University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Wood.
Zelima, Gonzalvo.
ZELIMA.
Yes, we must part:—leave, leave the wretch thou hast made.
Oh, fly me! Hush—methought I heard a voice!
The breath of morning, panting on the leaves,
Comes o'er me like deep thunders.—Heard'st thou aught?

GONZALVO.
'Twas but the carol of the early woodman.
Thy looks affright me: no, I cannot leave thee.

ZELIMA.
Thou must! thou must! and I must learn to see
In him who saved me but my country's foe.
It is a fearful task! for deep, too deep
Is stamp'd thy image here. Oh leave me then
To utter sadness,—lonely,—desolate,—
That I may conjure to my weak heart's aid
The ghosts of all my butcher'd countrymen,
Whose pil'd up corses built thy cruel fame.
Thy true love's token be the sword that slew them!
I'll fix my eyes on the blood-crusted blade,
And listen to the sobbing of the night-blast,
Till to my ear it seem the upbraiding wail
Of dying men, cursing the unhallow'd love
I bear their murderer!

GONZALVO.
Oh, check thy speech,
Lest my brain turn, and, urg'd by fell despair—

ZELIMA.
'Tis I who must despair!—for thou art call'd
To take my brother's life, or he must plunge
His ruthless blade in my preserver's breast.
I am alike destroy'd by either blow.
Already treason!—ere the sun go down
It may be fratricide to love Gonzalvo!
Then listen what I swear. If in the lists
Thou prove victorious, glory be thy meed!
Never will Zelima behold the man
Who bears her brother's blood upon his sword.

GONZALVO.
Then art thou mine! for at thy feet I vow,
By all the passion in this bosom pent—
By all my sufferings—by thy sacred self—
By all the trembling hope—by all the joy
Thy tender pity pour'd upon my soul—
Gonzalvo's hand shall never take the life
Of one who is thy brother!

ZELIMA.
In this grove
Thou hast no witness of thy deeds, Gonzalvo,
Save love, and thy poor weeping Zelima.
But think'st thou, when the glorious lists appear,
Thy haughty queen, the king of Aragon,
With their proud court in all its bravery;
On either side the eyes of an arm'd host
Fix'd on your single swords;—the shouting voice
Of thousands pour'd upon the gale,—oh! think'st thou,
When all these strike at once upon the sense,
They will not rouse the terrible Gonzalvo,
And bear you on—O horrid, horrid image!
My bleeding brother! the exulting foe!

GONZALVO.
Have I not sworn Almanzor's life is sacred?

ZELIMA.
Ha! cruel! thou would'st say thyself will fall,
And if thou fall, 'tis I—'tis I have doom'd thee!
There's madness in that thought! Thou shalt not go:
Yet stay awhile—my brother's rage is high:
Thou shalt not meet his fury—no, thou shalt not—
Thus will I fetter thee!

[Clinging round his neck.
GONZALVO.
And here, my love,
Here will I grow; and ever, ever, thus
Live in thy eyes, and lose myself in joy!
Farewell to fame! since thou will have it so.
Rest on this bosom, it is thine alone.
Welcome dishonour for thy sake!—But hark!
[After a pause.
What sound was that? a distant trumpet!—hark!
Again?—It bears on every blast reproach!
The sun is high—th'appointed hour is past!
Again! again! it swells upon the gale.—
Ha! now the mingling roar should rather seem
Of general conflict. Never yet Gonzalvo
Turn'd from the battle! Louder, louder still!
My soul burns in me!—infamy, disgrace,
Are on my name! I come! I come!—Farewell!
Haste, Fatima—haste, Zayda—Moorish maids,
Support your princess—soothe her tenderly.
[Enter Moorish women, to whose care he commits her insensible with terror.
My Zelima, to live for thee denied,
Death for thy sake is sweet, but not dishonour!

