 | Elvira |  |
SCENE I.
ALONZO, ALMEYDA.ALONZO.
No more, Almeyda.
ALMEYDA.
Then, I hop'd in vain
To touch a King, in whom my heart reveres
A second father? Yet, a while delay
This promis'd union of your son and me,
Till he himself with fond impatience chides
The tardy hours, and presses to be mine.
It most becomes us both.
ALONZO.
It suits at least
The conscious pride that dignifies your sex.
More nicely fram'd, more delicately coy,
Than grosser man, such chaste reserve, that spreads
New brightness o'er your charms, exalts them too.
Complaint, on such a theme, would ill beseem
A virgin's mouth. I know it: and the less
You urge my promise, a King's honor given
Exacts, with stricter care, its full performance.
My orders are already sent.
ALMEYDA.
O Sir,
If my true cares, by all a daughter's duty,
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Alonzo's least regard; and if amidst
A kingdom's high concerns, you deign a thought
On what may stain Almeyda's life with shame,
Or make it bright and happy! yet recall
Those orders: yet suspend—
ALONZO.
Your words amaze me!
I, in my turn, am left in equal doubt;
Nor know I what this strange reluctance means.
My son! Don Pedro!—is he to your thoughts
An object of such horror? Why this dread
Of calling me your father? Must I think
Contempt of him—
ALMEYDA.
Contempt? Alas, my Lord,
Could he deserve it, did my reason judge him
Less worthy of the blood from whence he springs;
I then—O Sir!—I then might wait his pleasure,
With less emotion trembling at this heart.
To you I dare disclose its inmost weakness,
Tho shame arises blushing to forbid me—
Then know—because I love—I dread his answer!
Yes, from the moment I beheld him first,
A sudden softness, to myself unknown,
Sprung in my bosom; charm'd at once and pain'd me
With all the mingled war of love and doubt:
And gave me soon—alas! too soon to know,
Almeyda's future fate was in his power!
And—if I miss'd his heart—
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Proceed, fair Princess.
The blush that reddens there is Virtue's color:
Her chaste hand spreads it. But proceed unmov'd:
And be assur'd a parent's kindest ear
Is open to your tale.
ALMEYDA.
I need not say
How, with his rising fame, my passion grew.
'Twas glory fed it: and each added conquest,
Like heaven's kind dew upon th'unfolding rose,
Nurs'd the new blossom into strength and beauty.
But, more unhappy as more fondly his,
The cold that hangs on his constrain'd address
Is winter here, and withers all my hopes!
Hence grows, my Lord, the backwardness you blame:
Permit it to my sex, till ripening time
Shall warm his bosom into mutual softness.
ALONZO.
Daughter!—for that dear name is justly due
To such exalted openness of heart,
True Honor's fair companion—trust to me;
Rely on all a father's love. I feel,
Yes, feel already every soft emotion
These tender names convey. Let not a dream,
A distant doubt of ills impossible
Alarm that gentle bosom. No, Almeyda!
When you shall learn, as instantly you may,
Not his obedience only, but his love,
Your fears will fly before them.
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