University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Knights. People. Knights, &c. with swords drawn. Warlike music. Soldiers carrying trophies.
LOREDAN.
People prepare the joyful song of triumph!
Raise high to heaven the grateful voice of thanks!
Success is from above: our feeble efforts
Were impotent and vain, by heaven unaided.
The arm divine has crush'd those impious robbers,
“The fierce despoilers of a hundred realms.
“Erect your trophies on their bloody relicks,
“And trampling in the dust their smother'd fury,
Enrich our sacred temples with their spoils.
“But noble Arnolph now demands our care;
“We hope the public joy will soothe his grief,
“And make in spight of all his past misfortunes,
“The patriot happy; tho' the father sighs.
Where is that hero valiant, and unknown,
To whose brave aid we owe this glorious day?
Why with our knights is he not here return'd?
Is he so cold, so careless of his triumph?
“Thinks he perhaps we're of his glory jealous?
“We are great enough to view him without envy.
Near [to Catanio.]
you my lord he fought—whence is it then
He takes no part in the loud general joy?

CATANIO.
When you had barr'd the road that leads to Etna;
Beyond your view, and near the river's side,
I prest the foes who ventur'd to resist us.
There, where the war with thickest fury rag'd
Onward he rush'd impetuous and alone:
We wonder'd much his courage did not shew
Of that calm kind which marks the hero's soul;
Sedate and cool, tho' havock storms around!
His seem'd the offspring of despair and fury;
His broken voice, his gloomy haggard looks,
Express'd the strong disorder of his mind!
Often and loud he call'd on Solyman.
Almida's name he utter'd too with sighs,
He call'd her false, but down his burning cheek,
I saw the tear of rage and sorrow fall!
Eager he courted death; but on his helm,
Conquest resistless sat! the more regardless
He seem'd of life, the more he rose in terrors!
All sunk before us, chiefly from his arm.
But when we hither turn'd our steps, he shunn'd us;
With looks cast down, an image of affliction,
Mournful he stood, and seem'd of life abhorrent!
His eye sought Aldamon, who hasten'd to him;
And as he press'd him, weeping to his breast,
Farewell he cried—I go—and 'tis for ever!
Then swift as light'ning vanish'd from our sight.
At the same instant I beheld Almida
Dishevell'd, wild, amidst a croud of soldiers;
Pale and disfigur'd, death was in her looks,
Frantic she flew, and call'd on Tancred's name.
With lingering pace her mournful father follow'd;
Now bath'd in tears, confus'd, he leads her hither,
And publishes aloud, that he whose valour
Has sav'd his daughter, and aveng'd the state,
Is Tancred—him who with united voices,
This very morning we proscrib'd, condemn'd.
What in this crisis must we do?

LOREDAN.
Repent;
Detest our rashness: to persist were vileness.
We ought to blush thus to have wrong'd a hero.
Too oft has truth and merit been condemn'd
By fury's voice, which knows not to distinguish;
But when they shine with full conviction on us,
Reverence, and sacred pity should await them.

SCENE II.

Knights. Arnolph. Almida at a distance, her hair floating in disorder.
ARNOLPH.
Fly ye brave warriors—fly to rescue Tancred;
Drove on by zeal, peril and death surround him!
Single he fights against a croud of foes,
Whose rallied forces press collected on him!
Gods! I could curse these arms by age unnerv'd
Ill suited to my soul! Ah fly! be quick,
And save this noble valiant youth!

LOREDAN.
We go,
And will conduct him safe. His valour now
Rises to rashness, which we can't approve.

SCENE III.

Arnolph, Almida.
ARNOLPH.
Upon this hoary head, at last with pity
The gods indulgent smile! They give me back
A dear lov'd child, whose menac'd dreadful fate
Drew the last drop of comfort from my soul!
Why dost thou droop? our sorrows are no more;
Why thus desponding dost thou turn aside?

ALMIDA.
Ah! I can taste no joy till I see Tancred
Secure of life, and just to his Almida.

ARNOLPH.
I pity thy afflictions: few have tasted
Misfortunes deeper or severer trials.
“Too well I know there are a sort of wounds
“That pierce where most it feels the generous mind
“With deadly anguish hardly to be cur'd.
Yet when kind heaven extends the cup of joy,
To dash it from us were an impious act!
Then be of comfort. Tancred has been hated,
Pursu'd and wrong'd, but now approv'd and honour'd;
Fortune prepares him all thy heart can wish,
Public and private blessings, love and glory.

ALMIDA.
You talk at ease, my lord, while I am tost
In wild anxiety from hope to fear.
Why are they not returned? perhaps he dies!

