University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—THE CAMP OF DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA, AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPUJARRA MOUNTAINS.
A flourish of trumpets—Enter DON JOHN of Austria and DON JUAN DE MENDOZA, preceded by a numerous retinue of soldiers.
DON JOHN.
O rebel mountain! O disloyal sight,
Whose savage wildness, whose stupendous height,
Whose towering structure, whose untamed estate,
Pressing with unimaginable weight
Upon the crushed earth lies—
Contracts the air and limits even the skies—
Infamous haunt of thieves,
Whose pregnant womb with embryo lightnings heaves,
Here to be born and nursed
But soon o'er Africa with thunderous rage to burst,
This is the day, this is the fated day,
On which thou must for thy dark treason pay,
Because to-day in me are blent
At once my vengeance and thy punishment,
So blent, indeed, that jealous Fame withdraws,
Nor crowns this triumph but with slight applause;
As if the heavens would say
That this is not to conquer, but to slay:—
Since neither glory, nor the laurel leaves
My valour can demand,
Because I humble a vile herd of thieves,
And subjugate a robber band:—
This therefore makes me from the future claim
More an avenger than a conqueror's name—
But I would know from what a spark this clear
Flame of revolt burst forth so fierce.

MENDOZA.
Then hear:
This, heroic Austrian eagle,
Is the mighty Alpujarra,—
Is the natural rustic rampart—
Is the barbarous protection
Of the Moors, who there attempt
(Ill prepared for such achievement),
Like Pelayo's mountain forces,
To reconquer Spain once more:—
It is difficult from its height—
Intricate from its craggy wildness—
Impregnable from its situation—
And invincible from its strength:—
Fourteen leagues it stretches lengthways,
But including all the distance
In its circuit, more than fifty:—
For between its opposite points
There are vales that beautify it—
Fruitful fields that fertilize it—
Flowery gardens that delight it:—
All its breast is peopled over
Thick with villages and hamlets,
Which at evening, when the sunset
Sheds a glimmering twilight round,
Seem like giant cliffs arising
From the midst of concave rocks,
Which in falling from its summits
Hung suspended on its slopes:—
Of all these, the greatest are
Gabia, Berja, and Galera,
Chosen arsenals of the three
Chieftains, who the others govern;
It containeth thirty thousand
Moorish soldiers, without counting
Or the women, or the children:—
And upon this fertile pasture
Flocks and herds unnumbered feed,
Though their own support arises
More from simple fruits than flesh-meats—
Wild fruits from the tree, or dried ones—
Or the plants they cultivate.
Since, not only from the furrows,
But from the rocks themselves, a tribute
Of the green herb do they draw;
For so skilled in agriculture,
And so studious of its secrets
Are they, that their spades impregnate
Even the rocks, and make them yield.
As to the cause of the rebellion,
Since in that I took a part,
I beseech you, that in silence
You permit my tongue to rest;
Though 'tis better to acknowledge
That I was myself the cause,
Than to say, it was occasioned
By severe and cruel edicts
That were made for their repression:
Better I should bear the blame
Than a higher name be censured;
But whatever the occasion,
Whether the offence I gave—
As I've said, my lord, or whether
It was that Valór, the day
Following that on which we quarrelled,
Was, on entering the council,
Questioned by the alguazil,
And a dagger that he carried
Hid beneath his cloak, drawn forth,—
Or, the penalties they suffered
Growing more and more severe
From the ordinances issued
By the court from day to day,
Drove them so to desperation,
That they planned this insurrection,—
So it was: for they retired
With their arms, supplies, and money,
And the three years, that this treason
Hath continued, it hath been
Kept inviolate by this people;
Which is surely wonderful,
That among those thirty thousand
Men assembled for this purpose,
Not one traitor could be found
Base enough to tell the secrets
Which those many days conceal.
With what ignorance, what error
Did he speak, who said a secret
Was in danger when three knew it?
When there's none with thirty thousand
Interested to preserve it:—
The first thunderbolt that issued
From this lightning—forged amid
These Etnean cliffs and caverns—
Were bold thefts, were bloody murders—
Robberies of many churches—
Insults, sacrileges, treasons,—
So that soon, Granada, bathed
In its blood, complained to Heaven
That it was the sad arena
Of dark tragedies and woes.
Quickly was a cure attempted
By the civil power, but soon
Seeing how 'twas scorned and outraged,
All united for defence:
Then the sword replaced the white wand,
Then respect gave way to force,
And in civil war was ended
What resistance but began.
The corregidor was murdered,
And the city, now awakened
To the danger, called to arms
All the force of the militia:—
This did not suffice, since always
(Such success hath novelty)
Fortune smiled upon their banners;
So that all of war's mischances
Frowned malignly upon ours;
Ah! how heavy! how oppressive
Are those favours, since from them
Never have they turned averted!
Apprehension grew on our side—
Pride and daring grew on theirs,—
Till from all sides dangers threaten.
As 'tis known that they are waiting
Aid from Africa—'tis plain
That when hither comes this succour,
In the stopping of its entrance
We our forces must divide;—
More than this, it must be thought of,
How the slightest accident
In a moment, may the other
Moors of Spain unite with them;
Since all those of Estremadura,
Of Valencia and Castile,
Wait but tidings of some triumph
Ere they openly pronounce;
But that you may know this people
Better, that they're wise as brave,
Nor without political science,
Hear from me how they are ruled:—
Which from time to time was told us
By some spies, on whom we seized;
The first act on which they treated
Was the choosing of a chief,
And as in this proud election
There was rivalry between
Don Fernando and another
Man of equal noble birth,
Don Alvaro Tuzaní,
Thus proposed Don Juan Malec,
That the former should be king,
And that he should wed the lovely
Isabella Tuzaní,
Sister to Alvaro:—oh!
[Aside.
How it pains me! how it galls me!
To recall to mind the name
Of this Tuzaní, thus honoured
Next in place unto their king,
Since for queen they chose his sister:—
When Valór was crowned, the first
Of his acts was the opposing
Every way the royal edicts,—
That his subjects might the sooner
Reassume their nation's rites—
It was ordered that no Christian
Name be used, nor even the worship
Of the Christian faith allowed:—
And to give himself the example,
He at once assumed the ancient
Name of Abenhuméya,
From the kings of Córdova
Whose pure blood he doth inherit.
He commanded too, that no one
Should in conversation use
Aught but the Arabic language,
Nor be seen in any dress
But the Moorish—nor acknowledge
Any but Mahomet's sect:—
After these, his next endeavour
Was, to re-divide his forces;
And Galera, that proud city
Yonder, which first meets your eye—
Whose high walls and deep-sunk trenches
Nature fashioned with such skill,
That it never can be conquered
But with great expense of blood,
He has given in charge to Malec—
Malec, who is Clara's father—
Clara, now Maleca called:—
Tuzaní received Gabia
Named the Proud, while he in Berga
Holds his court—the heart that quickens
All this giant mass of stone:—
Thus, as far as we are able
To discover, are they placed.
This, then, is the Alpujarra,
Whose stupendous summits seem
As if they would hurl them headlong
Down to kneel before thy feet.

