University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—BEFORE THE CASTLE GATE.
CONSTANTIA, and a SENTINEL.
SENTINEL.
Hast thou not heard, thou canst not be admitted?
Then trouble us no more with fruitless clamour!

CONSTANTIA.
Unfeeling slave!—O! I am faint to death:
Yet hear me! yet admit me to the Viceroy!
And wretched as I seem, most rich reward
Shall make thee bless thy pity.

SENTINEL.
I have told thee,
I dare not on my life, the Viceroy's wounded
Even to death; and none must pass our gate
Without immediate order from the council.

CONSTANTIA.
Good Heaven! my Castro in the pangs of death!
Slave! I will pass.

SENTINEL.
Presumptuous woman! hence!
Or wait without, and wholesome solitude
Shall teach thee to be patient.

(Enters and shuts the Gate.

SCENE II.

CONSTANTIA,
(alone.)
O! my husband!
My dying Castro! could thy closing eyes
Behold thy Isabel, that once loved name,
Thus by a scornful slave, forbid to pour
Her fond forgiveness on thy parting soul!
Mercy! what means this image of distraction?
'Tis my Velora, whose disordered features
Too strongly speak her frantic agony
Of terror and surprise.

SCENE III.

CONSTANTIA, VELORA.
VELORA,
(entering hastily)
Now save thy son!
If pitying Heaven yet give thee time to save him!

CONSTANTIA.
Haste! guide me to him! tell me what the danger!
Where is Sylveyra? what must I attempt?

VELORA.
Alas! I know not; all is doubt and horror:
I left the tyrant in Sylveyra's prison
Fiercely encountering the brave Carasco;
And may that faithful friend with noble vengeance
Repay our various wrongs.

CONSTANTIA.
Where was Sylveyra?
Was his arm raised against the life of Castro?
Can it be possible that Heaven permitted
So horrible a conflict! can my son,
Have drowned his honors in a father's blood!

SCENE IV.

CONSTANTIA, VELORA, MOLINA.
MOLINA,
(entering hastily.)
Away! my gentle friends, and let me guide ye
To some securer refuge, at these gates
Dire scenes of fierce contention may ensue!

CONSTANTIA.
Explain thy friendly fears!

MOLINA.
Carasco's slain,
But in base conflict, with a poisoned sword
Has wounded Castro: our unhappy Viceroy,
In keenest torture, hardly now sustains
A life expected every hour to close.

CONSTANTIA.
Mercy! I charge thee to that bed of death
Conduct my steps!—a sacred duty calls me—

MOLINA.
That cannot be: I am myself commanded
To quit the castle; all Sylveyra's friends
Are kept aloof with a suspicious fear:
Alas! unhappy parent! I must tell thee
Tidings yet more afflictive: at this moment
The council, jealous of endangered power,
And eager to revenge the Viceroy's fate
Is met to search, how far Sylveyra's wrongs
Made him the accomplice of this dark assassin:
But we acquainted with his noble nature—

VELORA.
Shame on the base ingratitude, that wounds
His spotless virtue with its vile suspicion!

CONSTANTIA.
O horror! horror! this unhappy father
Will in the blind, convulsive pangs of death
Assassinate his child! and call it justice:
Thou good Molina! think not that affliction
Has driven all sense from this disordered brain,
While I inform thee, that in me thou seest
The wife, the innocent, the injured wife
Of thy deluded, dear, expiring master,
Who thinks his poor deserted Isabel
Now mould'ring in her grave, nor yet suspects
That brave Sylveyra is the son he lost.

VELORA.
The son of Castro! thou his injured wife!

MOLINA.
Amazement! art thou that lamented victim
Of cruel jealousy?

CONSTANTIA.
Stay not to question
My wondrous fate! a moment's pause is worse
Than death's worst pang: it may destroy a life
Far dearer than my own: my slandered son!
Fly! fly to save him!

MOLINA.
Would I had heard
This tale, before the terrors of the council
Shut me from out these walls!—'tis now too late.

VELORA.
Too late! O mercy has their coward fear
Condemned his virtue? has the cruel Viceroy
Forced them—

CONSTANTIA.
Distraction! he has killed his child!
I see the father stained with filial blood!
O unexampled crime!

MOLINA.
Maternal love,
Too keenly sensible, destroys thy reason:
But calm its frantic fears—thy son yet lives:
Yet interposing Heaven—

CONSTANTIA.
May I believe thee?
Save me from madness! swear they have not killed him!

