University of Virginia Library

THE BATTLE OF N. ORLEANS,

ZAMOR.

A TRAGEDY.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Abdallah, King of Granada,
• Zamor, General of his army,
• Almanzor, Prince of Granada,
• Ibrahim, Officer in the army, a companion of Zamor,
• Alhouran,
• Omar,
• Amru, Companion of Almansor,
• Zethan, Officer in the Guards,
• Alonzo, Prince of Castile, Abdallah's prisoner.
• Alzira, Princess of Granada.
• Fatima, Her companion, belov'd by Almanzor.
• Zobeide, Attendant of Alzira.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—A Dungeon.
Alonzo,
Solus.
I SIT in lone and utter wretchedness;
Immured within these gloomy walls, I pine
And long for liberty: sweet liberty!
Thy worth ne'er felt till lost; oh! shall I never
Regain thee? am I always thus to live,
Shut in this cheerless dungeon, dark as death
And chill as winter? Oh! the lovely days,
When peace and innocence their sweetest balm
Shed o'er me, when my dreams were extacy,
And waking thoughts were rapture.
Such was my happy fortune, once a prince,
The son of great Alphonso, he whom nobles,
That shine around the throne, and humble peasants,
Love and admire—a warrior, and renown'd
For desperate seats in battle, courteous
And honour'd at my father's court, esteem'd
By all who knew me; but how great the change—
A dungeon for a palace, gloom for joy,
Fetters for arms and tears for smiles and rapture.
The sun arises, but scarce through my grate
It sheds a glimpse of day; all—all is dark,
Is comfortless and gloomy; down the wall
The chilly drops are trickling, o'er the floor
Of stone, that seems like winter to the touch,
I wander back and forth from morn till evening.
This—this is all my comfort, but to pry
With straining eye between my narrow grates,
And catch a glance of life and liberty.
Was man thus made to live? to waste his days
In hopeless inactivity? to lose
The fairest portion of his youth in grief
And fruitless lamentations? If I could,
I would be cheerful; but can joy abide
Within these walls of stone? Should mirth herself,
Enter these gloomy vaults, her smiles would cease,
And livid paleness blanch her rosy cheek.
[Enter Zamor.
But who comes here to harrow up my feelings?

Zamor.
A friend, a real friend, to sooth thy anguish,
And pour the balm of comfort in thy soul.
I am a Moor, but still, I have compassion;
I too can feel and weep for others woes;
I love to see the smile of joy and pleasure
Shine in the countenance of others; often,
When grief was preying on the wretched pris'ner,
I've sought him out amid these gloomy dungeons,
And tried to speak compassion to his soul.
Oft have I seen thee prying through thy grate,
With haggard countenance and swollen eye
Red with excessive weeping; I too know
Thy name; thou art the excellent Alonzo—
A name that I admire; yes, though a Moor,
I do admire and love thee.

Alonzo.
Dost thou love me?
Have I a friend, where all, I tho't, were enemies?
Oh, fortunate Alonzo! though despairing
And wretched, still thou art not quite forsaken:
The words, “I love thee,” oh! they sound to me
Sweet as the music of the heavenly choir.

Zamor.
Alonzo! though I cannot promise freedom,
Still, I will be thy friend and comforter,
Will calm thy wounded spirit, sooth thy grief,
And make thy dreary prison seem more cheerful.
But know'st thou Zamor?

Alonzo.
Yes, I know his name,
His name, that strikes such terror in the christian.
Where Zamor is, the valiant Spaniard trembles;
He knows the prowess of that dreadful arm,
An arm more dreaded by thy foes in battle,
Than all the vaunting Mussulmen beside.

Zamor.
Know, I am Zamor—start not at the sound;
For Zamor, though in battle he be dreadful,
And furious as a tiger, still in peace
Is gentle as a lamb: Zamor, the warrior,
Can soften down his iron brow and seem
Mild as the infant: though when duty calls,
He summon up the vigour of his courage
To the highest pitch, when helpless misery pleads,
Is gentleness, and mercy. Though I'm Zamor,
So dreaded by thy nation, tremble not,
But see in me a gentle, faithful friend.
Dost thou remember, after that fierce battle
So sad to thee, when thou wert taken pris'ner,
That thou wert bro't before the great Abdallah?
Saw'st thou not then, beside the mighty king,
A beauteous maiden, deck'd in all the charms
Of youth and modesty, the first and fairest
Among the Moors, the prize for which the noble
And youthful warrior courts the fields of danger?
She was Alzira, great Abdallah's daughter;
She saw thy manly countenance, the spirit
That never can be conquer'd in thy eye,
And lov'd thee; yes, 'tis true Alzira lov'd
Alonzo; she entrusted unto me
This secret, bade me seek thy gloomy dungeon,
And do to thee this errand; she can never,
She fears, do more, than free thee from thy prison;
But while Alzira loves thee, and a friend
Is found in mighty Zamor, ne'er despair.
Zamor exit.

Alonzo,
Solus.
Is this my fortune, thus to find, amid
Rage and barbarity, a friend and lover,
To indulge a hope of freedom; was there ever
A happier hour than this? my heart seems bursting
From my excessive joy. Oh then be thankful,
Alonzo! raise thy humblest adoration,
Thy warmest thanks to Him, who rules the world,
And gives to misery peace, hope to despair.

SCENE II.

—A Room.
Zamor,
Solus.
My soul is black with fury; oh I burn
With all the fires of hell; my heart is torn
By every passion—love, rage, despair,
Hatred and jealousy, they rack my breast
With tortures worse than death: to be disgrac'd,
Struck from the list of warriors, where I shone
With such a splendour, love and be detested
By her I love, and see a Spanish pris'ner
Preferr'd to me; O! can I bear all this?
No, never, never; now my spirits burn
With deathly rancour; I would plunge my dagger
A thousand times in proud Abdallah's heart;
I'd tear it from his breast and see it quiver
With eyes of rapture; Oh! 'twould give me joy
To see the dogs feed on his mangled carcass.
What! in the sight of all his armies, break
My sword in twain and tell me to retire?
Oh then I gnaw'd my lips with fury, burn'd
With fiery rage, and swore I'd never, never,
Ev'n if a thousand years should intervene,
Forget my hatred till I was reveng'd.
I'd pass through fire to indulge my deathly hate;
I'd tear his heart, I'd wash these hands in blood,
Rather that not revenge. Zamor can never
Forgive, that is a mark of woman's weakness.
Shall Zamor, he who prides him in his bold
And daring fury, sink so low as woman?
Shall I be merciful? shall I forgive?
I'd die by torture first, I'd see the flames
Burn me by piecemeal, ere I'd sink so low.
Zamor, didst thou not see the meanest soldiers
Point at thee with their fingers, and insult
And laugh at thy misfortunes? they exclaim'd,
“He, who was proud and felt himself a god,
Is now as low as we; yes, haughty Zamor
Has lost his greatness”. Did I then not burn
Fierce as the flames that sweep the summer forest?
And shall I now forgive? No, never, never;
I'll be reveng'd on all my enemies,
I'll stop not till I triumph o'er Abdallah,
I'll see Alzira's beauties wrapp'd in clay,
And free Alonzo from his gloomy dungeon
To hide him in the dungeon of the grave.

SCENE III.

—A Garden.
Ibrahim,
Solus.
Sweet is the freshness of the morning air,
The rising sun is pleasant, and the breeze
Spreads a soft coolness thro' my feverish frame:
Not so my heart, it still with anguish bleeds,
And fierce resentment burns; while all around
Is gay and cheerful, I am sunk and sad,
The thrush is singing on yon bending spray,
The linnet flutters round the opening rose
Cheerfully warbling, even the very groves,
Gilt by the vernal sunbeams, seem to smile:
Still I am sad, a heavy gloom o'erspreads
My melancholy heart; I feel a cold
Instinctive shuddering creep along my veins.
Why should I fear? why should this trembling shake
My form, that oft has borne the brunt of war?
Is vengeance then so hard, it makes me shrink
To attempt it? No! I feel my righteous cause,
I feel that heaven commands me to revenge.
What! shall I stand to see my dear companion,
Who oft has sought undaunted by my side,
And with me march'd to danger and to victory,
To see this friend disgrac'd? to see him stripp'd
Of all his hard-earn'd honours? No, by heaven!
While I've a sword, Zamor shall be reveng'd.

Enter Alhouran and Omar.
Ibrahim.
How pleasant is the morning, does't not raise
Your spirits? does't not wake the cheerful smile?
Why? what is this? why look you so dishearten'd?
What cause of grief, while all around is lovely?

Alh.
Yesterday! dost thou not remember it?
Oh I shall ne'er forget it!

Ibrah.
What of it?
What sad event has sunk your manly feelings,
So gay and buoyant once, to such despair?

Alh.
Dost thou not well remember yesterday?
Oh I shall ne'er forget it!

Ibrah.
Ne'er forget it!
What dreadful accident has then befall'n you?

Alh.
Zamor, whom we adore, the noble warrior,
The generous chieftain, Zamor, was disgrac'd,
Yes, shamefully disgrac'd, on yesterday.

Omar.
Yes, cursed be the wretch, who dar'd that deed!
Oh were the dastard but within my reach,
I'd make him feel the sharpness of this steel.

Ibrah.
Hush! be more quiet; but this sad event
Need not depress you so: cheer up, my friends,
Vengeance is easy, when our cause is just.

Alh.
What are we, Ibrahim, before this tyrant?
Mere helpless, feeble worms, for him to tread on.
Oh! had my arm but strength to wield the blow,
I'd strike the despot prostrate from his throne.

Omar.
And I have strength, and I will soon exert it.

Alh.
Exert thy strength against the great Abdallah
'Tis madness; what! attempt the tyrant's life
By thy own hand alone? No! never try
So desperate, so foolish an adventure.

Omar.
Justice and heaven shall give me strength to do it.

Alh.
Justice and heaven, against his mighty power,
I fear, will not avail thee; canst thou break
The gates of brass that close his lofty palace?
Canst thou o'ercome the guards, who watch like Argus
The least approach of danger? Oh! be quiet,
And let thy sabre rest within its scabbard.

Omar.
Ah! thou wouldst weep to think thou'rt such a coward,
And wish and long for strength to strike the blow;
But I have now that strength.