DON JOHN.
Your monitions are, Don Juan,
Worthy a Mendoza, as
Of thyself:—thou'rt doubly loyal—
But what drums are those I hear?

[A sound of drums is heard, and various bodies of troops are seen passing.
MENDOZA.
Soldiers, that on their arrival
Seek the muster-roll, my lord.

DON JOHN.
Whence this troop?

MENDOZA.
'Tis from Granada
And the neighbouring country, which
The Henil waters.

DON JOHN.
Who commands it?

MENDOZA.
The Marquis de Mondéjar, who
Is the count too of Tendilla:—
Of the Alhambra, and the country
Round about, perpetual warden.

DON JOHN.
The Moor in Africa doth tremble,
When he but hears his name. What's this?

[Drums.
MENDOZA.
'Tis a band of troops from Murcia.

DON JOHN.
Who has got the command of those?

MENDOZA.
The great Marquis de los Belez.

DON JOHN.
Let his fame and his achievements
Be his name's bright coronal.

[Drums.
MENDOZA.
This detachment is from Baeza,
And it has for its commander
A brave soldier, one to whom
Fame is owing many a statue
As eternal as his glory:—
My lord, 'tis Sancho de Avila.

DON JOHN.
For the praise that he deserveth,
'Tis but little to declare,
Simply that he is the pupil
Of the Duke of Alva, who
Taught him in his school to conquer,
But never how to be subdued.

[Drums.
MENDOZA.
The foot-soldiers now advancing
Are the veteran troops of Flanders,
Which descended for this exploit,
To the Henil from the Meuse—
Pearls with pearls thus interchanging.

DON JOHN.
Who doth come with it?

MENDOZA.
A wonder
Of nobility and valour,
Don Lope de Figueroa.

DON JOHN.
Many stories have been told me
Of his courage and his patience,
One so great and one so small.

MENDOZA.
Being by the gout impeded,
He impatiently endures
Giving such inactive service
To your highness in the war.

DON JOHN.
Truly I desire to know him.

Enter DON LOPE DE FIGUEROA.
LOPE.
Then I vow to God, your highness
Has not one minutest atom
Of advantage over me;
Since 'tis but to see me sometime
Strive to kneel thus at thy feet,
That these legs I have put up with.

DON JOHN.
How do you feel yourself?

LOPE.
As one
Who to serve you, comes from Flanders
Here, my lord, to Andalusia;
And it is no needless duty,
Since if you won't go to Flanders,
Flanders then must come to you.

DON JOHN.
May Heaven grant me yet this favour!—
Do you lead brave troops?

LOPE.
So brave
That were this wild Alpujarra
Hell itself, and were Mahomet
Its commander-in-chief in person,
They, my lord, would enter in;—
Those excepted, who are gouty,
Who could climb not up the cliffs:—
For they come......
[A voice within.
Retire! detain thee!—

GARCES,
within.
Pass I must! so stand aside.

Enter GARCES, with ALCUZCUZ on his shoulders.
DON JOHN.
What is this?

