University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A hall in the palace of the kings of Spain.
ORMISINDA. TERESA.
ORMISINDA.
This roll contains the secret of my life,
And of the state: My marriage with Alonzo,
The story of my son, my injured child,
Bred in a desert, tho' the heir of Spain.
To thee, my faithful friend, my lov'd Teresa!
This precious record I commit. Oh! keep it
From sight of human eye, till better times:
For still I hope that better times may come,
Tho' not to me, to this afflicted land.
My hand hath signed it, and my act to day
Shall give it faith and credence with mankind.
This will explain the mystery of my fate,
And tell the world why Ormisinda died.

[Gives the writing.]
TERESA.
Do not too soon despair.

ORMISINDA.
I wait the last
Decisive moment. But to guard my soul
Against the sallies of a rash despair,
Against the weakness which attends surprise,
I have forecast whatever may befall,
And fram'd to the event my firm resolve.
This is the day appointed for the combat,
Between a Moorish and a Christian knight,
To end the wars of Spain, and fix the fate
Of the contending nations.

TERESA.
Antient times,
If tales of antient times may be believ'd,
Have known such combats. In her infant state,
Against her rival Alba, Rome was pledg'd
As now Asturia is: But later times
Afford no parallel.

ORMISINDA.
There never was,
Nor will there ever, while the world endures,
Be found a parallel to my distress—
I am the victor's prize—whoe'er prevails
He gains the princess, and the crown of Spain.
Such is the solemn treaty, sworn, confirm'd,
By every rite, which either nation owns.
Mean while I am Alonzo's wedded wife—
I am a mother—by the false Alonzo,
Who from his hate to me abandons Spain,
Which he alone can save. No other arm
Can match Mirmallon's force. Proud of his strength
Already in the lists the Moor exults,
Secure of victory. The setting sun
Concludes the dreadful period of suspence,
And death alone from infamy can save me.

TERESA.
He yet may come. Far in the Nubian wilds,
That guard the secret sources of the Nile,
Velasco found the chief. The wind of spring,
The constant East, this year forgot its season,
And only since this moon her light renew'd,
Began to blow upon the western shore.
On that I build a hope.

ORMISINDA.
I have no hope!
Review the story of my life, Teresa,
And by the past conjecture of the future.
First my lamented brother, blindly led
By proud Ramirez, quarrell'd with Alonzo,
Then by Alonzo's sword Ramirez fell.
For that offence to banishment condemn'd,
Alonzo won me to accept his hand
Before he left this kingdom. Since that time,
What I have suffer'd, Heav'n, and you can tell.
It was the fifth, a memorable day,
After our marriage, when he fail'd to come,
At the appointed place to meet his bride.
Then 'midst my fear, anxiety, and sorrow,
For only death I thought, or dangerous harm,
Could keep him from my arms, amaz'd I heard
That he was gone for Asia. To this hour,
Ev'n to this present hour, no cause assign'd
But these distracted lines long after sent:
“Thou never shalt behold Alonzo more;
“The foul, foul cause thy guilty conscience know.”
My conscience knows no cause, so help me Heav'n!
Now, in my utmost need, this dreadful day,
When I must struggle with despair and Death,
To keep myself a chaste, a blameless wife,
And to my silent grave the secret bear,
That my dear son and his may live to wield
The sceptre of his fathers!

TERESA.
To this hour,
Thy husband knows not that he is a father.

ORMISINDA.
His ears, his eyes are shut. Oft' have I sent
Letters, that would have pierc'd an heart of stone;
Pleading for pity, begging but to know,
Wherein I had unwittingly offended:
But every letter, with unbroken seal,
To me return'd. He will not read one word
From my detested hand.

TERESA.
'Tis very strange,
And much unlike the way of other men.
For tho' they are inconstant in their love,
There is a course and process in the change.
Ardent at first, their ardor lasts not long.
With easy, full, secure possession cloy'd,
Their passion palls, and cold indifference comes,
As chilly autumn steals on summer's prime,
Making the green leaf yellow. Then it is
That some new beauty takes their roving eyes,
And fires their fancy with untasted charms.
But in a moment, from excess of love,
To the extreme of hate Alonzo pass'd
Without a cause. Nor did another come
Between thee and the current of his love.
'Tis moon-struck madness, or the dire effect
Of incantation, charm, compulsive spell,
By magic fasten'd on his wretched soul.
It can be nothing else.