Alh.
What say'st thou, Omar,
That I am coward! hell and fury seize thee.

Ibrah.
Stop! stop! my friends! let no unhappy quarrels
Disturb us in this dark and dangerous hour:
This is an hour of peril, ere we draw
Another breath, disgrace may be our lot,
Or ignominious death; oh! be united,
Reserve your courage for the hour of trial,
And strike no blow but for the hero Zamor.
But, gallant Omar, stay thy headlong rashness,
Reflect upon the deed that thou wouldst do,
Think of the power that circles round that throne,
Think of the lofty towers, the embattled walls,
And massive gates, think of the num'rous guards,
That wait, with sword in hand, each bold invader,
Prepared to strike the traitor to the heart;
Oh! think of these, and moderate thy fury.
But oh, Alhouran! cheer thy drooping spirits;
The cause is not so desperate as thou think'st;
Though fortune lours with such a gloomy aspect
Upon us now, the time may come, my friend,
When victory shall declare for noble Zamor,
When he shall triumph o'er the insulting tyrant,
And bid each despot tremble for his throne.

Alh.
Fortune may favour, but our hope is feeble.

Ibrah.
No, not so feeble as thou think'st, Alhouran.
Didst thou not mark, when proud Abdallah dar'd,
Before his armies, break the sword of Zamor,
How vengeance lour'd upon the soldier's brow?

Alh.
I saw them grin a ghastly smile of pleasure,
To see this godlike hero so disgrac'd;
But none, I saw, would draw a sword to aid him.

Ibrah.
Thou sawst not right: the faithful troop, whom Zamor
Led on to victory in all his battles,
The brave ten thousand, had'st thou seen their eyes
Flashing with fury, and their grinding teeth,
Thou would'st not be so cheerless in this hour:
Yes, when the tyrant, with his voice of thunder,
Exclaim'd, “depart—thou dastard, from my armies,
And take this shivered blade,” this faithful troop,
Who lov'd their gallant leader to distraction,
Were all on fire; I saw them all on tiptoe
To make the assault, I saw each bosom swell,
I saw each hand instinctive grasp the sword,
And every countenance wro't high to vengeance.

Alh.
Hope then revives within my anxious breast;
Yes, now methinks I see my friend reveng'd,
And the proud tyrant humbled.

Omar.
I will wait,
Till we can strike at once.

Ibrah.
Come then, my friends,
And let us swear a firm fidelity;
Yes, on these swords so oft in battle crimson'd
With Spanish blood—yes, we will swear by heav'n,
And all the happiness of Paradise,
To cling with all our energies to Zamor,
To hold our swords in readiness to strike,
When fortune favours, the decisive blow
Of vengeance, on the haughty tyrant's head.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—A Room.
Ibrah.
Zamor.

Zamor.
What dost thou want? disturb me not:
My heart already is too full of trouble.

Ibrah.
My friend, I come to ease thee of that load.

Zamor.
Thy friend. No, I'm the enemy of all,
I've sear'd my heart against each tender feeling,
I am the friend of none, not even of thee,
For all mankind are leagued for my destruction.

Ibrah.
Canst thou believe me faithless?

Zamor.
Yes, believe thee,
I know, thou art. I've seen too well the world,
I've seen how empty is that whining thing,
They call a friend, and I have shut my heart
Forever 'gainst the siren songs of friendship;
No, there is nought in friendship, nought but sounds,
Base, hollow sounds, in all those protestations,
Which friends are pouring in each others ears:
I hate the world, I loathe each human feature,
And I will be reveng'd on all mankind.

Ibrah.
No! thou shalt never be reveng'd on me,
For there is nought in me to excite thy vengeance;
Have I not always closely clung around thee,
Although the chillest frosts of adverse fortune
Benumb'd thee?

Zamor.
Did adversity benumb me?
No, never; I will never lose my spirit,
I'll rise superior to these puny insults,
But I will be reveng'd—

Ibrah.
Oft have I stood
Before thy bosom in the hour of conflict,
And took the blow they aim'd against thy life.

Zamor.
Oh hadst thou let them strike, thou'dst been my friend;
Then I had fallen in the midst of glory,
Nor ever liv'd to see this foul disgrace.

Ibrah.
And cannot I assist thee in thy vengeance?
Can I not show in this I am thy friend?

Zamor.
Leave me to work the vengeful deed alone;
I want no aid, the conqueror of Spain
Shall never stoop to ask for ought to aid him;
I'll be reveng'd by this (lifting his right arm)
and this alone.

Ibrah.
And how wilt thou o'ercome the hoary tyrant?
Is strength and valour mightier than his pow'r?
Canst thou alone, undaunted as thou art,
Canst thou o'ercome the thousands that surround him,
And force thy way to vengeance by thy arm?

Zam.
I'll make the attempt and die, or be reveng'd.

Ibrah.
Let prudence rather take the place of rashness;
Wait for some kind conjuncture, when the task
Is easiest, then with faithful Ibrahim
And the brave legion, thou hast led to glory,
In every conflict with our Christian foes,
Show to the tyrant, vengeance never dies,
But only sleeps till she can strike securely.

Zam.
What say'st thou, Ibrahim, my legion faithful?
Do they remember still their valiant leader?
This gives me life, this fires my soul anew,
And yields its wonted vigour to my arm.

Ibrah.
Yes, they are faithful, yes, they love thee, Zamor,
Ev'n with a maiden's fondness, they would triumph
And think it happiness to die for thee;
I know it, I have seen it in their eyes
And read it in their features, I did mark
Resentment burning in their manly breasts,
When thou wert yesterday so meanly stripp'd
Of all the honors won by thee so nobly.

Zam.
Then there is hope; give me that valiant legion,
Let all the world arise in arms against me,
And I can bid defiance: now, thou tyrant,
Thy doom is fix'd, thou soon shalt feel my rage,
Thou soon shalt know, how dark, how terrible
Is vengeance in the bosom of a Moor.

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Palace.
Abdallah,
Solus.
Once more the Spaniard and his mountaineers
Pour o'er the northern hills to assault Granada;
Though conquer'd, still they never will submit,
Firm as the rocks in which they hide themselves,
They never are subdued unless by death.
I've seen them flying from the Moorish squadrons
In wild dismay, I've seen them seek their mountains,
And pathless deserts, and have thought them conquer'd;
But not a month had pass'd, before a band
Of these marauders, from their serpent dens,
Had rous'd my hosts to arms; I never fear them,
One firm attack will scatter all their courage
And send them trooping to their caves again.
But I have lost the jewel of my army,
Him, whom the Spaniards fear, at whose approach
Their courage withers and their spirits fail them;
'Tis Zamor—yes, in an unlucky hour,
By passion driven, I dar'd disgrace my hero;
Yes, dar'd, for I was risking all my empire
On such a deed, for Zamor is the rock
On which Abdallah and his fortunes rest;
Strike but that prop away, my power and glory
Are gone; come then, and try to sooth his feelings,
Restore him to his honours, and beside
Heap others on him; then with noble Zamor
To guide my armies in the fields of glory,
I'll brave the haughtiest power that rules on earth.
[Enter Slave.
Have you bid Zamor come before me, ha!

Slave.
Yes, mightiest King! and soon, he bade me tell thee,
He would approach thy presence.

Abd.
Then retire.
[Slave exit.
Now I'm myself again. Abdallah now
Need never fear the Spaniard, for that arm,
Which guides the battle, still is link'd with mine.
[Zamor enters.
Zamor, canst thou forgive an injury?

Zamor.
Yes, noble Lord! forgive with all my soul.
Canst thou believe, that such a thing as vengeance
Can ever find a seat within my breast?
This bosom, made for fortitude and honor,
E'er harbor such a monster? No! Abdallah,
He is mistaken who can e'er believe it.
No! no! Abdallah, to forget is pleasant
And sweeter to forgive; I'll never stoop
So low as vengeance, murderers and assassins,
Who lurk in night and darkness to destroy,
May think of vengeance, Zamor never will.

Abd.
These noble sentiments become thee well,
Become the conqueror and dread of armies,
Him, whom the brutal robber of Algiers,
Startles to see, at whom the Spaniard trembles.
Zamor! I've call'd thee to restore thy honors
And crown thy head with glory; I'll forget
The unhappy hour, when I could dare disgrace thee,
If thou wilt but forgive.

Zamor.
Yes, I forgive
A thousand times, I always have forgiv'n thee,
I knew if thou hadst only known the truth,
Thou never would'st have thought of such a thing,
And therefore I forgive thee.

Abd.
Yes, tis true,
I did the deed from ignorance alone.
Thou well rememberest that luckless day,
When Hadi's corps retir'd before Alphonso?
That cause of grief to every Mussulman,
'Twas rumour'd round, was all contriv'd by thee;
Passion then got the better of my reason,
And in my rage I drove thee from thy station
And broke thy sword. Thou well remember'st this?

Zamor.
Yes, noble Lord! [aside]
and I will ne'er forget it.

Abd.
I never, Zamor, would have mov'd a hand
To hurt a hair of thine, had I but known,
That guilty Hadi's cowardice was all
The cause of that misfortune, but this sabre
Has cropt the honours of that dastard wretch.
But, Zamor, in this hour when danger calls,
Wilt thou receive thy former honours, fresh,
And deck'd with others? wilt thou lead my hosts
To drive the Spaniards to their hills again?

Zamor.
Yes, noble Lord, I'll show these infidels,
That Zamor's arms is still as strong as ever,
That it can sweep thy enemies, Abdallah!
As the breeze sweeps the down along the fields.

Abd.
My duty calls me, and I must retire;
But, faithful Zamor, take my lion standard
Crown'd with the crescent of the blessed Mahomet,
And with it lead my troops to victory;
Spread slaughter and dismay among the Spaniards,
And make these christian wretches learn to start
And tremble at the names of great Abdallah
And mighty Zamor; but before I leave thee,
I ask again, canst thou forget thy injury?

