University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Court of the Palace.
A distant View of the Bay—Evening; the Moon rising.
Houaco enters slowly from one side.
HOUACO.
His wond'rous tale has roused each recollection
That bids me live, while it makes life so bitter.
Oh, my poor countrymen! and ye, dear objects
Of my sad, secret thoughts!—No, nothing—nothing,—
Can ever slacken memory's strong hold!
[Alphonso enters from the other side, with folded arms, and lost in thought.
Alone! I will accost him.—Don Alphonso!

ALPHONSO
(starting from his reverie).
Approach, Zamori, for thou art an Indian.
Haply the sight of thee may soothe my soul!
I am o'erwhelm'd by a stern father's curse
For keeping faith with men like thee, Zamori.

HOUACO.
By men like me faith given ne'er was broken.

ALPHONSO.
My faith was given to one so great!—so noble!
To one, whose spirit seems an emanation
From him whom darkling he adores unknown!
Yes, given to one, whose gentle sway of love
Is stamp'd by Mercy, and upheld by Justice!

HOUACO.
Yet Justice upon Mercy's bosom slept
When the wrong'd Indian held Pedrarias' son,
And loosed his bonds!
(With suspicion).
If so indeed it were?

ALPHONSO.
Oh! that I might disburthen my full heart
In any human breast!—I would choose thine.
Ere I departed from my father's court,
Thou know'st I woo'd thy friendship, though in vain.

HOUACO.
I am a slave—the slave can never be
The freeman's friend.

ALPHONSO.
Not so. Can twisted bands,
Or fire-wrought iron, though they bind the limbs,
Subdue the free-born spirit?—Thou art noble.
I would no other friend.

HOUACO.
I am a native
Of this fair land, that reeks beneath my foot
With the dear blood of those I wont to love,
Shed by thy father's unrelenting hand!
And shall my soul communion hold with thine?

ALPHONSO.
Thou didst, with friendship's own unshrinking hand,
Unwreathe the hooded snake that round my neck
Had wound him in my sleep!

HOUACO.
'Tis true, I did.
But first it chanced, when, as unskill'd, I strain'd
The servile oar, with muscles all unused
To the strait tension, and the rapid current
Of Oronoko seem'd to mock my toil,
Thy father bade his creatures urge with stripes
My fainting strength—
(Aside, mastering himself).
Be still—be still, my soul!
Thou took'st my place, as 'twere in youthful sport,
And lustily didst buffet with the stream,
While on the oar, amid thy playful speech,
Fell pity's tear!

ALPHONSO.
Then why refuse, Zamori,
The fellowship I court?—'tis nature's self
Draws kindred spirits, and Pedrarias' son
Is dear to one like thee—a noble Indian!
[Takes Capana's token from his bosom, and gazes on it.
Thou sacred pledge!

HOUACO.
That pledge! or do I dream?
That sacred pledge!
[Seizing Alphonso roughly.
Speak—speak, Alphonso, speak!
Or I will tear the secret from thy soul!—
Did he who gave thee liberty, give that?

ALPHONSO
(putting him away haughtily).
Must thou, too, question with imperious tone?
I have withstood a father's sacred claim!
(Aside.)
“Breathe not the sounds even in an Indian's ear,”
He said.—I must mislead his eagerness.
(Aloud.)
I found the bauble!

HOUACO
(with trembling anxiety).
And a mangled corse
Beside it! or, haply, scatter'd bones, that bleach'd
In the rude blast!—Oh! on my knees, I beg,
Tell me the fatal spot, that I may gather
Each honour'd relic to my broken heart!

ALPHONSO
(kindly).
Pardon, Zamori, that I may not tell
By what dear right this valued pledge is mine.

HOUACO
(shuddering with horror).
Ha! thou hast slain him, and dost bear his spoils!

ALPHONSO
(with delight).
No, no.—He lives! he lives, who gave me this.
But wherefore dost thou strain thy eyeballs thus,
With short convulsive heavings?—Who art thou?

