University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Zaphira and female Slaves discover'd.
Zaphira.
Enter Othman.

Othman.
Has then the fatal Story reach'd thine Ear?
Inhuman Tyrant!

Zaphira.
Strike him, Heav'n with Thunder!
Nor let Zaphira doubt thy Providence.

Othman.
'Twas what we fear'd. Accuse not Heav'n's high Will,
Nor struggle with the ten-fold Chain of Fate,
That links thee to thy Woes! O, rather yield,
And wait the happier Hour, when Innocence
Shall weep no more. Rest in that pleasing Hope,
And yield thyself to Heav'n.—My honor'd Queen,
The King—

Zaphira.
Whom stil'st thou King?

Othman.
'Tis Barbarossa.
He means to see thee—

Zaphira.
Curses blast the Tyrant!
Does he assume the Name of King?

Othman.
He does.

Zaphira.
O Title vilely purchas'd! by the Blood
Of Innocence! By Treachr'y and Murder!
May Heav'n incens'd pour down its Vengeance on him;
Blast all his Joys, and turn them into Horror;
Till Phrenzy rise, and bid him curse the Hour
That gave his Crimes their Birth! My faithful Othman,
My sole surviving Prop! Can'st thou devise
No secret Means, by which I may escape
This hated Palace! with undaunted Step
I'd roam the Waste, to reach my Father's Vales
Of dear Mutija!—Can no means be found,
To fly these black'ning Horrors that surround me?

Othman.
That Hope is vain! The Tyrant knows thy Hate.
Hence, Day and Night, his watchful Guards surround thee,
Impenetrable as Walls of Adamant.
Curb then thy mighty Griefs: Justice and Truth
He mocks as Shadows: Rouse not then, his Anger:
Let soft Persuasion and mild Eloquence,
Redeem that Liberty, which stern Rebuke
Wou'd rob thee of for ever.

Zaphira.
Cruel Task!
For Royalty to bow,—an injur'd Queen
To kneel for Liberty! And, Oh! to whom!
Ev'n to the Murd'rer of her Lord and Son!
O perish first, Zaphira! Yes, I'll die!
For what is Life to me! My dear, dear Lord!
My hapless Child! Yes, I will follow you.

Othman.
Wilt thou not see him, then?

Zaphira.
I will not, Othman.
Or if I do, with bitter Imprecation,
More keen than Poison shot from Serpents Tongues,
I'll pour my Curses on him!

Othman.
Will Zaphira
Thus meanly sink in Woman's fruitless Rage,
When she should wake Revenge?

Zaphira.
Revenge?—O tell me—
Tell me but how! what can a helpless Woman!

Othman.
Gain but the Tyrant's leave, and reach thy Father:
Pour thy Complaints before him: Let thy Wrongs
Kindle his Indignation, to pursue
This vile Usurper, till unceasing War
Blast his ill-gotten Pow'r.

Zaphira.
[Rising.
Ah!—say'st thou, Othman?
Thy Words have shot like Lightning through my Frame;
And all my Soul's on Fire!—Thou faithful Friend!
Yes; with more gentle Speech I'll sooth his Pride;
Regain my Freedom; seek my Father's Tents;
There paint my countless Woes. His kindling Rage
Shall wake the Vallies into honest Vengeance:
The sudden Storm shall pour on Barbarossa;
And ev'ry glowing Warrior steep his Shaft
In deadlier Poison, to revenge my Wrongs.

Othman.
There spoke the Queen. But as thou lov'st thy Freedom,
Touch not on Selim's Fate. Thy Soul will kindle,
And Passion mount in Flames that will consume thee.

Zaphira.
My murder'd Son! yes, to revenge thy Death,
I'll speak a Language which my Heart disdains.

Othman.
Peace, Peace! The Tyrant comes: Now, injur'd Queen,
Plead for thy Freedom, hope for just Revenge,
And check each rising Passion!
[Exit Othman.

Enter Barbarossa.
Barbarossa.
Hail, sov'reign Fair! Thrice honor'd Queen! in whom
Beauty and Majesty conspire to charm!
Behold the Conqu'ror, whose deciding Voice
Can speak the Fate of Kingdoms, at thy Feet
Lies conquer'd by thy Pow'r!

