RamiroandOsmaenter from opposite sides.
Ram.Where is the king? his car is at the gate,His ministers attend him, but his foesAre yet more prompt, nor will await delay.
Osma. Nor need they—for he meets them as I speak—
Ram.With all his forces—or our cause is lost.Julian and Sisabert surround the walls—
Osma. Surround, sayst thou? enter they not the gates?
Ram.Perhaps ere now they enter.
Osma. SisabertBrings him our prisoner.
Ram.They are friends! they heldA parley; and the soldiers, when they sawCount Julian, lower’d their arms and hail’d him king.
Osma. How? and he leads them in the name of king?
Ram.He leads them; but amidst that acclamationHe turn’d away his head, and called for vengeance.
Osma. In Sisabert, and in the cavalryHe led, were all our hopes.
Opas. Woe, woe is theirsWho have no other.
Osma. What are thine? obeyThe just commands of our offended king,Conduct him to the tower[58]—off—instantly.Ramiro, let us haste to reinforce—
Ram.Hark! is the king defeated? hark!
Osma. I hearSuch acclamation as from victoryArises not, but rather from revolt,Reiterated, interrupted, lost.Favour like this his genius will retrieveBy time, or promises, or chastisement,Which-e’er he choose—the speediest is the best—His danger and his glory let us share;’Tis ours to serve him.
Ram.While he rules, ’tis ours.What chariot-wheels are thundering o’er the bridge?
Osma. Roderigo’s—I well know them.
Ram.Now, the burstOf acclamation! now! again—again.
Osma. I know the voices; they are for Roderigo.
Ram.Stay, I entreat thee—one hath now prevailed.So far is certain.
Osma. Aye, the right prevails.
Ram.Transient and vain their joyance, who rejoicePrecipitately and intemperately,And bitter thoughts grow up where’er it fell.
Osma. Nor vain and transient theirs, who idly floatDown popularity’s unfertile streamAnd fancy all their own that rises round?
Ram.If thou still lovest, as I know thou dost,Thy king—
[Osma interrupting.
Osma. I love him; for he owes me muchBrave soul, and cannot, though he would, repay.Service and faith, pure faith and service hard,Throughout his reign, if these things be desert,These have I borne toward him, and still bear.
Ram.Come, from thy solitary eiry come,And share the prey so plenteous and profuseWhich a less valourous brood will else consume.Much fruit is shaken down in civil storms,And shall not orderly and loyal handsGather it up? Again! [loud shouts] and still refuse?How different are those citizens withoutFrom thee! from thy serenity! thy arch,Thy firmament, of intrepidity!For their new lord, whom they have never served,Afraid were they to shout, and only struckThe pavement with their ferrels and their feet;Now they are certain of the great eventVoices and hands they raise, and all contendWho shall be bravest in applauding most.Knowest thou these?
Osma. Their voices I know well—And can they shout for him they would have slain?A prince untried they welcome; soon their doubtsAre blown afar!
Ram.Yes, brighter scenes arise.The disunited he alone unites,The weak with hope he strengthens, and the strongWith justice.
Osma. Wait: praise him when time hath givenA soundness and consistency to praise:He shares it amply who bestows it right.
Ram.Doubtest thou?
Osma. Be it so: let us away;New courtiers come—
Ram.And why not join the new.Let us attend him, and congratulate;Come on, they enter.
Osma. This is now my postNo longer: I could face them in the field,I cannot here.
Ram.Tomorrow all may change;Be comforted.
Osma. I want nor change nor comfort.
Ram.The prisoner’s voice!
Osma. The metropolitans?Triumph he may—not over me forgiven.This way, and thro’ the chapel—none are there.
OpasandSisabert.
