Abhorrent from our nature,
I have a prattler three years old, my Lord!
In truth he is my darling. As I went
From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep
But I am talking idly-pray proceed!
And what did this man?
Why, that's my case; and yet the soul recoils from it- He gave a substance and reality
"Tis so with me at least. But you, perhaps,
Have sterner feelings?
How shall I serve you? By the life you gave me,
By all that makes that life of value to me,
My wife, my babes, my honor, I swear to you,
Name it, and I will toil to do the thing,
If it be innocent! But this, my Lord,
Is not a place where you could perpetrate,
No, nor propose, a wicked thing. The darkness,
When ten strides off, we know 'tis cheerful moonlight,
Collects the guilt, and crowds it round the heart.
It must be innocent.
[ORDONIO darkly, and in the feeling of self-justifica-
tion, tells what he conceives of his own character and
actions, speaking of himself in the third person.
ORDONIO.
Thyself be judge.
One of our family knew this place well.
What boots it, who or when?
Hang up thy torch-I'll tell his tale to thee.
He proved a traitor,
Betray'd the mystery to a brother traitor,
And they between them hatch'd a damned plot
[They hang up their torches on some ridge in To hunt him down to infamy and death.
All men seem'd mad to him! He made that Traitor meet him in this cavern,
With weak and womanish scruples. Now my Ven
Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien,
And claims that life, my pity robb'd her of—
Now will I kill thee, thankless slave! and count it More than a woman's spirit.
Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter.
-We have mourn'd for Alvar.
I have hurl'd him down the chasm! Treason for trea- Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt. Have I no other son?
He dreamt of it: henceforward let him sleep
A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him.
His dream too is made out-Now for his friend.
The interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic Castle, with the Iron Gate of a Dungeon visible.
Heart-chilling Superstition! thou canst glaze
Even Pity's eye with her own frozen tear.
In vain I urge the tortures that await him;
Even Selma, reverend guardian of my childhood,
My second mother, shuts her heart against me!
Well, I have won from her what most imports
The present need, this secret of the dungeon,
Known only to herself.-A Moor! a Sorcerer!
No, I have faith, that Nature ne'er permitted
Baseness to wear a form so noble. True,
I doubt not, that Ordonio had suborn'd him
To act some part in some unholy fraud;
As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose
He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him,
And that Ordonio meditates revenge!
But my resolve is fix'd! myself will rescue him,
And learn if haply he know aught of Alvar.
Still sad-and gazing at the massive door
Of that fell Dungeon which thou ne'er hadst sight of,
Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shaped it,
When the nurse still'd thy cries with unmeant threats.
Now by my faith, Girl! this same wizard haunts thee!
A stately man, and eloquent and tender-
[With a sneer. Who then need wonder if a lady sighs Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans
TERESA (with solemn indignation).
The horror of their ghastly punishments
Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion,
That I should feel too little for mine enemy,
If it were possible I could feel more,
Even though the dearest inmates of our household
Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are-
Speak not of him! That low imposture! That mysterious picture! If this be madness, must I wed a madman? And if not madness, there is mystery, And guilt doth lurk behind it.
Yes, it is truth: saw you his countenance?
How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear,
Displaced each other with swift interchanges?
O that I had indeed the sorcerer's power!-
I would call up before thine eyes the image
Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born!
His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead,
His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips!
That spiritual and almost heavenly light
In his commanding eye-his mien heroic,
Virtue's own native heraldry! to man
Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel.
Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness spread
Wide round him! and when oft with swelling tears,
Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd
The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots,
Oh, what a grief was there-for joy to envy,
Or gaze upon enamour'd!
Recall that morning when we knelt together,
And thou didst bless our loves! O even now,
Even now, my sire! to thy mind's eye present him,
As at that moment he rose up before thee,
Stately, with beaming look! Place, place beside him
Ordonio's dark perturbed countenance!
Then bid me (Oh thou couldst not) bid me turn
From him, the joy, the triumph of our kind!
To take in exchange that brooding man, who never
Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl.
Enter a PEASANT and presents a letter to VALDEZ.
To float for ever with a careless course,
And think myself the only being alive!
