vessel,
For his head a prow appeared,
Breaking through the pearl-hued water.
And his mane and tail did float,
Blood and foam besprinkled over,
So that once again a boat,
Wounded by four spurs, he bounded,
As if heaven's four winds impelled;
He at length fell down exhausted
By the Atlas he upheld;—
For so great are some misfortunes,
That even brutes themselves must feel,
Or it may be, that some instinct
Through his softened soul did steal,
Saying, “Sad Arabia journeys,
And with joy departeth Spain;
Can I then betray my country,
Swelling the proud conqueror's train?
No, I do not wish to wander
One step farther from this spot.”
And since thou thyself art coming
In such sorrow, though 'tis not
By the mouth or eyes acknowledged,
Still the smothered fire appears,
Of the bosom's hid volcanos,
By those flowing tender tears;
And the burning sighs thou heavest,
Wonderingly my valour views,
When I turn me round, how fortune
With one single blow subdues
Valour such as thine. Another
Cause, methinks, must sadden thee;
Since it is not just nor proper,
Even though for liberty,
That the man should weep so fondly,
Who so heavily can wound;
And, as in communicating
Evils, there is ever found
Something soothing to the feelings,
While we to my people go,
If I merit such a favour,
My desire is now to know,—
And with reason it entreats it,
Gently and with courtesy,—
What doth grieve thee? since 'tis certain
'Tis not thy captivity.
Sorrow, when communicated,
Is appeased, if not subdued,—
And since I have been the occasion
Partly of what hath ensued
From the accident of fortune,
I would wish to be likewise
Prompt in bringing consolation
To the cause of all thy sighs,
If the cause itself consenteth.

MULÉY.
Thou art truly valiant, Spaniard,
Victor both in act and word,
With the tongue as skilled to conquer,
As to conquer with the sword;
For my life was thine, when lately
With the sword my race among,
You subdued me, but this moment,
Since you take me with the tongue,
Even my soul is thine; with reason
Must my life and soul confess
They are thine, and thou their master.
For your arms and your address,
Cruel now, and now too clement,
Twice my soul have captive made.
Moved with pity to behold me,
Spaniard, you the cause have prayed
Of the burning sighs I'm breathing.
And although I own that woe,
When repeated, is accustomed
To grow lighter, still I know
That the person who repeats it
Wisheth that it should be so;
But my woe is such a master
Of my pleasures, that to keep
Them from any diminution,
Though itself be wide and deep,
It would rather not repeat it;
But 'tis needful I obey;
Grateful for the care you've shown me.
I am called the Cheik Muléy,
And the King of Fez's nephew.
Of an illustrious race and high,
Boasting many a Bey and Pasha.
But misfortune's son am I;
Being on life's early threshold
Folded in the arms of death,
On that plain, where many Spaniards
Found their graves, I first drew breath;
Hopeless boon to me that breathing!
For at Gelves, which you know,
I was born the year that witnessed
There, thy nation's overthrow.
To attend the King my uncle,
Came I young,—but since increase
Day by day my pains and sorrows,
Cease enjoyments, wholly cease!
I to Fez came, and a beauty,
Whom since then my wondering eye
Worshipped, in the house adjoining
Lived, that I might, near her, die.
From the early years of childhood,
(For this love of mine became
Soon so constant, Time was powerless
To consume or quench its flame,)
We grew up beside each other.
Love within our childish hearts
Was not like the rapid lightning,
Which with greater fury darts
On the tender, weak, and humble,
Than upon the proud and strong;
So that he to show the varied
Powers that to love belong
Struck our hearts with different arrows;
But as water in its course
Dropping down on stone, doth mark it,
Not indeed through its own force,
No, but by continual falling,
So those tears of mine, for aye
On her heart's-stone downward dropping,
Finally did work their way
To it, though than diamond harder.
And by dint of constant love,
And through no excelling merits,
Finally did make it move.
In this state I lived a season,
Oh! how swift has been its flight!
Tasting, in their sweet aurora,
Many an amorous delight—
In an evil hour I left her,
Left her! more I need not say,
Since in my absence came another
Lover, all my peace to slay;
He is happy, I am wretched.
He is present, I away.
I a captive, he a freeman.
Ah! our fates how different,
Since your arm hath made me captive,
See how justly I lament.