Opas. The royal threat still sounds along these halls;Hardly his foot hath past them, and he fleesFrom his own treachery—all his pride, his hopes,Are scatter’d at a breath; even courage failsNow falsehood sinks from under him: behold,Again art thou where reign’d thy ancestors;Behold the chapel of thy earliest prayers,Where I, whose chains are sunder’d at thy sightEre they could close around these aged limbs,Received and blest thee, when thy mother’s armWas doubtful if it loosed thee! with delightHave I observed the promises we madeDeeply imprest and manfully perform’d.Now, to thyself beneficent, O prince,Never henceforth renew those weak complaintsAgainst Covilla’s vows and Julian’s faith,His honour broken, and her heart estranged.O, if thou holdest peace or glory dear,Away with jealousy—brave Sisabert,Smite from thy bosom, smite that scorpion down;It swells and hardens amid mildewed hopes,O’erspreads and blackens whate’er most delights,And renders us, haters of loveliness,The lowest of the fiends: ambition ledThe higher on, furious to disposess,From admiration sprung and phrenzied love.This disingenuous soul-debasing passion,Rising from abject and most sordid fear,Stings her own breast with bitter self-reproof,Consumes the vitals, pines, and never dies.Love, Honour, Justice, numberless the forms,Glorious and high the stature, she assumes;But watch the wandering changeful mischief well,And thou shalt see her with low lurid lightSearch where the soul’s most valued treasure lies,Or, more embodied to our vision, standWith evil eye, and sorcery hers alone,Looking away her helpless progeny,And drawing poison from its very smiles.For Julian’s truth have I not pledged my own?Have I not sworne Covilla weds no other?
Sis.Her persecutor have not I chastized,Have not I fought for Julian, won the town,And liberated thee?
Opas. But left for himThe dangers of pursuit, of ambuscade,Of absence from thy high and splendid name.
Sis.Do probity and truth want such supports?
Opas. Gryphens and eagles, ivory and gold,Can add no clearness to the lamp above,But many look for them in palacesWho have them not, and want them not, at home.Virtue and valour and experienceAre never trusted by themselves aloneFurther than infancy and idiocy;The men around him, not the man himself,Are looked at, and by these is he prefer’d:’Tis the green mantle of the warrenerAnd his loud whistle, that alone attractThe lofty gazes of the noble herd:And thus, without thy countenance and help,Feeble and faint is still our confidence,Brief perhaps our success.
Sis.Should I resignTo Abdalazis her I once adored?He truly, he must wed a Spanish queen!He rule in Spain! ah! whom could any landObey so gladly as the meek, the humble,The friend of all who have no friend beside,Covilla! could he choose, or could he findAnother who might so confirm his power?And now, indeed, from long domestic warsWho else survives of all our ancient house—
Opas. But Egilona.
Sis.Vainly she upbraidsRoderigo.
Opas. She divorces him, abjures,And carries vengeance to that hideous highthWhich piety and chastity would shrinkTo look from, on the world, or on themselves.
Sis.She may forgive him yet.
Opas. Ah Sisabert!Wretched are those a woman has forgiven;With her forgiveness ne’er hath love return’d:Ye know not, till too late, the filmy tieThat holds heaven’s precious boon, eternallyTo those who fondly cherish her; once goDriven by mad passion, strike but at her peace,And, tho’ she step aside from broad reproach,Yet every softer virtue dies away.Beaming with virtue inaccessibleStood Egilona; for her lord she lived,And for the heavens that raised her sphere so high:All thoughts were on her—all, beside her own.Negligent as the blossoms of the field,Arrayed in candour and simplicity,Before her path she heard the streams of joyMurmur her name in all their cadences,Saw them in every scene, in light, in shade,Reflect her image—but acknowledged themHers most complete when flowing from her most.All things in want of her, herself of none,Pomp and dominion lay beneath her feetUnfelt and unregarded: now beholdThe earthly passions war against the heavenly!Pride against love, ambition and revengeAgainst devotion and compliancy—Her glorious beams adversity hath blunted,And coming nearer to our quiet viewThe original clay of coarse mortalityHardens and flaws around her.
Sis.Every germOf virtue perishes, when love recedesFrom those hot shifting sands, the female heart.
Opas. His was the fault; be his the punishment.’Tis not their own crimes only, men commit,They harrow them into another’s breast,And they shall reap the bitter growth with pain.
[Sisabert,walking up and down,abstractedly.
