University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Court before the Temple of the Sun.
An Altar before the gates of the Temple.
Villoma.
Vil.
God of my fathers! hear me.
Thou, thron'd on flame! Thou, at whose dawn, the world
Thy visible creation, bursts the veil
Of darkness, and in new-born life and lustre
Sees all that breathe, look up, and bless thy beams:
Hear my deep anguish! Now no more, my voice
Calls down, as once in happier years, thy ray,
Pure source of being, thro' the womb of earth
To stream fertility. No more, thy priest
Fresh gathering from the spring free tribute, lays
The prime of the year, of herb, and fruit, and flow'r
Nature's sweet offering on thy bloodless shrine.
Far other gifts I bring: receive these spoils,
That mournful on thy golden gates I hang,
The lance, the helm, and buckler: while I call
On thee, once God of Peace, to arm thy sons
With dauntless fortitude. Let brave Zamorin
Again exultant from Pizarro's host
Return: and on thy heav'n-born child, sole heir
Of slain Huascar, here, in triumph fix
The crown that grac'd his sires on Cuzco's throne!

Zama enters, kneels.
Zama.
My sire!

Vil.
My Zama—
Oh may the blessing of a father's voice
Assuage thy grief!

Zama.
Yet—lives my husband? say—
Deceive me not: I think I could endure
From thee to hear his doom: let none less lov'd
Say to thy child, “Zamorin rests in death.”

Vil.
How shall I answer thee?

Zama.
Oh speak.

Vil.
His doom
Is yet unknown. Day after day, in vain
I claim the hostage.

Zama.
Ah! the foot that treads
Where the base Spaniard haunts, to Cuzco's walls
Shall never more return. Our word was sacred:
On the dread day mark'd out for Cuzco's woe,
This fort impregnable, yon gold-roof'd temple,
Gifts, and exhaustless wealth, and countless gems,
Offerings from kings thro' ages to their god,
Had grac'd Pizarro's triumph, if Peru,
Regardless of the city of her god,
Fear'd to confront the Spaniard. Such the terms,
And famine forc'd compliance, when Pizarro
Proclaim'd by solemn oath, that fresh supplies
Should Cuzco's wants relieve, if brave Zamorin
Went forth the public hostage, pledg'd for Cuzco:
Yea, o'er his banner'd cross the Spaniard vow'd,
That, if Peru, ere that dread day, once more
Should arm her routed multitudes, Zamorin
Again should lead the battle. Thus allur'd
From Cuzco's walls the voluntary hostage
Went fearless forth.

Vil.
Yet vibrates on my heart
His farewell word.

Zama.
But, from that day, no succour
Has Cuzco's wants reliev'd, no voice has breath'd
Word of Zamorin. What avails it now,
That to defend the city of her god,
And free her far-fam'd chieftain, arm'd Peru
Her banner'd rainbow rears, and hosts on hosts
Fill all the plain? in vain. The perjur'd Spaniard
Basely detains the hostage: and Zamorin,
Whose brave resistance rous'd Peru, whose spirit
Glow'd thro' the mingled mass, whose arm alone
Could guide in war her multitudes, Zamorin,
Th'avenger of his country, 'mid yon host
Pines in base chains, or now, an untomb'd corse,
Feasts their vile dogs of carnage.

Vil.
Calm thy soul.

Zama.
Hear me, my sire, nor fondly feign a hope
No longer felt.
Now grant my only pray'r: let me go forth,
And learn Zamorin's fate.

Vil.
And wouldst thou leave
A father's arms, and Cuzco's hallow'd walls,
To rush amidst the riot, and flush'd camp
Of yon fell spoilers?

Zama.
To Zamorin's arms
I haste, to sooth his soul, or with him perish.

Vil.
Urge not a vain request.

Zama.
Must then Zamorin,
Who went the public hostage, who reliev'd
The public woe, when famine and despair
Knelt to the foe for bread, mid ruthless men
Perish, of all abandon'd, far from Zama,
On whose responsive look his eye might dwell,
And while it swims in death's o'ershadowing mist,
Catch, ere it close for ever, the last solace
Of one fond tear? my father! by that name!
Oh by the memory of her who bore me,
Whose image, ne'er forgotten, lives in Zama,
Whose voice, ne'er heard in vain, speaks in thy heart
While her lov'd daughter pleads—

Orcas suddenly enters.
Vil.
Why, Orcas, here?
Whence this intrusion?

Orcas.
Zeal to save thy life,
And Cuzco's tow'rs, and the sun's hallow'd temple
From spoil and profanation. Not alone
By the fell Spaniard, by her native sons,
Cuzco is doom'd to perish—

Vil.
How?

Orc.
By treason.