[He rushes out.
ZELIMA
(recovering, and looking wildly around).
Where am I?—what has chanced?—Ha! where is he?
Sure he was here e'en now!—and is he gone?—
See, see! he spurs his courser o'er the plain;—
He rushes to the fight! Oh, spare my brother!
Thou shalt not murder him. Forbear, Almanzor!
And would'st thou thus repay a sister's rescue?
Oh! pity, pity! Sheathe your murderous blades!
Live! cruel ones! Live for your Zelima!

[Sinks into their arms, and scene closes.

SCENE II.

The Royal Tents.
Isabella, Alvarez, &c.
ISABELLA.
No message from the king? Alas! my fears!
Had Spain's brave champion triumph'd o'er the Moor,
Garcia, (so I enjoin'd him), had, ere now,
Brought the glad tidings. Hast thou mark'd, Alvarez,
When adverse clouds o'er th'Alpuxares meet,
A shuddering stillness creep through all the air
Ere the storm burst? Such Ferdinand observing,
Through either host as either champion yielded,
Urged me to quit the lists. I ne'er before
Beheld so fierce, so obstinate a combat.
Who would have thought, beneath a turban wrapt,
Such matchless hardihood, such desperate valour?

Enter Garcia
GARCIA.
This praise from Isabel be now his meed!
Almanzor's fall'n!

ISABELLA.
Then victory is ours!

GARCIA.
Alas! not so: the Moors, with frantic cries,
Rush'd on our troops: a general fight ensued;
And oh, my queen! with grief and shame, these eyes
Beheld the Spaniards yield.

Enter Ferdinand.
FERDINAND.
Joy, joy, my Isabel;
The tide of war is turn'd! Our Spaniards fled,—
In wild disorder fled!—when from the camp
Darted, with eagle speed, one all unarm'd,
Save that he brandish'd wide his desperate sword,
Maddening with rage: and “Spaniards!” he exclaim'd,
“Castilians! men of Aragon! ho! stand!
It is Gonzalvo calls you to the field!”
All turn'd at once: the Moors are panic-struck!
Impetuous as the hurricane, Gonzalvo
Bears down the yielding foe, following amain
The refluent tide of battle.

ISABELLA.
Gallant youth!
Pride of Castile! But how saidst thou “unarm'd?”
In panoply complete he met the Moor.

FERDINAND.
So deem'd each host: but when with toil o'erspent,
And hard-earn'd victory, the conqueror sunk,
His squires unbraced his casque to give him air,
And lo! brave Lara's lineaments!

ISABELLA.
Amazement!

FERDINAND.
More wonderful what follow'd, Isabel.
Our soldiers seize the slain Almanzor's corse:
Behold Gonzalvo head a Moorish band,
Defend the lifeless chief with frantic zeal;
And, aiding the heart-stricken Moors, convey
The corse from off the field.

ISABELLA.
Most strange, indeed!

GARCIA.
Venusa's prince false to the cause of Spain!

ALVAREZ.
Nor leave to hungry dogs an infidel's
Unhallow'd corse?

FERDINAND.
Returning, now he mark'd
Brave Lara 'mongst a host of vengeful Moors,
Though faint and bleeding, holding them at bay:
With lightning's speed he rush'd upon them.—Lost
To my sight, I know not the event.

ISABELLA.
My liege,
Oh doubt it not!—'tis victory!

FERDINAND.
Be ours
To improve the advantage gained. Come, Isabel;
We must take order for to-morrow's onset.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Before Lara's Tent.
Enter Lara, leaning on his attendants as if wounded; Gonzalvo by his side in great disorder.
LARA.
I pray thee, my Gonzalvo, rave not thus!
Nay, hast thou not eclips'd thy former glory;
Snatching amidst defeat itself the palm
Of victory? Hast thou not redeem'd from death
Thy Lara, too? Oh, who so blest, my friend,
That would not barter lots with thee this day?

GONZALVO.
None who could read my heart. Enough of this:
Speak of thy safety, of thy life, thy fame,
For that is all saved from my wreck of bliss.