Zamor.
Yes, noble Lord! forgive, forget, forever.
[Abdallah exit.]
Forgive! forget! no, Zamor never can;
Eternal hatred burns within this bosom,
Eternal hatred to the proud Abdallah,
Which ne'er can be appeas'd but by his blood.
I'd see destruction level this proud city,
I'd see the flames roll o'er this lofty palace,
And myself struggling beneath the ruins,
Ere I'd forgive; no! death, despair and fury
Have fix'd their seats within this tortur'd breast:
I'm bent on slaughter—yes, I'll be reveng'd;
My glittering dagger thirsts so strong for blood,
It burns my thigh; I long to plunge its blade,
Ev'n to the hilt, in proud Abdallah's bosom,
In fair Alzira's lovely breast of snow,
And in the quivering heart of curst Alonzo.
They talk of hell—their hell is nought to me;
If there is such a thing as hell, tis here;
I ne'er can feel worse torture than these passions,
That boil within my breast: come then, ye fiends,
And drive your willing victim on to vengeance.

SCENE III.

—A Room.
Alzira,
Solus.
What crime is there in love? what dreadful guilt
To fan this holy flame within my bosom?
Has then religion set such bounds as this?
Must I for Moors alone indulge affection?
Hard is my fate, to love and be depriv'd
Of every fond endearment, even the sight
Of him I love. Who would not love Alonzo?
Who would not love such matchless excellence,
In form, in features, and in mind so noble?
Oh 'twas a luckless hour for my enjoyment,
When he was brought before my honour'd father.
Though bound in chains and fetters, though a captive,
And sunk by hard misfortune, I did mark
That noble spirit burning in his breast,
Did mark his lofty eye, that scorn'd submission,
And even compell'd respect from all around.
But was a mortal ever made so perfect?
Such princely features! such a faultless form!
An eye so dark and piercing, and a look
That mark'd at once the hero and the lover!
And could I shun adoring one, whom nature
Had fashion'd as the noblest of her works?
And must I now be wretched? must I pine
And sink beneath the gloom of disappointment?
Oh could I but escape these cruel fetters,
Which bigotry and zeal have thrown around me,
And seek with him, amid those distant hills,
A safe retreat, ah! then the humblest cottage
And plainest fare would give me more delight,
Than all the honours that await me here.

[Enter Fatima.
Fatima.
Why, why these tears, Alzira? why so gloomy,
When thou should'st rather strive to show thy people,
That thou art cheerful in this dangerous hour?
Ah! dost thou fear some youthful Moor will fall
On this eventful day? one whom thou lov'st?

Alz.
Fatima, I can never love a Moor;
Alas! my heart is promis'd to another.

Fat.
Throw off these gloomy feelings, I beseech thee;
Let reason rule awhile, for it will show thee,
How vain, how foolish is thy misplac'd love.

Alz.
Misplac'd! Fatima, canst thou tell me so?
Can there be aught misplac'd on one so perfect?

Fat.
So hopeless, then, for sure thou canst not dare
To violate the laws of blessed Mahomet;
And will thy father see his dear Alzira
Join'd to an infidel?

Alz.
Oh wretched princess!
What all my honours, what is all the pomp
That circles round my throne? what are they now,
But goading thorns to increase my misery?
And why should heav'n demand this sacrifice?
Can there be aught in love, in pure affection,
To offend the chasten'd eye of Deity?

Fat.
Oh talk not thus, my dearest friend, I pray thee!
Let not such words e'er issue from thy lips!
For should they reach thy father's ear, destruction
Would surely be thy lot.

Alz.
But could my father
Destroy his only daughter? why not rather
Increase my happiness, and give me one
In whom my every wish would be indulg'd?

Fat.
Little thou know'st, Alzira! what a spirit
Thy father has; indeed he loves his children
With strong affection, but his rage is stronger:
Beware, lest thou excite his fierce resentment.

Alz.
But can my father ever hurt Alzira?
Say, can he injure one he calls his darling?
One who has wept with him, sooth'd all his grief
And smil'd when he was happy, who so oft
Has sung his cares to sleep?

Fat.
All this may be,
And more; but still if thou should'st rouse his wrath,
The sacred name of daughter would not shield thee;
Thy voice, though melting in the softest tones
Of tenderness, could not subdue his heart;
Oh do not, I beseech thee, rouse his wrath.

Alz.
What shall I do? must I be miserable,
Must cankering care destroy my every comfort,
And sink me to despair? would I could be
The humblest maiden in the wilds of Castile!
Then I might think of hope.

Fat.
And thou may'st now,
For time will wear away each fond impression,
And cool the strongest passion.

Alz.
It can never
Remove his lovely image from my breast;
There 'tis intomb'd forever, nought, but death,
Can rob my bosom of this fond idea,
Ah it can never fade but in the tomb.

Fat.
Then take my condolence, 'tis all my store
Of comforts can bestow. Thou know'st, Alzira!
What strong affection I have felt for thee,
That I would shield my friend from injury
And make thee happy, were it in my pow'r;
But now I feel my weakness, now I feel,
Fatima's utmost strength, exerted for thee,
Is feeble as the dying infant's breath.
[Fatima exit.

Alz.
And is this all thy comfort? Oh Alzira!
Wretched thou art indeed; a settled gloom
Is darkening every charm, I once was proud of;
Ah it has robb'd my cheek of every rose,
That bloom'd so brightly there, ah it has dim'd
Those eyes, my father us'd so oft to praise
And call his diamonds; soon 'twill break my heart
And lay me in that tomb, where every sorrow
Is sooth'd and every storm is hush'd to rest.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Dungeon.
Alonzo,
Solus.
My dungeon still is dark, the beams of hope
Cannot illume its dreary, gloomy vaults;
My soul still lingers for its darling home,
Still lingers for my parent, and my friends.
The son of great Alphonso, now a wretched
And solitary captive, in a dungeon
Wall'd round with stone and void of every comfort;
No ray of light is seen, but that which glimmers
Through yonder narrow grate, no sound is heard,
But when the bat flits by on filmy wings,
Or in the tow'r the bird of night complains.
All, all is dark and dismal, all is still,
This dreary dungeon seems the pris'ner's grave,
The gloomy charnel-house of living death.
But solitude and darkness, though they freeze
My very soul, are not my direst evils;
'Tis anxious expectation of the future.
Oft have I sat at midnight, when the stars
Just show'd their twinkling forms between my grates,
And shook at every breeze that whistled by.
Methought I heard the dying pris'ners groan
Sound in the blast; I trembled and I fear'd,
Some sabred Moor was coming to dispatch me.
Then I would hear a feeble, hollow sound,
Amid the distant vaults: methought I heard
The tread of midnight murderers; then despair
Rush'd o'er my feelings and I felt like death:
Again the owl, moaning at darkest midnight,
Would strike my ear and seem the shriek of terror;
I listen'd, and the sound was still repeated;
I started from my cold and wretched bed
And hasted to my grate; the full orb'd moon,
Then riding in her zenith, silver'd o'er
The distant walls, and from the lofty towers
Spread shadows wide and vast; the night was still,
A beauteous radiance shone on yonder mountain,
And play'd upon the distant waving trees,
The lonely owl at times was heard to wail,
The chilling breezes whistled round the walls
And cool'd the fever of my burning temples.
This is my greatest pleasure, thus to brood
On my misfortunes; even my soul is us'd
So much to misery, it has smooth'd its terrors
And soften'd down the iron of its brow:
Still I am not so harden'd to despair,
That I am happy in this wretched dungeon;
Yes, I am miserable, but for one hope,
The hope of freedom, by the aid of Zamor:
This keeps my courage up from sinking wholly
In dark despair; before he came and bless'd
My ears with that dear sound, “I am thy friend,”
I almost lost each hope of liberty,
I wish'd for death and yet I fear'd to die,
I fear'd to think upon my dissolution,
And look into the darkness of the grave.
Had I no hope, I should indeed be wretched;
Had I no friend, this world would be a desert;
Had not this Zamor, with a voice of mercy,
Sooth'd my poor broken heart, I now had been
Sunk in complete despair; but while he lives
And speaks the same kind words to poor Alonzo,
I still shall hope, whatever may betide me.
[Enter Zamor.
Zamor, hast thou come here again to sooth me
And cheer my wounded heart?

Zamor.
Yes, dear Alonzo,
Again I come to feed thy soul with hope.
Still hope, Alonzo; thou may'st yet be free!
Before the sun has set behind those hills,
Thou may'st have liberty, my dear Alonzo.

Alonzo.
What say'st thou, Zamor? shall I yet be free,
And that before the shades of evening close?
Or dost thou tantalize me with vain hopes?

Zamor.
Alonzo, I can never be so cruel,
As thus to raise the pris'ner's expectations
By promises and hopes as vain as wind;
Believe me, when I tell thee, that ere night
Has clos'd around thy head, thou may'st be free.

Alonzo.
Zamor, can I believe thee? Oh, this hour
Of joy supreme! O, fortunate Alonzo!
Oh, bless'd above all bless'd! this day be free?
It thrills the very life-strings of my bosom!

Zamor.
Alonzo, greater happiness awaits thee,
Lovely Alzira comes this day to see thee,
Before thou leav'st thy prison, to console thee,
And speak more heavenly music to thy ear,
Than Zamor can.—

Alonzo.
But Zamor, do not leave me,
Stay, and partake with me my exultation,
Stay, and enjoy with me this hour of triumph!

Zamor.
Alonzo, duty calls, I must obey,
Else I would stay and keep thee company
Year after year; still hold thy courage up,
Let not despondency depress thy soul,
But still remember, ere the sun has set,
Alonzo shall be free.—

Alonzo.
My faithful Zamor,
I cannot speak the ardour of my feelings,
I cannot speak the strength of my affection
For one so good, so merciful as thou.
[Zamor exit.
This is an hour of triumph, this an hour
Of highest exultation! soon, my friends,
Shall I embrace you, soon my native hills
Shall meet my longing eye, and down the vale,
Where oft I spent the hours in boyish sports,
I soon shall see the rivulet descend;
Then cease my murmurs, cease from all my grief,
And let this day be given to exultation.

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Palace.
Abdallah and Zamor.
Abd.
This is the time to show thy daring soul;
Our hateful foes approach the city walls,
And waste the fields before them; all is terror,
The shepherd leaves his flock upon the mountain,
The swain his vineyard in the sunny valley,
The villager his home, in wild dismay
They crowd our gates and ask us for a shelter.
'Twas late, I look'd around me from my tower,
And saw behind the hills the smoke arising,
Where now the Spaniards ravage; o'er the fields
I saw the crowd of outcasts, from their homes
And pleasant farms, pursue their anxious flight,
And in the hot pursuit, a cruel troop
Of these banditti; out, this instant out
With all my forces, lead them to the battle,
Rout these marauders, give them to the slaughter,
Or send them headlong to their dens again.