GARCES.
My rounds pursuing
On the slope of this Sierra,
I, methought, amid some branches
Heard a noise, and looking there,
I this dog discovered lurking
As in ambuscade amongst them,
Plainly with a spy's intent:—
With my musket-strap I tied him,
And that he might bark some tidings,
I have brought him on my shoulders.

LOPE.
A good soldier! as God liveth!—
Are there more of them like this?

GARCES.
Does your lordship then imagine
It is only out of Flanders
That good soldiers come?

ALCUZCUZ,
aside.
The matter,
Alcuzcuz, looks rather serious,
And already Adam's apple
Seems to tighten in your throat.

DON JOHN,
to GARCES.
Now that I remember, soldier,
Who you are, a valiant exploit
Like to this, appears not new.

GARCES.
Oh! at what a little cost
Princes can reward brave actions!
By a word of praise 'tis done!

DON JOHN.
Approach.

ALCUZCUZ.
To me do you say it?

DON JOHN.
Yes.

ALCUZCUZ.
The honour is too great
To approach you any nearer:—
I am better here.

DON JOHN.
Your name?

ALCUZCUZ,
aside.
Here a little caution's needful:—
Alcuzcuz, a poor Morisco,
[Aloud.
Who by force was carried here
To this cursed Alpujarra—
Being a Christian in my heart—
Knowing all about the Credo,
The Trinity and the Daily Bread—
The Salve Regina, and the other
Fourteen Commandments of the Church:
'Twas for saying to my comrades
That I would a Christian be,
That they wanted all to kill me,
So I fled, or ran, or flew,
Till I met with him who took me,
When I yielded myself up:
If you spare my life, I'll tell you
All the plans they're plotting yonder,
And will show you how to enter
By the mountain unperceived.

DON JOHN.
Though I think that he is lying,
It is possible that he
Tells a little truth.

MENDOZA.
Who questions
But some Christians still are there?
I myself have known a lady
Who was carried there by force.

DON JOHN.
Let us neither be too trusting,
Nor too doubting; Garces, thou
Take the charge of thine own captive.

GARCES.
Yes, be sure, I'll guard him well.

DON JOHN.
We shall soon see if the story
Which he tells is true or false.
Let us take a turn, Don Lope,
Through the quarters of our troops,
And consult upon the best way
To begin the attack.

MENDOZA.
Your highness
Sees what's right, for though this war
Seems indeed of trifling moment,
It is most important, since
There are matters like the present,
Which when gained confer no honour,
But when lost inflict disgrace;
And it therefore doth behove us
To attend to things like these—
Not so much to gain new laurels,
But to lose not what we have.

[Exeunt all but GARCES and ALCUZCUZ.
GARCES.
Well, friend, what shall I call you?

ALCUZCUZ.
Rice;
Since my name among the Moriscos
Was plain Alcuzcuz, among
Christians it is Rice; 'tis proper,
Since I change my Moorish pottage,
I should get a Christian name.

GARCES.
Alcuzcuz, you are my captive;
Tell me truth.

ALCUZCUZ.
With all my heart.

GARCES.
You but now assured his highness
John of Austria......

ALCUZCUZ.
Was it he?

GARCES.
That you could point out a passage
To this proud Sierra's heart.

ALCUZCUZ.
Yes, my master.

GARCES.
Though 'tis certain
That he cometh to subdue it,
With the Marquis de los Belez—
With the Marquis de Mondéjar,
With Don Lope de Figueroa,
And Don Sancho de Avila,
I am anxious that the entrance
To these mountains he should owe
Solely unto my exertions.
Guide me thither, I'm impatient
To examine and explain it.

ALCUZCUZ,
aside.
I must someway trick this Christian,
And by giving him the slip,
Gain the Alpujarra:—come then
On with me.

GARCES.
Just wait a little,
For within this guardhouse here,
I deposited my rations
When I went on guard this morning,
And I'm anxious to regain them;
In my saddle-bags I'll bring them
(That no needless time be wasted),
Thus we may upon our journey
Eat and walk at once.

ALCUZCUZ.
So be it.

GARCES.
Let us go.

ALCUZCUZ,
aside.
O saint Mahomet,
Thou wilt be my only prophet,
Guide me, and I'll go to Mecca.
Ah! that's nothing to a man
Who is always pilgrimizing.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—A BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN DISTRICT. ON THE SIDE OF A GENTLE HILL ARE SEATED DON FERNANDO VALOR (ABENHUMEYA) AND DONNA ISABELLA TUZANÍ (LIDORA). A CROWD OF MOORS AND MUSICIANS ARE SEEN AT A LITTLE DISTANCE.
ABENHUMEYA.
Here amid these fragrant bowers,
Twined of thyme and mountain heather,
Where the Spring has called together
The rich Cortez of her flowers—
Where the ground is overstrown
With emerald leaves and buds of gold,
And our ravished eyes behold
The queenly Rose ascend her throne—
Here, Lidora, thou canst rest—
My beauteous spouse—a tranquil hour,
While, perchance, sweet music's power
May charm the sadness from your breast.

