University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Court before the Temple of the Sun.
Villoma and Zama.
Zama.
Oh! go not forth; to others trust the charge:
'Tis not a woman's fear: each voice reports
Signs of dire portent.

Vil.
Earth has rock'd ere now,
And red volcanos roar'd—

Zama.
Not these alone,
Nor lakes that heav'd when not a light leaf wav'd,
Nor fiery armies clanging in the skies:
But from the southern turret one who watch'd
Last night—

[Priests burst in.
Priest.
Hear, hear, Villoma—

Vil.
Why thus burst
Unbidden? Wherefore shake thy limbs?

Priest.
Good father!

Vil.
Speak, holy man—

Priest.
It was our charge this day,
To watch the heav'ns: noon's solemn hour drew near,
When, as we gaz'd observant of the God,
To hymn his mid-day pomp, at once from view,
While not a cloud obscur'd the golden sky,
The sun withdrew his light: and wide o'er heav'n
From the dark orb thick gathering vapours spread
Ceaselessly streaming. As our hearts died in us—
Oh horror!

Vil.
Speak—

Priest.
The temple's ponderous gates
Mov'd by an unseen hand, and dreadful groans,
As from a struggling spirit loath to part,
Burst from the riven shrine—

Zama.
These, these are sent
Dire warnings from above. Oh, go not forth.

Vil.
At this dread hour when treason shakes the realm,
And brother against brother arms his hand,
I will not to another trust that charge
Which duty binds on me. The will of heaven,
More audible than prodigies and portents,
Bids me defend my country.

Orcas enters.
Orc.
Haste, Villoma!
The secret signal floats above the rock:
Now, mid the traitors, in the cavern's gloom
Where the sun never shone, Gulaxa leagues
The murderous band.

Vil.
Say, are th'appointed guard
Drawn forth, and well advis'd?

Orc.
They wait thy word,
And call on thee to lead them.

[Orcas goes.
Vil.
Say, I come—
Thou, if this hand, oh Sun, that clasps thy shrine,
Has ne'er from youth to age been rais'd to thee
But to invoke from heav'n, on all beneath,
Thy universal blessings, hear my pray'r!
Accept this life, a sacrifice for all!
Strike here, and save thy realm!—My child, farewell!

Zama.
I will not leave thee at this dreadful hour:
Zamorin's wife has sway among the chiefs,
Zamorin's spirit breath'd in softer tone,
E'en in a woman's voice has pow'r to daunt
The soul of guilt.

Vil.
Think of thy boding fears—

Zama.
I have no fear: thy life, thy life's in danger.

[Exeunt.
Scene, a Cave.
Gulaxa, Rimac, Conspirators.
Gul.
Your stations are assign'd, and ye have sworn
What time Pizarro's trumpet rends the air
To yield the fortress—

Rim.
Yes, 'tis sworn, Gulaxa,
But where is Arcal?

Gul.
On the middle rampire
That skirts the ledge of rocks, his eye o'erlooks
The Spanish camp.

Rim.
Trust not that man, Gulaxa:
His life, methinks, is bosom'd in Villoma,
That he so fears to wound him—

Villoma, Zama, Orcas, Guard, burst in.
Vil.
Seize their weapons.

Rim.
No—not if this avail.

Zama.
[catching his lifted hand.]
Here, traitor! strike.—
A daughter's hand has sav'd thee.

[To Villoma.
Vil.
Drag them forth,
Drag forth these serpents from their darksome cave:
Th'all seeing sun shall glare upon their shame.
[They drag them forth.
Traitors, your doom is death. Kneel not to me.
[To Gulaxa.
I cannot pardon thee.

Gul.
Nor do I ask it,
But on such terms as shall redeem my soul
From galling infamy. I boldly claim
Not mercy, but high praise, and just reward
Due to a deed that to remotest time
Shall consecrate my memory.

Vil.
Say on.

Gul.
The signal waves; the Spaniards soon will march:
I know the impatience of Pizarro's soul:
That chief will lead them. At the lower fort
Fix me to guide his foot-step up the rock:
Then, ere he cross the outward bridge, this hand
Shall pierce his breast.

Zama.
Oh more than serpent fell,
He only wounds, instinctively, in rage,
The foot that bruises him: but thou, oh man!
Thou with deliberate thought, pondering the means,
Would'st stab the friend who leans upon thy breast,
And fell him with thy hand, held forth in act
Of seeming kindness.

Vil.
And for this thou claim'st
Praise and reward: such recompense as suits
Such actions, be thy meed. When guilt, like thine,
Stalks forth unpunish'd, he who pardons it
Incurs the wrath of heav'n. Thy doom is death.

