 | Gonzalvo of Cordova |  |
SCENE II.
The Court of the Palace.The funeral procession of Almanzor. Gonzalvo chained and guarded: the executioner by his side.
CHORUS OF MOORS.
For the warrior young and brave,
Doom'd untimely to the grave,
Pour on the passing gale the voice of woe;
And mark, as deep and sad the numbers flow
Successive from the heart;—the hollow groan
Falls on the ear!—It is a father's moan!
And now the silver tone
Of female tenderness dissolves the soul:
A sister's inbred love disdains control,
Mourning the friend, the brother, and the chief,
With wild impassion'd grief.
The airs that erst with gratulation rung,
Now on dank pinions hung,
Bear heavily the plaint a nation breathes,
That sorrowing wreathes
Funereal garlands for her hero slain,
Slain in his country's cause, on yon ensanguined plain!
CHORUS OF YOUTHS.
We who on his steps attending,
Learnt from him the soldier's part,
Valour, fortitude unbending,
For our sacred home contending!
Can we tear him from our heart?
No, by our leader's bier, our arms laid low,
Wait we, in mute despair, the now victorious foe.
[Laying down their arms by the bier.
CHORUS OF MAIDENS.
Opening radiant with the morning
Beam'd the smile we strove to share;
For that smile all others scorning:
Now for whom her charms adorning
Would the Moorish maid be fair?
Our chaplets, faded, on his bier we throw,
Our braided tresses tear, and join a sister's woe!
[Placing their garlands on the bier.
CHORUS OF MOORS.
Wake a more impetuous lay!
Keener pangs our bosoms sway,
By patriot rage, and frenzied anguish tost!
Yet—yet—all is not lost!
Revenge! Revenge, is ours! Her bitter smile
Our sorrow shall beguile!
Revenge shall yet a thrilling joy impart,
Dear to the Moorish heart!
While cold Despair shall guide her frantic hand
Deep in the murd'rer's breast to plunge the ruthless brand!
YOUTHS AND MAIDENS.
Breathe again funereal strains,
Give to dust the loved remains;
While from seats of glory bending
Angels hymn the soul ascending;
While a grateful nation's sighs
Waft the hero to the skies,
And its tears embalm his name,
Thus by a people's love consign'd to deathless fame.
MULEY HASSAN.For the warrior young and brave,
Doom'd untimely to the grave,
Pour on the passing gale the voice of woe;
And mark, as deep and sad the numbers flow
Successive from the heart;—the hollow groan
Falls on the ear!—It is a father's moan!
And now the silver tone
Of female tenderness dissolves the soul:
A sister's inbred love disdains control,
Mourning the friend, the brother, and the chief,
With wild impassion'd grief.
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Now on dank pinions hung,
Bear heavily the plaint a nation breathes,
That sorrowing wreathes
Funereal garlands for her hero slain,
Slain in his country's cause, on yon ensanguined plain!
CHORUS OF YOUTHS.
We who on his steps attending,
Learnt from him the soldier's part,
Valour, fortitude unbending,
For our sacred home contending!
Can we tear him from our heart?
No, by our leader's bier, our arms laid low,
Wait we, in mute despair, the now victorious foe.
[Laying down their arms by the bier.
CHORUS OF MAIDENS.
Opening radiant with the morning
Beam'd the smile we strove to share;
For that smile all others scorning:
Now for whom her charms adorning
Would the Moorish maid be fair?
Our chaplets, faded, on his bier we throw,
Our braided tresses tear, and join a sister's woe!
[Placing their garlands on the bier.
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Wake a more impetuous lay!
Keener pangs our bosoms sway,
By patriot rage, and frenzied anguish tost!
Yet—yet—all is not lost!
Revenge! Revenge, is ours! Her bitter smile
Our sorrow shall beguile!
Revenge shall yet a thrilling joy impart,
Dear to the Moorish heart!
While cold Despair shall guide her frantic hand
Deep in the murd'rer's breast to plunge the ruthless brand!
YOUTHS AND MAIDENS.
Breathe again funereal strains,
Give to dust the loved remains;
While from seats of glory bending
Angels hymn the soul ascending;
While a grateful nation's sighs
Waft the hero to the skies,
And its tears embalm his name,
Thus by a people's love consign'd to deathless fame.
Prepare thee, youth, to die. Spite of this tear,
Revenge anon will brace my unstrung nerves
To taste the joys she gives.
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Oh, Muley Hassan!
Thy gentle tongue erewhile bade me aspire
To call thee father! erring vengeance now
Prompts that same tongue to speak the doom of death
On one who has not injured thee.
MULEY HASSAN.
Ha! Spaniard,
Thou hast not injured me?—Look there! Look there!
[Pointing to the bier.
GONZALVO.
