University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Indian Scenery.
Groups of Indians pass over the stage with garlands, &c. as if busily employed in preparations for a rustic sacrifice. Thelasco enters alone from the opposite side, and Kali comes forward from the other Indians to meet him.
KALI.
Welcome, Thelasco, welcome! Thou return'st
In happy hour. Our good cacique, Capana,
Wills that the feast of vengeance be completed
This very day. The rites are all prepared.

THELASCO.
What mean'st thou, Kali? Ere the last moon waned,
Nine of the fell invaders, by our warriors
Surprised and taken on yon wilds, had bled:
One breathed alone, when with my chosen band
Again I sought the foe.

KALI.
True, brave Thelasco;
For nine successive days our people feasted,
Pouring forth songs before the God of Vengeance,
While on his altars flow'd a Spaniard's blood;
But nought of joy stole on the settled sorrow
Of good Capana. On the tenth, the sun
Frown'd on our rites; the angry thunders roar'd;
The ominous tear rolled down Capana's cheek;
The rites were stopp'd.

THELASCO.
But sure the sun has smiled
With ray benignant many a day since then?

KALI.
And yet the sacrifice has still been stay'd.
Our great cacique best reads portentous skies,
Nor till this day has deem'd the signs propitious.
With sadden'd brow e'en now—

THELASCO.
Alas! what sadness
Can thus hang heavy on Capana's breast?
Has he not saved the remnant of his people
By his sole godlike wisdom, and his valour?
Did he not lead us, press'd by foes and famine,
O'er mountains, inaccessible to all
But those who follow such a leader? One,
Whose bleeding wounds mark, drop by drop, the course
He cheers his bands to follow: whose parch'd lips,
Smiling, refuse the cooling draught we scoop
In the cleft rock—bidding his follower drink!
Till in this valley, by these heights hemm'd in,
(Committing us, as 'twere, to Nature's bosom),
He bids us live secure—beyond the reach
Of fierce Pedrarias, and his lawless rout.
Can he retrace these deeds and taste of sadness?

KALI.
Valiant Thelasco!—thou art not a father,
Or had'st not ask'd that question.

THELASCO.
True:—Houaco
Was on the fatal field or slain, or lost;
But two long summers, since gone by, might blunt
Remembrance:—and the bloody day that reft
Capana of a people, and a son,
Closed that son's course in glory! Mark'd you not
How many his unerring hatchet laid in dust?
I saw them writhe in death! I heard them groan!
That is a music never shall be poured
Upon th'invader's ear from Indian lips !
We laugh amidst the tortures they inflict,
And sing our death song—while these sons o'th' sea,
(Cast by distemper'd ocean on our shores),
If chance the feather'd shaft, or missile bone,
Invade their blanch'd and delicate limbs, forget,
And shame, their manhood thus.

KALI.
Yet by their arts
Of fatal magic, that compel the cloud
To yield reluctant from its wreathing folds
The smouldering bolt—by their bright arms that flash
Forged lightnings, bickering, impious, to the sun,
And by their iron coats that mock our shafts,
They are invincible.

THELASCO.
Invincible!
No, Kali, no. Hast thou not seen the deep
With hideous swell, wave over wave, bear on,
As it would swallow, in its might, our shores?
And do not still our green and laughing shores
Mock at its rage? E'en thus let us oppose
Resistance firm, unalterable—thus mock
Their glittering terrors, and their coward mail.

KALI.
Such reckless valour, what has it avail'd us?

THELASCO.
And dost thou call that valour reckless valour
Which saved thee, Kali, and thy trembling fellows,
When conquer'd by these idle fears ye fled,
Or fell unhurt? Eternal shame!—No more—
We loiter. I to Capana must report
How undisturb'd I and my band have roam'd
The unpeopled wastes, nor found a straggler more
Of this fell race, to thee so terrible!

