University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

ZARA and SELIMA.
SELIMA.
It moves my Wonder, young, and beauteous Zara,
Whence these new Sentiments inspire your Heart!
Your Peace of Mind increases with your Charms;
Tears, now, no longer shade your Eyes' soft Lustre:
You meditate, no more, those happy Climes,
To which Nerestan will return to guide you:
You talk no more of that gay Nation, now,
Where Men adore their Wives, and Woman's Power
Draws Rev'rence from a polish'd People's Softness:
Their Husbands' Equals; and their Lovers' Queens
Free, without Scandal; wise, without Restraint;
Their Vertue, due to Nature, not to Fear!
Why have you ceas'd to wish this happy Change?
A barr'd Seraglio!—sad, unsocial Life!
Scorn'd, and a Slave! All this has lost its Terror;
And Syria rivals, now, the Banks of Seine!

ZARA.
Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish;
My Fate's bound in, by Sion's sacred Wall;
Clos'd, from my Infancy, within this Palace,
Custom has learnt, from Time, the Power to please:
I claim no Share in the remoter World,
The Sultan's Property, his Will my Law;
Unknowing All, but Him, his Power, his Fame;
To live his Subject, is my only Hope,
All, else, an empty Dream.—

SELIMA.
Have you forgot
Absent Nerestan then? whose gen'rous Friendship,
So nobly vow'd Redemption from your Chains!
How oft have you admir'd his dauntless Soul!
Osman, his Conqu'ror, by his Courage, charm'd,
Trusted his Faith, and, on his Word, releas'd him:
Tho' not return'd, in Time—we, yet, expect Him.
Nor had his Noble Journey other Motive,
Than to procure our Ransom;—And is this,
This dear, warm, Hope—become an idle Dream?

ZARA.
Since, after two long Years, he not returns,
'Tis plain, his Promise stretch'd beyond his Power:
A Stranger, and a Slave, unknown, like him,
Proposing much, means Little;—Talks, and vows,
Delighted with a Prospect of Escape:—
He promis'd to redeem Ten Christians more,
And free us All, from Slavery!—I own,
I once admir'd th'unprofitable Zeal,
But, now, it charms no longer.—

SELIMA.
What! if yet,
He, faithful, shou'd return, and hold his Vow!
Wou'd you not, then—

ZARA.
No matter—Time is past;
And every Thing is chang'd—

SELIMA.
But, whence comes This?

ZARA.
Go—'twere too much, to tell thee Zara's Fate;
The Sultan's Secrets, all, are sacred, here:
But my fond Heart delights to mix with Thine.—
Some Three Months past, when thou, and other Slaves,
Were forc'd to quit fair Jordan's flow'ry Bank;
Heaven, to cut short the Anguish of my Days,
Rais'd me, to Comfort, by a powerful Hand!
This mighty Osman!

SELIMA.
What of Him?

ZARA.
This Sultan!
This Conqu'ror of the Christians! loves—

SELIMA.
Whom?

ZARA.
Zara!—
Thou blushest, and I guess, thy Thoughts accuse me;
But, know me better—'twas unjust Suspicion:
All Emperor, as he is, I cannot stoop
To Honours, that bring Shame and Baseness with 'em.
Reason, and Pride, those Props of Modesty,
Sustain my guarded Heart, and strengthen Vertue;
Rather than sink to Infamy, let Chains
Embrace me, with a Joy, such Love denies:
No—I shall, now, astonish thee;—His Greatness
Submits, to own a pure, and honest Flame;
Among the shining Crowds, which live, to please him,
His whole Regard is fix'd on Me, alone:
He offers Marriage—and its Rites, now, wait,
To crown me Empress of this Eastern World.

SELIMA.
Your Vertue, and your Charms, deserve it All:
My Heart is not surpriz'd, but struck, to hear it;
If, to be Empress, can compleat your Happiness,
I rank myself, with Joy, among your Slaves.

