University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter Sylvia, in haste.
Syl.
My sister, my Constantia!

[with joy.
Cons.
What imports
Thy breathless haste, and whence my Sylvia's transport?

Syl.
O! my lov'd sister! I am wild with joy!

Cons.
But say the cause.

Syl.
My dear, my lovely fawn,
So many days deplor'd and sought in vain,
Is now return'd.

Cons.
And hence thy mighty rapture?

Syl.
And think'st thou this so little? Well thou know'st
My fawn's my care, my darling and my friend:
She loves her Sylvia: when I speak, methinks
She hears me with a more than brutal sense.
She sleeps upon my bosom, courts my kisses,
And still attends me whereso'er I go.
Her had I lost, her have I found again,
And think'st thou this so small a cause of joy?

Cons.
O! happy innocence!

[returns to her work.
Syl.
Shall I, my sister,
For ever hear thy sighs and see thy tears?

Cons.
And can I ever dry these weeping eyes?
Full thirteen times has spring renew'd its course,
Since thus abandon'd, and secluded far
From human race, depriv'd of every comfort,
O Heaven! without one glimmering hope again
To view my lost, my dear paternal shores,
Here have I dwell'd and dragg'd a dying life:
And would'st thou, Sylvia, have me yet unmov'd?

Syl.
But what have we to ask to make us happy?
Are we not sovereigns here? This pleasing isle
Our peaceful kingdom, and the forest herds
Our gentle subjects? Earth and sea produce
Supplies for us: the friendly trees afford
A grateful shelter from the burning heat;
And hollow caves defend us from the cold:
Our will is uncontroll'd by force or law:
If this suffice not, say what more remains
To make us blest?

Cons.
Alas! thou canst not miss
The good thou ne'er hast known. When first we reach'd
These lonely shores, thy lips could scarcely utter
Imperfect sounds, thy young ideas then
Unform'd and unconnected: thy remembrance
Preserves no trace of what we once have been,
No object knows but what this isle affords.
I, who was then, as thou art now, remember
(O! cruel recollection!) what I was,
And, with my present state, compare the past.

Syl.
Oft have I heard you boast the wealth, the wisdom,
The arts, the manners and delights of Europe;
And yet permit me to declare my thoughts,
This peaceful life for me has greater charms.

Cons.
Think not description, Sylvia, will inform thee
Of what from sight thou only canst conceive.

Syl.
And yet these boasted lands are fill'd with man—
With man, whose species is our deadly foe;
And have you not a thousand times declar'd—

Cons.
True, I have told thee oft; but ne'er enough
Of that detested race. Yes, men are cruel,
Perfidious, impious, treacherous, more than savage,
Strangers to ties of soft humanity;
[weeps.
Love, faith and pity dwell not in their breast.

Syl.
Then here from them at least we live secure;
And yet—you weep—O! if you love your Sylvia,
Forbear this grief. What can I do to ease you?
Do you desire my fawn? Dry up those tears—
My fawn shall then be yours.

[takes her hand.
Cons.
Alas! my Sylvia,
Constantia has too just a cause for tears.
[embracing her.

[Exit.