LIDORA.
Ah! my valiant lord, no narrow
Fame for thee is Fate bestowing,
Not alone for thee are growing
Victor oaks in Alpujarra;
The laurel, too, shall bloom for thee—
The sacred tree that loves the plain—
When the wail of conquered Spain
Shall proclaim thy victory.
No, my lord; 'tis not disdain
Of your grandeur, your affection
Makes me feel the deep dejection
Weighing on my heart and brain;
'Tis the price at which we buy
Joy's divine but fleeting treasure—
Never comes the light of pleasure
But the shade of grief is nigh:
This alone, my lord, believe me,
Is my secret cause of anguish—
'Tis for this alone I languish;—
(Ah! that I could so deceive me!)
[Aside.
Thus changeful Fate with power malign
Wounds and heals my doubting breast—
I must be sad for being blest—
And must be blest for being thine.

ABENHUMEYA.
If such a cause as this control thee,
And thou art sad from too much gladness,
I must feel the joyful sadness
That I never can console thee.
Never can this grief decay,
Ne'er can cease this sweet dejection,
Since your power and my affection
Must be greater every day.
But sing, sing, in notes of gladness,
Sing the beauty of my bride,—
Ever have been close allied
Music and such happy sadness.
[The musicians sing.
“There is little need to say
Whose thou art, sweet joy divine,
Since 'tis plain thou must be mine
By the shortness of thy stay.”

[MALEC enters and advances to speak to ABENHUMEYA. TUZANÍ (DON ALVARO) and MALECA (DONNA CLARA) appear in the Moorish costume at opposite sides of the stage, and remain there without advancing.
MALECA.
“There is little need to say
Whose thou art, sweet joy divine—

[Aside.
TUZANÍ.
“Since 'tis plain thou must be mine
By the shortness of thy stay.”

[The instruments continue to play during the remainder of this scene.
MALECA.
What a strange and mournful feeling
Has this song awakened now!

TUZANÍ.
At this voice, I know not how,
Terror through my breast is stealing!

MALECA.
When to treat about my marriage,
Hither came my lord and father.

TUZANÍ.
When I hoped Love's fruits to gather,
After many a sore miscarriage.

MALECA.
Ah! my joy—the sweet notes say—

TUZANÍ.
Ah! my hope, this fate is thine—
[Both sing with the musicians.
Yes 'tis plain thou must be mine
By the shortness of thy stay.

MALEC.
Since, my lord, the light of Love
Shineth through the smoke of Mars—
As the light of evening stars
Through the passing clouds above—
I have come to tell to thee,
That to-day I wed my daughter.

ABENHUMEYA.
Of the many that have sought her,
Who is then the favoured he?

MALEC.
Tuzaní, Lidora's brother.

ABENHUMEYA.
Ah! thou hast selected duly,
Since I know how long and truly
They have been faithful to each other.
For them Love shines not dark or dim,
Nor yet a doubtful fate doth give—
He without her can never live,
And she must perish without him.
Where are they both?

[TUZANÍ and MALECA approach.
MALECA.
Behold me here,
Glad at thy feet.

TUZANÍ.
And I am thus
Proud, that you stretch your hand to us.

ABENHUMEYA.
Come, let my arms embrace ye near;
And since the sacred Alcoran
(Beneath whose law we all unite)
Prescribes alone this marriage rite,
That to the woman, by the man,
Some bridal gifts presented be,
Thus, Tuzaní, some gifts of thine
Give to Maleca, the divine.

TUZANÍ.
Ah! they are all too poor for thee,
For thou art such a peerless one—
Brightest of all that brightest be—
That to give diamonds unto thee
Is to give light unto the sun.
Here is a Cupid all complete,
Arm'd with his bow and arrows keen,
And yet the conquered god is seen
To kneel submissive at thy feet.
Here is a string of pearls, to twine
Around thy beauteous neck of snow—
Tears of the Dawn, which yet must flow
To find her face outshone by thine.
Here is an eagle fair to see,
Of emerald green—Hope's favourite hue—
That bird alone that dares to view
Th'unclouded sun, will gaze on thee.
This ruby chain perchance thou'lt wear
Amid thy tresses dark and smooth—
I need it not; my chains, in sooth,
Are thy sweet smiles and curling hair.
And these memorials may—but no,
I cannot ask so cold a lot—
If thy own heart recall me not
To these, that bliss I would not owe.

MALECA.
Tuzaní, these gifts I take,
And, grateful for thy love, I vow
To prize them all my life, as now,
And keep and wear them for thy sake.

LIDORA.
And I congratulate you both
Upon the happy vows you've plighted.

MALEC.
Come, let their hands be now united—
The sweet reward of hearts not loth.

TUZANÍ.
Ah! dearest, at thy feet I lie—

MALECA.
Nay, let my arms henceforward be
A lasting chain for love and thee.

TUZANÍ.
And I am blest!

MALECA.
And so am I!

[At the moment their hands meet, a sound of drums is heard.
MALEC.
No Moorish tabours give the sound,
The startling sound that hither comes.
No! 'tis the sound of Spanish drums
That thunders through the mountains round.

TUZANÍ.
Alas! this sound forebodeth woe.

ABENHUMEYA.
Stop then the bridal, till we see
What this new circumstance may be.

