University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Re-enters, Zaigri.
Zaigri.
You hear the acclaim of gratitude, and joy.
'Tis hard to say, whether my countrymen
Expressed more rapturous triumph, for the lives
Continued to their friends; or for the soul
Angelick, that so easily could pardon.
Oh! Ximenes, the voice of honest praise,
Though by the mind severe deemed empty air,
Even in this world, rewards, almost, completely,
All our unwearied toils for publick good,
And all the great atchievements of the hero!

Ximenes.
Doubtless, that praise is balm, which kindly soothes
The pains that ne'er are separate from greatness.
Young, modest, blushing merit, feels it's power;
And merit long inured to eulogy.
'Tis pleasing, but not satisfactory.
'Tis in thy power, at this momentous crisis,
To give me true, substantial, lasting pleasure.

Zaigri.
Name but the means, and I will fly, to use them.

Ximenes.
Embrace the Christian faith;—be not alarmed;
The best effects will follow thy conversion;
Which to obtain, 'tis my ingenuous wish,
To win thy heart, and to convince thy reason.
While, then, on topicks of eternal moment,
I honestly advance, with patience hear me.

Zaigri.
With patience! rather, with attention ardent,
I'll hear thy friendly, thy paternal strain:
And that thou may'st pervade my inmost soul,
The present subject of thy holy work,
I will unfold to thee, my thoughts, my habits,
Without the least reserve, or subterfuge.
Thy novice is not stubborn; he admits
One of the sacraments in Rome's religion:
Why should I scruple to confess to thee!

Ximenes.
Already Zaigri is a Christian Moor!
With pleasure I'll attend to thy recital:
'Twill give a fair foundation, a fair scope,
For the great outlines of our beauteous fabrick.

Zaigri.
I have been taught to venerate our code:
But since, with years, my sentiment, and reason,
Grew to maturity, I own, that code
Excited in my breast, repugnant doubts.
Yet have I not despaired; nor have I feared:
For there's a simpler law that keeps me easy;
And while it's rules distinct my life obeys,
I look to Heaven, with trust, and lively hope.
Impelled by nature, and informed by reason,
I felt, and knew, what habit hath confirmed.
I scorn to be unjust; to fly, in battle;
To let my senses lord it o'er my mind:
I'm, to the proud, unbending; with the humble,
I still descend to their humility.
I keenly suffer for another's woe;
If I have power, it hath my best relief;
If I have none, I shed a tear that soothes it.
This is the sum of my religious practice;
And in a life of pains, and revolutions,
It hath done wonders for me; poured a balm
Into it's warriour's wounds; through a long march,
Oppressive heat, tormenting thirst, abated;
And, Ximenes, when, of my father's kingdom
I hardly was deprived, even then it cheared me;
And told me, that I had a kingdom left,
The power, and art, over myself to reign,
Of price far greater than all other empires!

Ximenes.

Zaigri.
Oh! Mahomet, thou hast deceived thy followers!
Thou broughtest no commission from the skies!

Ximenes.
We boast a different leader; all his progress
Diffused beneficence to human kind;
Even to his rancorous foes, large acts of mercy.
His laws are consentaneous with his life;
They bid us quell all selfish, baleful passions;
Destructive to their slave, and to the world.
They bid us, not as Mahomet allures
His weak disciples, basely overwhelm
Our spark of heavenly flame with sensual pleasure;
But, in right order, as endowed with reason,
To subjugate the body to the mind.
Hence, the true Christian, lord of appetite,
The vanquisher of low, but fierce resentments,
Which in a painful fever keep the soul;
Free from impediments, persues, with ardour,
All that adorns, and meliorates the man;
That polishes our life, or soothes it's ills.
Whene'er compassion, with her glistening eye,
Points to the squalid cottage of affliction,
Jews, Moors, and Infidels, are, all, his brethren.
Could he, in some remote, and barbarous land,
By powerful gold, or salutary arts,
Make pale distress give way to blooming joy,
He'd traverse wilds, or swelling seas, to court
The god-like office; his expanded heart,
In every climate, feels itself at home.—
If I'm prolix, excuse the fault of age.

Zaigri.
Oh! I could listen, through a summer's day,
To thy discourse; and while my soul it seizes,
The prejudices, all, relax, and die,
Which education formed, and habit strengthened.
I have no enemies, or I forgive them:
My love of man dilates; 'tis universal;
It spreads, in warm diffusion, o'er the globe.

Ximenes.
The Christian, in creation's dread arrangement,
Thus holds his proper sphere; maintains his course,
With equable, with independent motion;
Not from his orbit drawn, by wrong attractions;
But steddy, and concentral with his God.
If, next, we launch beyond the bounds of time,
Anticipating our eternal state,
How does your mean elysium pall, and fade,
Contrasted with our Christian paradise!
Need I insist, to Zaigri, that the joys
Of sense, are not man's chief, and final good;
The best reward bestowed by Heaven, on virtue?
Need I to lose my time? should I insult thee?
No:—in the deathless regions, we shall see,
And know the Deity; we shall converse.
With worthy men made perfect; intermix,
Improve our knowledge, and felicity.
When every generation hath elapsed,
This palsied hand, strung with perpetual manhood,
And smit with musick, shall express my rapture
While heaven resounds with choral harmony.
From age, to age, for ever, we shall range
Through infinite creation; we shall pass,
From system, on, to system; view their laws,
With ease; with ease, discover all their beauty;
And kindling, thus, to transport, we shall grow,
From the pure pleasures of the saint, and sage,
Enthusiasts, ruled by reason's god-like sway.

Zaigri.
Oh! by thy eloquence, I'm led, in fancy,
To mansions worthy of seraphick spirits!
I almost blush that I revered the Koran!

Ximenes.
Even now, with glowing tints I paint the hours,
Crowned with heaven's amaranth, when thou, and I,
Immortal friends, together, shall explore
(With pious exultation) wisdom, beauty,
Perfection, bliss;—then, haply, from some orb,
Where better suns exalt the purple year,
Where God's own likeness, moral intellect,
Works finer imagery, sublimer thought,
We shall look down on Mecca, and Medina
(Vast space pervading with an angel's ken)
And while we recollect their wars, their err ours,
Give them a smile benign of calm compassion;
For, there, all tears, for ever, from all eyes,
Are wiped away.—Believest thou this faith?
I know that thou believest.

Zaigri.
Ximenes
Strongly hath spoken to my best affections,
Best sentiments; and strongly to my reason.
Give me some time to think. I need not tell thee,
That when an honest man resolves to change
His faith, his mind prepares to take a passage
Of awful moment. I'll reflect maturely
On all the noble pictures thou hast shown me;
And every argument shall have it's weight.
Whatever lively hopes, portentous fears,
Which owe their birth to perishable objects,
May move my ductile fancy, I'll prefer
Important, and eternal truth to all things.

Ximenes.
I know thy conscience well; hence, I've not mentioned
The great advantage to the realms of Spain
That certainly would flow from thy conversion.
Thousands of Moors would follow thy example.
Nor have I urged the fortune of thy love;—
That this conversion, to thy tender wishes
Would surely win the beauteous Leonora.
Zaigri, solicitous for sacred honour,
Aside will never turn, to estimate
Collateral, specious, but inferiour objects.
I must repose awhile; pleased, that my life,
Even to it's last remainder, is exerted,
To urge the merits of a generous cause.
Zaigri, farewell! may salutary truth
Direct thee, and the great celestial Source,
From whom that glorious emanation flows!

Zaigri.
Thou know'st my honesty, my resolution.
Farewell, my friend, my father, and my guide!

[Exit Ximenes.