I do beseech thee, ere I bow my head,
And court the blow that rids me of this life,
Allow me but once more to see thy daughter:
Oh! see me kneel for this, and weep before thee!
MULEY HASSAN
(aside).
And must I pity him?—At distance yonder,
Behold the wreck of all that was so joyous!
So beautiful!—A little month ago
(So tender was her nurture) had she died,
She never had known sorrow.
(To the attendants).
Lead her on.
Speak, prince, we may not long delay.
[Zelima totters forward supported, and on seeing Gonzalvo, hides her face in her father's bosom.
GONZALVO.
Nay, turn
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And innocent of all offence to thee.
ZELIMA.
Perfidious Spaniard! false as thou art cruel!
[To Muley Hassan.
(No, I will not disgrace thee, my dear father,
By any show of pity, though it kill me).
[To Gonzalvo.
Didst thou not swear to me in yonder grove
My brother's life was sacred to thy sword?
And swiftly as thy fleetest steed could bear thee,
Didst rush on him and deal the deadly blow?
GONZALVO.
No, it was I who saved yon corse from insult.
ZELIMA.
Is it thus thou givest me my rescued brother?
Is this thy pledge of faith?
GONZALVO.
I slew him not:—
I go to death, my faith to thee unbroken.
Say, thou believest—Oh! my Zelima,
Say, too, thou pitiest me.
ZELIMA
(giving way to tenderness).
Nay, canst thou wish
Such twofold torture to poor Zelima,
As but to think thy hand is innocent,
And see thee thus?—Spare me, and say thou'rt guilty.
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We may not thus delay the obsequies.
MULEY HASSAN
(with assumed firmness).
My injured country, prince, demands thy blood.
Thy life is forfeit to the sacred dead;
A father's vengeance claims it!
(To Zelima).
Thou, my child, withdraw.
[Zelima retires in great disorder.
And now, dread minister of justice, strike!
GONZALVO.
My Zelima! my love! farewell for ever!
[Muley Hassan hides his face. The executioner lifts his axe, when Lara and Pedro rush in.
LARA.
Stay—stay your hands! ye impious murderers!
I!—I slew your Almanzor!
MULEY HASSAN.
Who art thou?
None other but Gonzalvo could have done it!
LARA.
Here Lara stands to avouch the glorious deed!
Behold Almanzor's conqueror!
GONZALVO.
My Lara!
Whither would cruel friendship lead thee? Go—
Sever'd from her I love, death is my choice.
Live, Lara, live, for Spain and for Gonzalvo.
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Strike, Moor! why stand ye thus suspended?
(To Muley Hassan).
Command, good king! This frantic man would save
His friend, and knows not what he says.
LARA.
Old king! I swear 'twas I who slew thy son.
GONZALVO.
Strike here! the king, Abdoulah, bade despatch.
Dread the fierce tyrant's wrath.
(To Lara.)
Away, my friend!
Thy artifice shall not prevail.
LARA
(to the Executioner.)
Strike here!
ZELIMA
(rushing from among the women, and throwing herself at her father's feet).
Pardon, my father, both these noble youths!
'Tis Lara speaks the truth—Gonzalvo pardon,
For that he tarried with thy Zelima,
Swearing to spare her brother, while his friend
Struck at our peace; yet pardon Lara too,
For that he thus would die to save Gonzalvo.
MULEY HASSAN.
The Spaniard's blood will not allay the pang
That rankles in this breast; but how may these
Consent to lose the sweets of promised vengeance?
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(to the attendants).
My friends, who knew my brother's generous soul,
Think you his spirit may be soothed by blood
Of kindred spirits butcher'd o'er his tomb?
Not nobly shed in battle?—No—'tis he,
'Tis my Almanzor's hovering ghost that prompts
My feeble voice to cry for mercy!—Mercy!
[Distant sounds are heard of the storming of the city.
Enter Omar hastily.
OMAR.
Granada is invested on all sides!
The vengeful Spaniards lay the city waste,
Claiming their leaders, Lara and Gonzalvo.
GONZALVO.
Release me, king, and I will stay their fury:
It were more grateful to Almanzor's spirit
That I should stanch his country's blood, than shed
My own upon his corse.
ALL THE MOORS.
Release him, king!
Release the noble Spaniard!
[Muley Hassan releases him, and Pedro gives him his arms.
GONZALVO
(embracing LARA).
Oh, my Lara,
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Yes, thou dost pity me—deny it not!
ZELIMA.
Haste, haste, dear prince, nor lose again the moment.
MULEY HASSAN.
Let them depart, while thou and I consign
To earth, the mortal part of him whom now
The Prophet welcomes to the bowers of bliss.
[Exeunt Gonzalvo and Lara on one side, followed by the young Moors. On the other the funeral procession, with Muley Hassan, Zelima, Maidens, &c. and the Scene closes.
| Gonzalvo of Cordova | |