TUZANÍ.
My lord, and hast thou yet to know
That there can be nothing newer,
Nothing stranger now than this,
That my heart can feel a bliss
Ever fated to endure?
Scarcely on my heart and lips
Hope's bright sun outbeams again,
When the dusky arms of Spain
Hide its light in dark eclipse!

Enter ALCUZCUZ with the saddle-bags on his shoulder.
ALCUZCUZ.
Thanks to Allah! and Mahomet!
At your feet again I'm seen.

TUZANÍ.
Alcuzcuz, where have you been?

ALCUZCUZ.
Oh! I ran like any comet.

ABENHUMEYA.
What has happened to you?

ALCUZCUZ.
Being
On my post to-day, post-haste
I was seized behind my waist
By a man, without my seeing;
With two others then I trod
On, until at last they brought me
To Don John, who a Christian thought me,
Because I said I believed in God;
So they doomed me not to die,
But with a soldier to remain,
Who does not wash himself in vain.
Scarcely had he learned that I
Knew a pass that lay amid
The Alpujarra hills, when he
Wished at once the place to see;
From his comrades he lay hid,
And giving me his saddle-bags,
In which his daily rations lay,
We in secret took our way
Between the mountain's winding crags;
But when we reached the lonely wood
I fled along a mountain hollow,
And he, not wishing there to follow,
Lost both his prisoner and his food;
For when he ventured to pursue,
A Moorish trumpet that hard by
Rang out, persuaded him to fly:
So I bring this news to you.—
The foe, that mighty son of Mars
Don John of Industry doth lead,
And, 'tis said, accompanied
By the great Marquis of Mondayjars,
And also the Marquis of Bellies, and
He who brings the Flemish diploma,
Don Lopé de Figure de Roma,
And Sancho the Devil, the last of the band,
Who to-day to the Alpojarro
Come to attack you.

ABENHUMEYA.
Cease! no more!
They shall find ere the day is o'er
My wrath can fly like a winged arrow.

LIDORA.
And lo! on yonder mountain height,
From which the sun's last rays are fled,
Fearing to stain its vesper red,
Fearing to waste its golden light,
I see a mighty myriad band,
Whose arms and flags the sight confuse—
Replacing evening's absent hues—
Treading our sacred mountain land.

MALECA.
A mighty host we plainly see
Granada leads this deed to do.

ABENHUMEYA.
Many worlds were all too few,
If they mean to conquer me:—
Though the hero who doth plan it,
And treads our labyrinths one by one,
Instead of the fifth Charles' son,
Were the son of the fifth planet.
For though their valour now presumes
To gild th'horizon with strange fires,
Those rocks shall be their funeral pyres—
These mountains soon their awful tombs.
And since at length draws nigh the hour
We long have sought for—let us stand
Ready prepared, with sword in hand,
Impatient for his approaching power;
And so my friends, as we are three,
Let us divide and wait the foe,
You, Malec, to Galera go;
You to Gabía, Tuzaní;
And I in erja shall remain.
He who on whom the attack shall fall,
By Allah's will—on Allah call,
Nor shall the call be made in vain—
Go to Gabía, and the fête
Which glory from thy love hath ta'en,—
We, when the victory we gain,
With greater joy shall celebrate:—

[Exeunt all but TUZANÍ, MALECA, ALCUZCUZ, and BEATRICE.
MALECA.
“Ah, there's little need to say
Whose thou art, sweet joy divine!”

TUZANÍ.
“Since 'tis plain thou must be mine
By the shortness of thy stay!”

MALECA.
Joys, alas! too early doomed,
Dying ere their birth was known.

TUZANÍ.
Roses plucked ere they were blown,
Sweet flowers withered ere they bloomed.

MALECA.
So enfeebled, so prostrated,
That a breath has laid thee low.

TUZANÍ.
What thou art my heart doth know,
Vain my lips aloud should state it.

MALECA.
'Tis when thou dost fly away
That my longing heart pursues thee:—

TUZANÍ.
Since I am about to lose thee,
Whose thou art thou need'st not say.

MALECA.
Joy of some fond heart forlorn,
Too soon thou left that aching side—
Abortive birth that thus hath died
Even in the moment it was born;—
If through accident or scorn
My breast thy fickle wing decoys,
To him whose peace thy flight destroys
Return with fluttering pinions faster,
Leave me, and re-seek thy master,
Delusive dream,—sweet joy of joys!

TUZANÍ.
Scarcely did I thee possess
Rapture, when upon thee fell
Death, it were no miracle
Were thy short life even less:
I was wild with happiness,
Now with melancholy pine—
Ah! how fair doth rapture shine,
Seeking thus another's breast,
Pain!—how deep thy sting is press'd
On my heart, because thou'rt mine!

MALECA.
Joy, although a dream to me,
Still thy shade is worth possessing.

TUZANÍ.
Since thou twice canst give a blessing,
And but once a misery.

MALECA.
Twice from this day thou wilt be
A rapture-giver:—

THE TWO.
When thou curest
Griefs that only thou canst banish,
But thy other power is surest....

TUZANÍ.
In the speed with which you vanish....