Orc.
[looking out.]
Almagro's son, who left this morn our walls,
Returns—and with him—one—

Zama.
Perhaps—Zamorin.

Vil.
[To Orcas who goes out.]
Conduct them hither. Oh! all gracious heav'n!
Thro' dark and intricate mazes hid from man
Thy mercy lightens, as the golden sun
Bursts from the veil of clouds.

Orcas enters, conducting Almagro and Herrada.
Zama.
It is not—no—
'Tis not Zamorin. Why that look of woe?
[To Almagro.
Why art thou silent? oh! he is no more.

Alm.
I left him living: but—you see me here—

Zama.
I understand you. He will not live long.

Alm.
I left him at the mercy of Pizarro.
Oh, if thou wish to hear his last farewell,
Or see him more, away: this chief [Herrada.]
shall guard thee.
Rely on him, as on this willing victim,
Pledg'd for Zamorin's life.

Gul.
[as Zama is rushing out.]
Stay, Zama, stay!
But grant me life, [to Villoma.]
and I will mark the means
To free the hostage. To her heart again
Zama shall clasp her lord.

Vil.
Speak—thou art pardon'd.

Gul.
[pointing to Almagro.]
Lo, in this chief, Pizarro's fellest foe:
The wish most harbour'd in Pizarro's heart,
Is this man's death: haste, proffer in exchange
His corse, and hail Zamorin.

Zama.
No—fell traitor!
First, let Zamorin die, and with him, Zama.
[To Herrada.]
Spaniard! in thee I trust. My sire—farewell.

[Zama rushes out, accompanied by Herrada.
Vil.
Haste, haste, restrain her flight—my daughter: Zama!
Perfidious murderer! [to Gulaxa.]
No. Thou shalt not die:
It now were mercy. When Pizarro, swol'n
With pride of promis'd victory, leads his host
Against this fort, and summons forth his slaves,
Then—to confound the conqueror, cast before him
This traitor—chain'd. So in thy doom, that chief
Shall dread his destiny.
[To Orcas.]
Be this thy charge.

[Exeunt.
Scene changes to Pizarro's Camp.
Pizarro comes from his Tent, at the sound of Trumpets at a distance.
Piz.
Here will I cross their march—
By Saint Iago,
Would that smooth sounds, or words of lofty tone
Might cool these fiery spirits! 'till yon rock
Barr'd my free progress, their resistless course
Swept o'er Peru, from realm to conquer'd realm,
Following from the east on Victory's eagle wing
The sun, that like a harbinger before us,
Lit our long march of glory. [a trumpet.]
Hark—a trumpet!
The sound of men in arms.

Lerma and his Host enter
Ler.
Pizarro.

Piz.
Lerma!

Ler.
Pedro de Lerma. [lifting up his vizor.]
Look upon him. Halt!
Comrades in arms!

Piz.
Brave warrior! at this hour
Why cas'd in steel with these thy valiant men?
No herald summon'd thee.

Ler.
I march, Pizarro,
To join Almagro's standard. Some have fled
Like men, guilt-sham'd, as if they fear'd thy frown.
I come, as chief meets chief, as foe fronts foe,
To say that thou hast wrong'd me.

Piz.
No—brave warrior.

Ler.
How. Thou remember'st not? The injurer
Can smile on whom he wrong'd, and calmly tender
His hand in pledge of friendship! Say, Pizarro,
Hast thou forgot the memorable day,
When swol'n by autumn floods, th'Apurimac
Barr'd our pursuit? when, on its crags, your host
Shrunk back, and nought was heard, when paus'd the gust,
But the flood's ceaseless roar, who, foremost, spurr'd
His steed careering on the pendulous bridge,
Which, o'er the torrent, wreath'd from rock to rock,
Shook its light net-work waving with each wind?

Piz.
'Tis fresh in my remembrance. Valiant Lerma,
Thy steed first cross'd it.

Ler.
You remember that!
Then—when the Indians ambush'd 'mid the cliffs,
Fell on our struggling rear, you bad Henriquez
Charge with the lances. Was not that my post?

Piz.
I saw thee not.

Ler.
The routed Indians saw me,
Who hemm'd Alvarez round: I rescued him:
And heard, at my return, Henriquez' name
Echoed from rank to rank.

Piz.
Forget th'offence.
Since then long time has past, and Lerma's merits
Have not been unrewarded.