Sis.Yes, blooming royalty will first attractThese creatures of the desert—now I breatheMore freely—she is theirs if I pursueThe fugitive again—he well deservesThe death he flies from—stay! don Julian twiceCalled him aloud, and he, methinks, replied.Could not I have remain’d a moment more,And seen the end? altho’ with hurried voiceHe bade me intercept the scattered foes,And hold the city barred to their return.May Egilona be another’s wifeWhether he die or live! but oh!
[Aloud,to Opas.
—Covilla—She never can be mine! yet she may beStill happy—no, Covilla, no—not happy,But more deserving happiness without it.Mine never! nor another’s—’tis enough.The tears I shed no rival can deride;In the fond intercourse, a name once cherishedWill never be defended by faint smiles,Nor given up with vows of alter’d love.And is the passion of my soul at lastReduced to this? is this my happiness?This my sole comfort? this the close of allThose promises, those tears, those last adieus,And those long vigils for the morrow’s dawn.
Opas. Arouse thee! be thyself. O Sisabert,Awake to glory from these feverish dreams;The enemy is in our land—two enemies—We must quell both—shame on us, if we fail.
Sis.Incredible; a nation be subduedPeopled as ours!
Opas. Corruption may subvertWhat force could never.
Sis.Traitors may.
Opas. Alas!If traitors can, the basis is but frail.I mean such traitors as the vacant worldEchoes most stunningly; not fur-robed knavesWhose whispers raise the dreaming bloodhound’s earAgainst benighted famished wanderers;While with remorseless guilt they underminePalace and shed, their very father’s house,O blind! their own and children’s heritage,To leave more ample space for fearful wealth.Plunder in some most harmless guise they swathe,Call it some very meek and hallowed name,Some known and borne by their good forefathers,And own and vaunt it thus redeemed from sin.These are the plagues heaven sends o’er every landBefore it sink—the portents of the street,Not of the air—lest nations should complainOf distance or of dimness in the signs,Flaring from far to Wisdom’s eye alone:These are the last! these, when the sun rides highIn the forenoon of doomsday, revelling,Make men abhor the earth, arraign the skies.Ye who behold them spoil field after field,Despising them in individual strength,Not with one torrent sweeping them awayInto the ocean of eternity,Arise! despach! no renovating gale,No second spring awaits you—up, begone,—If you have force and courage even for flight—The blast of dissolution is behind.
Sis.How terrible! how true! what voice like thineCan rouse and warn the nation! if she rise,Say, whither go, where stop we?
Opas. God will guide.Let us pursue the oppressor to destruction,The rest is heaven’s: must we move no stepBecause we cannot see the boundariesOf our long way, and every stone between?
Sis.Is not thy vengeance for the late affront,For threats and outrage and imprisonment?
Opas. For outrage, yes—imprisonment and threatsI pardon him, and whatsoever illHe could dome.
Sis.To hold Covilla from me,To urge her into vows against her faith,Against her beauty, youth, and inclination,Without her mother’s blessing, nay withoutHer father’s knowledge and authority—So that she never will behold me more,Flying afar for refuge and for helpWhere never friend but God will comfort her—
Opas. These, and more barbarous deeds were perpetrated.
Sis.Yet her proud father deigned not to informMe, whom he loved and taught, in peace and war,Me, whom he called his son, before I hopedTo merit it by marriage or by arms.He offer’d no excuse, no plea; exprestNo sorrow; but with firm unfaltering voiceCommanded me—I trembled as he spoke—To follow where he led, redress his wrongs,And vindicate the honour of his child.He called on God, the witness of his cause,On Spain, the partner of his victories,And yet amidst these animating wordsRolled the huge tear down his unvizor’d face—A general swell of indignation roseThro’ the long line, sobs burst from every breast,Hardly one voice succeeded—you might hearThe impatient hoof strike the soft sandy plain:But when the gates flew open, and the kingIn his high car came forth triumphantly,Then was Count Julian’s stature more elate;Tremendous was the smile that smote the eyesOf all he past—“fathers, and sons, and brothers,”He cried, “I fight your battles, follow me!Soldiers, we know no danger but disgrace!”Father, and general, and king, they shout,And would proclaim him—back he cast his face,Pallid with grief, and one loud groan burst forth;It kindled vengeance thro’ the Asturian ranks,And they soon scatter’d, as the blasts of heavenScatter the leaves and dust, the astonished foe.