Zamor.
My noble lord, these christian dogs shall feel
The vigour of my arm, they soon shall know,
Their utmost force, exerted 'gainst my prowess,
Is feeble as the reed's against the whirlwind.
I have ten thousand Mussulmen, as brave
As ever drew a sword; I've seen them drive
Through all the armies, Spain could ever muster,
And scatter wide the sable hosts of Nubia;
I've seen them mount the breach, o'er friends and foes
Pil'd high in slaughter, scale the lofty walls
In spite of rocks and spears, rush through the city,
Where every house concealed a lurking foe,
And every step was danger, still undaunted,
I've seen them drag their enemies to light
And give them all promiscuously to death.
But this, the time for action; I will lead
My fearless troops to meet the ruffian Spaniards,
When I have done my duty, by relating
A truth, my lord, that deeply doth concern thee.

Abd.
What is it? tell me.

Zamor.
Canst thou hear the truth,
Although disast'rous to thee? canst thou hear
Of what will touch thy very tenderest feelings?
Or wilt thou shut thy ear against my story?

Abd.
Zamor, I both can hear of smiling fortune
And dark adversity; the songs of peace
Are sweet unto my soul, but still, when duty
Calls me, with equal readiness I listen
To the most melancholy dirge of death;
Not only I can hear of mournful truths,
But I will hear them; cursed be the wretch,
Who dares to tell a falshood to Abdallah.

Zamor.
My lord Abdallah! if thou deignst to hear me,
I tell my story, mournful as it is.
Thou know'st Alonzo?

Abd.
Yes, and what of him?

Zamor.
Thou know'st full well his noble countenance,
His fortitude in danger, and his spirit
Undaunted in the presence of thy power?

Abd.
And what of that? Zamor, has he escap'd?

Zamor.
No—worse than that, would Alla that he had!
Oh, had he left his prison, he had rescued
A thousand sorrows from Abdallah's bosom.

Abd.
Zamor, what now awaits me, is there treason
Lurking within these walls?

Zamor.
No—worse than that,
A dart shall pierce thy heart more cruel far
Than treason.

Abd.
What is't, Zamor? tell this instant?

Zamor.
Alzira—

Abd.
What! Alonzo? tell me, Zamor.

Zamor.
Alzira, she, on whom thou'st fondly doated,
Who, thou hast hop'd, would be the staff and stay
Of thy declining years, yes, dear Alzira
Is lost.

Abd.
It cannot be; Oh! blessed Mahomet,
Have mercy on Abdallah.

Zamor.
Yes, she's lost,
And ruin'd by the beauty of Alonzo.

Abd.
Heavens! what is this? Oh mercy, mercy on me!
Tell me, my Zamor! tell me all the truth,
Reveal the foulest mysteries to my view.

Zamor.
Alzira, captivated by the noble
And manly features of the young Alonzo,
Lov'd him, she lov'd him with the warmest passion.

Abd.
What! love an infidel, Oh misery!

Zamor.
She lov'd him and she pined; the weary pilgrim,
Fainting and thirsting on Arabia's sands,
Longs not more deeply for the cooling fountain,
Than she for young Alonzo.

Abd.
Oh, my heart!
It breaks! it breaks with agony!

Zamor.
She pin'd,
And rous'd at length to furious desperation,
Corrupted all the keepers of the prison,
And sought her dear Alonzo in his dungeon;
There, read this letter, 'twill reveal the truth.

Abd.
Oh, fury! rage! distraction! what, my child
Become a Spaniard's mistress! heaven, have mercy,
Have mercy on my soul! Oh, poor Alzira!
Corrupted, vile Alzira! I did love thee
With all a parent's fondness; yes, I doated
With all the tenderness, that e'er a lover
Felt for his mistress, on thy op'ning beauty;
I hop'd to see thee worthy of a crown,
The noble daughter of the great Abdallah;
But, heavens! thou now hast sunk to infamy,
To infamy degrading; thou shalt die
And wash away thy infamy with blood.

Zamor.
Stop! stop! Abdallah! hold thee from thy purpose.
Perhaps Alzira still is innocent,
Perhaps she only sought her dear Alonzo
To breathe her sighs and tell her passion to him?

Abd.
Zamor, insult me not! I swear by heaven,
She shall not live! I'll not survive this shame,
If poor Alzira lives.

Zamor.
Oh, blessed Mahomet!
Console the feelings of my lord Abdallah!
I tell thee, sire, Alzira may be innocent
And spotless yet; Oh, wilt thou bid her die,
Because she lov'd Alonzo!

Abd.
She shall die!
This instant she shall die!

Zamor.
Hear me, Abdallah!
Hear me for mercy's sake! Oh spare Alzira,
Spare her! thou knowst not yet, that she is guilty.

Abd.
Guilty! she's guilty as the fiends in hell.
She dies this instant.

Zamor.
Hear me but one moment!
Remember, sire, this is the first transgression;
Remember, she has ever been a kind
And duteous daughter.

Abd.
Oh! the incarnate devil.
I've seen the fiend smile in her lovely face,
But I will stab her spite of all her charms.

Zamor.
Remember she's thy daughter, and Alonzo—

Abd.
She dies! what, she Alonzo's mistress? help me,
Oh justice! aid me in this hour of conflict,
With desperation steel me to the task,
And firmly close each avenue to mercy.

Zamor.
Abdallah! I beseech thee, now have mercy,
And spare her even if justice bid her die.

Abd.
Justice is sovereign, mercy must submit.
[Abdallah exit.

Zamor.
Oh blessed Mahomet! would there could be mercy.
Mercy on whom? I hope not on Alzira.
Oh what a happy circumstance is this!
I now will feed my hatred with revenge.
Alzira dead, she who could dare despise me!
Oh this is pleasure, I am now reveng'd.
Oh I can now exult! one foe is dead,
And soon I'll fire Abdallah's spirit on
To plunge the dagger in Alonzo's bosom,
And then 'tis easy for me to destroy
The hateful tyrant. Oh my plans succeed
To my best wishes, then exult and triumph.
[laughs.
Zamor, didst thou not hear a demon laugh?
Demons shall laugh and riot in thy ruin.
Did conscience sting me? oh I'll blunt her sting
And dull her arrows, that they cannot hurt me;
In spite of all her loudest, strongest cries,
I'll burst each band of virtue, nor desist,
Till all my foes are humbled in the dust.

[Enter Abdallah.
Abd.
Zamor, tis over now, the deed is done;
Zamor, the cruel, bloody deed is done;
Yes, I have shown me worthy of the prophet.
But it was hard, it cost me many a pang;
She look'd so sweet and lovely, yes, she smil'd
And welcom'd me with all the kind affection,
That children, in the innocence of youth,
Life's tender season, for their parents feel.
I almost melted, justice drove me on
And gave unusual sternness to my brow.
She wept to see me look so melancholy,
With voice of softest tenderness she said,
“My father, what can ail thee? is there aught
That troubles thee? oh let me soothe thy sorrows.”
She look'd so gentle, so affectionate,
I felt forgiveness rising in my heart;
But justice call'd and bade me do the deed:
I seiz'd her; trembling she exclaim'd, “my father,
What is the meaning of all this distraction?”
I clos'd my eyes and drove the dagger home.
She groan'd and feebly said, “my dearest parent,”
And died. I cast a look upon her corpse,
A smile of peace was trembling on her lips,
Her eye was soft and mild, it look'd forgiveness.
She seem'd an angel rob'd in innocence,
She seem'd a cherub sleeping. Is she guilty?
Oh no!

Zamor.
Abdallah! act not like a child;
Come, let us hasten to the field of battle,
Duty demands, the foe is near the walls.

SCENE III.

—A Room in the Palace.
Fatima and Zobeide.
Fat.
Alzira, oh Alzira! art thou gone
And vanish'd from me quite? ah! thou hast left me,
A poor distracted female, friendless, hopeless,
Without a single prop on which to rest me.
And art thou murder'd? What unholy arm
Could lift itself against thy precious life?
Ah who could be so lost to every virtue,
To rifle such perfection? canst thou tell me
The wretch, who dar'd this deed?

Zob.
My noble mistress!
The tale is so distressing to my heart,
I would that thou would'st spare me the recital.

Fat.
No, tell me, I'm prepar'd for every truth,
Tell me, although it rend my very heart strings,
Tell me, although it be the work of fiends.

Zob.
'Twas late I went see my noble princess
At the accustom'd hour, but as I came,
I saw one hurrying madly from her chamber
Arm'd with a bloody dagger; then my heart
Had almost fail'd me, scarcely could I enter
The scene of death, I found the princess bleeding
And dying, oh it was a sight of woe,
Would melt the hardest heart to tears of pity.

Fat.
Tell me, I pray thee, who the murderer was?

Zob.
My tongue refuses.

Fat.
Tell me, I beseech thee!
Oh let my soul be rack'd with doubt no more.

Zob.
Oh spare me, dearest mistress, canst thou pity
A helpless servant?

Fat.
Nay, but tell me now,
Give me at least one hint, altho' the slightest.

Zob.
The King.

Fat.
'Tis so; Abdallah then has murder'd
His dear and only daughter; leave me now,
And let my heart give vent to all its anguish.
[Zob. exit.
And is this now thy fate? ah, I foresaw it,
I saw destruction hanging o'er thy head;
But how could I avert it, how could I,
Weak, helpless woman, ward away that blow;
Oh had I pow'r, my dearest, only friend!
Thou long had'st liv'd, the fairest flow'r that blew
In this dark world; oh I would die to save thee,
And had I known the purpose of thy father,
My corpse had welter'd by the side of thine.
Yes, I would die with thee, and shall I live,
When every female friend of mine is gone?
What charm is there, that binds me to this world?
Almanzor—yes, indeed Almanzor lives,
And I will live for him. What sounds are those,
That yonder breathe so faint and melancholy?
Ah, tis the dirge of angels o'er thy corse.

