University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

To them Cortez and Vasquez attended.
Cort.
Cyderia here, dread powers! upon the brink
Of danger and of death?—Haste, precious maid,
Back to thy father's palace!—Soon this spot
Shall all be cover'd, or be closed about
With clashing armies, and with gasping squadrons,
The dying and the dead!—Haste, royal maid!
When kites and ravening hawks are on the wing,
The white dove takes to cover!

[Vasquez addresses Alibech in dumb shew.
Cyder.
Cortez, I think, they call thee.

Cort.
True, my mistress.

Cyder.
I love thee, man—I shame not to confess it;
For I do think that thou art brave and honourable.

Cort.
Celestial purity!—where no spot is,
No veil is wanting.—Goddess of my vows,
Thus let me offer up a grateful heart,
[Kisses her hand.
Even on this holy altar!—Come, my love,
I will myself convey thee to some place
Of more assured protection.

Cyder.
Tell me, Spaniard,
Is it, indeed, for me that thou art alarm'd?—
Is it my danger that thou fearest?

Cort.
Heavens!—
Is that a question?—Take this signet, soldier,
Haste, bear my order through the ranks, that not
A Spaniard, or Traxallan, move to action,
Till this dear trust shall be disposed in safety!

Cyder.
Cortez, think not I bear these feathered shafts,
And ebon bow, for ornament.—'Tis true,
That when ambition, when the fire of blood,
And martial ardour lead the soldier forth
Upon some desperate enterprize; war, then,
Is man's peculiar province.—Learn, however,
That when we are assail'd, when hostile force
Knocks at our gates, and overlooks our ramparts;
Weakness gets strength, and cowards catch at valour—
Women and infants cluster to defend
Our household fires, and guard our common country!

Cort.
Immortal powers! would my Cyderia soil
Those virgin shafts with human blood?

Cyder.
Yes, Spaniard!
In such a cause, even with thy blood—then, think not,
I fear to shed my own!—By yonder Sun,
My radiant sire, I swear, if thou, this day,
Shalt dare to offer battle, I will front thee;
Nor cease to point my quiver at thy breast,
Till some blest dart find entrance!

Cort.
You distract me!
Are there no means, by which I may preserve
Your precious life from danger, and myself
From terrors worse than death?

Cyder.
Yes, generous Cortez!
Bid thy bold troops draw off—then, as a friend,
Enter the gates of Mexico; and, next,
Enter the heart and arms of thy Cyderia!

Cort.
Consummate virgin, most divine Cyderia!
Daughter of truth and order, brighter far
Than yonder Sun, whom you have deign'd to stile
The father of your race!—would you, indeed,
Would you disgrace the leader whom you stoop
To honour with your favour?

Cyder.
No, my soldier!
Thou shalt be worship'd as a guardian god,
Throughout our Indian world.

Cort.
Ah no, Cyderia—
Did I stop here, I should alike be spurn'd,
On either part, by Mexicans and Spaniards,
For shrinking from the bright and kindling course
Of never dying glory!

Cyder.
Glory? Spaniard—
What is this glory, which you would prefer
To the salvation of a grateful world,
And your Cyderia's love?

Cort.
Glory, my princess,
Is that which kindles souls to great atchievments.
It is the price of danger, toil, and bloodshed;
It warms the winter's camp, and turns the flint
To a down pillow for a soldier's head.
It is a being in the breast of others—
'Tis the high prize, for which we die with pleasure;
Since glory gives us to survive our fate,
And rise to immortality!

Cyder.
Is glory then and immortality
The price of evil actions—the reward
Of rapes and massacres, of blood and burnings?—
O glorious famine, glorious pestilence!
You, like the Spaniard, can make grass to grow
In cities, and give wasted kingdoms up
To birds and beasts of prey!

Cort.
O, you have conquer'd—blasted be the laurels,
That ever shall be planted on the woes
And waste of humankind!—Yet, think, my mistress;
I act but by commission from my prince,
And, though the deed should prove a crime in him,
In me 'tis duty.

Cyder.
Duty, to do wrong!
Who has a right to give it?—No, my Cortez,
Then, when you dropt like a descending god,
And saved the royal house of Montezuma,
Then you were truely glorious.—O, be still
Our guardian deity!—My grateful father
Has regions of unknown extent; fair realms,
Where you, my soldier, with your blest Cyderia,
May reign in your own right.

Cort.
Resistless tempter!
The cause is yours—Retire, but for this day;
Retire, my love!—To-morrow, I do swear it,
And all the morrows of my future life,
Shall rise at your disposal.

Cyder.
Spaniard, no.
This day—I swear it too—shall end my life,
Or free my country!

Cort.
Vasquez, go; our wars
Are ended!—bid our men draw off.