Zaphira.
O Barbarossa!
No more the Pride of Conquest e'er can charm
My widow'd Heart! With my departed Lord
My Love lies bury'd! I should meet thy Flame
With sullen Tears, and cold Indifference.
Then turn thee to some happier Fair, whose Heart
May crown thy growing Love, with Love sincere;
For I have none to give!

Barbarossa.
Love ne'er shou'd die:
'Tis the Soul's Cordial: 'Tis the Fount of Life;
Therefore shou'd spring eternal in the Breast.
One Object lost, another shou'd succeed.
And all our Life be Love.

Zaphira.
Urge me no more:—Thou might'st with equal Hope
Woo the cold Marble weeping o'er a Tomb,
To meet thy Wishes! But if gen'rous Love
Dwell in thy Breast, vouchsafe me Proof sincere:
Give me safe Convoy to my native Vales
Of dear Mutija, where my Father reigns.

Barbarossa.
O blind to proffer'd Bliss! what, fondly quit
This lofty Palace, and the envy'd Pomp
Of Empire, for an Arab's wand'ring Tent!
Where the mock Chieftain leads his vagrant Tribes
From Plain to Plain, as Thirst or Famine sways;
Obscurely vain; and faintly shadows out
The Majesty of Kings!—Far other Joys
Here shall attend thy Call: The winged Bark
For thee shall traverse Seas; and ev'ry Clime
Be tributary to Zaphira's Charms.
To Thee, exalted Fair, submissive Realms
Shall bow the Neck; and swarthy Kings and Queens,
From the far-distant Niger and the Nile,
Drawn captive at my conqu'ring Charriot-Wheels,
Shall kneel before thee.

Zaphira.
Pomp and Pow'r are Toys,
Which ev'n the Mind at ease may well disdain.
But, ah! what Mockery is the tinsel Pride
Of Splendor, when by wasting Woes, the Mind
Lies desolate within!—Such, such, is mine!
O'erwhelm'd with Ills, and dead to ev'ry Joy
Envy me not this last Request, to die
In my dear Father's Tents!

Barbarossa.
Thy Suit is vain—

Zaphira.
Thus kneeling, at thy Feet—!

Barbarossa.
Thou thankless Fair!
Thus to repay the Labours of my Love!
Had I not siez'd the Throne when Selim dy'd,
Ere this, thy Foes had laid Algiers in Ruin:
I check'd the warring Pow'rs, and gave you Peace.

Zaphira.
Peace dost thou call it! what can worse be fear'd
From the War's Rage, than Violence and Blood?
Have not unceasing Horrors mark'd thy Reign?
Thro' sev'n long-Years, thy slaught'ring Sword hath reek'd
With guiltless Blood.

Barbarossa.
With guiltless Blood?—Take heed—
Rouse not my slumb'ring Rage: Nor vindicate
Thy Country's Guilt and Treason.

Zaphira.
Where Violence reigns, there Innocence is Guilt,
And Virtue, Treason.—Know, Zaphira scorns
Thy Menace.—Yes,—thy slaught'ring Sword and hath reek'd
With guiltless Blood. Thro' thee, Exile and Death
Have thin'd Algiers. Is this thy boasted Peace?
So might the Tyger boast the Peace he brings
When he o'erleaps by Stealth, and wastes the Fold.

Barbarossa.
Ungrateful Queen! I'll give thee Proof of Love,
Beyond thy Sex's Pride! But make thee mine,
I will descend the Throne, and call thy Son
From Banishment to Empire.

Zaphira.
Oh, my Heart!
Can I bear this!—
Inhuman Tyrant! Curses on thy Head!
May dire Remorse and Anguish haunt thy Throne,
And gender in thy Bosom fell Despair!
Despair as deep as mine!

Barbarossa.
What means Zaphira?
What means this Burst of Grief?

Zaphira.
Thou fell Destroyer!
Had not Guilt steel'd thy Heart, awak'ning Conscience
Wou'd flash Conviction on thee, and each Look,
Shot from these Eyes, be arm'd with Serpent-Horrors,
To turn thee into Stone!—Relentless Man!
Who did the bloody Deed? Oh, tremble Guilt,
Where'er thou art!—Look on me!—Tell me, Tyrant,
Who flew my blameless Son?