LARA.
Thy wreck of bliss when thou hast sav'd thy country?

GONZALVO.
Is not Almanzor dead, and by thy hand?

LARA.
Yes, by my hand! Would'st thou that I had bared
My bosom to the Infidel's assault?
He met me not to joust in tournament—
Or he had fallen or I.

GONZALVO.
It was not thine
The combat—'twas thy friend's. Had he met me,
Almanzor had return'd to bless his Zelima.
Wretch that I am! Ev'n now, ev'n now, alas!
My princess bends o'er her dear slaughter'd brother,
Deeming Gonzalvo perjured, false—a murderer!
He, who so lately at her feet had sworn
Almanzor's blood should never stain his sword!
Is't not enough, that, every hope shut out,
Despair be mine, but she must think this hand,
This treach'rous hand, has slaughter'd him?
[Lara takes his hand kindly.
Away!
Offer not consolation, Lara. Off!
Thou liv'st. My soul, at least, is spared remorse
For thee! thou art the victor! Wear the blood-stain'd wreath,
Thy valour's due, and leave me to my sorrow.

[Turning from him.
LARA.
My friendship is not dear to thee as once,
Gonzalvo—

GONZALVO.
He is to holy friendship's laws
A stranger, who knows not to sympathise
In his friend's sorrows, though he ne'er have proved
Like ills himself. Thou art my fellow soldier,
Not my friend.

LARA.
Nor friend, nor fellow soldier,
Is welcome to thee more. The flatterer—yes,
The servile flatterer, is the friend thou would'st;
But Lara cannot be Gonzalvo's flatterer.
Go, bind the silken turban round thy brow,
Forswear thy friend, thy country, and thy fame;
Go revel in the Moorish wanton's smiles,
And at her feet—

GONZALVO
(drawing).
The Moorish wanton! say'st thou?

[Pedro rushes between them, and catches Gonzalvo's arm.
LARA
(baring his bosom, and with much emotion).
But first take back the worthless life thy hand
So lately gave to him thy recreant heart
No longer owns.

[Gonzalvo gives his sword to Pedro, and turning axay, hides his eyes with his hands.
PEDRO
(going up to LARA).
My lord is not himself. Your wounds still bleed:
I pray you be more calm.
[To his attendants.
My friends, attend
The valiant Lara—bind his wounds afresh.
[Exit Lara supported.
Pray you, my lord, allow me to attend you
To your own tents. Indeed you need repose.
Haply your faithful Pedro, who has shared
The chances that have wrought this change in you,
May better soothe the anguish of your mind.

GONZALVO.
“The Moorish wanton!”—“Revel in her smiles!”
Her brother's blood still reeking on his sword,
To wrong her thus! With friendship's holy name
To grace such insults!

PEDRO.
Oh! be calm, my lord.

GONZALVO.
Yes, Pedro, I will see her once again;
Tell her this hand is guiltless of his blood—
Pardon obtain—or at her feet expire!

PEDRO.
My lord, you rave. The princess is retired
Within th'Albaysin palace with her father.
It were impossible to enter there,
As 'twere to scale yon skies.—Impossible!

GONZALVO.
No, Pedro, nothing is impossible
To one who greatly dares. I can but die,
And it is better far to die, while, ardent,
I aim my soul's strong purpose to effect,
Than sit me down as coward spirits use,
And, unresisting, sigh my life away.
Yes, I will see her!—Let me pass.

PEDRO.
My lord,
'Tis madness—'tis impossible!—I pray you
Bethink you better.

[Attempting to stop him.
GONZALVO
(with violence).
Nay, attempt not, Pedro,
One to dissuade who is so bent as I am.
Yes, I will enter the proud city thus!
My arms alone are known—alone are fear'd.
What Moor will dream the wretched thing he sees
Was once Gonzalvo? I shall pass unheeded
Amidst the consternation of defeat.

[He rushes out wildly, leaving his sword in Pedro's hand. Pedro, after a moment of consternation, follows him.