MOLINA.
Be comforted, fond parent! by my life
He lives—yet friendship trembles at his danger:
The timid council, who well know thy son
The army's idol, jealous and alarmed,
By every caution to prevent his rescue,
Exclude us from the castle; if we plead
Thy story for admission, they will call it
A sudden artifice to save thy son—

CONSTANTIA.
O! for a voice of thunder to proclaim
The sacred truth! but let us force our passage
Thro' these inhuman guards! what can they more
Than wound this wretched frame? and let them bathe
Their sabres in my blood, if they but leave
My mangled limbs the power to crawl towards him,
Shrieks of maternal terror shall detain
The parting soul of this unconscious father,
And bid him save his unoffending child.

MOLINA.
One chance remains:—to sue for entrance here
Would be to waste inestimable minutes;
But at the gate, by which I left the castle,
Some sentinels are placed, much bound to me
By various services; perchance their spirit
Will bravely venture on this breach of orders:
Haste we to prove it!

VELORA.
Come! our suppliant tears
Shall melt the sternest—

CONSTANTIA.
Now, relenting Heaven!
Now shew thy mercy to an injured mother!

(Exeunt.

SCENE V.

GARCIA, with a Council of OFFICERS.
FIRST OFFICER.
My valiant friends! the blazing sun is set.
Whose vital energy gave life and splendor
To Lusitanian glory:—mighty Castro,
With pain exhausted, sinks in heavy slumber,
That much, 'tis feared, must terminate in death:
Our grief and duty to as brave a leader
As ever soldier followed to the field,
The voice of justice, and the public safety,
All loudly call for signal, speedy vengeance
On the surviving traitor, deeply joined
In guilty compact with the base Carasco.

GARCIA.
Behold the victim you demand!

SCENE VI.

GARCIA and COUNCIL; SYLVEYRA, (guarded.)
GARCIA.
My duty
To our lamented chief, my murdered friend,
Bids me pronounce a painful accusation:
That done, I leave it to the council's wisdom
To judge his answer, and decide his fate.
Unhappy youth! it is with grief I charge thee
With having stained thy honors, nobly won,
By dark conspiracy, by meanly joining
In basest vengeance with a vile assassin.

SYLVEYRA.
O! Garcia, wrong not by so base a name
A gallant, generous, and departed soldier,
Lavish of life in friendship's sacred cause!
Would I alone had met the oppressive arm
Of this proud ravisher! what! tho' I owed him
Obedience as a subject! nobler duties
More loudly called me as a man to guard
That injured innocence, and plaintive beauty,
Which his fierce rage had seized for violation.

GARCIA.
Thou lost young man! whose fairer dawn of life
Gave the false promise of progressive virtue,
I quit the little hope, my heart had formed
To find thee guiltless, while I hear thee thus,
With the bold insolence of vice, defend
The villain, who destroyed his sovereign's life
By the base wound of an envenomed sword.

SYLVEYRA.
By an envenomed sword! can this be true?

GARCIA.
The dying ruffian, with mysterious triumph,
Joyed in his crime.

SYLVEYRA.
Could friendship be the mask
Of blackest vengeance?

GARCIA.
When I seized thy sword
In the confusion of that fatal conflict
It seemed, in aid of the accurst assassin,
To point its murd'rous aim at Castro's heart.

SYLVEYRA.
Think not an abject love of life can lead me
To clear my innocence!—I know too well
The tyrant's jealousy, which e'en in death
Will rage, to rob me of the only treasure,
That makes life lovely in Sylveyra's eyes.
But just attention to my wounded honor
Bids me proclaim, my sword was only drawn
To interrupt their conflict.

GARCIA.
Couldst thou prove
That generous purpose, thy untainted honor
Would, with the force of the meridian beam,
Start from this passing cloud: but, hapless youth!
The only witness that perchance might clear
Thy sullied fame, is that departing hero,
Whose pale lips, now we strongly fear, have closed
To speak no more; and for myself, I grieve,
While painful truth impels me to repeat,
That if my eye deceived me not, thy sword
Was basely levelled at his sacred life.

FIRST OFFICER.
Now Garcia, thou has paid thy debt to friendship;
Our duty points to justice.—

A MESSENGER,
(entering.)
Suspend your resolution, valiant chiefs!
It is the Viceroy's will:—he haply gains
Some little portion of reviving strength,
And has commanded his attendant train
To bear him to the council, that his sentence—
But see! his mighty mind, tho' worn with torture,
Anticipates my message—

SCENE VII.