ORMISINDA.
Whate'er it is,
He shuns all woman-kind. His life is spent
In war and in devotion. When the field
Is won, the warrior lays aside his spear,
Takes up the pilgrim's staff, and all alone,
Obscur'd in homely weeds, he bends his course
To some remote, religious, holy place,
Where he exceeds the strictest penitent,
In penances severe and sad austerity.
Sometimes in deeper melancholy wrapt
He loaths the sight of man, and to the cliffs
Of hoary Caucasus or Atlas flies,
Where all the dreary winter he remains,
And, desolate, delights in desolation.
My faithful servant Juan saw him once
Upon the ledge of Atlas; on a rock
Beside the empty channel of a brook,
He stood and gaz'd intent a cataract
Which, as it tumbled from a cliff, the blast
Had caught mid-way, and froze before it fell.
Juan drew near and call'd. He turn'd about,
Look'd at him for a space, then wav'd him back,
And mounting swiftly sunk behind the hill.
Wan was his face, and like a statue pale!
His eye was wild and haggard! Oh! Teresa,
Amidst my woes, my miseries, my wrongs!
My bosom bleeds for him!

TERESA.
Something there is
Mysterious and unfathomable here,
Which passes human wisdom to divine.
The hand of fate is on the curtain now.
Within my breast a firm persuasion dwells,
That in the lists Alonzo will appear.
Behold in haste the king your father comes,
And seems the messenger of welcome tidings.

Enter the KING.
KING.
I come in this alarming hour, my child,
To pour a ray of comfort on thy heart.
A valiant Moor, once captive of my sword,
And ever since, my firm but secret friend,
Acquaints me that a champion is at hand,
Shunning those honors which the Moors would pay:
Dark and reserv'd he travels thro' their towns
Without a name. I judge it is Alonzo,
For the description best accords with him.
Scorning his foes, offended with his friends,
Shrouded in anger and in deep disdain,
Like some prime planet in eclipse he moves,
Gaz'd at and fear'd.

ORMISINDA.
It is! It is Alonzo!
Welcome, most welcome, in whatever shape.
The hero comes to save his native land,
To save the honor of the Christian name,
And o'er the fading crescent of the Moor
Exalt the holy cross.

KING.
And, ev'n as thine
Is the consenting voice of all the land.
The hope of Spain on brave Alonzo rests.
In this I see the ruling hand of heav'n,
Which to its own eternal purpose leads,
By winding paths, the steps of erring man!
Painful it were to speak of those events
Sad and disastrous which have laid us low.
Unjustly was Alonzo banish'd hence,
And happily the hero now returns.
For since my son, your valiant brother, fell,
With an impartial mind I have enquir'd
And trac'd the story of Alonzo's birth.
He is the offspring of our antient kings,
The rightful heir of Riccaredo's line,
Called the Catholic, who reign'd in Spain
Before the first invasion of the Moors.
Lost in the gen'ral wreck, buried and hid
Beneath the ruins of a fallen state,
Obscure, unknown, the royal infant lay,
When I, indignant of a foreign yoke,
In wild Asturia rose against the Moors.
The righteous cause prevail'd; the baffled foe
Retir'd, and left us and our mountains free.
The grateful people chose their leader king.
I knew not then, nor did my people know,
Ought of Alonzo.

ORMISINDA.
I have heard him own
The justice of thy title to command
And rule the state thy valor had restor'd.
Enough, he said, remain'd for him to conquer:
The fertile provinces of ample Spain,
Which still the Moor usurps.

KING.
Of all mankind,
He is the champion whom my soul desires
This day to fight for Spain and for my daughter;
Not only for his great renown in arms,
But for his birth, his lineage, and his blood.
If his unconquer'd arm in fight prevails,
The antient monarchy shall rise again,
In all its splendor and extent of empire.
The streams of royal blood divided now,
Shall roll a tide united thro' the land.

ORMISINDA.
Thy heart dilates with pleasing hopes, my father!
And fond anticipates its own desire.
But who can tell the purpose of Alonzo?
His strange approach no friendly aspect bears:
He comes the foe determin'd of the Moors,
But not to us a friend.

