University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Palace.
Sopheian and Caled.
Soph.
Now, by the soul of our great father Ishmael,
This is not faith, but wonderful conviction.
Soft—let me sum thy reasons in my soul—
“No GODS,” thou sayst, “but One; One Power Supreme,
“Parent of nature! And, from him, one man,
“Parent of human kind, in whom united
“Man grows to man, and still the social eye,
“In every face it meets, salutes a brother!
“And then the fall of that unhappy parent,
“Sunk from his Paradise with all his sons,
“And cast into a world of guilt and pain;
“From whence restored, this Godhead in the breast,
“Supports our frailty through the mortal war,
“That sense doth wage with virtue.”

Cal.
True, my lord—
This argues to the heart.

Soph.
It does, my Caled!
Had man ne'er fallen, he had no sense of evil;
No sense of good, if not redeemed—'tis manifest!
This solves the great ænigma of our natures;
And, through the dusky maze of Providence,
Leads forth to light. By outward revelation,
Heaven answers to the truths revealed within—
I feel their sacred force; and reason comes
But as a second witness to confirm them.

Cal.
Nor reason only—universal nature
Hath given authentic credence to her Lord,
And vouch'd the word of our Eternal Prophet.
Bards sung his future day; and ancient seers,
Rapt through succeeding centuries, foretold
The story of his time—To greet his birth,
Angelic choirs made jubilee on earth—
Before him shrunk the powers of hell—The sea
Smooth'd at his bidding, and the storm was hush'd
Attentive to his voice—At his approach,
The lame sprung forward, and the blind man gazed
With new-created organs!

Soph.
Yet, my friend,
Even all his mighty works to me import,
But as they greatly serve to authorize
The mightier words he utter'd—As the eye
Bears witness to the light, or the charm'd ear
To tuneful undulation; so my heart
Strikes unison to his great Law of Love,
And proves their source the same—I own his mission,
And all my country's gods fall down before him.

Cal.
Then let thy faith instruct thee to contemn
This modern fable—this God Mahomet,
Who boasts the attribute of power, yet wars
With wisdom, as with mercy.

Soph.
O the robber!
The curst impostor, whose all sensual heaven
Is fix'd in lust, who claims his dire apostleship
By blood and devastation!—Sayst thou, Caled,
Oppose him?—yes, the root of our antipathy
Sinks to the center, and its future growth
Must reach through all eternity.

Cal.
Alas!
That starting tear implies a mournful meaning.

Soph.
O Caled, friend, thou seest a lonely man,
Stript like a withering cedar on the hills,
And shorn of every branch that once adorn'd him.
Bitter remembrance!—Stranger as thou art
In fair Arabia, haply thou hast heard
Of Ommia's royal house.

Cal.
I have, my lord.

Soph.
I'll tell thee then—Of that thrice noble house,
We were two brothers, Joseph and myself,
The last surviving heirs, twinn'd in one womb,
As nature had foreclosed our bond of amity,
Made perfect e'er election. I, the elder;
But in my birth and progress to the light,
Seiz'd by my infant brother, not as though
He would dispute precedence, but refused
To part his consort: so, we grew together,
Link'd through our wanton years, each will and wish
As a new rivet to our closing souls,
That mock'd at separation.—Dost thou listen?—

Cal.
Even as the breathless night, when tuneful Philomel
Doth lift her song to silence.

Soph.
Mark me, then—
Ere we attain'd the ripening noon of life,
Two sisters, of the princely tribe of Jocktan,
Yet in the morn of their unveiling beauty,
Engaged our love; Almeydab and Mamuna,
Twinn'd as we were—We sued, prevail'd, and wedded;
I to Almeydab, to Mamuna Joseph;
Nor hence divided, but as numerous links,
More strong and more enfolded—Dost remember?

Cal.
Not a word fallen.

Soph.
To fix this wondrous union,
We did engage, when Heaven should bless our beds,
Exchange of children—his for mine, and mine
For his, as more beloved. And, in short process,
The fair Mamuna, my thrice lovely sister,
Brought forth a son, the blooming Moawias,
And gave him to my arms. Thus, Caled, thus,
The human feelings, all the charities,
That knit the social family of man,
Were join'd to make me blest—to make me wretched!

Cal.
Alas!