[Enter Almanzor.]
Alm.
My dearest love! thou seest me arm'd and ready
To meet the bold invaders of my country.
But what, in tears! is this the only welcome
Thou giv'st thy gallant knight? but hearts like thine,
So soft and tender, easily are melted
By the least thought of danger to their lovers.

Fat.
Almanzor, oh my dear, my only friend,
The only charm that binds me to this world,
Without thee death would be my greatest comfort.

Alm.
Why frighten'd so, my angel? tremble not,
Almanzor shall not forfeit thy affection
On this eventful day.

Fat.
I fear not that,
I know thy dauntless courage.

Alm.
Should I die,
In death I'd show me worthy of thy love.

Fat.
I doubt not that, but oh my strength is gone;
Can I reveal this dreadful secret to thee?

Alm.
What?

Fat.
Art thou ready for a cruel blow,
So cruel, it will make all other sorrows
Seem but the trifling sports of misery?

Alm.
What can it be?

Fat.
Ah there it is, Almanzor;
See it thyself, but no, 'twill kill my love.

Alm.
Oh gracious heav'n! what, is this vision real,
Or but a phantasy, that racks my brain?
Alzira! oh my sister, art thou gone?
Oh hast thou parted from me in such haste,
As not to let me kiss thy dying cheek?
But is there blood? oh gracious heav'n! she's murder'd;
And shall the murderer live? no, not one hour.
Where is the wretch, the base, the cruel wretch,
Where can I find the savage?

Fat.
Oh Almanzor,
Stay, stay thy passion and recall thy words;
Pity the wretched murderer, I beseech thee.
He needs thy pity more than thy revenge.

Alm.
Who is the wretch?

Fat.
Alas! he is thy father.

Alm.
My father! no; 'tis false, unkind Fatima!
His heart could ne'er contain a fiend, whom hell
Would ev'n disdain to hold.

Fat.
But it is true;
Tis true, thy father murder'd his Alzira.

Alm.
Can I believe it? would that I were there,
Would I could sleep the sleep of death be her.
My father! no! it is not so, Fatima,
He never, never could be so abandon'd
And lost to every feeling.

Fat.
But 'tis true.
Religious bigotry, that hateful monster,
Has driv'n him on to such a stretch of guilt:
But leave him, I beseech thee, to remorse
And the just punishment of righteous heav'n.

Alm.
What shall I do? my brain is all on fire.
Where shall I go? I'll hasten to the battle,
And in the fury of the conflict, cool
The flames that burn me; here, my dearest love,
Take the last kiss of such a wretch as I.

Fat.
But leave me not with such a wild farewell!

Alm.
I go, I go to death. I hear the knell
Ring in my ears, that calls me to my grave.
But, oh my love, grant me but this request,
Lay me beside my dear and only sister,
And let one cypress shade our mutual tomb.

Fat.
He's gone, and with him all my hopes are fled,
My dearest friend, my lover is distracted,
And so am I, my tortur'd brain whirls round,
And nought but death can cool its burning fever.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—A Room in the Palace.
Abd.
A victory, a glorious victory.
We've shown them, Zamor, we are brave as ever;
We've scatter'd these prond Spaniards like the dust.
When great Abdallah calls and Zamor leads,
Our foes are pow'rless as the bleating lambs.
I've seen the poplar strive against the whirlwind,
I've seen the wretch defy the bolts of thunder,
I've seen the waves roll on the frowning cliff
In all their majesty, I've seen those waves
Beat idly 'gainst that cliff and spent retire.
So I have seen these haughty infidels
Approach my walls, and plume themselves on conquest;
But when we rose in arms, have seen them fly
With all the hurry of the broken waves.

Zamor.
Yes, 'twas a noble victory, my Lord;
Saw'st thou not, how I led my Mussulmen
Into the thickest danger? mark'd thou not,
How my broad banner wav'd amid the fight?
Oh 'twas a glorious sight! to see our troops
Sabre in hand march on to blood and conquest,
To see them dash at once among the foe:
They stood not for the archers, but forthwith
Attack'd them sword in hand; then wild dismay
Pervaded all their legions, o'er the hills
They scatter'd in disorder, we pursued
And gave them to the sabre's edge. These christians
Then felt the sharpness of the Moorish steel.

Abd.
I saw, along the side of yonder hill,
How fierce the battle rag'd; I mark'd the sabres
Gleam, like the vivid lightning; I could hear
The shout of victory, the yell of conquest,
The dying groan, the feeble cry for quarter,
Mingle alternate with the clashing steel;
I thought I saw, amid that fiercest conflict,
Almanzor's lion-crest; say, was he there?

Zamor.
Yes, first and foremost in the ranks of battle
Almanzor stood undaunted 'gainst the foe;
I saw him cleave the crest of many a knight
And send full many a warrior to the grave.
Along that mountain side he drove his foes
In a full tide of conquest, there he fought,
Pursued his enemy and cheer'd his soldiers;
“To victory, to victory,” he cried,
And wav'd his glittering sword; onward he rush'd,
Nor stopp'd, till every christian dog was conquer'd.

Abd.
Oh nobly done! Almanzor then is brave
And worthy of the monarchs of Granada;
Long will he shine, the glory of his nation
And pride of all his friends: where is Almanzor?
Would I could press the hero to my heart.

Zamor.
My Lord, the hottest fight was round that hill,
Just at the opening of a narrow vale;
The Spaniards, as they fled, there made a stand,
And strove their nation's honour to redeem:
This was a bloody conflict, helms were cleft
By the bright sabre and the Spanish halbard;
Full many a breast receiv'd the deathly blow,
Full many a turban roll'd amid the dust;
The stream that rush'd along was red with gore,
The blood in rivulets stream'd adown the vale;
Nothing was seen but wounds and gore and slaughter;
Nothing was heard but shouts and dying groans.
Ev'n in the moment big with future fate,
While victory was dubious, with our sabres
I and Almanzor charg'd their firmest phalanx.
Such prodigies of valour I ne'er witness'd;
The Spaniards fought with all the desperation
Of those, who struggle in the arms of death;
The Moors contended in the hope of victory:
Just at the moment, when the falling foe,
Torn from his last resort, had giv'n away,
Some ruffian coward aim'd a secret blow
And clove Almanzor's crest; I saw the blood
Stream down his noble countenance, I mark'd
The latest word he utter'd, it was “victory.”
He died—

Abd.
Almanzor dead! oh gracious heav'n!
Have mercy on my bleeding, broken heart.
Almanzor, oh my son! my only son!
My only child! on whom I built my hopes,
On whom I hop'd to rest my weary limbs,
And prop my falling age, gone, gone forever!
Oh shall I never see that eye of fire
Beam with such strong expression? shall I never
Listen enamour'd to the eloquence,
The burning eloquence of dauntless courage?
Ah thou art dead, and I am here forsaken,
A poor, unfriended parent, robb'd of all
My dearest treasures, wife and son and daughter,
All buried in a dark untimely grave.

Zamor.
My Lord, the coward, who could, dare that blow,
Was curs'd Alonzo's brother; but the wretch
Paid well for his temerity; this sabre
Pierc'd that vile Spaniard's black, infernal heart.

Abd.
Alonzo's brother! Oh this is too much!
What! curst Alonzo ruin dear Alzira,
And now Almanzor slaughter'd by his brother?
I'll be reveng'd! by heav'n I'll be reveng'd!
Zamor, quick to his dungeon, seize the wretch.
And send his spirit to the shades of hell.

Zamor.
My Lord, tis done this moment as you bid.
[Aside.
Done! yes, I'll do it with the greatest pleasure.

[Exit.
Abd.
Now I am quite forsaken, oh this hand
Destroy'd my lovely daughter, and Almanzor—
My heart! my heart! oh Mahomet, heal its wounds,
And quench the fire that rages in my bosom.

SCENE II.

—A retired woody place near the field of battle.
Almanzor,
Solus.
Such is the state of this distracted world,
Such are the freaks, that fortune loves to play
Upon the great and noble! Morning saw me
A brave and gallant prince, renown'd in arms,
The heir of proud Granada, lov'd, caress'd
And by the fickle mob extoll'd to heav'n.
What am I now? ah wounded, weak, forsaken,
Left by the army once led on by me
Ev'n to the very height of victory;
None sought the prince, when from the field victorious
They march'd in triumph to Granada's walls;
None ask'd, where is Almanzor, but contented
They all retir'd beneath the haughty Zamor,
And left me here unnotic'd and forgotten,
Is't not enough to fire this soul of mine?
I'st not enough to rouse my jealousy?
What, shall this low born wretch exult and triumph,
While I am left to pine with pain and anguish?
And shall Granada ring with Zamor's praise,
While every tongue is silent in Almanzor's?
But I am sick of life, I loathe a world,
Where every thing looks dark and melancholy,
Where sighs and groans are wafted on each gale,
And every breeze is charg'd with misery.
Look round, thou hero! on this bloody plain,
And view the field, where thou hast won thy glory;
See yonder dying wretch, how pale, how ghastly
That countenance, which courage once enliven'd,
How dim his eye, and what is that he utters?
Ah! 'tis the long protracted shriek of anguish,
The feeble prayer for but one cooling drop,
Or the last struggling, parting groan of death.
Perhaps, even now, an aged, tottering mother
Is fondly waiting for her son's return;
Perhaps some maiden weaves the victor's garland
To deck her hero's brow, and as she binds
Each graceful wreath, lets fall a silent tear:
But, ah, no anxious mother's straining eye
Shall see her son's return! for death has seal'd
His clay-cold lips forever! though his love
Look for him, till the year has roll'd around her,
He sleeps forgotten on this bloody plain,
Her sighs can ne'er awake him, nor her tears
Recall his spirit from his early tomb.

[Enter Amru.
Amru.
And art thou still alive, most noble prince!
This, this is heaven indeed! long had I look'd
In fruitless search, and o'er this plain had wander'd,
Until despair had almost sunk my soul:
But come, my prince! let's hasten to Granada
And save thy father and his falling throne.

Alm.
What dost thou say?

Amru.
Ruin awaits thy father,
Death from the traitor, he has nurs'd so long.

Alm.
From Zamor?

Amru.
Yes, from him.