Barbarossa.
What envious Tongue,
My Foe, hath dar'd to taint my Name with Slander?
This is the Rumour of some coz'ning Slave,
Who thwarts my Peace. Believe it not, Zaphira.
Thy Selim lives: nay more, he soon shall reign,
If thou consent to bless me.

Zaphira.
Never! Oh, never—Sooner wou'd I roam
An unknown Exile thro' the torrid Climes
Of Afric, sooner dwell with Wolves and Tygers,
Than mount with thee my murder'd Selim's Throne!

Barbarossa.
Rash Queen, forbear! Think on thy Captive-State:
Remember, that within these Palace-Walls,
I am omnipotent: That every Knee
Bends at my dread Approach: That Shame and Honour,
Reward and Punishment, await my Nod,
The Vassals of my Pleasure.—Yield thee then:
Avert the gath'ring Horrors that surround thee,
And dread my Pow'r incens'd.

Zaphira.
Dares thy licentious Tongue pollute mine Ear
With that foul Menace?—Tyrant! Dread'st thou not
Th'all seeing Eye of Heav'n, its lifted Thunder,
And all the red'ning Vengeance which it stores
For Crimes like thine?—Yet know, thy Threats are vain.
Tho' robb'd by thee of ev'ry dear Support;
No Tyrant's Threat can awe the free-born Soul,
That greatly dares to Die.
[Exit Zaphira.

Barbarossa.
Enter Aladin.

Aladin.
What, unconquer'd still?

Barbarossa.
The News of Selim's Fate hath reach'd her Ear.
Whence could this come?

Aladin.
I can resolve thy Doubt.
A female Slave, Attendant on Zaphira,
O'erheard the Messenger who brought the Tale,
And gave it to her Ear.

Barbarossa.
Perdition sieze her!
No Threat can move, nor Promise now allure
Her haughty Soul: Nay, she defies my Pow'r:
And talks of Death, as if her female Form
Inshrin'd some Hero's Spirit.

Aladin.
Let her Rage foam.
I bring thee Tydings that will ease thy Pain.

Barbarossa.
Say'st thou?—Speak on—O give me quick Relief!—

Aladin.
The gallant Youth is come, who slew her Son.

Barbarossa.
Who? Omar!

Aladin.
No: Unhappy Omar fell
By Selim's Hand. But Achmet, whom he join'd
His brave Associate, so the Youth bids tell thee,
Reveng'd his Death by Selim's.

Barbarossa.
Gallant Youth!
Bears he the Signet?

Aladin.
Aye.

Barbarossa.
That speaks him true.—Conduct him, Aladin.
[Exit Aladin.
This is beyond my Hope. The secret Pledge
Restor'd, prevents Suspicion of the Deed,
While it confirms it done.

Enter Achmet and Aladin.
Achmet.
Hail mighty Barbarossa! As the Pledge
[Kneels.
Of Selim's Death, behold thy Ring restor'd:
That Pledge will speak the rest.

Barbarossa.
Rise, valiant Youth!
But first, no more a Slave—I give thee Freedom.
Thou art the Youth whom Omar (now no more)
Join'd his Companion in this brave Attempt?

Achmet.
I am.

Barbarossa.
Then tell me how you sped.—Where found ye
That Insolent!

Achmet.
We found him at Oran,
Plotting deep Mischiefs to thy Throne and People.

Barbarossa.
Well ye repaid the Traitor.—

Achmet.
As we ought.
While Night drew on, we leapt upon our Prey.
Full at his Heart brave Omar aim'd the Poignard,
Which Selim shunning, wrench'd it from his Hand,
Then plung'd it in his Breast. I hasted on.
Too late to save, yet I reveng'd my Friend:
My thirsty Dagger, with repeated Blow,
Search'd ev'ry Artery: They fell together,
Gasping in Folds of mortal Enmity;
And thus in Frowns expir'd.

Barbarossa.
Well hast thou sped.
Thy Dagger did its Office, faithful Achmet;
And high Reward shall wait thee.—One thing more—
Be the Thought fortunate!—Go, seek the Queen.
For know the Rumour of her Selim's Death
Hath reach'd her Ear: Hence dark Suspicions rise,
Squinting at me. Go, tell her, that thou saw'st
Her Son expire; that with his dying Breath,
He did conjure her to receive my Vows,
And give her Country Peace.—That, sure will lull
Suspicion. Aladin, that sure will win her.