Vil.
Treason!

Zama.
Oh horror!

Orc.
Since the perjur'd Spaniard,
Regardless of his vow, once more cut off
The scant supply, despair and swift revolt
Have spread from breast to breast. This day, ere dawn,
When wearied from my night-watch I return'd,
Thro' the thick mists that swept the mount, I saw
A fire-ball from the Spanish camp beneath
Flash forth, a second from the southern mound
Crost it in air: that was th'appointed signal.
A youth by horror struck and deep remorse,
Confest the crime. And, here, in that dark cavern
Where the sun ne'er sent down a beam, vile traitors
Leagu'd with Gulaxa—

Vil.
[interrupting him.]
Ha! that base usurper!
Whom fell Pizarro treacherously has lur'd
With Cuzco's promis'd crown?

Orc.
The same.—All know
His rank, how glorious once, an honour'd Inca,
Sprung of the sun's pure race, of royal blood:
But—from that day when captur'd by Pizarro,
The conqueror spar'd his life, the base Peruvian
Thro' fear, or fraud (what recks the worthless motive)
Worships the fell invader: so fame rumours:
And, in these walls, amid faint-hearted men
Dispirited by woe, his vaunted pow'r
And favour with Pizarro, each new day
Gain him new followers. With that man, the traitors
Who, in their turn, this day the fortress guard,
Hold secret conference.

Vil.
What their fell intent?

Orc.
To fix the hour, when to these hallow'd walls
Pizarro shall advance, and on this temple
Upraise his blood-stain'd banner.

Vil.
First, his steel
Shall pierce my bosom.

Zama.
First, the hallow'd stream
That warms this heart, a Coya's blood shall flow,
And on his brow the daughter of the sun
Draw down vindictive fire.

Vil.
Speed, Orcas, haste:
Summon the chosen chiefs that guard the temple:
And let the signal wave, and,—so deceiv'd—
The traitors join Gulaxa. I will meet him.
Tho' long adversity has bow'd the sons
Of Cuzco, tho' consuming famine slack'd
Their pithless joints, yet in these walls are men
Who in their heav'n-born monarch's righteous cause
Will gladly perish. Haste—

Orc.
Be such my death.

[Exit.
[Loud shouts and cries heard.
Zama.
Whence that loud shout, those cries?

Vil.
'Tis now the time:
The guard at my command here lead the Spaniard.
Ne'er, till this day, have Cuzco's sons beheld
A Spanish chief in chains.

Arcal rushes in. Shouts continued.
Arc.
Priest of the sun!
Speed forth, allay the tumult, aid the guard
O'erpow'r'd by numbers—

One of the Guard rushing in.
Guard.
Holy father! haste,
Or Cuzco streams with blood.

Vil.
Zama, retire.

Zama.
Retire! thy life in danger? come, my father.

[Exeunt.
Scene changes to the Public Square.
Peruvians contending with the Guard conducting Almagro in chains.
Guard.
Drive, drive them back.

1 Per.
Think of Peru's slain race.

2 Per.
[to Almagro.]
Give me my son.

[Almagro in silence shows signs of pity and horror.
3 Per.
Where is my father's corse?
Scorn you to answer? you did rack his age
To sport your children, and your hounds lapp'd up
The life-blood as it spouted from his wounds—

1 Per.
Your goblets foam'd, and the feast shook with laughter
In mockery of our wounds; and when your captives
Exhausted sunk, ye rous'd them to new life
By pangs unknown before.

Peruvians.
Force back the guard.
Perish, fell monster!

[Peruvians forcing Almagro from the overpowered Guard.]
Guard.
Rescue him.

Villoma, Zama, Arcal, enter.
Vil.
Peruvians.

Per.
Strike, ere Villoma save him.

Per.
Die.

Vil.
My children!
Have you no pity? have you chang'd your nature?
Oh spare him.

Zama.
Hear, Peruvians, know ye not
His voice who bids you spare. It is Villoma's.
Ye are his children, all—

Per.
Perish, fell monster—

Zama.
[rushing amid them in act to murder Almagro.]
Oh sun, withdraw thy light! murder in Cuzco
An unarm'd captive!—not on him—on me—
Here, on a Coya, daughter of your god,
Satiate your vengeance.

[They all fling down their weapons at Zama's feet.
Alm.
Lady! not for me
Hazard your life. Oh Spain! are these barbarians?

Peruvians.
[kneeling to Villoma.]
Forgive thy children! yet, oh holy father,
Look down with eye of pity on our sufferings.
Resistance now is vain. Priest of the sun,
Resign the fort. Behold us bow'd to earth
With want, and woe, and famine.