ARNOLPH.
Fear's trembling pencil, ever dipt in black,
Paints to the mind strange images of woe.
But hope the best; if Tancred presses on
In quest of glory, 'tis a noble wish,
In stronger day to set forth our injustice.
Coldly with measur'd steps to do their duty
Contents the vulgar mind. Not so the hero,
Led by the impulse of his higher soul,
A god-like glow, which scorns the narrow rules
Of prudence unaspiring, on he goes
Beyond our utmost hopes. Thus fights thy Tancred.
Open thy bosom then to peace and joy;
Tancred shall know thy truth, and hate his error.
The people rise already, mov'd with wonder
And pity at his fate. If yet a doubt
Of thee should haunt his breast, one word from me
Will dissipate the cloud—

ALMIDA.
I value not
A headlong people, or their vile affronts,
Their fury credulous, their fickle pity;
Or the vain voice of public approbation,
Sweet to the tranquil heart! but mine is shut,
Deafen'd by miseries to all sense of joy.
My peace, my fame depends alone on Tancred;
And know I'd rather meet a thousand deaths,
Than live one moment unesteem'd by him.
Know too, for wherefore should I now conceal it?
I in my brave deliverer lov'd a husband.
My mother dying heard our tender vows;
Her last sad accents, fervent pour'd to God,
Were breath'd in blessings on our mutual loves!
With her cold hands our trembling ones she join'd;
Our hands that filial clos'd her lifeless eyes!
Kneeling and weeping we attested heaven!
The sacred corpse, that breathless lay before us,
Nature and you—and you, unhappy father!
That we would wait, in your paternal bosom,
Our vows to bind, made sacred by your blessing.
Your life's decline, we said, how vainly said!
Should by our tender cares go down in peace.
Scaffolds and prisons since have prov'd our altars;
My love, my husband seeks a cruel death;
And shame and misery is my bitter portion.

ARNOLPH.
By heaven! thy melancholy tale awakes
The sad idea of long extinguish'd grief,
And cruel recollection. In thy voice
And plaintive accents fancy seems to trace
The dear remembrance of thy mother's softness.
But whither do I err! We shall be happy—

ALMIDA.
Made doubtful by its woes my fearful heart—

SCENE IV.

Arnolph, Almida, Sophia.
SOPHIA.
My dearest mistress! share the public joy;
Tancred has greatly fought; beneath his arm
Sink the last remnants of a shatter'd army.
A victim glorious to our country's vengeance,
And for your wrongs, a great, and just atonement,
The haughty Solyman, at Tancred's feet,
Bleeding and lifeless, stains the dusty field.
Fame spreads the news; the people flock around him,
Name him their hero, their support and glory!
One warrior only had pursu'd his steps,
The faithful Aldamon, whom once you knew;
[to Arnolph.
For when our knights to succour him arriv'd,
The war was over, Tancred was triumphant.
Hear you these shouts? they speak him near and glorious.
A thousand busy hands prepare him laurels.
How his kind heart, when undeceiv'd and happy,
Shall beat with love, soft shame, and tender pity!
All smiles around you!

ALMIDA.
Every fluttering pulse
Beats with emotion eager—long estrang'd
To real peace, my hurried senses run
In quick extremes from grief to ardent joy
In sweet confusion! Now indeed I live,
My dearest father! ah! let us adore
That hand which gives us all we fear'd to lose.
I will forget my woes, do you forgive
My wild upbraidings, tears, and weak complaints.

ARNOLPH.
Yes, heaven vouchsafes to wipe away our tears.
Or I'm deceiv'd, or Aldamon approaches;
'Tis so—'tis he, the messenger of joy:
But whence those ling'ring steps? those downcast eyes?
Alas! I fear him wounded—

SCENE V.

Arnolph, Almida, Sophia, Aldamon.
ALMIDA.
What of Tancred?

ALDAMON.
Madam, he comes—

ALMIDA.
And safe?—be quick—relieve me.

ALDAMON.
If glory were sufficient—

ALMIDA.
Every nerve
With horror shivers! speak—ah no!—be dumb!

ALDAMON.
Tancred is yet alive—but ah! I fear,
Pierc'd by a mortal wound, he bleeds to death!
Trac'd in his blood alas! this dismal paper
Bears his last thoughts—I tremble to consign it!

ALMIDA
wildly.
Give me my sentence—Tancred, I'll obey thee;
I'll follow thee—death must be in this paper!
Ah! wrote in blood—can I then stand the sight?
Serve me this once, sad eyes! 'tis your last effort.
[reads.
[OMITTED]
I could not bear your perfidly. ... I die
[lets fall the paper and sinks in Sophia's arms.
Well my father!—
Am I now lost, undone, and curst enough!

ARNOLPH.
At length the fates have pour'd out all their hatred,
And set us up a monument of woe!
'Tis well ye gods! we now are past complaint,
Lost even to fear, and senseless even to hope!
Yet ere I leave a cruel hated world,
Thy honour must be clear'd. This wretched country
Must learn the reverence due to injur'd virtue,
And venerate thy name.—

ALMIDA.
What is to me,
Or fame, or country, when my Tancred dies?