Alm.
Oh, gracious heaven!
Dart all thy fury on that guilty head.
Come, let us hasten ere the blow is struck;
Perhaps this hand may stay his murdering arm.

Amru.
Yes, let us hasten; but, most noble prince!
The army is corrupted, every gate
Is firmly clos'd to aid the wretched traitor.

Alm.
But, oh! my dearest friend, what can I do?
How can I save my father's life and throne?
And must the traitor triumph?

Amru.
No, Almanzor!
Fatima will secure an easy entrance:
At yonder lonely corner, where the wall
Hangs o'er the narrow plain, beneath the palace,
She will secure an easy entrance for thee.

Alm.
Ah, is she safe, and is she still the same,
The same enchanting angel, firm in danger,
And ever prompt to aid the righteous cause?

Amru.
Yes, 'twas by her I learnt thy father's danger;
Oh! couldst thou then have seen her fortitude,
Have seen her countenance by sorrow soften'd,
But strengthened by a more than woman's firmness;
Have seen her eye, where the oft-starting tear
Was check'd in embryo by that god-like wisdom,
Which told her, danger was no time for weeping;
My dearest friend, thou'dst lov'd her more than ever.

Alm.
Oh, treasure more than all the wealth of India!
If heaven shall aid me in this enterprize,
I'll place thee on my throne, a fairer jewel,
Than ever sparkled in a caliph's crown.
But let us hasten, every fleeting moment
May be the one that ends my father's life,
And with it, all my happiness and hopes.

SCENE III.

—A Dungeon.
Alonzo,
Solus.
The sun just sets behind the western hills,
The shades of twilight curtain round the sky
And spread unusual darkness thro' my dungeon:
This is the time, the happy time! when Zamor
Promis'd to come and free me from my prison.
Why does he wait? say, is he not my friend,
Or are his promises all vain and false?
I've waited long, this hour has been a day;
I fondly hop'd to see the setting sun
In freedom; but its golden orb has vanish'd,
And the red gleams of twilight stain the west.
I seated me upon this stone, and look'd,
With straining eye, unmoving, thro' the grate,
To see the sun descending to the horizon;
I chid each lazy moment as it pass'd,
And wish'd an eagle's wings might urge it onward:
Each sound I heard arrested my attention;
I listen'd, thought I heard the gates unbarr'd,
And sprang to meet the dear approach of Zamor.
Still, still the sun has set, and darkness shrouds
The scenery all around, the stars are twinkling
Feebly, amid the clear, unclouded sky:
A melancholy shade pervades my prison,
And seems the harbinger of something dreadful.
Heavens! is there aught awaits me more distressing
Than what I've suffer'd? what a shade is that,
Which glides along the wall? speak, tell my fate;
Oh, horrid! Zamor, come and free me! Zamor,
Come and fulfil thy promise to Alonzo!
Ah, there he comes! I hear the gates unbarr'd,
He comes! he comes! Alonzo now is free!
[Enter Zamor.]
My dearest Zamor, can I now be free,
Say, can I leave this gloomy seat of horror?

Zamor.
Yes, dear Alonzo, follow me to freedom;
Thou now shalt know that I am ever faithful;
I come to set thee now at liberty,
And break the iron bolts, that bar thy dungeon.
Alonzo, thou art free.

Alonzo.
Oh, gracious heaven!
Accept my warmest thanks, and pour thy blessings
In ceaseless show'rs on faithful Zamor's head.
Alonzo free! how sweet that accent sounds,
Alonzo free! Oh, I could speak forever
The blessed words. Zamor, receive my thanks,
The warmest thanks of an o'erflowing heart.

Zamor.
Alonzo, I have come to seal my friendship;
Yes, I have come to bid my last adieu.
When thou art free, wilt thou remember me?
Say, wilt thou ever think of faithful Zamor?

Alonzo.
Oh, ever! ever! I will ne'er forget thee,
I'd sooner die than lose thy dear remembrance.

Zamor.
Alonzo, when thou'rt freed from this dark dungeon,
And left to roam the fields at liberty,
Would not Alzira's love delight thy soul?
Know then, I free thee from thy gloomy prison,
To wed thee to Alzira; I will join you
In wedlock never—never to be broken.

Alonzo.
Now let us fly, the growing darkness favours.

Zamor.
But why this hurry? as the night advances,
Thy flight will be more safe. Approach this grate,
And view the cloudless sky; say, is't not lovely?
Mark, how the star of evening shines, how bright
It gems the west. Alonzo, thou hast seen
Many an evening on the hills of Castile,
As fair as this; is't not a cheerful sight?

Alonzo.
Yes, it reminds me of my youthful days
And boyish sports, beneath the silver moon.

Zamor.
Look at it steady, take thy final look!

Alonzo.
What say'st thou, Zamor?

Zamor.
Take thy final look!
Thou ne'er shalt see the vault of heaven again!

Alonzo.
Zamor, art thou distracted?

Zamor.
No, Alonzo!
I only come to seal my faithful friendship,
To seal it thus; [draws his dagger]
look at that polish'd dagger,
See how it glitters; can't it pierce thy heart?

Alonzo.
Angels of mercy! aid me in this hour;
Oh, blessed God of heaven! I pray thee, help me.

Zamor.
Alonzo! thus I show my fond affection;
I free thee from this dungeon, but to hide thee
Secure within the dungeon of the grave.
Alzira's dead; go there enjoy thy love,
Go there and wed her ghastly, mould'ring corse!
There thou canst love forever; art thou ready?

Alonzo.
But hear me, Zamor, hear me, I beseech thee!
Is this thy kindness? say, didst thou not promise
To free me from my prison?

Zamor.
Yes, I did,
And thus I free thee. [Prepares to stab him.]


Alonzo.
Oh, have mercy on me!
Spare me one moment, spare me, cruel Zamor!
What could'st thou mean, to torture poor Alonzo
With such high expectations and then dash them?
Spare me!

Zamor.
What dost thou want, thou dastard wretch?
Alzira lov'd thee, but she hated me;
She's dead, and thou shalt die.

Alonzo.
Infernal Zamor!
I'm weak and wretched, but I once was brave;
I tell thee thou'rt a fiend.

Zamor.
I know it well,
I glory, dastard, in my cruelty.
Say, art thou ready?

Alonzo.
Yes, kill me, thou coward!
Come and attack a feeble, helpless prisoner
At night, when all is dark; strike, if 'twill please thee,
Thou mean infernal coward!

Zamor.
Hell and fury!
Dar'st thou insult me thus? I'll never stain
That dagger with thy puny woman blood:
Here! here! Horazan, seize the dastard wretch!
Relentless drag him to that narrow cell,
And plunge thy assassin knife into his bosom.
Revenge! revenge! thy work is almost done.

SCENE IV.

—A Room.
Zamor and Ibrahim.
Zamor.
Ibrahim, what from my Mussulmen; all ready
To aid me in this dangerous enterprize?

Ibrah.
My lord, I've tried their firm fidelity
They all exclaim'd, “Long live the noble Zamor,
Death to Abdallah.” When the fight was ended,
That made them victors o'er those christian robbers,
I ask'd the legion, who should be their king?
With loud acclaim they shouted, “noble Zamor;”
I charg'd them to be silent, lest the armies
Around, might hear and stop the rising treason;
Still they exclaim'd, “Health to the hero Zamor!
Death to Abdallah!” Then our conquering armies,
Fir'd by the sound, exclaim'd through all their legions,
In ceaseless shouts, “Down with the haughty tyrant!
Long live the hero, he, who never trembles,
Nor fears! who always leads us on to glory!”

Zamor.
Then I have nought to fear, the armies all
Are on my side; I'm king, my Ibrahim!
I soon will show them, I can rule as well,
And fill the throne as nobly as Abdallah.
Ibrahim, thou faithful servant! thou shalt be
Next to the throne, the leader of my armies,
Director of my councils, and my friend;
My friend and last resort when danger calls.
But yesterday, the proud, unfeeling tyrant
Disgrac'd me, who had ever been his faithful
And trusty servant, who had dar'd my life
And shed my blood to free him from destruction.
There see these scars, these noble hero scars!
These I received while fighting for Abdallah;
But still, the dotard, in a fit of passion,
Could dare disgrace me; I will ne'er forgive him,
The tyrant dies to glut my gnawing vengeance.
I've triumph'd o'er him twice, I drove him on
To murder his Alzira, whom he lov'd
With all the tenderness, a parent can:
And in the battle, at the very moment,
When victory decided for our arms,
I aim'd a deadly blow and slew Almanzor;
Foe mix'd with foe, then aided my design,
None saw me strike, all thought a Spaniard slew him;
I came and told the king, Alonzo's brother
Had shed the precious blood of dear Almanzor.

Ibrah.
Thou liest like Satan! would that I could be
But half as wicked as thou art, my Zamor;
Thou sham'st the very fiends, thou'rt so abandon'd.

Zamor.
Zamor will never start at trifles, Ibrahim!
Some monstrous crime, that makes a murderer tremble,
Is all I ever deign to meddle with.
Let the assassin boast him of his deeds
Of death, done at the darkest hour of midnight,
Zamor shall boast of deeper, darker crimes.
I never merely stab, I torture first;
To see one die, that gives my eyes no pleasure;
But first to raise his fondest expectations
Of happiness, and then to blast them all;
That is the way I feast my soul with rapture.
I slew Alonzo in this torturing way;
I told him, I would free him from his dungeon,
I rais'd his expectations to the highest
And most extatic pitch; then at the moment,
When he was all on tiptoe to be free,
I drew my glittering poniard; Oh, how pale
And sunk he look'd! I just prepar'd to strike
His throbbing bosom, when some fiend infus'd
A sudden desperation in his heart;
Then I disdain'd to kill the whining boy,
But gave him to the vile assassin's dagger.

Ibrah.
Thou art a murderer on a noble scale;
Thou tortur'st, then destroy'st; the hellish savage,
Who tears his burning captive limb from limb,
Would be, my lord, a fit companion for thee.

Zamor.
Yes, I'm a savage, Ibrahim, complete
In all the wickedness, in all the hard,
Unfeeling cruelty, and all the cunning,
That mark a savage of the fellest stamp:
But I am brave, I lead my armies on
To victory and conquest, and that makes me
The soldier's friend, aye, and the people's friend.
Come, let us go and strike the final blow,
Go and dispatch the tyrant in his chamber.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—Almanzor amd Amru.
Amru.
This is the place, and through this narrow gate
Fatima will admit us to the city;
This is the hour she promis'd:—soon, Almanzor,
The time will come for all thy fortitude.

