University of Virginia Library

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.