University of Virginia Library

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.