Ler.
Years on years
Heal not the wound where injur'd honour bled;
Once felt, and ne'er forgotten. So, farewell.
You know this raven plume, that oft in fight
Has wing'd your troops to victory: Pizarro,
Avoid it, and beware of Lerma wrong'd!

Piz.
Farewell, stern Lerma, nor forget this blade
When it unplumes thy helm. Avoid Pizarro!

[They part different ways.
Scene changes to another part of Pizarro's Camp.
Zamorin.
Zam.
The stir and shout of the tumultuous camp
Loud ring from tent to tent: ere-long yon fort,
Impregnable by pow'r of mortal arm,
Shall yield its strength, and treason ope its gates
At stern Pizarro's voice. Oh heav'n-born babe!
Sole relic of the race sent down to earth
To bless this realm! no more my arm shall guard thee.
Villoma—Zama—hold my madd'ning brain!
Not that—not that—no—the fixt earth shall first
Fall from it shatter'd base: and thou, oh Sun,
Rush from thy sphere, ere guilt's foul touch pollute
Her pure and sinless bosom.

[Juan's voice heard without.
Juan.
When the trumpet
Summons the warriors, to Pizarro lead them:
Now strictly guard the tent: let none approach.
Zama speaks in entering.
Zamorin!

Zam.
'Tis her voice. It cannot be.
Once, once again charm'd Fancy! breathe that sound!

Zama.
[embracing him.]
Zamorin.

Zam.
'Tis herself—angel of light.

Zama.
Yet, yet thou liv'st, and these fond arms enfold thee.
Oh I had fear that never, never more
This eye had gaz'd on thine.

Zam.
Yes—I will clasp thee,
And, ere we part, in thy celestial look
Taste the pure transport of a world, where love
'Mid spirits of the blest, links soul with soul
In everlasting union. Yet—my Zama!
I would we had not met.

Zama.
Oh say not that!

Zam.
Why gaze thus on me with unsated eye?

Zama.
Oh! thou art strangely alter'd, since we parted.
A few, few days. Keen grief has wrung thy soul,
And each worn feature, as I gaze on thee,
Wounds me with mute reproach. Had I been here,
Thou had'st less keenly suffer'd.

Zam.
That alone,
I had but that alone to sooth my anguish:
Thou knew'st it not—

Zama.
Yet, sure, had I been here,
Thy soul, tho' pierced with anguish, had found peace
While pillow'd on my breast thy brow repos'd.
And I had watch'd thy sleep, and if my tears
Shed in mute wretchedness, had chanc'd to stray
Down thy pale cheek, my lip had kiss'd them off,
And met thee with a smile.

Zam.
The past, oh Zama!
Wakes not a pang. Would thou wert now away!

Zama.
Never, Zamorin, will I leave thee more:
None, none shall part us. Thou wert once unkind,
Yet was it kindly meant! but never more
Force me to quit thee: nor dissolve the dream
So sweet, of hope, that whispers to my soul
That I may sooth thy grief. Alas! Zamorin,
You hid from me the woe that nature suffers,
But left me to the nameless agonies
Of fear's unreal shapings. Yet—my husband—

Zam.
Why that dread silence? Speak thy inmost wish.

Zama.
The fond indulgence of a woman's weakness
Must not unman thee: these are ruthless men;
And, if thou deem, that death's unpitied pangs
Will less severely wound thee, if thy Zama
Be far away: I, now, tho' loth, will leave thee.
And, yet, mid these rude men, whose brutal rage
Ends not with life—

Zam.
Cease, cease: you wring my heart.

Zama.
To leave thy untomb'd corse expos'd to scorn
And insults that the tongue wants strength to utter!
Oh by that love which made this earth a heav'n,
By the blest vow that made us one, refuse not
My last request!—

Zam.
I was prepar'd for death:
Thou hast unman'd me: 'tis for thee I fear.

Zama.
Thou weep'st, nor longer can'st deny my pray'r:
'Tis what religion prompts, and these bad men,
Unhallow'd as they are, will not refuse it.
'Tis but to close the eye which cannot see
The hand that weighs it down, and smooth the brow
Insensate to the touch which presses it.
Nor will they envy me a little spot
Where I may hide thee in the grave, and pour
O'er thy cold corse a pray'r, while death steals o'er
The lip that breathes farewell.

[Trumpet sounds.
Zam.
Hark! that dread signal!

Juan enters with a Guard.
Juan.
Bring the Peruvians forth.

Zam.
Art thou prepar'd,
My Zama?

Zama.
Yes, Zamorin, thus— [embraces him.]
to perish,
And hail the stroke that shall in death unite us.