"He dares not venture hither!" Why what can this My children!-Isidore's children!—Son of Valdez,
Lest the Familiars of the Inquisition,
That watch around my gates, should intercept him;
But he conjures me, that without delay
I hasten to him-for my own sake entreats me
To guard from danger him I hold imprison'd—
He will reveal a secret, the joy of which
Will even outweigh the sorrow."-Why what can
this be?
Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem,
To have in me a hostage for his safety.
Nay, that they dare not? Ho! collect my servants!
I will go thither-let them arm themselves.
The moon is high in heaven, and all is hush'd.
Yet, anxious listener! I have seem'd to hear
A low dead thunder mutter through the night,
As 't were a giant angry in his sleep.
O Alvar! Alvar! that they could return,
Those blessed days that imitated heaven,
When we two wont to walk at even-tide;
When we saw naught but beauty; when we heard
The voice of that Almighty One who loved us
In every gale that breathed, and wave that mur-
mur'd!
O we have listen'd, even till high-wrought pleasure
Hath half assumed the countenance of grief,
And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight
Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart.
This hath new-strung mine arm. Thou coward tyrant!
To stupify a woman's heart with anguish,
Till she forgot even that she was a mother!
[She fixes her eye on the earth. Then drop in one after
another, from different parts of the stage, a con-
siderable number of Morescoes, all in Moorish gar-
ments and Moorish armor. They form a circle at
a distance round ALHADRA, and remain silent till
the second in command, NAOMI, enters, distinguished
by his dress and armor, and by the silent obeisance
paid to him on his entrance by the other Moors.
Woman! may Alla and the Prophet bless thee!
We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief?
And why didst thou enjoin these Moorish garments!
ALHADRA (raising her eyes, and looking round on the
circle).
Warriors of Mahomet! faithful in the battle!
My countrymen! Come ye prepared to work
An honorable deed? And would ye work it
In the slave's garb? Curse on those Christian robes!
They are spell-blasted: and whoever wears them,
His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart melts away,
And his bones soften.
Where is Isidore ?
ALHADRA (in a deep low voice).
This night I went from forth my house, and left
His children all asleep: and he was living!
And I return'd and found them still asleep,
But he had perish'd-
And this majestic Moor, seems he not one
Who oft and long communing with my Alvar
Hath drunk in kindred lustre from his presence,
And guides me to him with reflected light?
What if in yon dark dungeon coward Treachery
Be groping for him with envenom'd poniard-
Hence, womanish fears, traitors to love and duty-Sleep on, poor babes! not one of you doth know
I'll free him.
The Mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a
Yon hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem
As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold;
The flower-like woods, most lovely in decay,
The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands,
Lie in the silent moonshine: and the owl,
(Strange! very strange!) the screech-owl only wakes!
Sole voice, sole eye of all this world of beauty!
Unless, perhaps, she sing her screeching song
To a herd of wolves, that skulk athirst for blood.
Why such a thing am I?-Where are these men?
I need the sympathy of human faces,
To beat away this deep contempt for all things,
Which quenches my revenge. Oh! would to Alla,
The raven, or the sea-mew, were appointed
To bring me food! or rather that my soul
Could drink in life from the universal air!
It were a lot divine in some small skiff
Along some Ocean's boundless solitude,
And hurried from me. But I follow'd him
At distance, till I saw him enter-there!
Yes, the mouth of yonder cavern.
After a while I saw the son of Valdez
Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter'd.
There was another and a longer pause;
And once, methought I heard the clash of swords!
And soon the son of Valdez reappear'd:
He flung his torch towards the moon in sport,
And seem'd as he were mirthful! I stood listening,
Impatient for the footsteps of my husband!
I crept into the cavern'Twas dark and very silent
[Then wildly.
What saidst thou?
No! no! I did not dare call, Isidore,
Lest I should hear no answer! A brief while,
Belike, I lost all thought and memory
Of that for which I came! After that
pause,
O Heaven! I heard a groan, and follow'd it:
And yet another groan, which guided me
Into a strange recess and there was light,
A hideous light! his torch lay on the ground;
Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink:
I spake; and whilst I spake, a feeble groan
Came from that chasm! it was his last! his
groan!
This is the process of our love and wisdom
To each poor brother who offends against us-
Most innocent, perhaps-and what if guilty?
Is this the only cure? Merciful God!
Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up,
By ignorance and parching poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt, till, changed to poison,
They break out on him, like a lothesome plague
spot!
Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks:
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces, at the clanking hour,
Seen through the steam and vapors of his dungeon
By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd
By sights of evermore deformity!
With other ministrations thou, O Nature!
Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets;
Thy melodies of words, and winds, and waters!
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
His angry spirit heal'd and harmonized
By the benignant touch of love and beauty.
I am chill and weary! Yon rude bench of stone,
death-In that dark angle, the sole resting-place!
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.com.ua/books/content?id=1PgSAAAAIAAJ&hl=uk&output=html_text&pg=PA101&img=1&zoom=3&q=LASKA&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U1maG8_PXZDGzT_XjmcfORNvA3TJg&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=38,908,463,169)
I look'd far down the pit-
My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment:
And it was stain'd with blood. Then first I shriek'd,
My eye-balls burnt, my brain grew hot as fire,
And all the hanging drops of the wet roof
Turn'd into blood-I saw them turn to blood!
And I was leaping wildly down the chasm,
When on the farther brink I saw his sword,
And it said, Vengeance!-Curses on my tongue!
The moon hath moved in Heaven, and I am here,
And he hath not had vengeance! Isidore!
Spirit of Isidore! thy murderer lives!
Away! away!
[She rushes off, all following her.
ALVAR (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds.
And this place my forefathers made for man!
But the self-approving mind is its own light,
And life's best warmth still radiates from the heart
Where Love sits brooding, and an honest purpose.
[Retires out of sight.
Enter TERESA with a Taper.
It has chill'd my very life-my own voice scares me !
Yet when I hear it not, I seem to lose
The substance of my being-my strongest grasp
Sends inwards but weak witness that I am.
I seek to cheat the echo.-How the half sounds
Blend with this strangled light! Is he not here-
[Looking round.
O for one human face here-but to see
One human face here to sustain me.-Courage!
It is but my own fear! The life within me,
It sinks and wavers like this cone of flame,
Beyond which I scarce dare look onward! Oh!
[Shuddering.
If I faint! If this inhuman den should be
At once my death-bed and my burial vault!
[Faintly screams as ALVAR emerges from the recess.
ALVAR (rushes towards her, and catches her as she
is falling).
O gracious Heaven! it is, it is Teresa!
I shall reveal myself? The sudden shock
Of rapture will blow out this spark of life,
And Joy complete what Terror has begun.
O ye impetuous beatings here, be still!
Teresa, best beloved! pale, pale, and cold!
Her pulse doth flutter! Teresa! my Teresa!
TERESA (recovering, looks round wildly).
I heard a voice; but often in my dreams
I hear that voice! and wake and try—and try
Thou dost not leave me! But a brief while retire into the darkness:
TERESA (retires from him, and feebly supports herself O that my joy could spread its sunshine round thee!
against a pillar of the dungeon).
It told but half the truth. O let this portrait
Tell all-that Alvar lives-that he is here!
Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar.
The sound of thy voice shall be my music!
[Retiring, she returns hastily and embraces ALVAR. Alvar! my Alvar! am I sure I hold thee?
Is it no dream? thee in my arms, my Alvar! [Erit. [A noise at the Dungeon door. It opens, and ORDONIO enters, with a goblet in his hand.
Hail, potent wizard! in my gayer mood
I pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto,
And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought on thee.
Thou hast conspired against my life and honor,
Hast trick'd me foully; yet I hate thee not.
Why should I hate thee? this same world of ours,
"T is but a pool amid a storm of rain,
And we the air-bladders that course up and down,
And joust and tilt in merry tournament;
And when one bubble runs foul of another,
[Waving his hand to ALVAR.
The weaker needs must break.
I see thy heart!
There is a frightful glitter in thine eye
Which doth betray thee. Inly-tortured man!
This is the revelry of a drunken anguish,
Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt,
And quell each human feeling.
Feeling! feeling!
The death of a man—the breaking of a bubble-
"Tis true I cannot sob for such misfortunes;
But faintness, cold and hunger-curses on me
If willingly I e'er inflicted them!
Come, take the beverage; this chill place demands it.
[ORDONIO proffers the goblet.
Which moves this way and that its hundred limbs,
Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft,
It were an infinitely curious thing!
But it has life, Ordonio! life, enjoyment!
And by the power of its miraculous will
Wields all the complex movements of its frame
[Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her. Unerringly to pleasurable ends!
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