 | Almida |  |
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,
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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?
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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.
| Almida | |