ZARA.
Be, still, my Equal—and enjoy my Blessings:
For, Thou partaking, they will bless Me more.

SELIMA.
Alas! but Heaven! will it permit this Marriage?
Will not this Grandeur, falsely, call'd a Bliss,
Plant Bitterness, and root it, in your Heart?
Have you forgot, you are of Christian Blood?

ZARA.
Ah me! what hast thou said? Why wou'dst thou, thus,
Recall my wav'ring Thoughts?—How know I, what,
Or whence I am? Heaven kept it, hid, in Darkness,
Conceal'd me from myself, and from my Blood.

SELIMA.
Nerestan, who was born a Christian, here,
Asserts, that You, like Him, had Christian Parents;
Besides—That Cross, which, from your Infant Years,
Has been preserv'd, was found upon your Bosom,
As if design'd, by Heaven, a Pledge of Faith,
Due to the God you purpose to forsake!

ZARA.
Can my fond Heart, on such a feeble Proof,
Embrace a Faith, abhorr'd by him I love?
I see, too plainly, Custom forms us All;
Our Thoughts, our Morals, our most fix'd Belief,
Are Consequences of our Place of Birth:
Born beyond Ganges, I had been a Pagan;
In France, a Christian;—I am, here, a Saracen:
'Tis but Instruction, all! Our Parents' Hand
Writes, on our Heart, the first, faint Characters,
Which Time, re-tracing, deepens into Strength,
That nothing can efface, but Death, or Heaven!—
Thou wert not made a Pris'ner in this Place,
Till, after Reason, borrowing Force from Years,
Had lent its Lustre, to enlighten Faith:—
For me, who, in my Cradle was their Slave,
Thy Christian Doctrines were, too lately, taught me;
Yet, far from having lost the Rev'rence due,
This Cross, as often as it meets my Eye,
Strikes thro' my Heart a kind of awful Fear!
I honour, from my Soul, the Christian Laws,
Those Laws, which, soft'ning Nature, by Humanity,
Melt Nations into Brotherhood;—no doubt,
Christians are happy; and, 'tis just to love 'em.

SELIMA.
Why have you, then, declar'd yourself their Foe?
Why will you join your Hand, with this proud Osman's?
Who owes his Triumphs to the Christians' Ruin!

ZARA.
Ah!—Who cou'd slight the Offer of his Heart?
Nay—for I mean to tell thee all my Weakness;
Perhaps, I had, ere now, profess'd Thy Faith,
But Osman lov'd me—and I've lost it All:—
I think, on none, but Osman—my pleas'd Heart,
Fill'd with the Blessing, to be lov'd, by Him,
Wants Room for other Happiness:—Place thou,
Before thy Eyes, his Merit, and his Fame,
His Youth, yet, blooming but in Manhood's Dawn!
How many conquer'd Kings have swell'd his Pow'r!
Think, too, how lovely! how his Brow becomes
This Wreath of early Glories!—Oh! my Friend!
I talk not of the Scepter, which he gives me:—
No—to be charm'd with That, were Thanks, too humble!
Offensive Tribute, and, too poor, for Love!
'Twas Osman, won my Heart, not Osman's Crown:
I love not, in Him, aught, besides Himself.
Thou think'st, perhaps, that these are Starts of Passion;
But, had the Will of Heav'n, less bent to bless him,
Doom'd Osman to my Chains, and Me, to fill
The Throne, that Osman sits on—Ruin and Wretchedness,
Catch, and consume, my Wishes, but I wou'd—
To raise me, to my self, descend, to Him.

SELIMA.
I hear, methinks, his Step—'Tis he—he comes—
[Exit Selima.

Zara.
My Heart prevented him, and found him near;
Absent, two whole long Days, the slow-pac'd Hour,
At last, is come—and gives him, to my Wishes!