Opas. And doubtest thou his truth?
Sis.I love—and doubt—Fight—and believe: Roderigo spoke untruths,In him I place no trust; but Julian holdsTruths in reserve—how should I quite confide!
Opas. By sorrows thou beholdest him opprest;Doubt the more prosperous: march, Sisabert,Once more against his enemy and ours;Much hath been done, but much there still remains.
Tent ofJulian.
RoderigoandJulian.
Jul.To stop perhaps at any wickednessAppears a merit now, and at the timePrudence or policy it often isWhich afterward seems magnanimity.The people had deserted thee, and throngedMy standard, had I rais’d it, at the first;But once subsiding, and no voice of mineCalling by name each grievance to each man,They, silent and submissive by degrees,Bore thy hard yoke, and, hadst thou but opprest,Would still have borne it: thou hast now deceived;Thou hast done all a foren foe could do,And more, against them; with ingratitudeNot hell itself could arm the foren foe—’Tis forged at home, and kills not from afar.Amid whate’er vain glories fell uponThy rainbow span of power, which I dissolve,Boast not how thou conferredst wealth and rank,How thou preservedst me, my family,All my distinctions, all my offices,When Witiza was murder’d, that I standCount Julian at this hour by special grace.The sword of Julian saved the walls of Ceuta,And not the shadow that attends his nameIt was no badge, no title, that o’erthrewSoldier, and steed, and engine—don Roderigo,The truly and the falsely great here differ,These by dull wealth or daring fraud advance,Him the Almighty calls amidst his peopleTo sway the wills and passions of mankind.The weak of heart and intellect beheldThy splendour, and adored thee lord of Spain—I rose—Roderigo lords o’er Spain no more.
Rod.Now to a traitor’s add a boaster’s name.
Jul.Shameless and arrogant, dost thou believeI boast for pride or pastime? forced to boast,Truth costs me more than falsehood e’er cost thee.Divested of that purple of the soul,That potency, that palm of wise ambition—Cast headlong by thy madness from that highThat only eminence ’twixt earth and heaven,Virtue—which some desert, but none despise—Whether thou art beheld again on earth,Whether a captive or a fugitive;Miner or galley-slave, depends on me:But he alone who made me what I amCan make me greater, or can make me less.
Rod.Chance, and chance only, threw me in thy power,Give me my sword again and try my strength.
Jul.I tried it in the front of thousands.
Rod.DeathAt least vouchsafe me from a soldier’s hand.
Jul.I love to hear thee ask it—now my ownWould not be bitter; no, nor immature.
Rod.Defy it, say thou rather.
Jul.Death itselfShall not be granted thee, unless from God;A dole from his and from no other hand.Thou shalt now hear and own thine infamy—
Rod.Chains, dungeons, tortures—but I hear no more.
Jul.Silence, thou wretch, live on—aye, live—abhor’d.Thou shalt have tortures, dungeons, chains, enough—They naturally rise and grow aroundMonsters like thee, everywhere, and for ever.
Rod.Insulter of the fallen! must I endureCommands as well as threats? my vassal’s too?Nor breathe from underneath his trampling feet?
Jul.Could I speak patiently who speak to thee,I would say more—part of thy punishmentIt should be, to be taught.
Rod.Reserve thy wisdomUntil thy patience come, its best allie:I learn no lore, of peace or war, from thee.
Jul.No, thou shalt study soon another tongue,And suns more ardent shall mature thy mind.Either the cross thou bearest, and thy kneesAmong the silent caves of PalestineWear the sharp flints away with midnight prayer,Or thou shalt keep the fasts of Barbary—Shalt wait amid the crowds that throng the wellFrom sultry noon till the skies fade again,To draw up water and to bring it homeIn the crackt gourd of some vile testy knave,Who spurns thee back with bastinaded footFor ignorance or delay of his command.
Rod.Rather the poison or the bow-string.
Jul.SlavesTo other’s passions die such deaths as those,Slaves to their own should die—
Rod.—What worse?
Jul.Their own.
Rod.Is this thy counsel, renegade?