Alm.
When justice aids me, I have nought to fear;
At least I'll die an honourable death,
Nor shall the traitor see his power secure,
Until some wretch of his has felt my steel.
But why does she delay? ah! some misfortune,
I fear, has happen'd to my dear Fatima.
Dost thou not hear those distant, hollow sounds?
I fear the work of ruin has begun,
I fear it is too late to be successful.
Ah, listen! they are louder! heard'st thou not
A shout like this, “success to noble Zamor?”
Oh, I am gone forever!

Amru.
No! my friend,
Be not dishearten'd by that distant sound;
Thy fancy aids thee, No! it is not real.

Alm.
I heard the shout and am forever ruin'd;
But never, never will I close these eyes,
Till on some traitor's head I take revenge.

Amru.
But there's a sound more welcome to thy ears:
Didst thou not hear a woman's gentle tread?

Alm.
Ah yes, and more; see there! the gates are opening!
Fatima, lovely angel! comes to save me!
[Enter Fatima.
Dearest of womankind! my only love!
My friend, while all the world is join'd against me.
Ah can my tongue pronounce the thanks I owe,
Can I express in words what here I feel?
[Pointing to his breast.
Ah no, my angel! but forgive Almanzor,
What nature's self refuses to allow him.

Fat.
I know, my love, how strong is thy affection;
But this is not a time to talk of love:
The sword of death is hanging o'er our heads
By the most slender hair; delay is fatal,
This fleeting hour, if lost, is lost forever.
See'st thou not yonder how the watch-fires twinkle
Upon the distant tow'rs? perhaps some traitor
Has mark'd us out, and doom'd us to destruction.
Come, let us to the work, that saves thy father
From the assassin, and his throne from Zamor.

Alm.
But, dearest love, what shall Almanzor do,
How can I aid my father in his peril?

Fat.
Follow thy dear Fatima, she will lead thee,
Where thou canst easiest strike the happy blow.

Alm.
Where is the place?

Fat.
In yonder square the guards
Are drawn in arms before thy father's palace;
Already have they join'd the accursed traitor,
But thou must follow me before those guards!
Yes, though each soldier's sabre be unsheath'd
To drain thy heart's blood; though each spear be ready
To pierce Almanzor's bosom, thou must go
And throw thyself upon their clemency;
Must throw thyself before them, beg, intreat
Their pity on a wretched prince like thee;
Beg them have pity on an aged father;
Beg them by every pray'r and strong entreaty
To save him from the base assassin's dagger:
If they are steel'd to pity, then command them,
In great Abdallah's name, to ground their arms:
Tell them, thou art their prince; that thou hast led them
Even to the deadliest breach, and when destruction
Was yawning round, hast fearlessly exclaim'd,
“Onward, my soldiers, for the brave will conquer”.
If this will not avail, address their pride;
Tell them of all the victories they have won,
Tell them of all the glory that surrounds them,
Tell them how fair and spotless is their fame;
And then remind them of the deed they do:
Remind them of their treason, which forever
Will shroud their brightest fame in infamy;
Tell them succeeding ages will exclaim,
“These men were brave, undaunted in the field
And first and foremost in the ranks of battle,
But they were traitors, mean and dastard traitors!”
If they are deaf to this, present thy bosom
And bid them stab thy heart.

Alm.
Angelic woman!
Almanzor will most willingly obey thee.

Fat.
Then let us hasten, hear'st thou not that sound?
That is the signal for the work of death.

SCENE II.

Zamor,
Solus.
This is the road that leads me to revenge!
Here I will strike the final, fatal blow,
Here I will end my hatred,—vengeance now
Shall drink her fill, and be appeas'd. Abdallah!
Little thou think'st what treason lurks around thee,
Little thou know'st the blow, that I am aiming
Against thy life; oh! I shall be successful;
I read it plainly in my prosperous fortune;
I read it in the darkness of this hour,
So friendly to the murderer and assassin:
This is the hour, when sin is all awake
And active, this the time for blood and vengeance;
Now I can strike the deadly blow securely,
Now nothing stays me from my dark revenge.
Why should I fear then?—at the darkest midnight,
When all was still around, I've heard the lion
Pacing with silent step the desert sands
To seize his prey—have heard the serpent hiss
Close by my ear, and yet, I have not startled;
Ev'n in the midnight tempest, when the sound
Was one continual roar, the sky one flash,
And every soldier's spear was tipt with lightning,
I've stood unmov'd, nor felt one fibre quiver.
And shall I, in this hour when all is still
And dark, when all the army waits to aid me,
Shall I now tremble? hark! but conscience whispers,
“Has not Abdallah been thy friend and patron,
Did he not raise thee from the ranks and make thee
A prince; and canst thou now destroy his life?”
Conscience, thy plea is vain; indeed he rais'd me
From poverty to fortune, but 'twas all
To heap disgrace upon my head; by heav'n!
I'd rather always be a worm and crawl
Beneath Abdallah's foot, than thus be rais'd
To glory, but to meet this foul disgrace:
It was no kindness, no! but it was cruel,
Thus to torment me; I will be reveng'd!
Abdallah! help thee if thou canst; by Alla!
I'll make this poniard pierce thy very heart.
But do I hesitate? No, vengeance! vengeance!
Inspirit me to do the bloody deed:
Remember my disgrace; revenge! revenge!
On, on, and put the tyrant to the sword.

SCENE III.

Zethan and the guards drawn up.
Zeth.
Soldiers! let every man of you be ready
To aid the hero in his enterprize;
Prepare your sabres for an instant action,
Should fate demand it, strike the blow with vigour,
'Tis the last blow of victory or death.

[Enter Almanzor.]
All.
Almanzor!

Alm.
Yes, Almanzor comes before you,
And begs you to secure him from destruction.
Yes, I entreat you, guards, by all that heav'n
Or earth contains, to aid me 'gainst the traitor.

All.
No aid for thee! already we've decided.

Alm.
Is this your kindness, soldiers! to your prince,
To one, who long has been your benefactor,
By whom the choicest gifts have been bestow'd
In rich profusion on your thankless heads?
Can you not pity one, who pitied you?
Can you rebel against your king and master,
And with such deeds as this repay his kindness?
How will you feel to see me mangled, butcher'd
And weltering in my gore? will no compunction
Harass your bosoms, will the sight be pleasant,
Or will you weep to see Almanzor's corpse?

Zeth.
Whine on, thou boy; think'st thou we've hearts like women?

Alm.
Know I'm thy prince! Know I am great Almanzor!
Treat not Granada's prince with such disdain;
I bid you ground your arms and learn submission.

Zeth.
Thinkst thou we listen to such idle words?

Alm.
Remember I have often been your leader,
Think of the deeds of valour we have done,
When hand in hand we fought our country's foes.
And shall my valour be forgotten quite,
Can't it at least excite your admiration?
What is in Zamor more than in Almanzor?
He's brave and so am I; he fears not death,
Nor shall Almanzor ever start at dying.
But is he not the son of fickle fortune,
Blown by the sudden breath of prosperous deeds
To all his glory, while I am a prince,
From a long line of brave and glorious kings,
Nobly descended?

Zeth.
Talk no more of that!
What care we for the splendour of a crown;
It is the valorous soul, that makes one noble.

Alm.
Soldiers! remember well the sack of Murcia!
Think how we mounted o'er that horrid breach,
Where every shape of death was visible!
Did you behold me tremble? did you mark
The slightest perturbation in my features?
And when the Spaniards, in their latest fury
Of desperation, rous'd their utmost strength
And drove it full against our band of heroes,
When every man of you shrunk back with fear,
Did I then yield an inch? no, tho' the bravest
Then shook like cowards, I withstood the foe,
And by my firmness gain'd that glorious day.
Look at me and admire your valiant leader!
Him, who was fearless, when you all were cowards,
And learn to be submissive to his word.

All.
Remove him from our sight! he'll change our purpose.

Alm.
I'll never leave this place, till I prevail.
No, traitors, you shall never pass this limit,
But o'er my corpse. Oh! are you not asham'd
Of this vile treason? shall your well-earn'd fame
Be darken'd by such hellish deeds as this?
Spurn, spurn the traitor, who would shroud your glory
In treason, rise superior to his pow'r
And show the world the brave are ever faithful.

All.
Leave us! nor longer shake our fix'd design.

Alm.
No, I will never leave you till I die,
You ne'er shall drive me from this point, till death
Has clos'd my eyes forever: can you think,
Base rebels! that I tremble at your sabres?
I fear not death! come on with all your rage,
I stand a rock unmov'd amid your fury;
Here is my bosom, 'tis Almanzor's bosom,
Let him, who chooses, pierce it to the heart.

All.
This is too much; no, we will never harm thee.
Hail to the Prince, the noble, brave Almanzor;
Death to the traitor, who would make us rebels
And shade our fame with an eternal gloom.

SCENE IV.

Abdallah,
Solus.
Avaunt! thou vision, from my tortur'd brain
And rack my soul no more; canst thou not leave me
One short repose, or wilt thou always sting me?
Ah there thou standst all crimson'd o'er with blood!
There is the wound, this cruel hand inflicted,
Gaping within thy breast! why lookst thou so
Relentless on a wretched, childless father?
Oh leave me now, let me enjoy repose.
No, never! furies haunt this feverish brain
And goad me on to madness; gracious heav'n!
Have mercy on my agonizing heart.
Alzira! art thou come again to sting me?
Why standst thou there so ghastly and so pale,
Why point'st thou to that dark and deathly wound?
But dearest child, could I destroy thy life,
Thou, who wert once the best of earth-born daughters,
Who lov'd me once so fondly? have compassion,
I pray thee, on thy miserable parent,
Oh soften down that stern relentless brow
And give me but one smile; no! thou canst never
Pardon that cruel, hell-inspired murder.
But hast thou in thy hand that bloody dagger,
By which I slew thee? ah I see the drops
Trickle along its blade! oh give it me
And let it pierce my heart! my dear Alzira,
So lovely once, so merciful and kind,
Grant me but this request and let me lay
My aged head in thy untimely tomb.
Ah no, thou frown'st! the angel of despair
To poor Abdallah; why that darken'd brow
And fiercely flashing eye? Say, have thy charms
Been alter'd to a fiend's unhallow'd features?
Why look'st thou now so wild? why dost thou beckon?
Ah whither would'st thou lead thy wretched father?