FERNANDO.
Valiant-hearted Moor and gallant,
If thou adorest in this way,
If, as thou speakest, thou dost worship
If thou dost love as thou dost say;
If thou art jealous as thou sighest,
If thou dost fear with true dismay,
If thou dost love as thou dost suffer,
Thou sufferest in the happiest way,
And the acceptance of thy freedom
Is all the ransom thou must pay,
Return at once unto thy people,
And this unto thy lady say,
“That thou dost take me as thy servant,
A knight of Portugal doth pray;”
If she pretends her obligation
For this, to me, some price must pay,
I give to thee whate'er is owing,
So let her love the debt repay.
And thine be all the arrears of interest.
And see thy horse, which lately lay
Exhausted on the ground, hath risen
Refreshed and rested by our stay;
And since I know love's longing nature,—
How ill the absent brook delay,
I wish no longer to detain thee,
Mount on thy steed and go away.

MULÉY.
My voice to thee, doth answer nothing;
The flattery of a liberal heart
Is the acceptance of its offer:
Only tell me who thou art?

FERNANDO.
A man of noble birth, no further.

MULÉY.
Whoe'er thou art, thy conduct gave
This answer: I, through good and evil,
Am eternally thy slave.

FERNANDO.
Take the horse; it groweth late.

MULÉY.
If it appeareth so to thee,
How more to him who came a captive,
And to his lady goeth free?

Exit.
FERNANDO.
'Tis generous to bestow a favour,
How much more, life?

MULÉY,
within.
Brave Portuguese.

FERNANDO.
'Tis from the horse's back he speaketh;
What is it now that thou dost please?

MULÉY,
within.
To pay thee for so many favours,
Some day the duty shall be mine.

FERNANDO.
May thou enjoy them!

MULÉY,
within.
A good action
Is never wholly lost; in fine,
Allah be thy protection, Spaniard!

FERNANDO.
If God be Allah, be he thine!
Trumpets resound from within.
But what trumpet's this, whose sound
Thus disturbs the air, and echoeth o'er the ground?
Drums from the opposite side.
And in this direction too
Drums are heard, the music of the two
Is that of Mars.

Enter DON ENRIQUE.
ENRIQUE.
As swift as thought,
Have I, Fernando, for thy presence sought.

FERNANDO.
Brother, what hath happened?

ENRIQUE.
These loud echoes
Rise from the troops of Fez, and from Morocco's,
For Tarudante hither flies
With succour to the king of Fez, who comes likewise,
Swollen with pride with all his troops around,
So that two mighty armies ours surround,
And their circling lines extend so far,
That we invaders and invaded are;
If upon one we turn our backs,
Badly we'll bear the other's fierce attacks,
For here and there around our leagured line
The dazzling lightnings of red Mars outshine:
What shall we do in such disastrous plight?

FERNANDO.
What? Why in the fight,
With fearless minds, we'll die as brave men should.
Are we not Masters?—Princes of the blood?
Although it were enough that we had been
Two Portuguese, that never could be seen
Upon our faces any mark of fear:
Let Avis, then, and Christ our Saviour dear,
Be our resounding battle-cry,
Let us for the faith now die,
Since our death was here foreseen.

Enter DON JUAN.
JUAN.
Our landing here has most unlucky been.

FERNANDO.
This is no time to think of means gone by,
Upon our swords alone for help let us rely,
Since we betwixt two armies' loud alarms
Are placed—Avis and Christ!—

JUAN.
To arms! to arms!

They enter with drawn swords. Sounds of a battle are heard.
Enter BRITO.
Since betwixt two armies we
Are placed, there is no human remedy.
What a scurvy speech is this!
Would that the key that locks the realms of bliss
In yonder sky, would open but a chink,
Through which securely a poor wretch might slink
Who hath wandered to this spot,
Nor knoweth wherefore or for what;
But I will pretend to die,
Hoping, hereafter, death will pass me by.

He lies down on the ground.
Enter a Moor fighting with DON ENRIQUE.
MOOR.
Who is it that thus his breast defendeth
Against my arm, which like a bolt descendeth
From the fourth sphere of the skies?