GARCIA and COUNCIL, SYLVEYRA, THE VICEROY.
THE VICEROY,
(brought in.)
Gently! friends,
All motion throws a sickly langour e'er me,
And robs my spirit of collected thought—
Dear Garcia, I am faint—whene'er I die,
Thou art my successor: I would not wish
To place dominion in a nobler hand.

GARCIA.
That faithful hand shall resolutely guide
The sword of justice to avenge—

THE VICEROY.
Ah! no!
I charge thee no! I heard thy dangerous error;
Thou hast believed the innocent Sylveyra
The accomplice of a ruffian: but I come,
With pain collecting all the shattered powers
Of my dissolving frame, to prove his truth;
To witness, that his generous arm was raised
Not to destroy, but guard the ungrateful master,
Who basely wronged him.

GARCIA.
Blest be thy firm soul,
Thou dear lamented friend, which timely clears
My dread mistake, and saves blind zeal from staining
The sword of eager justice, with the blood
Of slandered virtue.

THE VICEROY.
Gallant, injured youth!
Come near me! for the friendly hand of death
Has rent asunder that dark veil of passion,
Which hid thy virtues from my blinded heart!
Give me thy hand? before my fatal frenzy
I loved thee as my son: 'twas I who first
Broke that dear bond.

SYLVEYRA.
Thou kind, exalted spirit!
Still mayst thou live, and be again my father!

THE VICEROY.
No! generous youth! my feverish dream of life
Is hastening to its close: but O! my friends,
Be it related to our royal master,
That Castro owned, with his expiring lips,
How deeply he had wronged the brave Sylveyra;
And dying, begged, it might be told his king,
That in his service he will never find
A valiant youth of fairer expectation.

SYLVEYRA.
O unexampled nobleness of nature!
It rends my heart:—O! that my worthless life—

SCENE VIII.

THE VICEROY, GARCIA, SYLVEYRA, CONSTANTIA, &c.
CONSTANTIA,
(throwing herself before the Viceroy.)
Save him! O save him, Castro! 'tis thy son!
The son of Isabel! thy injured wife!
Behold her proud heart prostrate at thy feet!

THE VICEROY.
Good Heaven! thy piercing accents have convulsed
All my weak springs of life—look up! O shew me
Thy features, thou! that hast assumed a name,
Whose very sound is torture to my soul!
Thou blessed form! my Isabel herself!
My innocent, my living Isabel!
Enough—ye powers of mercy! 'tis enough—
I fain would bless thee—but—

(Faints.
CONSTANTIA.
Alas! he dies!—
Wretch that I am! my blind precipitate haste
Has cruelly abridged the few short minutes
Of his lost life.—Thou dear, unhappy Castro!

GARCIA.
Despair not, gentle lady! this surprise
O'erpowers enfeebled nature; but I see
Returning life—it flushes on his cheek—
(To the Council.)
My honored friends, your presence may distress
His wounded spirit; then awhile retire!
And when he gains some slight return of strength,
I will myself inform you of his wishes—

(the Officers withdraw.
THE VICEROY.
Where art thou, blessed spirit! tell me where!
I thought my Isabel informed my soul,
She was not murder'd by the cruel Castro—
Now my lost love! I hold thee once again:
Speak to me! let thy soft angelic voice,
If thou indeed art Isabel, disperse
This darkness of my soul, that makes me fear
A blessing, so beyond the reach of hope,
Is but the mockery of mere delirium.

CONSTANTIA.
Thy Isabel yet lives: O! could her love
Yet save thy dearer life!

THE VICEROY.
Kind angel! spare,
Spare that vain thought! the hand of righteous Heaven
Has marked my hour of death—I feel it near;
But thus to know, that I have not destroyed
Thy innocence; to fold thee thus,
And fondly resting my repentant spirit
On the kind softness of thy tender bosom;
To breathe my last in thy forgiving arms
Is worth long centuries of guilty life—
But haste to tell me all thy wondrous fate.

CONSTANTIA.
If, in these moments of reviving love,
I must again resign thee, yet my Castro!
Yet in thy parting soul let me awaken
The blest emotions of paternal joy.
Let Isabel to thy embraces give
A son most worthy of thy honored name!
This injured youth, this brave accomplished hero,
Formed by thy care, and child of thy adoption,
Thy loved Sylveyra, is thy real son.