[Exeunt severally.
Amazilia and Laila come forward from among the woody scenery.
LAILA
following AMAZILIA, who seems to avoid her).
All is prepared. The troops of damsels hymn
The song of sacrifice. Fair Amazilia,
Here is a wreath of flowers to deck thy brow:
Here is thy flowing veil: thou heed'st me not—
Thou dost not smile.

AMAZILIA.
Why should I smile, my Laila?
This is a solemn sacrifice—a sad one.
Is not death sad?

LAILA.
When 'tis our foe that dies,
We Indians hold it is a joyous sight.

AMAZILIA.
“Our foe?”—Methinks this poor, ill-fated youth,
Has not the semblance of a foe to any.

LAILA.
Is he not of the band of fell destroyers?
Dost thou not hate him?

AMAZILIA.
Yes—I hope I hate him.

LAILA.
Why dies the word upon thy faltering lip?

AMAZILIA
(taking her hand affectionately).
Thou wast my friend. Am I still dear to thee?

LAILA.
Indeed, indeed, thou art! I never thought
But as thy nobler nature swayed my mind,
And am in all devoted to thy will.

AMAZILIA.
A month has pass'd, and ever as this youth
Has been led forth to bleed before our gods,
Thou know'st Capana has been moved to pity;
And canst thou blame a woman's gentler nature,
If, touch'd with soft compassion, I relented?
I would not see him die.

LAILA.
The God of Vengeance
Demands his blood.

AMAZILIA
(with energy).
Oh! but the God of Mercy
Bids the poor captive live!

LAILA.
Alas! the Indians
Know not of such a God—and how shouldst thou?

AMAZILIA.
The captive Christian bade me serve him, Laila!

LAILA.
Thy words and gestures fill my soul with terror.
How couldst thou learn aught of the captive's worship?

AMAZILIA.
Each night, when all, within this happy valley,
Lay hush'd in sleep, compassion led my steps
To the young captive's cave; and near the entrance,
Unseen by him, I oft would chant the lays
Our mothers teach, when death has claim'd our warriors,
To cheat the hideous phantom of his terrors.
But while I sang of nature's sweet repose,
Lapt in the bosom of the parent earth,
My heart disown'd the fraud—and form'd the wish
That he might live, whom thus I woo'd to die!
He too address'd me in such accents, Laila,
I could not choose but listen. His heav'n-taught words,
Awful yet sweet, waked in me a new soul.
In lowly ignorance, and abject fear,
Erewhile I trembled when the thunders roll'd;
And in each element a mighty power,
Angry and vengeful, sought t'appease. But now,
Oh now! a father's warning voice I hear
In solemn thunders!—see his gracious smile
In the sun's beams—his hand beneficent
In the earth's fruits—nor fear might infinite,
With goodness infinite!—Infinite mercy,
Wisdom, and love—as in Alphonso's God!

LAILA.
And did a God so bounteous send them forth
To ravage India?

AMAZILIA.
No;—he bade them spare.
More have I learnt, my Laila. These destroyers,
These cruel men who drench our land with blood,
Have some among them who are like this youth;
But they are few, and o'erborne by the many.

LAILA.
Oft, Amazilia, have I mark'd of late
Thy alter'd mien, and the high views that fill'd
Thy labouring mind: still thou wert ever kind,
Nor didst disdain thy Laila's humble love.
Give me then all thy thoughts.

AMAZILIA.
They are all—all,
To save the youth! Dear Laila, come with me,
And we will pray Alphonso's God to aid us:
He will inspire my dark, untutor'd mind
In his own holy cause—the cause of mercy!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A deep valley, inclosed by inaccessible mountains, filled with Indian huts, mixed with palm-trees, &c. In the front a rustic throne under a spreading palm, and an altar with an image rudely carved, representing the God of Vengeance.
Enter Capana (properly attended), in conversation with Thelasco.
CAPANA.
Believe me, brave Thelasco, 'tis not weakness.
Thou hast shared my counsels, and hast ever been
My partner in the fight. When hast thou known
Vain shapes, and idle phantoms, move my spirit?
Our very Gods have pleaded for this youth:
A boding voice has sounded in my heart;
Nay, strange portentous signs have stain'd the skies!
The guards that, nightly watching, skirt the valley,
Have heard melodious warblings round his cave,
Soothing his slumbers, and have trembled, awe-struck.
Whene'er I communed with him, he, methought,
Held all my troubled spirit in control.
If these destroyers are like him endow'd,
Alas! for India's sons!