Zamor.
To hell, thou murdering king!

[who had previously appeared at the door and listened to Abdallah.]
Abd.
Child of my heart!
Is that thy voice, or is it but a dream?
Oh what a horror thrills along my brain!
But it was more than phantasy, 'twas real;
I heard a voice, oh 'twas an awful sound.
But there she comes again, frowning and gloomy,
Ah see, she shakes the crimson, gory dagger
And beckons me to follow. Oh Alzira!
Where would'st thou lead thy parent now?

Zamor.
To hell!
[Then rushes on the stage.
Prepare to die, thou murderer of thy daughter,
This instant! well may visions haunt thy brain
And goad thee on to madness; but look up!
Here's no ideal dagger, here's no vision,
That glares before thy sight, but here is steel,
Sharp, vengeful steel, that soon will drink thy blood.

Abd.
Oh art thou Zamor, or some vile assassin?

Zamor.
Yes, I am Zamor, once thy mighty hero,
The stay and prop of thy dissolving throne.
Look at me, gray-hair'd ingrate, and remember
How thou didst break my sword! could'st thou suppose,
That I would pardon thee that foul disgrace?
No, vengeance is too sweet to be forgotten.

Abd.
Zamor, wert thou not once a faithful prince,
Hast thou not promis'd to forget that deed,
The unhappy deed, I did through ignorance,
As thou didst own to me?

Zamor.
I pardon thee!
Let heaven and hell unite in fond affection,
Before I pardon or forget an injury.
Little thou know'st the spirit of a Moor,
To trust in one, who promises forgiveness,
No! thou must die, that I may be reveng'd!

Abd.
Die by the hands of such a wretch as thou?

Zamor.
Yes, even by Zamor's hand thou now must die.

Abd.
Alzira, shield the bosom of thy father!

Zamor.
Call to the winds for aid! Alzira's dead,
And murder'd by that cruel hand of thine.

Abd.
Oh, wretched monarch! murderer of my daughter.
Almanzor! oh my son!

Zamor.
Call to the winds!
They'll hear thee sooner than thy son Almanzor;
His corpse is welt'ring on yon field of battle,
And know, my sabre clove his skull in twain.

Abd.
Thou slew'st Almanzor! Oh, thou child of hell!
Save me, my guards, from such a barbarous monster!

Zamor.
Call, call again! thy guards have all deserted,
And flock'd around my standard. Take thy sceptre
And costly crown! can they defend thee now,
Ah! can they ward away this deadly blow?

[Prepares to strike.
Abd.
This is the consummation of my woes!
My wife is dead; Alzira lost and guilty,
And murder'd by my hand.

Zamor.
Alzira's innocent,
She's innocent and spotless as an angel;
The thing I told thee was a lie of mine,
To drive thee on to be her murderer.

Abd.
Satan, art thou incarnate

Zamor.
If thou think'st so,
'Tis all the same to me: so take this dagger,
[Stabs him.
And ne'er forget, 'tis dangerous and dreadful
To rouse the insatiate fury of a tiger.

Abd.
Ah, this is my reward for all my kindness!
I nurs'd thee, and thou now hast been a scorpion,
And stung me to the heart.

Zamor.
And thou didst rouse
[Abdallah dies.
That scorpion's fury by thy proud injustice.

[Fatima enters.
Fat.
Villain! hast thou destroy'd him? 'tis too late,
Oh, 'tis too late to save my dearest king.

Zamor.
Stand off, thou feeble woman, nor insult me;
Provoke me not or thou shalt feel my vengeance.

Fat.
Strike, monster! if thou pleasest, kill me now,
And let me die beside my honour'd king.

Zamor.
I kill a woman, I who oft have slaughter'd
Whole troops of enemies; say, shall my dagger
Be stain'd by such unmanly blood as thine?

Fat.
Hero! great as thou art, thou now canst lift
Thy dagger 'gainst the breast of helpless age,
Can'st slay the fetter'd pris'ner in his dungeon,
And stab the sleeping monarch on his couch.

Zamor.
Insult me not, thou worm! rouse not my wrath,
Or I will bid the assassin pierce thy heart.

Fat.
Pierce it thyself, thou art the chief assassin!
Pierce it thyself! thou bloody, lurking coward!
'Tis the last bosom, thou shalt ever wound.

Zamor.
Desist! canst thou believe I'd stab a woman?
No, greater deeds than that await me now.

Fat.
Go! go to death! destruction yawns around thee,
Exult in thy success, but ere the sun
Has lighted up again the vault of heaven,
Thy corpse shall be the prey of dogs and vultures,
Thy name the hiss and obloquy of all.

Zamor.
Cease! cease thy croakings, nor disturb me more.

[Exit.
Fat.
There he has gone to triumph and to die.
Little he knows the dark and dreadful tempest,
That threatens sudden to o'erwhelm his fortunes;
But he must shout a moment and then fall,
Fall to be hated and despis'd forever.
Oft have I look'd upon that splendid hero;
Oft have I seen him hail'd by all the nation,
Their brave and noble saviour; fortune wove
A wreath of stars to circle round his brow,
And glory mark'd him for her brightest son:
But pride and mad ambition, urg'd him on
To deeds of cruelty, of perfidy
And blackest guilt; these darken'd his renown
And blasted all the honours of his name.
[Addressing Abdallah's corpse.
But thou shalt live, tho' murder'd by the hand,
Thou nurs'd so tenderly; yes, thou shalt live
Secure within the memories of thy people,
And thou shalt be reveng'd! for now, even now,
Almanzor's sword is lifted 'gainst the wretch,
The ungrateful wretch, who dar'd destroy thy life.

SCENE V.

OFFICERS.
Zamor.
[Rushing on with a bloody dagger.
The deed is done!

All.
All hail the hero Zamor.

Zamor.
The deed is done! Soldiers, the proud Abdallah
Now welters in his gore; come and receive
Your freedom from my hands; I've slain the tyrant,
This good right hand has done the noble deed;
Ibrahim, I tell thee it was nobly done.

Ibrah.
My Lord! Granada now should ring with joy.
Abdallah, he who ground us to the dust,
Whom every soldier, every citizen,
Hated with all their souls, Abdallah's dead!
And thou shalt take his place. Long live our King!

All.
Long live the noble, valiant hero, Zamor!

Zamor.
My friends in arms, accept my warmest thanks
For your good will thus strongly manifested;
Believe me, all my life and all my strength
Has always, and will ever be devoted
To you alone; I've fought, I've bled, I've conquer'd,
For you, my soldiers, you, my dearest people:
Should you demand it, I resign my life
To make you happy, and I take this sceptre,
Not for my own advantage, (I had rather
Be but a soldier, than the greatest monarch,)
But for the people's: Here my faithful Ibrahim,
Be next to me! Alhouran, take this sword
And lead my brave ten thousand! valiant Omar,
To you I give in charge the city walls.
Come here, my friends! let's mount to pow'r together!
Let's show the world the greatness of our souls.

Ibrah.
My Lord! this day we break the people's fetters
And ope the prison's dark and dreary dungeons.

Zamor.
Yes, lead them forth, let them enjoy their freedom.
Ibrahim, my boy! 'twill make us popular,
[Aside to Ibrahim.
And serve to bind their chains more close around them.

[Almanzor rushes on with a drawn sword, and exclaims,]
Die! worst of miscreants, die!

Zamor.
The spirit of Almanzor! help me, Mahomet!

Alm.
Help thee, thou wretch! he'll help thee to thy grave.

[They fight, and Almanzor disarms Zamor.]
Zamor.
Spare me! Oh, spare me, but one scanty moment!

Alm.
Spare thee! thou hard unfeeling tyrant! never!
Thou hadst no mercy, I'll have none for thee;
Die! traitor, die! and live with fiends forever.
[Stabs him.—Turning to the Officers.
Were you, with Zamor, traitors 'gainst my father!

Officers.
We were, my lord, but canst thou not forgive us?

Alm.
Yes, I forgive; from Zamor take example,
From that vile wretch, who dar'd attempt my life,
And stab me in the very hour of victory!
But heaven prevented him and staid his hand;
He wounded me, but still I live.

Ibrah.
Almanzor!
Say art thou not a spirit sent to punish
Our daring treason? oh, have mercy on us!

Alm.
Thy conscience stings thee, traitor! yes, thou tremblest
At shadows; fear me then, who am a man.
I tell thee, Ibrahim, I am no spirit;
Almanzor lives, Almanzor stands before thee,
The same, who fought so bravely in the field,
The same, who led his soldiers on to victory.
Repent and be submissive, I have power
And will exert it 'gainst the stubborn traitor.
The army, which you fondly hop'd would aid you
In all your dark designs, is loyal still;
You have no stay, they all exclaim unceasing,
“Long live Almanzor! death to guilty Zamor.”
Where is your hope, even if I am a man?
Where can you cling? Oh, Ibrahim! it is madness
To stand one moment longer 'gainst my power.
Submit, and I'll forgive your daring crimes,
Oppose me, you shall feel my burning vengeance!

[Enter Amru accompanied by Guards, Soldiers, &c.]
Amru.
Almanzor, hast thou then subdued the traitor,
And conquer'd by thy valiant arm alone?
Oh, I could pour my very soul before thee
In songs of highest joy and exultation.
Shall I proclaim thee monarch of Granada,
And bid these soldiers hail thee as their king?
Hail, king Almanzor.

Soldiers.
Hail, our noble king.

Alm.
This is the best reward I can enjoy.
Oh, gracious heaven! to thee I render up
My heart and soul, for thou hast sav'd my life
And throne—but oh, my father!

Amru.
Oh, Almanzor,
Comfort thyself, thy father rests in peace,
And sweetly sleeps beyond the reach of harm.

Alm.
Now let us offer to the God of heaven
Our warmest thanks, and humbly bow before him;
And let us know, ruin and death await
The ambitious wretch, who dares o'erturn a state.