Soph.
Dost say?—I see thy nature's touch'd.

Cal.
No, my good lord—a short lived weakness in me;
I pray, proceed.

Soph.
O Caled, now my tale
Must turn to tragic! for our loved Mamuna,
Bursting the circle of that fond society,
Sicken'd and died—around her memory,
As statues for her tomb, sadly we sat,
Conversing by our tears. My Joseph thence—
Thence mine no more—acquired I know not what
Of distant gloom; grew alien to himself,
To me, and to the world—then disappear'd,
Made all search vain, and tore me from myself.

Cal.
O, most unkind!—no doubt, some deep occasion—

Soph.
None given by me.

Cal.
What, none?

Soph.
So judge me, Heaven!—
No, not in thought—It was surmised indeed—

Cal.
What?

Soph.
No matter what—I would not task his memory—

Cal.
Nay—pray you—

Soph.
'Twas surmised, the bile of melancholy
Had seiz'd his better man, engendering thoughts
Foreign and crude—tending, I know not how,
To devious lust, and thirst of empire.

Cal.
Heavens!—
Surmised, by whom?

Soph.
A faithful wretch he was—
Hercides!—a kind inmate to us both,
An ancient of our house—

Cal.
Said he of lust?

Soph.
Even of my wife and sceptre.

Cal.
O the powers!

Soph.
Thou seem'st concern'd—

Cal.
O pity, that such brothers—
Pity, that villainy—that two such brothers!—
Pray, to your story.—

Soph.
To me and to Almeydab thus forsaken,
Young Moawias was an only solace,
A pleasant, yet a mournful monitor
Of what his parents were—At length, our storm
Of grief subsided; and my kind Almeydab
Became the mother of a recent happiness,
Even of a daughter fair: so, all again
Was well, as hope might look for in the lots
Of mortal dispensation—O, too well!—
For so Heaven deem'd—'Twas then that Mahomet
First dared to broach his fable here in public.
With indignation fired, through Mecca's gates
I chased the fell impostor, who, belike,
Although his godhead then was in its infancy,
Retained his dark abettors even in Mecca:
For, like a wolf, the midnight prowler came,
In my own palace caught my hour of absence,
Murder'd my babes, and on my nuptial couch
Seiz'd my sole bliss, my loved, my lost Almeydab!

Cal.
Ha! sure he durst not—

Soph.
Thanks to the blest protectress of my honour!—
Yes, the infernal satyr!—but Almeydab
Broke from his grasp; and where the casement looks
Upon the flint beneath—a fearful steep!—
Headlong she dash'd her beauties, and expired
A victim to her virtue!

Cal.
O Sopheian!—
Thy cup of sorrow hath indeed been bitter,
And thou hast drank it largely.

Soph.
Since that hour,
I walk the world as in a wilderness—
No social face to chear! All nature seems
As one unvaried blank, upon whose leaf
No comfort can be written—save of vengeance,
And now 'tis in my grasp.

Cal.
On Mahomet?—what vengeance?

Soph.
As, near to Yathreb's forest, on a day
I led some troops, a squadron crost my eye,
Who bore the tyrant's standard: we engaged,
And conquest crown'd my arms. Among the captives,
There was a maid, whose loveliness disgraced
The costly gems she wore; and but that memory
Still holds Almeydab to my sight, this stranger
Might stand unrivall'd forth. Three waining moons
She lies my prisoner, tho' in silken bondage;
But, yesternoon, a slave betray'd her birth,
And shews her for the daughter of the tyrant.

Cal.
Of Mahomet?

Soph.
Of him—Think, what should follow!

Cal.
In truth I am to seek—

Soph.
Just retribution—
Revenge!—

Cal.
On whom, and wherefore?—Reason, honour,
Humanity, forbid!—Consult your heart,
And say what that advises.

Soph.
O, I own,
That, till I knew her for the tyrant's offspring,
A kind of soft enchantment stole upon me;
Some secret power, unweeting, drew my steps,
To gaze upon her with a parent's fondness.
Then as she look'd and spoke, my tears swell'd upward—
And oft with pain I've check'd these aged arms,
That long'd to clasp her with a chaste embrace.
But see, she comes!—observe her near, my Caled.

Cal.
To sight she is a wonder.