ENRIQUE.
One who, though he stumbles, falls, and dies
Upon his fellow Christian's corses,—
Dreads no living foeman's forces,—
For who I am, let this be said.

They walk over BRITO and exeunt.
Enter MULÉY and DON JUAN COUTIÑO in conflict.
MULÉY.
Valiant Portuguese, to see
Thy strength so great doth grieve not me,
For I would wish that thou shouldst gain
The victory to-day.

JUAN.
Oh! bitter pain,
Without consideration do I tread
Upon these corses of the Christian dead!—

BRITO,
aside.
I would let him pardoned be,
If my lord would lightlier tread on me.

Muléy and Juan exeunt.
Enter DON FERNANDO retiring before the KING and the Moors.
KING.
Yield thy sword, brave Portuguese,
If my hand alive can seize
And keep you captive, I do vow
To be thy friend: say, who art thou?

FERNANDO.
A cavalier: no more reply
Expect to hear: now let me die!—

Enter DON JUAN and places himself by his side.
JUAN.
First, great lord, my breast will be
A diamond wall to shelter thee,
Placed before thee in the strife
I still will guard thy princely life.
Now, my Fernando, by thy deeds declare
The race of which thou art the heir.

KING.
If this I hear, what more do I expect?
Suspend your arms!—no happier effect
From this day's glory any more can be,
This prize is victory enough for me:—
If you must die, or else a captive be,
Accept the sentence given by fate's decree:
Thy sword, Fernando,—give it up to me,
The King of Fez.

Enter MULÉY.
MULEY,
aside.
Ah! who is this I see?—

FERNANDO.
Only unto a king's hand would I loose it:
Indeed, 'twere desperation to refuse it.

Enter DON ENRIQUE.
ENRIQUE.
Is my brother taken?—

FERNANDO.
Do not thou,
Enrique, add to my misfortune now
By your lamenting. Fate high lessons grants,
Even in the common accidents of chance.

KING.
Enrique, in my power
Lies Don Fernando, and although this hour,
Showing the vantage I have won
I could command your deaths; yet, as I've done
Naught to day, but in my own defence,
I can the easier with your blood dispense,
Since to me survives
A wider fame, by sparing of your lives;
And that you [to Enrique]
may bring
With greater speed his ransom from the king,
Do you return: but in my power
Fernando stays, until doth shine the hour
That you return to set him free:—
But say to Edward, that will never be,
That vain are all entreaties and demands,
Till Ceuta is surrendered to my hands;—
And now, your Highness, my illustrious foe,
To whom that greatness I shall owe,
Come to Fez with me.

FERNANDO.
I go
To that sphere, whose rays I follow here below.

MULÉY,
aside.
Must I ever mourn,
By friendship's ties, and love's suspicions torn!

FERNANDO.
Enrique, though a prisoner here,
Nor fate, nor fortune's malice do I fear:
Say to our brother, be thou of strong heart,
And firmly act a Christian prince's part
In my misfortunes.

ENRIQUE.
Who is so unjust,
That would his magnanimity distrust?

FERNANDO.
This again I charge you, and I say,
Let him act the Christian.

ENRIQUE.
I obey,
And vow full early to return as such.

FERNANDO.
Let me embrace thee.

ENRIQUE.
Is it not too much
That thou a captive still new bonds dost take?

Folds him in his arms.
FERNANDO.
Adieu, Don Juan.

JUAN.
I will not forsake
My gracious prince, so drive me not away!

FERNANDO.
O loyal friend!

ENRIQUE.
O most unhappy day!

FERNANDO.
Say to the king......but no, 'tis better say
Nothing; in silence, which my grief doth smother,
Bear thou these tears unto the king, my brother.

Exeunt.
Enter two Moors, who see BRITO lying as dead.
FIRST MOOR.
Here is a Christian lying dead.

SECOND MOOR.
Let us, lest a plague should spread,
Throw these corses in the sea.

BRITO,
starting up.
First your sculls must opened be
By such cuts and thrusts as these;
For, even dead, we still are Portuguese.

Exit, pursuing them with his sword.