MALECA.
In the little thou endurest:—

TUZANÍ.
Thus in long soliloquy,
Dear Maleca, have I spoken,
Since my trembling accents broken
Had no power to speak to thee,
Since my heart was doomed to see
Hope's victorious palm that hung
Budding o'er it—thus outflung
Withering ere it bore one leaf,—
And so was silent:—the heart's grief
Can not be spoken with the tongue.

MALECA.
Still to speak is a free action,
For the tongue may silence keep—
But to hear is not so cheap—
And is proof to all attraction:
Since so great is my distraction,
That the functions of the ear
Seem to fail and disappear;
Call not grief like this, then, weak,
Since you have not power to speak,
Nor have I the power to hear.

TUZANÍ.
The king to Gabía sendeth me,
Thou to Galera must remove,
My honour, struggling with my love,
Scarcely can act its tyranny;
Let it awhile thy dwelling be
My darling wife, Maleca mine,
And may the pitying heavens incline
The minds of those whom we await—
To try their power upon the gate
Of proud Gabía, since 'tis mine—
Not of Galera, since 'tis thine:—

MALECA.
Can I not see thee then, or know
Aught of thy welfare, till this feud
Granada shall at length conclude?

TUZANÍ.
Ah! yes thou must, for I shall go
From one to the other, to and fro,
Each wished-for night—two leagues shall not
Prevent my visiting the spot
Where my heart's wishes fly before.

MALECA.
I know that love's strong wings can soar
Even with the speed and height of thought;
I, to the postern shall repair,
And wait thee 'neath the wall's protection.

TUZANÍ.
And I, secure in thy affection,
Shall every night rejoin thee there.
Now one embrace by which to swear.

[Sound of drums.
MALECA.
The drums announce the squadrons move.

TUZANÍ.
Alas! the time:—

MALECA.
What pangs I prove!

TUZANÍ.
Oh! how I suffer!

MALECA.
How I sigh!

TUZANÍ.
Is this to love?

MALECA.
It is to die!

TUZANÍ.
Is it then more to die than love?

[They go out, leaving ALCUZCUZ and ZARA (BEATRICE) behind them.
ZARA.
Alcuzcuz, come hither, for we
Can now converse without molestation.

ALCUZCUZ.
Little Zara, this invitation,
Is it to the saddle-bags or me?

ZARA.
Still wilt thou be the gayest of wags,
Laughing when all around thee are crying?
Listen to me:—

ALCUZCUZ.
You are not replying
If this is to me or the saddle-bags.

ZARA.
It is to you; but since I see
You doubt of my love—a shame and a sin—
I wish to see what they carry within.

ALCUZCUZ.
Then it was to the bags, and not to me:—

ZARA,
examining.
This is pork—you're damned in a minute,
For carrying such an unholy load—
This is wine too, securely stowed,—
Bless me! there's nothing but poison in it,
Which I do not desire to touch,
Nor even to see. Take care of thy breath,
Alcuzcuz, for this will be death,
If they are able to prove as much:—

ALCUZCUZ.
Why there seemeth more than a foison
Of venom here, and we must believe it,
Since Zara says so, we must receive it
As such, since she is so skilled in poison;
And the best proof that these are not eatables
Is that Zara had power to resist them—
A tooth like Zara's would never have missed them,
Skilled and knowing as she is in sweetables,—
That Christian scoundrel doubtless intended
To kill, not keep me with him in slavery:
Well! was there ever such scurvy knavery?
But Mahómet my cause befriended—
All because I promised to wander
As far as Mecca, to see the bones
Of his blesséd shins:—But hark, the tones
Of the drums peal out from the battle yonder,—
[Drums are heard.
The mountain is full of troops: in haste
I must at once to my master repair:—
I wonder is there any one there
[To the audience.
Who would object this poison to taste.

SCENE III.

—THE CHRISTIAN CAMP.
Enter DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA, DON LOPE DE FIGUEROA, DON JUAN DE MENDOZA, marching at the head of their soldiers.
MENDOZA.
From this spot we best can see
The disposition of each fortress—
Now that the sun declining westward
Hangs like a jewel from the sky,
This town which on the right hand rises
Built on an ever-firm foundation
Of solid rock, which has for ages
Seemed on the point of falling down—
Is Gabía the proud, and that
Which stands as proudly on the left hand,
Whose towers and rocks of rival whiteness
Ever compete in hue and form,—
That is Berja:—Galera this—
Which is another name for galley—
Given to it because of its site—
As rocks rise round it, like stony billows—
And flowers beneath it like flowing waves—
And the winds whistling over, make it
Seem to move amid waves and winds.

DON JOHN.
One of these fortresses must be chosen
First to besiege.

LOPE.
Then let us see
Which of them holds the best position
Suitable to our present design—
Then let us put our hands to the labour—
Since, thank God, it requires not feet.

DON JOHN.
Bring me hither that Moorish prisoner,
And let us learn at once if he
Spoke or not the truth in this matter
That he lately mentioned to us;—
Where is Garces, into whose custody
I this prisoner wholly gave?

MENDOZA.
I have not seen him from that moment.

GARCES,
within.
Ah! woe is me.

DON JOHN.
See who is this.

Enter GARCES, hurriedly and wounded.
GARCES.
'Tis I, who at the feet of your highness
Come to throw myself half-dead.