Enter Osman, reading a Paper, which he re-delivers to Orasmin.
OSMAN.
Wait my Return—or, shou'd there be a Cause,
That may require my Presence—do not fear
To enter—ever mindful, that my Own
[Exit Orasmin.
Follows my People's, Happiness.—At length,
Cares have releas'd my Heart—to Love, and Zara.

ZARA.
'Twas not in cruel Absence, to deprive me
Of your Imperial Image—every where,
You reign, triumphant: Memory supplies
Reflexion, with your Pow'r; and you, like Heaven,
Are, always present—and are, always gracious.

OSMAN.
The Sultans, my great Ancestors, bequeath'd
Their Empire to me, but their Taste they gave not;
Their Laws, their Lives, their Loves, delight not me:
I know, our Prophet smiles, on am'rous Wishes;
And opens a wide Field, to vast Desire:
I know, that, at my Will, I might possess;
That, wasting Tenderness, in wild Profusion,
I might look down, to my surrounded Feet,
And bless contending Beauties.—I might speak,
Serenely slothful, from within my Palace,
And bid my Pleasure be my People's Law.
But, sweet, as Softness is, its End is cruel;
I can look round, and count a Hundred Kings,
Unconquer'd, by themselves, and Slaves to others:
Hence was Jerusalem, to Christians, lost;
But Heaven, to blast that unbelieving Race,
Taught me, to be a King, by thinking like one.
Hence, from the distant Euxine, to the Nile,
The Trumpet's Voice has wak'd the World to War;
Yet, amidst Arms, and Death, thy Power has reach'd me:
For, thou disdain'st, like me, a languid Love;
Glory, and Zara, join—and charm, together.

ZARA.
I hear, at once, with Blushes, and, with Joy,
This Passion, so unlike your Country's Customs.

OSMAN.
Passion, like mine, disdains my Country's Customs,
The Jealousy, the Faintness, the Distrust,
The proud, superior, Coldness, of the East:
I know to love you, Zara, with Esteem;
To trust your Vertue, and to court your Soul.
Nobly confiding, I unveil my Heart,
And dare inform you, that, 'tis All your own:
My Joys must, All, be yours—only my Cares
Shall lie, conceal'd, within—and reach not Zara.

ZARA.
Oblig'd, by this Excess of Tenderness,
How low, how wretched, was the Lot of Zara!
Too poor, with aught, but Thanks, to pay such Blessings!

OSMAN.
Not so—I love—and wou'd be lov'd, again;
Let me confess it, I possess a Soul,
That wishes, all, it wishes, ardently.
I shou'd believe, you hated, had you Power
To love, with Moderation: 'Tis my Aim,
In every Thing, to reach supreme Perfection.
If, with an equal Flame, I touch your Heart,
Marriage attends your Smile—but know, 'twill make
Me wretched, if it makes not Zara happy.

ZARA.
Ah! Sir, if such a Heart, as gen'rous Osman's,
Can, from my Will, submit to take its Bliss,
What Mortal, ever, was decreed so happy!
Pardon the Pride, with which I own my Joy;
Thus, wholly, to possess the Man, I love!
To know, and to confess, his Will my Fate!
To be the happy Work of his dear Hands!
To be—

Enter Orasmin.
OSMAN.
Already interrupted! What?
Who?—Whence?

ORASMIN.
This Moment, Sir, there is arriv'd
That Christian Slave, who, licens'd, on his Faith,
Went hence, to France—and, now return'd, prays Audience.

ZARA.
[Aside.]
O! Heaven!

OSMAN.
Admit him—What?—Why comes he not?—

ORASMIN.
He waits, without;—No Christian dares approach
This Place, long sacred to the Sultan's Privacies.

OSMAN.
Go—bring him with thee—Monarchs, like the Sun,
Shine but in vain, unwarming, if unseen:
With Forms, and Rev'rence, let the Great approach us,
Not the Unhappy;—Every Place, alike,
Gives the Distress'd a Privilege to enter.—
[Exit Orasmin.
I think, with Horror, on these dreadful Maxims,
Which harden Kings, insensibly, to Tyrants.