Aladin.
'Tis wisely thought.—It must.

Enter Othman.
Barbarossa.
Most welcome, Othman.
Behold this gallant Stranger. He hath done
The State good Service. Let some high Reward
Await him, such as may o'erpay his Zeal.
Conduct him to the Queen; for he hath Tidings
Worthy her Ear, from her departed Son;
Such as may win her Love.—Come, Aladin:
The Banquet waits our Presence: Festal Joy
Laughs in the mantling Goblet; and the Night,
Illumin'd by the Taper's dazzling Beam,
Rivals departed Day.

[Ex. Barb. and Alad.
Achmet.
What anxious Thought
Rowls in thine Eye, and heaves thy lab'ring Breast?
Why join'st thou not the loud Excess of Joy,
That riots thro' the Palace?

Othman.
Dar'st thou tell me,
On what dark Errand thou art here?

Achmet.
I dare.
Dost thou not see the savage Lines of Blood
Deform my Visage? Read'st not in mine Eye
Remorseless Fury?—I am Selim's Murd'rer.

Othman.
His Murd'rer!

Achmet.
Start not from me.
My Dagger thirsts not but for regal Blood.
Why this Amazement?

Othman.
Amazement?—No—'Tis well:—'tis as it should be.—
He was indeed a Foe to Barbarossa.

Achmet.
And therefore to Algiers:—Was it not so?—
Why dost thou pause? What Passion shakes thy Frame?

Othman.
Fate, do thy worst!—I can no more dissemble!—
Can I unmov'd behold the murd'ring Ruffian,
Smear'd with my Prince's Blood!—Go, tell the Tyrant,
Othman defies his Pow'r; that tir'd with Life
He dares his bloody Hand, and pleads to die.

Achmet.
What, didst thou love this Selim?

Othman.
All Men lov'd him.
He was of such unmix'd and blameless Quality,
That Envy, at his Praise stood mute, nor dar'd
To sully his fair Name! Remorseless Tyrant!

Achmet.
I do commend thy Faith. And since thou lov'st him,
I'll whisper to thee, that with honest Guile
I have deceiv'd this Tyrant Barbarossa:
Selim is yet alive.

Othman.
Alive!

Achmet.
Nay, more—
Selim is in Algiers.

Othman.
Impossible!

Achmet.
Why, if thou doubt'st, I'll bring him hither, straight.

Othman.
Not for an Empire!
Thou might'st as well bring the devoted Lamb
Into the Tyger's Den.

Achmet.
Nay, but I'll bring him
Hid in such deep Disguise, as shall deride
Suspicion, tho' she wear the Lynx's Eye:
Not ev'n thyself couldst know him.

Othman.
Yes, sure: too sure, to hazard such an awful
Trial!

Achmet.
Yet seven revolving Years, worn out
In tedious Exile, may have wrought such Change
Of Voice and Feature, in the State of Youth,
As might elude thine Eye.

Othman.
No Time can blot
The Mem'ry of his sweet majestic Mien,
The Lustre of his Eye! Nay, more, he wears
A Mark indelible, a beauteous Scar,
Made on his Forehead by a furious Pard,
Which rushing on his Mother, Selim slew.

Achmet.
A Scar!

Othman.
Ay, on his Forehead.

Achmet.
What, like this?

[Lifting his Turban.
Othman.
Whom do I see!—am I awake!—my Prince!
[Kneels.
My honor'd, honor'd King!

Selim.
Rise, faithful Othman.
Thus let me thank thy Truth!

[Embraces him.
Othman.
Oh, happy Hour!

Selim.
Why dost thou tremble thus? Why grasp my Hand?
And why that ardent Gaze? Thou canst not doubt me?

Othman.
Ah, no! I see thy Sire in ev'ry Line.—
How did my Prince escape the Murd'rer's Hand?

Selim.
I wrench'd the Dagger from him; and gave back
That Death he meant to bring. The Ruffian wore
The Tyrant's Signet:—Take this Ring, he cry'd,
The sole Return my dying Hand can make thee
For its accurs'd Attempt: This Pledge restor'd,
Will prove thee slain: Safe may'st thou see Algiers,
Unknown to all.—This said, th'Assassin dy'd.

