University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The first Mountain Scenery.
Alphonso, Amazilia.
ALPHONSO.
Forget me, hate me, lovely Amazilia;
And let me fly, and yield me to despair.

[Going.
AMAZILIA.
Whither?—Whither?

ALPHONSO.
Where I may never more
Behold thy fatal charms!

AMAZILIA
(with desperation).
Nay, if thou dost,
I will not live!—No, by yon Heaven, I will not!
An Indian knows a thousand ways to death,
No death so frightful as were life without thee.

ALPHONSO
(after gazing on her earnestly).
I dare not trust my eyes—thy every look
Exerts a several destructive power!

AMAZILIA.
Kill me, if I am in my nature hurtful!
Kill me! but fly me not—Yet wherefore hurtful?
My heart goes forth to every thing that lives
With kindliest will. I would not crush the reptile
E'en though it stung me. Am I then more cruel
Than venom'd reptiles? for they spare their kind,
But I, thou say'st, injure whom most I love.

ALPHONSO.
Nay, nay; it is involuntary wrong!—
Alas for poor Houaco! slavery, tortures,
Were powerless to dash his bosom's firmness.
Thy scorn alone could break that noble spirit.

AMAZILIA.
I do not scorn Houaco. Must I wed
One whom I cannot love—as now I feel
This heart can love?
(With enthusiasm).
Oh yes! it would revere
Its object, as above the human race;
And, hanging on his words, his looks, would catch
A new soul, and new hopes, and glorious thoughts!

ALPHONSO
(aside).
Oh gratitude! Oh friendship! bar each sense!

AMAZILIA.
Alas! and can I honour thus Houaco?
Returning from the battle, if he bear
An hundred scalps of those his hatchet slew;
If on his steps, when crown'd with victory,
His fellow creatures manacled attend,
To bleed before the altars of our gods;
Say, shall these eyes, by thee unseal'd to truth,
Behold with sympathy that husband's triumph?
If thou would'st doom me to a fate like this,
Oh! why dispel the darkness of my soul,
And break upon me, as Heaven's glorious beam
Darts through the mountain chasm, by lightnings rent,
Awaking life and joy, where since creation
Darkness, and silence, and inaction dwelt?

ALPHONSO.
Dear, lost enthusiast!—Curse! Oh, curse the hour
I led thy glowing fancy—

AMAZILIA.
Hold! for mercy!
Curse not the gleam of bliss this heart has caught,
To sweeten the long life of misery
To which thou doom'st it now!
(With sudden earnestness).
But whence the law?—
Haply of some more cruel God than ours
Thou hast not told of yet;—for not of nature
The law that bids thee give me to Houaco.

ALPHONSO.
Friendship, and gratitude—

AMAZILIA.
Hast thou no friendship?
Hast thou no gratitude for Amazilia?
Must all—all be Capana's and his son's?
Thou said'st I saved thy life—have they done more?
And do they love thee, honour thee as much?

ALPHONSO
(after a conflict).
Believe me, Amazilia, this poor life
Has worth but as thy gift! and for thy sake
To lay it down were joy! but thus to live!
Oh no! thy sweetness cannot—must not guess
The torturing force stern honesty exerts
To rule this breast; for might I loose the curb
Of headlong passion, at full bliss to aim,
What were it, think'st thou, but to see thee ever,
To claim thy tenderness, to call thee mine!

AMAZILIA.
Thine—thine I am! the fates have will'd it so!
'Tis nature's strong decree! 'tis Heaven's! 'tis virtue's!

ALPHONSO.
Hold! Hold!—Does virtue bid us seek delight
Reckless of all beside? I to Houaco
Have sworn a brother's faith—to him thy father
Gave thee!—He lives! and I, with holy love,
Must honour thee as my Houaco's wife!
[A pause of consternation.
Shall we, who boast of Christian virtues, own
A thought, a wish, so selfish, and so base,
As our own bliss by his destruction purchased?
Nay, is there bliss for them who know remorse?
And what remorse were ours!

AMAZILIA.
No more, Alphonso!
Thy awful words confound th'astonish'd sense,
Yet woo my trembling soul to higher thoughts
Than e'en—the heaven I dream'd—to live for thee!
Say—were I—by such self-devotion, stamp'd
A being worthy of thy fellowship?
Of thy regard? to thee a kindred spirit?

ALPHONSO.
Thy matchless virtue were as far above
My humbler aim, as are thy matchless charms
Above the sum of loveliness dispensed
To all thy sex beside; and I should live
(If live—I—must) to honour—to adore!

AMAZILIA.
Firm as thyself in virtue's path, Alphonso,
Thou shalt admire, and wonder at thy victim.
See, at thy feet I welcome wretchedness!
[With profound resignation.
I am Houaco's wife!

ALPHONSO
(aside).
(Oh! dreadful sounds!
'Tis agony I feel that should be joy!)
I thank thee, Amazilia; yes, I thank thee,
With fervor, as when pleading for my life
Thy angel tongue preserved me!—
(Turning from her).
Spare me now!
Let me not look on thee!—I pray thee go.
Thy Laila waits thee, and thy happy lord
Claims thee—his own!—(Stern honour, holy friendship,
Blot out the madd'ning thoughts that rise!)
(As she approaches meekly).
Oh! leave me!
I do beseech thee, leave!—in pity leave me!
[Amazilia goes submissively and dejectedly.
Accept the sacrifice, my benefactor!
I, who might fold her to my burning bosom,
Yet, for her thousand, thousand glowing charms,
Embrace despair!
[Throws himself on the bank, then starting up with horror.
It is my father's curse,
Wretch that I am, pursues me to the end!
Shun me, Houaco! Shun me, Amazilia!
I bear destruction wheresoe'er I go!
With deadly influence, as the baleful mildew,
O'er the young harvest of your loves I pass'd,
That but for me (the winter fled) had been
Fair ripening now beneath a smiling sky.

[He sinks on the bank in despair.