Re-enter Orasmin, with Nerestan.
NERESTAN.
Imperial Sultan! honour'd, ev'n by Foes!
See me, return'd, regardful of my Vow,
And, punctual, to discharge a Christian's Duty:
I bring the Ransom of the Captive, Zara,
Fair Selina, the Partner of her Fortune,
And of Ten Christian Captives, Pris'ners, here.
You promis'd, Sultan, if I shou'd return,
To grant their rated Liberty:—Behold,
I am return'd, and they are yours, no more.
I wou'd have stretch'd my Purpose, to Myself,
But Fortune has deny'd it;—My poor All
Suffic'd, no further; and a noble Poverty
Is, now, my whole Possession:—I redeem
The promis'd Christians; for I taught 'em Hope.
But, for myself, I come, again, your Slave,
To wait the fuller Hand of future Charity.

OSMAN.
Christian! I must confess, thy Courage charms me;
But let thy Pride be taught, it treads too high,
When it presumes to climb, above my Mercy.—
Go, ransomless, thy self—and carry back
Their unaccepted Ransoms, join'd with Gifts,
Fit to reward thy Purpose:—Instead of Ten,
Demand a Hundred Christians; they are thine:
Take 'em—and bid 'em teach their haughty Country,
They left some Virtue, among Saracens.—
Be Lusignan, alone, excepted—He,
Who boasts the Blood of Kings, and dares lay Claim
To My Jerusalem—That Claim his Guilt!
Such is the Law of States, had I been vanquish'd,
Thus had He said, of Me:—I mourn his Lot,
Who must, in Fetters, lost to Day-light, pine,
And sigh away old Age, in Grief, and Pain.—
For Zara—but to name her, as a Captive,
Were to dishonour Language;—she's a Prize,
Above thy Purchase;—All the Christian Realms,
With all their Kings to guide 'em, wou'd unite
In vain, to force her from me.—Go, retire—

NERESTAN.
For Zara's Ransom, with her own Consent,
I had your Royal Word—For Lusignan—
Unhappy, poor, old Man—

OSMAN.
Was I not heard?
Have I not told thee, Christian, all my Will?
What, if I prais'd thee!—This presumptuous Virtue,
Compelling my Esteem, provokes my Pride:
Be gone—and, when to-morrow's Sun shall rise
On my Dominions, be not found—too near me.

[Exit Nerestan.
ZARA.
[Aside.]
Assist him, Heaven!

OSMAN.
Zara, retire, a Moment—
Assume, throughout my Palace, Sovereign Empire,
While I give Orders, to prepare the Pomp,
That waits, to crown the Mistress of my Throne:
[Leads her out, and returns.
Orasmin! didst thou mark th'imperious Slave?
What cou'd he mean?—he sigh'd—and, as he went,
Turn'd, and look'd back at Zara!—did'st thou mark it?

ORASMIN.
Alas! my Sovereign Master! let not Jealousy
Strike high enough, to reach your noble Heart.

OSMAN.
Jealousy, said'st thou? I disdain it:—No!—
Distrust is poor; and a misplac'd Suspicion
Invites, and justifies, the Falshood fear'd.—
Yet, as I love with Warmth—So, I cou'd hate!
But, Zara, is above Disguise, and Art:—
My Love is stronger, nobler, than my Power.
Jealous!—I was not jealous—If I was,
I am not—no—my Heart—but, let us drown
Remembrance of the Word, and of the Image:
My Heart is fill'd with a diviner Flame.—
Go—and prepare for the approaching Nuptials;
Zara to careful Empire joins Delight.
I must allot one Hour to Thoughts of State,
Then, all the smiling Day is Love, and Zara's.
[Exit Orasmin.
Monarchs, by Forms of pompous Misery, press'd,
In proud, unsocial, Solitude, unbless'd,
Wou'd, but for Love's soft Influence, curse their Throne,
And, among crowded Millions, live, alone.