MENDOZA.
'Tis Garces.

DON JOHN.
Tell me what hath happened.

GARCES.
Deign your highness to pardon an error
For my important tidings.

DON JOHN.
Speak.—

GARCES.
That Morisco lately taken,
Given to me to guard, informed you,
That he came with the intention
To betray the Alpujarra;
I, my lord, desiring strongly
To survey the pass, and be
He who first would enter in it,
(Honour having an ambition
Higher than the hope of profit)—
Bade him point me out the way;—
Him I followed by the lonely
Labyrinths of the mountain-gorges,
Where the sun each day it rises
Is within deep caverns lost—
Scarcely had we reached two craggy
Hillocks o'er a deep ravine,
When he flew with sudden swiftness
Up the rocks, and shouting then,
Was, as if to cheat even echo,
Answered by a troop of Moors,
Who descending with the fury
Even of what they are, of dogs,
Rushed upon the prey he brought them.
Useless now was opposition,
So with trickling blood down streaming
From my wounds, I turned and fled,
Seeking shelter from the foliage
Of a neighbouring wood, and there
Saw beneath the deep foundation
Of Galera's walls, an open
Yawning melancholy cave,
In the rock on which 'tis founded,
Which beneath the weight is doubtless
Forced to gape, and which for ever
Vainly seeks it jaws to close—
Giving me an easy entrance.
There I lay concealed, and there,
Whether that they did not see me,
Or that buried there they thought me,
There they left me as one dead;
In this manner I was able
All the place to reconnoitre,
And find out that this Galera
Has been undermined by time,
Which for rock-supported structures
Is the ablest engineer;
And that you with little trouble
May ignite and blow it up,
By this mouth an entrance gaining
To the town, without the tedious
Process of a siege: I offer
For one life the lives of all
That are found within Galera,
For my anger cannot promise—
For my sword cannot bestow
Either pity to the children—
Either on the old men mercy,
Or respect unto the women,—
More than this I cannot do.

DON JOHN.
Let this soldier be removed:
[He is led out.
I consider a good omen,
Don Lopé de Figueroa
This to learn about Galera;
For I longed from the first moment
That I heard the Alpujarra
Held a town they called Galera,
(Or a galley) to blockade it—
To find out, as on the ocean,
If I had the same good fortune
With the galleys of the land.

LOPE.
Why delay then? let us forward,
Seizing on the outer posts—
Better hour than this, we never
Could have hoped: for in the night-time
We can reach it unperceived;—
On! my squadron, to Galera!

A SOLDIER.
Pass the order.

ANOTHER SOLDIER.
Pass it on.

ALL.
To Galera.

DON JOHN.
Grant me, Heavens,
On the land the same good fortune
That you gave me on the sea,
That opposed to one another—
That great naval fight, and this
Land engagement that impendeth,
It may be of me declared,
That by sea and land, one epoch
Had two victories so alike
That myself could not distinguish
'Twixt the earthly and the naval—
Which the siege and which the sea-fight.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

—OUTSIDE THE GATES OF GALERA.
Enter TUZANÍ and ALCUZCUZ.
TUZANÍ.
Life and honour, Alcuzcuz,
Do I leave unto thy keeping,
Since you know, if they discover,
I Gabía left, and ventured
To Galera, life and honour
In one instant must I lose;
With my mare be sure await me
Here, while I this garden enter:
For we have without delaying,
To return into Gabía,
Ere our absence there is known.

ALCUZCUZ.
Ever I am glad to serve you,
Though I came in such a hurry
That you did not give me time
To deposit in my chamber
Even the saddle-bags—depend on't
I shall watch here without budging.

TUZANÍ.
If you leave this, by yon heaven!
With your life you'll pay the forfeit:—

Enter MALECA from a door.
MALECA.
Is it thou?

TUZANÍ.
Who else would ever
Be so faithful?

MALECA.
Enter quickly,
That they may not recognise thee
Talking with me from the walls.

[Exeunt.
ALCUZCUZ.
Well, by Allah! I am sorry,
Señor Sleep, I can't go with you:—
Well, there is not a worse office
In the world than that of pander,
For in every other business
We are working for ourselves,
But in pandering, for others:—
Ho! there, Bess!—I feel so drowsy,
I must shake it off by keeping
To my story. Oft the cobbler
Makes himself new shoes—the tailor
Makes himself at times a coat,—
Likewise doth the cook examine
If the fricassee be good,
And the pastry-cook can sometimes
Eat the pie that he has made,—
But the obliging pander only
Cannot turn his toil to profit,
Neither wears the shoe he cobbles,
Nor doth taste the pie he bakes,—
Ho! there, mare; good heavens! she's off,
Though she knows I must pursue her:—
Ho! mare, stay, and do for me
But this favour that I ask you,
And I'll do for you as much
Any time that you ask me:—
Ah! 'tis useless now to follow;
Alcuzcuz, a pretty business
Have you made of this, my friend;
How shall master now return hence?
He will kill me, it is certain,
Since he cannot reach Gabía
Now in time by any means.
Just suppose he comes and tells you,
Bring the mare—I have it not—
What do you mean? The mare has fled me.
By what road? The hills there yonder.
Then I will kill you—Pish! a dagger
Is the next moment through my heart!
Since 'tis fated you must perish,
Alcuzcuz, you had better choose your
Mode of death. Let us die by poison,
As that is easiest—then so be it,
Since I am weary now of life:—
[He takes out a bottle from the bag, and drinks.
It is better thus to perish,
Than to die in an ugly manner
Bathed and smeared all o'er with blood.
How do you feel? Why never better,—
Then the poison is rather weak—
If you mean to die in earnest,
You must take a good deal more.
[Drinks.
He who takes poison is never chilly,
But feels a fire in every vein;
Then to burn all through my interior,
More of the poison I must take,
[Drinks.
That I may die by little and little.
Ah! it now begins to work,
Now the effect becomes apparent,
For my eyes are troubled and glazed,
And my brain is like a tee-totum,
And my tongue grows thick and flabby,
And my mouth is like hot iron;
But since I die, I should not leave
A drop of the poison to kill another;
[Drinks.
'Tis common charity. Where the devil
Is my mouth, that I cannot find it.