THELASCO.
Alas! for thee!
Alas! for India's sons, should he escape!
He would divulge the place of our retreat.

CAPANA
(sorrowfully).
I know it well: and therefore have decreed
The consummation of the sacrifice.

THELASCO.
That one of this fell race should move thee thus!

CAPANA.
He is a father's only son, he says:
I had no son, my friend, save young Houaco.
[Brushing away a tear.
What had I felt had he a captive stood
Before a Spaniard?

THELASCO.
Ha! had he found mercy?
Let double tortures rack this cozener!

[The procession for the sacrifice approaches, winding through the trees. Alphonso bound and guarded.
CAPANA.
They lead him on, but ere he sleep in death,
Thou too shalt hear him, and astonish'd, won,
To pity yielding, wilt revoke this wish.

[He makes signs that Alphonso should be brought before him, and ascends the throne.
ALPHONSO.
Cacique! What would'st thou with me? I have pray'd
The God I worship not to visit on thee
My innocent blood: and almost am resigned
To quit this life, ere I have aught achieved
Of all the mighty purpose of my soul.

THELASCO.
Thy coward spirit shrinks from death, it seems;
We Indians welcome the repose he brings.

ALPHONSO.
It is the coward spirit, haughty Indian,
That welcomes soft repose. But, fearless, I
Would welcome dangers, toils, severest ills,
In glory's cause; and would not lay me down,
In all the pride, and strength of manhood, thus
Unhonour'd and unwept!

THELASCO.
What call'st thou “glory?”
Thousands of friendly Indians at thy feet
Butcher'd by fraud, who on their shores received
With songs and dances, and with garlands crown'd ye,
As welcome guests?

ALPHONSO.
I was a stripling then:
With horror marked the deed, and, in my heart,
Vow'd I would ever be the Indian's friend!
Nor have I stained this hand with Indian blood.
Nay, oft my youthful pleadings have prevailed
With one, whose sterner temper own'd no check,
Save my poor prayers and tears.
[Checking himself; then with energy.
Yes, I would live!
I feel such impulses within my breast,
To mark my course by justice and by mercy,
That I would live! Yet would exulting meet
Death, linked with torture, if with glory linked!
But thus to fall!

CAPANA
(to THELASCO aside).
What wrong would'st thou avenge?
Say, what his crime?

THELASCO.
That he was born a Spaniard.
Was it not guilt enough in Spanish eyes,
That we were Indian born?

CAPANA.
Not so with him.
(To ALPHONSO with emotion).
Were I, in weak compassion to thy youth,
To give thee life!

ALPHONSO
(eagerly).
And liberty!

CAPANA.
Thy liberty
Were our destruction. Here thou must abide.

ALPHONSO.
Death has no terrors now! Command the rites.

CAPANA.
Thou would'st reveal the place of our retreat.

ALPHONSO.
What wilt thou trust if not the grateful heart?

CAPANA.
Nay, not thy heart: I but mistrust thy youth.
In fellow feeling for a father's pain,
Who has no son but thee—I could relent—

ALPHONSO.
Not to my father must thou give my life!
Lead on—I will not practise on thy goodness.

CAPANA.
Not to thy father? 'Tis for him I feel!
I too have lost an only son, and would not
Another father should feel pangs like mine!

ALPHONSO.
Generous Capana! I will not deceive thee.
Know, should'st thou give me life and liberty,
It is Pedrarias' son thou bind'st to thee!