KING.
Of that no fear.
I know him proud, impetuous, and fierce,
Haughty of heart, and high of hand: Too prompt
On all occasions to appeal to arms.
But he was ever gentle to my daughter:
The proud Alonzo bow'd the knee to thee.
At his departure I observ'd thy grief,
And in my mind—

(A trumpet sounds.)
ORMISINDA.
What means that shout of war?

KING.
The trumpet sounds to arms.

(Enter a messenger.)
MESSENGER.
Thy presence, Sir,
Is at the camp requir'd. Both nations arm,
And rush to battle: Loud the Moors complain
Of violated faith. A Spanish knight
They say has broke the treaty, and attack'd
Their bands, of peace secure.

KING.
'Tis basely done!
Command my guards to meet me at the gate
Farewel.

[Exit the King.
TERESA.
Who can this headlong warrior be?
Too well Alonzo knows the laws of war,
Too much reveres the treaty seal'd and sworn,
To make a rash attempt upon the Moors.

ORMISINDA.
If it is he, 'tis no deliberate act,
No treacherous intention to assail
The Moors unguarded. Yet it may be he:
My mind misgives me that it is Alonzo.
Ill would his swelling spirit brook the sight
Of Moorish tents and arms on yonder plain.
If as he pass'd, one slighting word was dropt,
With tenfold scorn to that he would reply,
Nor hesitate alone to draw his sword
Amidst an host of Moors.

TERESA.
The clamor sinks.
Whate'er it was, the tumult is appeas'd.
And now what does my Ormisinda think
Of my predictions?

ORMISINDA.
Oh! my dear Teresa!
Thy fond desire to chear my hopeless heart
Makes thee forever to my mind present
The fairest side of things.

TERESA.
Ha! dost thou doubt
Still of his coming?

ORMISINDA.
No, I think 'tis he;
But hope and fear alternate sway my mind:
Like light and shade upon a waving field
Coursing each other, when the flying clouds
Now hide and now reveal the sun of heav'n.
I tremble for the issue of the combat;
And if my Lord should, as I hope, prevail,
I tremble for myself; Afraid to see,
Tho' sick with strong impatience to behold him,
And learn why he forsook his Ormisinda.
He says I know the cause. Oh! most unjust!
Was it because I lov'd him to excess,
Altho' his title shook my father's throne?
Was it because I join'd my fate to his,
And fondly chose to wed a banish'd man?
For such are my demerits.

TERESA.
'Tis but vain
Thus to torment thyself, and rack thy mind
With sad conjectures, at a time like this,
When the reality will soon be known.

ORMISINDA.
I know one thing that's real, 'tis a fault,
An imperfection which I cannot cure;
Sixteen long years are past since I beheld him,
And grief and care, those tenants that deface
The sad and weary mansion they inhabit,
Have dwelt with me. Am I not alter'd much?
The ghost and shadow of what once I was?

TERESA.
No, Ormisinda, I perceive no change;
That in the least impairs thy lovely form.
The beam that gilds the early morn of youth
Yields to the splendor of a riper hour:
The rose that was so fair in bud, is blown;
And grief and care, tho' they have dwelt with thee,
Have left no traces of their visitation,
But an impression sweet of melancholy
Which captivates the soul. Unskilful they
Who dress the queen of love in wanton smiles:
Brightest she shines amidst a show'r of tears;
The graces that adorn her beauty most,
Are softness, sensibility, and pity.

ORMISINDA.
Oh! how ingenious thou art, Teresa,
How subtle to elude my simple fears!
Still they advance and gather round my heart.
If nothing can recal Alonzo's love,
Let him but own his son, and I'll renounce
The title of his wife, and of a queen;
Then in a convent hide me and my sorrows.
The saddest sister of the holy train,
Whose watchful zeal prevents the midnight bell,
Shall find me kneeling on the marble floor.
Oh! it will be the luxury of grief,
To weep incessant in the vaulted cell,
To lift my hands, and send my vows to heav'n,
Invoking ev'ry power that dwells above,
To guard and bless my husband and my son!
Perhaps some friend, most likely my Teresa,
When I am quite forsaken and forgot
By all the world, will still remember me;
Will come and tell me of Alonzo's wars;
Tell how my boy in his first battle fought,
At once the rival of his father's fame.