[Drums are heard.
VOICES
within.
To arms! sentinels of Galera,
To arms!

ALCUZCUZ.
Eh! what is this!
But if my eyes see naught but lightnings,
What wonder thunders thus I hear?

Enter TUZANÍ and MALECA, alarmed.
MALECA.
My lord, the sentinels have kindled
Their signal watch-fires on the walls.

TUZANÍ.
Doubtless the Christian camp is moving,
Under the silent shade and cover
Of the night, upon Galera.

MALECA.
Fly, my dearest lord, for now
All the fort is in commotion.

TUZANÍ.
Will it be a glorious action
To be told of me, that I
Left my wife exposed....

MALECA.
Oh! sorrow.

TUZANÍ.
And abandoned her in peril?

MALECA.
Yes, because it is Gabia
That you must in honour guard,
And perhaps they may besiege it
First of all. 'Tis duty calls.

TUZANÍ.
Ah! who ever saw confusion
Like to this? or in one moment
Suffered so much pain? At once
Love and honour call upon me.

MALECA.
Answer them but to your honour.

TUZANÍ.
Ere I answer, I am hopeful
Yet to obey the two.

MALECA.
What way?

TUZANÍ.
By resolving now to take thee
With me,—for if I, in leaving
Or in taking you, am lost,
Love and honour both experience
Equal fortune, equal risk,—
Come with me, a steed is waiting—
Swift outrunner of the wind—
It will bear us.

MALECA.
With my husband
I may go, I hazard nothing—
I am thine.

TUZANÍ.
Ho! Alcuzcuz.

ALCUZCUZ.
Who is calling?

TUZANÍ.
I; get ready
Quick the mare.

ALCUZCUZ.
The mare?

TUZANÍ.
Why wait thus?

ALCUZCUZ.
I am waiting for the mare;
To return she gave a promise:—

TUZANÍ.
Where then is she?

ALCUZCUZ.
Gone off cleanly.
But as she's a mare of honour,
She I'm sure will soon be back.

TUZANÍ.
By the heavens above me, traitor! ....

ALCUZCUZ.
Do not touch me, keep aloof,
For I tell you I am poisoned,
And my very breath may kill you.

TUZANÍ.
I will give you now your death.

MALECA.
Hold, restrain thee! Ah!

[She interposes and is wounded in the hand.
TUZANÍ.
What's this?

MALECA.
In my effort to detain thee,
I my hand have slightly scarred.

TUZANÍ.
This dear blood a life must pay for.

MALECA.
Then because 'tis mine, I ask you
Not to kill him.

TUZANÍ.
Your entreaty
Would absolve a greater oath;
Does it bleed much?

MALECA.
'Tis a trifle.

TUZANÍ.
In this handkerchief enfold it.

MALECA.
Since you see Fate interposes
To prevent my flight—depart—
And as in one day Galera
Scarce will yield, I freely offer
To go with you on to-morrow;
Since the secret pass lies open,
We can leave at any time.

TUZANÍ.
With that hope alone I tear me
From thy arms.

MALECA.
May Allah guard thee!

TUZANÍ.
To what end, if life is hateful
Without thee?

ALCUZCUZ.
Oh! if you want
A good remedy to lose it—
I have here a drop remaining
Of the most delicious poison.

MALECA.
Go then.

TUZANÍ.
Ah! how sad I go!

MALECA.
How afflicted I remain!

TUZANÍ.
Feeling that some hostile planet......

MALECA.
Feeling that some adverse fate......

TUZANÍ.
Shines malignly on my passion......

MALECA.
Comes between me and my love......

TUZANÍ.
Ever riseth......

MALECA.
Standeth ever......

TUZANÍ.
Wakeful but for my misfortunes.

MALECA.
Ready with a Christian army
Ever to disturb our joy.

[Exeunt MALECA and TUZANÍ.
ALCUZCUZ.
Is this death? or is it slumber?
Death and sleep are one they say,
And they're right, for now I know not
If I'm dead, or only sleep!

[Lies down and the curtain falls.