Jul.Not mine;I point a better path, nay, force thee on.I shelter thee from every brave man’s swordWhile I am near thee: I bestow on theeLife: if thou die, ’tis when thou sojournestProtected by this arm and voice no more;’Tis slavishly, ’tis ignominiously,’Tis by a villain’s knife.
Rod.By whose?
Jul.Roderigo’s.
Rod.O powers of vengeance! must I hear? endure?Live?
Jul.Call thy vassals? no! then wipe the dropsOf froward childhood from thy shameless eyes.So! thou canst weep for passion—not for pity.
Rod.One hour ago I ruled all Spain! a campNot larger than a sheepfold stood aloneAgainst me: now, no friend throughout the worldFollows my steps or hearkens to my call.Behold the turns of fortune, and expectNo better; of all faithless men, the MoorsAre the most faithless—from thy own experienceThou canst not value nor rely on them.
Jul.I value not the mass that makes my sword,Yet while I use it I rely on it.
Rod.Julian, thy gloomy soul still meditates—Plainly I see it—death to me—pursueThe dictates of thy leaders, let revengeHave its full sway, let Barbary prevail,And the pure creed her elders have embraced:Those placid sages hold assassinationA most compendious supplement to law.
Jul.Thou knowest not the one, nor I the other.Torne hast thou from me all my soul held dear!Her form, her voice, all, hast thou banish’d from meNor dare I, wretched as I am! recallThose solaces of every grief, erewhile!I stand abased before insulting crime.I faulter like a criminal myself.The hand that hurled thy chariot o’er its wheels,That held thy steeds erect and motionlessAs moulten statues on some palace-gates,Shakes, as with palsied age, before thee now.Gone is the treasure of my heart, for ever,Without a father, mother, friend, or name!Daughter of Julian—Such was her delight—Such was mine too! what pride more innocent,What, surely, less deserving pangs like these,Than springs from filial and parental love!Debarred from every hope that issues forthTo meet the balmy breath of early life,Her sadden’d days, all, cold and colourless,Will stretch before her their whole weary lengthAmid the sameness of obscurity.She wanted not seclusion, to unveilHer thoughts to heaven, cloister, nor midnight bell;She found it in all places, at all hours:While, to assuage my labours, she indulgedA playfulness that shunn’d a mother’s eye,Still, to avert my perils, there aroseA piety that, even fromme, retired.
[Roderigo,much agitated—after a pause.
Rod.Such was she!—what am I!—those are the armsThat are triumphant when the battle fails.O Julian, Julian! all thy former wordsStruck but the imbecile plumes of vanity;These, thro’ its steely coverings, pierce the heart.I ask not life nor death; but, if I live,Send my most bitter enemy to watchMy secret paths, send poverty, send pain—I will add more—wise as thou art, thou knowestNo foe more furious than forgiven kings.I ask not then what thou woudst never grant:May heaven, O Julian, from thy hand, receiveA pardon’d man, a chasten’d criminal.
Jul.This further curse thou hast inflicted; wretch,I cannot pardon thee.
Rod.Thy tone, thy mien,Refute those words.
Jul.No—I cannotforgive.
[Julian greatly moved,goes towards him.
Rod.Upon my knee, my conqueror, I implore—Upon the earth, before thy feet [starts back]—hard heart!
Jul.Audacious! hast thou never heard that prayerAnd scorn’d it? ’tis the last thou shouldst repeat.Upon the earth! upon her knees! O God!
Rod.Resemble not a wretch so lost as I:Be better; O! be happier; and pronounce it.
Jul.I swerve not from my purpose: thou art mine,Conquered; and I have sworne to dedicate—Like a torne banner on my chapel’s roof—Thee to that power from whom thou hast rebelled.Expiate thy crimes by prayer, by penances—
Rod.Hasten the hour of trial, speak of peace.
[Julian looks sternly on the ground and does not answer.
Pardon me not, then—but with purer lipsImplore of God, whowouldhearthee, to pardon.
Jul.Hope it I may—pronounce it—O Roderigo!Ask it of him who can; I too will ask,And, in my own transgressions, pray for thine.