Vil.
How resign it?
A solemn adjuration binds my soul
Ne'er to admit the Spaniard, till Zamorin
Here yields the fort, or, to confirm his will,
Sends back the hallow'd bracelet.

Zama.
Ne'er again
Shall Cuzco hail that consecrated chain.
Zamorin is no more.

Alm.
Nay, weep not, lady!
Zamorin yet is living.

Zama.
Living! Spaniard!

Vil.
My sons, depart in peace. [they go.]
Stranger! approach—
Learn from your foe to pity and protect
Him whom your pow'r can crush.

Alm.
Are these, barbarians?
They told me that Peruvians were at best,
Men but in shape; in soul, of brutal nature.
We Spaniards know you not.

Vil.
And who art thou
From whose astonish'd soul the voice of praise
Sounds like reproof? say, why hast thou assail'd
Basely this fortress, while thy perjur'd chief
Detains our hostage?

Alm.
Bid Pizarro answer:
This recks not me: I broke no sacred truce.

Vil.
Your vows ye break at will: our word was sacred.
What but leagued treason urged you to assail
This rock in frantic insolence?

Alm.
My lance
Was met by valiant men.

Vil.
Presumptuous youth!
Declare the truth, nor let deceitful words
Draw righteous vengeance down.

Alm.
Cease thy vain threats:
I speak not at command.

Vil.
Proud man!

Zama.
My father,
He looks like one whom gentleness may gain
More than harsh force compel. I pray thee, stranger!
Aught know'st thou of Zamorin?

Alm.
He yet lives—
So rumour speaks—but—by Pizarro, held,—
As I am—bound.

Zama.
A hostage! and in bonds!
Inhuman men.

Alm.
All are not such, fair lady!

Vil.
Who art thou, and what urg'd thy rash assault?

Alm.
A passion, haply, to Peru unknown:
Glory. Had conquest crown'd me, Spain had rank'd
Mine, with proud names, whose mention fires the soul,
Columbus, Cortez, and far-fam'd Pizarro.
Fair dames of proud Castille, at solemn jousts
Had wing'd their knights to victory, with the praise
Of young Almagro: and, if here I perish
I have not sham'd my sire.

Vil.
Almagro's son,
Whose army fronts our warriors, while Pizarro
Encamps beneath these walls?

Alm.
Brief let me be.
Scarce had I landed on this coast, (few days
Now past) with men, and steeds, and warlike stores,
Trebling Pizarro's battle, when my sire,
Yet weak with uncur'd wounds, to me resign'd
His host, and high command. Thus, arm'd with pow'r
And due authority, I sought Pizarro,
With fair proposal, instantly to join
Our squadrons, and disperse your numbers—

Vil.
[interrupting him.]
How!
Rash insolence of youth! captive, beware!
Look on those bonds.

Alm.

Vil.
Fear not—

Alm.
Fear! we Spaniards
Shrink not from death.

Zama.
Thy life redeems the hostage,
Almagro for Zamorin, chief for chief.

Alm.
No—rather than consent to my release,
Pizarro, in thy sight, beneath these walls
Would stab the hostage. 'Tis not life I seek:
A Spanish chief in Cuzco manacled,
Almagro's son slav'd by Peruvian bonds,
Seeks but the consolation of the grave
To hide in death his shame. Yet—I will sue thee:
And bend the suppliant knee: a father's woe
Weighs on my heart. You are a man of mercy;
Send back my corse—my lance—a father's gift,
To old Almagro. It will soothe the warrior
To hang it o'er my tomb. And let your herald
Say, how I fought, how died—

Zama.
[flinging herself at Villoma's feet.]
Oh let me sue
For mercy. Such as he, in prime of life,
Zamorin: and each tear that falls for him,
Pleads for this captive youth. And haply too
While on his doom we pause, and calmly weigh
What caution dictates, in his native land
One, sad as Zama, at the thought of war
Presses a bleeding heart, and mourns as dead,
Him yet alive.

Vil.
Zama, pronounce his doom.

Zama.
Freedom. Zamorin's wife from bondage frees thee.

[Unclasping his chains.
Alm.
Touch not these chains: I am a man disgrac'd.

Zama.
What mean your words? Spaniard, the sons of Cuzco
Deem guilt, and not misfortune a disgrace.
Youth, thou art free: in victory's ruthless hour,
Remember Zama. To Pizarro go,
Say how Peruvian conquerors treat their captives,
So bid him treat his hostage.

Alm.
I will force him
To free the hostage, or no more Almagro
Will woo renown in arms, nor wield a lance
Where love and glory point the warrior's course.
Expect thy lord: my life for his is pledg'd.
Cuzco, ere night, shall view within her walls
Zamorin, or Almagro.

[Exeunt.