ARNOLPH.
Dreadful indeed!—

ALMIDA.
He dies—and undeceiv'd!
You are the cause—but yet ere he expires—
What do I see? these hated tyrants here!

SCENE VI.

Almida, Arnolph, Sophia, Aldamon, Loredan. Knights, &c.
LOREDAN.
Most mournful news I bear! onward they bring
The gen'rous Tancred pierc'd with manly wounds!
He dies a hero! his fast streaming blood,
Shed for his country, we have stopt awhile.
Life flies apace—but his departing spirit
Hovering a moment on the brink of fate
Calls on Almida, and awaits her sight.
Tears fill each eye—and I with deep regret—

[while he speaks, Tancred is brought slowly in wounded, and supported. Almida breaks from the arms of Sophia, where she leant desponding, and turning wildly to Loredan she says.
ALMIDA.
Hence thou barbarian with thy odious pity!
[then flies and kneels by Tancred.
Tancred! too cruel, and too tender Tancred!
Canst thou yet hear me? can alas those eyes,
Obscur'd by death, behold thy lost Almida?
Oh speak! ah know me desolate of heart!
Admit thy spouse—admit her in thy tomb!
Give me that promis'd hand—look on me, Tancred!
Is then that glance thy last, and dost thou hate me?

[he looks tenderly at her.
TANCRED.
[raising himself, then falling back.]
Thou hast betray'd me!

ALMIDA.
I betray thee, Tancred!

ARNOLPH.
No, thou'rt deceiv'd—We all have been deceiv'd—
Almida was condemn'd for loving thee!
Our laws—our knights—
All—all have err'd—and she alone was just!
That fatal writing which inspir'd our vengeance
Was meant to thee, and by a sad mistake—

TANCRED.
[raising himself with pain.]
Almida! heav'n! thou lov'st me?

ALMIDA.
Ah, had I ceas'd one moment to adore thee,
I had indeed deserv'd the pangs that rend me!

TANCRED.
To know thee true and tender, is such bliss,
It almost softens—yet emboldens death!
But I deserve it—I who could suspect thee!
I loath'd my life—I lose it, awful heaven!
When one blest word has made it worth my care!

ALMIDA.
Is there no mercy, gods! and is it now,
Now only I can speak my soul to Tancred!

TANCRED.
Thy tears should soothe my bitter pangs, Almida,
But we must part—Death now indeed is dreadful!
Its ice creeps thro' my veins—O Arnolph! Father!
And thou lov'd victim to my sad suspicion,
Join thy dear hand to mine—tho' cold and bloody!

[Arnolph joins their hands, weeping.
ARNOLPH.
Look on us, heaven! yet grant—

TANCRED.
Ah, 'tis too late!
I've liv'd to 'venge my country and my wife,
And now—Almida!

ALMIDA.
Speak!

TANCRED.
Follow not
A wretched lover—Swear that thou wilt live!
What darkness hides thee? Gracious gods—

[dies.
CATANIO.
He dies!
And our pain'd hearts too late have known—

ALMIDA.
He dies!
[Almida sinks near the body, then rises and walks in wild disorder on the stage.
Ha! do you weep, inhuman cruel tyrants?
Would earth this moment open to ingulph us!
Myself, and you, and this detested country,
Your barbarous senate, with its horrid arts
Of murd'ring virtue with the shew of justice!
Pour down your lightning, gods! that I may feast
My dying eyes with Syracuse in flames!
View all your bodies bleeding in the dust!
[falls by Tancred, starts up again.
Cold—Cold, and breathless! ha! these tyrants live!
They live, and Tancred dies—But hark he calls—
Calls his Almida—Yes, I hear his voice—
I come, I come—in night's eternal shade,
For ever join'd, where tyrants cannot reach us!
I go—may furies howling rise to haunt ye!

[falls on Sophia.
ARNOLPH.
Ye pow'rs! who shed soft pity on the wretched,
Calm her disorder'd soul! Almida! Daughter!

ALMIDA.
[Wildly, and pushing him from her.]
Away—Stand off—I never had a father!
Fathers are kind, and gentle to their children,
But you was stern, these barbarous men's accomplice!
Alas! forgive a wretched dying daughter—
My senses all are lost—my wand'ring head!
A moment yet, blest spirit! and I come!
Tancred, I'm thine! assist me—Oh!

[falls.
ARNOLPH.
—She sinks,
And I am left to drain misfortune's cup.
Shed down thy mercy, heav'n—Save thy servant,
On the grave's brink, from madness and despair!
Restore my child—O let her opening eyes
Bless me once more, ere mine are clos'd for ever!
See, mortals see, what ruin is brought on
By our too violent tho' virtuous passions!