Rod.One name I dare not—
Jul.Go—abstain from that,I do conjure thee; raise not in my soulAgain the tempest that has wrecked my fame;Thou shalt not breathe in the same clime with her.Far o’er the unebbing sea thou shalt adoreThe eastern star, and—may thy end be peace.
JulianandHernando.
Her.From the prince Tarik I am sent, my lord.
Jul.A welcome messager, my brave Hernando.How fares it with the gallant soul of Tarik.
Her.Most joyfully; he scarcely had pronouncedYour glorious name, and bidden me urge your speed,Than, with a voice as though it answered heaven,He shall confound them in their dark designsCried he—and turn’d away, with that swift strideWherewith he meets and quells his enemies.
Jul.Alas, I cannot bear felicitation,Who shunned it even in felicity.
Her.Often we hardly think ourselves the happyUnless we hear it said by those around.O my lord Julian, how your praises cheer’dOur poor endeavours! sure, all hearts are openLofty and low, wise and unwise, to praise.Even the departed spirit hovers roundOur blessings and our prayers; the corse itselfHath shined with other light than the still starsShedd on its rest, or the dim taper, nigh.My father, old men say, who saw him deadAnd heard your lips pronounce him good and happy,Smiled faintly thro’ the quiet gloom, that eve,And the shroud throbbed upon his grateful breast.Howe’er it be, many who tell the taleAre good and happy from that voice of praise.His guidance and example were deniedMy youth and childhood: what I am I owe—
Jul.Hernando, look not back: a narrow pathAnd arduous lies before thee, if thou stopThou fallest; go right onward, nor observeClosely and rigidly another’s way,But, free and active, follow up thy own.
Her.The voice that urges now my manly stepOnward in life, recalls me to the past,And from that fount I freshen for the goal.Early in youth, amongst us villagersConverse and ripened counsel you bestowed.O happy days of (far departed!) peace,Days when the mighty Julian stooped his browEntering our cottage door; another airBreathed thro’ the house; tired age and lightsome youthBeheld him, with intensest gaze—these feltMore chastened joy; those, more profound repose.Yes, my best lord, when labour sent them homeAnd midday suns, when from the social mealThe wicker window held the summer heat,Prais’d have those been who, going unperceived,Open’d it wide, that all might see you well:Nor were the children blamed, upon the mat,Hurrying to watch what rush would last ariseFrom your foot’s pressure, ere the door was closed,And not yet wondering how they dared to love.Your counsels are more precious now than ever,But are they—pardon if I err—the same?Tarik is gallant, kind, the friend of Julian,Can he be more? or ought he to be less?Alas! his faith!
Jul.In peace or war? Hernando.
Her.O, neither—far above it; faith in God—
Jul.’Tis God’s, not thine—embrace it not, nor hate it.Precious or vile, how dare we seize that offering,Scatter it, spurn it, in its way to heaven,Because we know it not? the sovran lordAccepts his tribute, myrrh and frankincenseFrom some, from others penitence and prayer:Why intercept them from his gracious hand?Why dash them down? why smite the supplicant?
Her.’Tis what they do?
Jul.Avoid it thou the more.If time were left me, I could hear well-pleasedHow Tarik fought up Calpe’s fabled cliff,While I pursued the friends of don RoderigoAcross the plain, and drew fresh force from mine.O! had some other land, some other cause,Invited him and me, I then could dwellOn this hard battle with unmixt delight.
Her.Eternal is its glory, if the deedBe not forgotten till it be surpast:Much praise by land, by sea much more, he won,For then a Julian was not at his side,Nor led the van, nor awed the best before;The whole, a mighty whole, was his alone.There might be seen how far he shone aboveAll others of the day: old Muza watchedFrom his own shore the richly laden fleet,Ill-arm’d and scatter’d, and pursued the rearBeyond those rocks that bear St. Vincent’s name,Cutting the treasure, not the strength, away—Valiant, where any prey lies undevour’dIn hostile creek or too confiding isle:Tarik, with his small barks, but with such loveAs never chief from rugged sailor won,Smote their high masts and swelling rampires down;And Cadiz wept in fear o’er Trafalgar.Who that beheld our sails from off the hights,Like the white birds, nor larger, tempt the galeIn sunshine and in shade, now almost touchThe solitary shore, glance, turn, retire,Would think these lovely playmates could portendSuch mischief to the world; such blood, such woe;Could draw to them from far the peaceful hinds,Cull the gay flower of cities, and divideFriends, children, every bond of human life;Could dissipate whole families, could sinkWhole states in ruin, at one hour, one blow.