HOUACO
(recollecting himself).
I am thy father's slave.

ALPHONSO.
But ere these chains,
(My heart prophetic throbs) who wert thou?—say!

HOUACO.
This bosom holds its secret too.

ALPHONSO.
Oh, no!
It holds no secret mine does not partake!
Nature's strong impulse bids me clasp thy hand,
And call thee—brave Houaco!

HOUACO
(in ecstacy).
Yes, 'twas he!
'Twas he himself who spared thy life!

ALPHONSO.
Thy father,
Capana, gave me life and liberty,
Thou brother of my love! and gave me this.
[They embrace.
He bade me not reveal to living being
The place of his retreat. His son, he thought,
Was number'd with the dead.

HOUACO.
And so he is!
The slave Zamori lives.

ALPHONSO.
Capana's son
Thou art, and shalt be!—Yes, I fly to claim
The free enlargement of Capana's son!

HOUACO.
Oh stay, rash youth!

ALPHONSO.
Alas! the sudden joy
Had blotted from my thought all former ill;
My vow—my cruel father's anger—all!
By gratitude debarr'd from grateful deeds,
Oh, am I not, Houaco, most accursed?
To know my benefactor wastes his days
In sorrow, and thus,—thus to hold the means
Of full requital!—hold his happiness
As 'twere within my grasp, nor dare dispense it!

HOUACO.
Young man, misfortune has not school'd thy spirit,
Unmoved, to suffer; to the present senseless,
Thy very being forward borne, with purpose
Intense, deep fix'd, till years bring on the hour
Of retribution, great as was the wrong.

ALPHONSO.
Rear'd in gay luxury, my friend, my youth
Sought but the pleasures of the passing day;
But when I mark'd thy calm, disdainful, brow
Smiling in tortures, felt how great the conquer'd!—
The conquerors how little!—then my mind
Aspired to emulate the man I honour'd.
That man the son of him who set me free—
To free him be henceforth my soul's strong purpose!
By Heaven, it cannot be, that he, the father
Who to my infant prayer would yield with smiles,
Should now relentless—

HOUACO.
If he could relent,
Capana must not look on these gall'd wrists:
He has wept me, dead—he must not find new tears
To weep his son enslaved!

ALPHONSO
(eagerly).
A slave no longer!
For thou with me from Panama shalt fly,
Escaped from chains—

HOUACO.
Might I escape, I would not.
The tyrant's vengeance would with tenfold fury
Fall on my fellow-captives!—No, I would not;
For while I stand between Pedrarias' rigour
And the poor suffering few his rage has spared,
Methinks it is a last sad duty, owed
By lost Houaco to his father's people!

ALPHONSO.
Thou noble spirit!—Then 'tis mine alone
To seek Capana, and with him concert
To break thy bondage. Thou, meantime, my friend,
Wear this, it will recall his honour'd image.

[Giving him Capana's token.
HOUACO.
No, wear it thou! for no remembrancer
Houaco needs of his poor wandering father,
His butcher'd people, and his wasted country!

Enter Gusman.
GUSMAN.
I have sought thee, Don Alphonso, through the palace,
The bearer of thy father's will.
[Houaco retiring.
Nay, stay,
Zamori! thy good services are graced:
'Tis thine to follow on Alphonso's fortunes.
Yet one night more within these walls ye rest:
Ere dawn, together—

ALPHONSO.
Together, Gusman! Thanks,
My gracious father! e'en in anger kind!
(To Houaco).
The heavens thou see'st on holy friendship smile!
Come then, thou brother of my heart! The heights
Upheaved before us frown in untamed grandeur,
Our ample heritage! th'o'erarching skies
Our mutual roof! for bolts and bars, our faith!
Then not in lonely deserts shall we roam;
For, with a friend, the wilderness is peopled!
Nor in throng'd cities, nor in soul-less courts,
Is known the full communion of free thought
Man finds with man in native liberty!

[Exeunt.