THE VICEROY.
Amazement! transport! Heaven my son restored!
Come let me press thee with my dying hand!
And pouring penitent tears into thy bosom
Thus from thy pure heart wash the painful record
Of all thy father's cruelty and guilt.

SYLVEYRA.
His worth, his kindness live for ever there

THE VICEROY.
Dear Garcia, seek that injured excellence
The sweet Velora—I have learnt the story
Of their chaste loves, and her concealed attachment
To our pure faith: it is by her alone,
That I can make atonement to their virtues.
(Exit Garcia.
Tell me, my Isabel, and haste to tell me,
How gracious providence has been thy shield!

CONSTANTIA.
Thou know'st that far from Lisbon, and my father,
Within my sister's castle, 'twas my hope
To hide the offspring of our secret marriage;
There first I learnt, that frantic jealousy
Impelled thee to desert thy injured wife—

THE VICEROY.
That cruel jealousy was raised to madness
By the curst arts of a defeated rival.

CONSTANTIA.
The power of innocence, and pride of virtue,
With the pure spirit of maternal love,
Sustained my wounded heart: my generous sister
Contrived the artful tale which haply led
My friends, my father, and e'en thee to think me
Sunk in the wished asylum of the tomb:
So I was free to watch, with ceaseless care,
The precious fruit of thy ill-fated love—

THE VICEROY.
Thou miracle of pure maternal virtue!
O let me thank thee with these bursting tears
Of fondest admiration!

CONSTANTIA.
When the mind
Of my sweet boy first glowed with young ambition,
It chanced thy valour raised thee to this sphere:
I then resolved beneath a borrowed name,
To visit India, with a hope to see
Thy unsuspected son by youthful merit
Attract thy notice: this, my dearest aim,
To brave Sylveyra, thy departed friend,
I first unfolded—as his widowed sister,
He sheltered me with well-devised concealment:
That virtuous hero aided all my views
With noblest zeal, and to thy wakened love
Meant to restore us, when the afflictive chance
Of battle robbed us of his kind support.

THE VICEROY.
My generous friend! I well remember all
His care to fix in my unconscious heart
The virtues of my child—Oh! Isabel,
To what long years of suffering has my frenzy
Reduced thy spotless heart! and canst thou pardon—

SCENE IX.

THE VICEROY, CONSTANTIA, SYLVEYRA, GARCIA, VELORA.
THE VICEROY.
And see another innocent, whom Castro
Has basely tortured by injurious passion!
O! Heaven, the sense of all your wrongs united
O'erwhelms my fainting spirit.

CONSTANTIA.
Gracious Heaven,
Relieve this anguish of his wounded soul.

THE VICEROY.
My lovely daughter, to this noble youth
Now let me, as a gift of expiation,
Present thy purity! no! no! my children!
Ye must not kneel: to me alone belongs
Humiliation; and my prostrate soul
Bends to that innocence, which I have wronged,
And may your generous hearts forget how deeply,
Nor let your hate attend me to the grave.

SYLVEYRA.
My honored father, could our love preserve thee!

THE VICEROY.
'Tis death alone can expiate my offences,
And his dark shades are gathering fast around me,
I yet, my son, in these affecting moments,
Feel a fond pride in thy superior virtue:
And may that virtue, may thy chaste affections
Make thy pure days as full of peace and joy,
As mine have been of turbulence and horror!
Console thy peerless mother! let thy kindness
Repay, if possible, my cruelty!
And O! forever make this best of friends
The model of thy life! my faithful Garcia!
Thy friendship is the noblest legacy,
That I can leave these most beloved of beings!
My Isabel! where art thou? my dim eyes
Have lost thee, and are strained in vain to find
The dearest object of their failing sight—
With my last breath I bless thee—O farewell!
Nor think too hardly of a heart, which still
Doats on thy excellence! O! mercy Heaven!

(Dies.
GARCIA.
Farewell, great spirit! formed to grace the earth
With all the brightest qualities of man!
O'er life's rough ocean 'twas thy wish to steer
The course of steady virtue; but the storms
Of passion drove thee from thy destined way:
May all thy gallant deeds, and they were many,
Be justly blazoned in the tints of glory!
And be thy frailties buried in the grave!
Or but remembered with a kind concern,
To teach misguided man, that misery
Haunts all the hasty steps of lawless passion;
While gentler, just affections only bring
Unclouded peace, and purity of joy!