CAPANA
(with horror).
The fell Pedrarias!

THELASCO.
Ha! Pedrarias, say'st thou?
He who, insatiable of Indian blood,
Clapping his gory palms, cheer'd on his dogs
To trace our weary steps, and piecemeal tear
Our quiv'ring flesh! Pedrarias! the destroyer!
Beneath whose murderous stroke our fathers fell;
Whose name our widows curse, and, but pronounced,
Serves as a bugbear to their orphan babes!
(To the attendants).
Invent new tortures for Pedrarias' son!

(The Indians rush forward with expressions of fury).
AMAZILIA
(breaking from the troop of damsels).
Hold! hold! forbear! Ye know not what ye do!
A God, far other than the God of Vengeance,
Speaks by my simple tongue, and will be heard!
Say, if revenge were sweet, as we are taught,
Have not nine victims bled upon this altar?
And who has yet seen good Capana smile?
What son regains the father he has lost?
What widow ceases to deplore her husband?
The victims bled, while we, with giddy songs,
Drown'd nature's voice! They bled—and all was o'er!
In our lone cabins, when retired to rest,
Say, were our sorrows soothed?
[All hang their heads mournfully.
I!—I will tell
How noble spirits seek a sweet revenge!
Give him a son who robb'd thee, chief, of thine,
And see the humbled tyrant at thy feet
Owe all to him he injured, and confess
He learns of thee to serve the God he boasts!

CAPANA
(with great emotion).
Thy words, my Amazilia, reach my soul,
And shake its temper—
[Striking his breast.
Oh! I feel them here!

ALPHONSO
(aside).
That voice! whose every tone my heart-strings answer
With strong vibrations, sweet e'en to agony!
Those charms! nor seen, nor imaged, till this hour!

CAPANA
(after a conflict, descending from his throne).
Son of the man who desolates my country—
Whom pity never touch'd—son of Pedrarias—
I give thee life!—I give thee liberty!
[Alphonso throws himself at his feet.
Go to thy father. Say, an Indian chief,
Whose people he has swept from off the earth,
Whom he has doom'd to childless age, and sorrow,
Low at his feet saw fell Pedrarias' son!
Within his grasp each instrument of torture—
And raised him thus, and press'd him to his bosom!

[Raising and embracing him.
ALPHONSO.
Oh generous! generous! Thou—my more than father!

CAPANA.
Speak not Capana's name, nor e'er reveal
The place of our retreat.
[Alphonso is kneeling to swear.
Nay, swear not, youth.
It is impossible thou should'st betray us.

ALPHONSO.
Oh thou so noble! Thou, who serv'st so well
The Christian's God! and thou! divinest maid!
My guardian angel! Oh! I cannot speak
My soul's wild tumult!—yes, the life ye give
Devoted to your weal! I here abjure
My country's cruel cause. Trust me, cacique,
Nor prayers nor threats shall wring thy secret from me.
A father's wrath were vain. But far, far otherwise
His grateful thoughts will prompt. This deed will wake
An Indian soul in great Pedrarias' breast;
And sure, if benefits can e'er atone
The wrongs ye've suffer'd, sure ye will be blest!
Oh that he could alike restore thy son,
And render joy for joy!

CAPANA.
Houaco fell
With thousands of my butcher'd people, youth.
Wake not the thought, while thus a something new,
Awful, exalted, soothes my heart's long sorrow!
'Tis not a father's wrath will shake thy soul.
Thou know'st him not. Beware his thanks! his blessings!
Oh! let not these betray thy simple heart
To break thy promise!—no, not if he swore
To place me on the throne of all these realms,
Himself my subject, and his arm my stay.
Name not Capana, nor his place of rest;
Not e'en to Indians, now the invader's slaves!
I and my friends ask but to be forgotten.
And should thy guileless youth, o'ermatch'd by fraud,
And semblance fair, aught falter, look on this!
[Taking an ornament from his own neck, and hanging it on Alphonso's.
Think of Capana, and be firm again.