Othman.
But how to gain Admittance, thus unknown?

Selim.
Disguis'd as Selim's Murderer I come:
Th'Accomplice of the Deed: The Ring restor'd,
Gain'd Credence to my Words.

Othman.
Yet e'er thou cam'st, thy Death was rumour'd here.

Selim.
I spread the flatt'ring Tale, and sent it hither;
That babbling Rumour, like a lying Dream,
Might make Belief more easy. Tell me, Othman,—
And yet I tremble to approach the Theme,—
How fares my Mother? does she still sustain
Her native Greatness?

Othman.
Still: In vain the Tyrant
Tempts her to Marriage, tho' with impious Threats
Of Death or Violation.

Selim.
May kind Heav'n
Strengthen her Virtue, and by me reward it!
When shall I see her, Othman?

Othman.
Yet, my Prince,
I tremble for thy Presence.

Selim.
Let not Fear
Sully thy Virtue: 'Tis the Lot of Guilt
To tremble. What hath Innocence to do with Fear.

Othman.
Yet think—should Barbarossa—

Selim.
Dread him not—
Thou know'st, by his Command I see Zaphira.
And wrapt in this Disguise, I walk secure,
As if from Heav'n some guardian Pow'r attending,
Threw ten-fold Night around me.

Othman.
Still my Heart
Forebodes some dire Event!—O quit these Walls!

Selim.
Not till a Deed be done, which ev'ry Tyrant
Shall tremble when he hears.

Othman.
What means my Prince?

Selim.
To take just Vengeance for a Father's Blood,
A Mother's Suff'rings, and a People's Groan.

Othman.
Alas, my Prince! Thy single Arm is weak
To combat Multitudes

Selim.
Therefore I come,
Clad in this Murd'rer's Guise—Ere Morning shines,
This, Othman—this—shall drink the Tyrant's Blood.

[Shews a Dagger.
Othman.
Heav'n shield thy precious Life—Let Caution rule
Thy headlong Zeal!

Selim.
Nay, think not that I come
Blindly impell'd by Fury or Despair:
For I have seen our Friends, and parted now
From Sadi and Almanzor.

Othman.
Say—what Hope?
My Soul is all Attention.—

Selim.
Mark me, then.
A chosen Band of Citizens this Night
Will storm the Palace; while the glutted Troops
Lie drench'd in Surfeit; the confed'rate City,
Bold thro' Despair, have sworn to break their Chain
By one wide Slaughter. I, meantime, have gain'd
The Palace, and will wait th'appointed Hour,
To guard Zaphira from the Tyrant's Rage,
Amid' the deathful Uproar.

Othman.
Heav'n protect thee—
'Tis dreadful—What's the Hour!

Selim.
I left our Friends
In secret Council. Ere the dead of Night
Brave Sadi will report their last Resolves.—
Now lead me to the Queen.—

Othman.
Brave Prince, beware!
Her Joy's or Fear's excess, wou'd sure betray thee.
Thou shalt not see her, till the Tyrant perish!

Selim.
I must.—I feel some secret Impulse urge me.
Who knows that 'tis not the last parting Interview,
We ever shall obtain?

Othman.
Then, on thy Life,
Do not reveal thyself.—Assume the Name
Of Selim's Friend; sent to confirm her Virtue,
And warn her that he lives.

Selim.
It shall be so: I yield me to thy Will.

Othman.
Thou greatly daring Youth! May Angels watch,
And guard thy upright Purpose! That Algiers
May reap the Blessings of thy virtuous Reign,
And all thy Godlike Father shine in thee!

Selim.
Oh, thou hast rowz'd a Thought, on which Revenge
Mounts with redoubled Fire!—Yes, here, ev'n here—
Beneath this very Roof, my honor'd Father
Shed round his Blessings, till accursed Treach'ry
Stole on his peaceful Hour! O, blessed Shade!
If yet thou hov'rest o'er thy once lov'd-Clime,
Now aid me to redress thy bleeding Wrongs!
Infuse thy mighty Spirit into my Breast,
Thy firm and dauntless Fortitude, unaw'd
By Peril, Pain, or Death! that undismay'd,
I may pursue the just Intent; and dare
Or bravely to Revenge, or bravely Die.

[Exeunt.