University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

To them Palmyra.
Pal.
Fair morning to my lord! May Heaven, each day,
With early gratitude expand my heart—
Thus give me to approach, in humble duty,
And pour my thanks before you!

Soph.
Why, Palmyra!—
Sit thy chains light?

Pal.
As on a fluttering bird,
Caged only to be cherish'd—such kind cares
As suit the hovering goodness of a father,
Have sooth'd my griefs, and made my bonds a blessing.

Soph.
Not such the measure, which thy father gave
To my unhappy children!—

Pal.
Ha!—my father?

Soph.
Yes—Mahomet!

Pal.
Nay, then, I am betray'd;
And mercy shall no longer know Palmyra.

Soph.
Alas, fair innocent! though I should plant
Thy sufferings thick as grain, what fruits would grow?
My joys must still lie fallow—Will thy blood
Make the cold tomb conceive, the grave to quicken,
And yield Almeydab back—give back my babe,
My young Ayetia to my arms? O, never!—
My comforts, with my wife and children, lie
Too deep interr'd, and will return no more.—
Dismiss thy fears, thou art guiltless of my griefs—
From other hands than mine, my child, expect
Afflictions when they fall.

Pal.
Thus, grateful, as to Heaven, I bend with praises—
[Kneels.
For O, whate'er my different faith may dictate,
My heart informs, that, of that Heaven, you are
The most excelling pattern! Do not think
Your slave depraved from truth; truth sits secure
Within my soul, and mocks the reach of bondage!
Hence am I free to tell you, that my heart
Ne'er felt like awful love, like tender reverence,
Not for my proper father—Yet—my lord,
There is a cause—there is a cause, my lord!—

Soph.
O, rise, sweet maid! command, nay task my power—
'Tis thine to its extent.

Pal.
Unhappy I,
Who, now profess'd the daughter of your foe,
Must stir your soul, by my detested sight,
To grievous recollection; a dire monitor
Of the sad source from whence your losses spring,
Fretting your smoothest hour!—Ah, royal sir,
There's yet a bashful cause—else, witness Heaven!
No choice of mine to part—Return me, then,
Restore me to my kindred; take, in lieu,
Cities and scepter'd nations—Mahomet
Weighs not the ransom by my little worth,
But by his large affection—then return me,
Restore me to—O sir!—

Soph.
Unkind Palmyra!—
Thy sire hath store of wives and little ones;
Me he bereaved of all—and one for all,
I only covet one from his abundance.
Henceforth be thou my child—that Power, who sees
And winds the secret springs of human passions,
He knows we must not part—'tis death alone,
The last sad hour, shall tear thee from Sopheian!

Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
My lord, the country westward, for some leagues,
Is all in motion. Through Moradia's plain,
Men hurry flocks and herds; their wives and children
Scream in the rear, or goad their camels on,
Laden with stuffs of price, or household lumber,
Caught up in haste; all speeding toward the city.

Soph.
Whence the alarm?

Mess.
'Tis said, that Mahomet—

Soph.
Sayst thou, that Mahomet?—

Mess.
Yea, my good lord, attended by the nations,
An army as the sands unnumber'd, comes,
To add your Mecca to his length of conquest.

Soph.
Where be our treacherous scouts? How comes it thus,
That notice slacks of duty?—Fly—away—
Send me the captain of the watch—Good Caled,
Speed to the several nobles of the city,
And bid them to the senate; say, ourself
Will haste to join them—Speed, my friend!
[Exit Caled.
Who waits?—
Enter Captain of the Watch.
Captain, thy trust is great; so is our confidence,
Alike reposing on thy faith and valour.
Set up a double watch on Uzza's tower;
See our gates closed; and, on the instant, cull
A chosen band for the patrole—Good captain,
Walk thou the round in person; if thou seest
A face that catches at suspicion, seize,
And bring him to our presence.
[Exit Captain.
Enter another Messenger.
Now—what's the tidings?

Mess.
Mahomet, my lord,
Greets you by his ambassador.

Soph.
Conduct him—
Thou mayst retire, my child; whate'er arrives,
Thou shalt partake it truely.

[Exit Palmyra.