ALPHONSO.
Dear, honour'd pledge! that never but with life
Shalt quit this bosom!
[After gazing on it, and pressing it to his bosom.
Visions of glorious deeds!
Bright hopes that float confus'dly in my brain!
Yes, I was born the instrument of mercy!
My father now shall hail you men, and brothers;
Shall sheathe the sword, and ye shall come anon,
Won by the fame of his good deeds, shall come—

CAPANA.
Alas! thou dreamest, poor ingenuous youth!
Depart!—My people shall conduct thy steps
Among the yawning gulfs, and rocks stupendous
That gird this valley, shutting out each eye,
Save that of the all-searching, sacred sun.

ALPHONSO.
Yet ere I part, Cacique, oh! let me breathe
A prayer for her, that unknown, heavenly maid,
Who calls me to a new—a dearer life!

[As he kneels and takes her hand.
AMAZILIA.
Away—away, youth!—See, Thelasco frowns.
Oh fly!—farewell!—Yet if e'er aught of sorrow
Visit thee, in that hour think of the maid
Who soothed, erewhile, thy anguish; and who still,
Oh! still would fain—yet never must again
Or see—or hear thee—youth.
[Appears overcome, and then with sudden transport.
But thou wilt live!
'Twas all I ask'd!

ALPHONSO.
This life, thy gift, were vain,
My guardian angel! vain were deeds of worth
Not by thy smile approved!—and saidst thou never?
That word of dreadful import—Oh! recall it,
For till this hour, thou matchless excellence!—

THELASCO.
Why linger'st thou? Art thou not free?—Away!
And may each torture, vengeance can devise,
Rack thy false soul if thou break faith with us!

[Exit Alphonso on one side, escorted by a troop of Indians; Capana and Thelasco on the other. Amazilia and Laila remain.
AMAZILIA
(after gazing till ALPHONSO is out of sight).
And is he gone? for ever gone, my Laila?
And must I in this valley still remain,
To breathe, to move, to sleep?—If haply sleep,
Calm death-like sleep, will close my aching eyes,
Wearied with watching through the live-long day
Yon towering heights, upheaved by hate and envy.
[Alphonso and his troop seen at a distance among the heights; when he disappears, she stretches her arms towards the heights.
Ha! have ye shut him from my view for ever?
Arm, arm your terrible brows with darker terrors,
If ye would awe my soul, or bar the way
To my fond wishes.

LAILA.
Said'st thou thy fond wishes?
My Amazilia, wert thou not betrothed
To brave Houaco?

AMAZILIA.
I have wept Houaco,
In battle slain.

LAILA.
And shall another fill
The heart where brave Houaco wont to reign?

AMAZILIA.
What have the dead to do with this sad heart?
I held Houaco dear from earliest years,
For that he would prevent my childish wishes,
And still was blest if Amazilia smiled.
It was a thing of habit, as we prize
Whate'er may to our pleasure minister.
It did not fill the heart, but I was tranquil,
And nothing knew of these high hopes, these thoughts
Aspiring, restless, wild, tumultuous,
That make our pent up vale, our abject life,
Our brutish ignorance, and slothful ease,
So irksome to my soul.

LAILA.
Oh, Amazilia!
'Tis a distemper'd fancy thus misleads thee.
Are we not taught that disembodied spirits,
In sweet perpetual change of song and dance,
Float joyous; or in flowery meads recline,
Now slumbering, or now waking to light labours
That make repose more grateful?—Say, my friend,
Live we not even so? and is this irksome?

AMAZILIA.
Yes, to a mind that would aspire so high
As fellowship of thought with him—that would
With him share toil and danger!—Yes, to one
Who would with him enlighten,—bless a people,—
And, dying, leave a name that might not perish!
Come with me to our cabin—thou shalt learn
All that thy friend would wish, would hope, would dare.

[Exeunt.