Jul.Go, good Hernando—whowouldthink these things?Say to the valiant Tarik, I departForthwith: he knows not from what heavinessOf soul I linger here; I could endureNo converse, no compassion, no approach,Other than thine, whom the same cares improvedBeneath my father’s roof, my foster-brother,To brighter days and happier end, I hope;In whose fidelity my own residesWith Tarik and with his compeers and chief.I cannot share the gladness I excite,Yet shall our Tarik’s generous heart rejoice.
[Egilona enters.Hernando goes.
JulianandEgilona.
Egil.O fly me not because I am unhappy,Because I am deserted fly me not.It was not so before, it cannot beEver from Julian.
Jul.What would EgilonaThat Julian’s power with her new lords can do?Surely her own must there preponderate.
Egil.I hold no suit to them—restore, restore Roderigo.
Jul.He no longer is my prisoner.
Egil.Escapes he then?
Jul.Escapes he—dost thou say?O Egilona! what unworthy passion—
Egil.Unworthy, when I loved him, was my passion,The passion that now swells my heart, is just.
Jul.What fresh reproaches hath he merited?
Egil.Deeprooted hatred shelters no reproach.But whither is he gone.
Jul.Far from the walls.
Egil.And I knew nothing!—
Jul.His offence was knownTo thee at least.
Egil.Will it be expiated?
[After some hesitation.
Jul.I trust it will.
Egil.This withering calm consumes me.He marries then Covilla! ’twas for thisHis people were excited to rebell,His sceptre was thrown by, his vows were scorn’d,And I—and I—
Jul.Cease, Egilona!
Egil.Cease?Sooner shalt thou to live, than I to reign.
Tent ofMuza.
Muza.Tarik.Abdalazis.
Muza. To have first landed on these shores, appearsTranscendent glory to the applauded Tarik.
Tarik. Glory, but not transcendent, it appears,What might in any other.
Muza. Of thyselfAll this vain boast?
Tarik. Not of myself—’twas Julian.Against his shield the refluent surges rolled,While the sea-breezes threw the arrows wide,And fainter cheers urged the reluctant steeds.
Muza. That Julian, of whose treason I have proofs,That Julian, who rejected my commandsTwice, when our mortal foe besieged the camp,And forced my princely presence to his tent.
Tarik. Say rather, who without one exhortation,One precious drop from true believer’s vein,Marched, and discomfited our enemies.I found in him no treachery—Hernando,Who, little versed in moody wiles, is goneTo lead him hither, was by him assignedMy guide, and twice in doubtful fight his armProtected me—once on the hights of Calpe,Once on the plain, when courtly jealousiesTore from the bravest and the best his due,And gave the dotard and the coward command:Then came Roderigo forth—the front of warGrew darker—him, equal in chevalry,Julian alone could with success oppose.
Abd.I doubt their worth who praise their enemies.
Tarik. And theirs doubt I who persecute their friends.
Muza. Thou art in league with him.
Tarik. Thou wert, by oaths,I am without them; for his heart is brave.
Muza. Am I to bear all this?
Tarik. All this, and more:Soon wilt thou see the man whom thou hast wronged,And the keen hatred in thy breast concealedFind its right way, and sting thee to the core.
Muza. Hath he not foil’d us in the field; not heldOur wisdom to reproach?
Tarik. Shall we abandonAll he hath left us in the eyes of men;Shall we again make him our adversaryWhom we have proved so, long and fatally?If he subdue for us our enemies,Shall we raise others, or, for want of them,Convert him into one, against his will?
Hernandoenters.Tarikcontinues.
Here comes Hernando from that prince himself—
Muza. Who scorns, himself, to come.
Her.The queen detains him.
Abd.How! Egilona?
Muza. ’Twas my will.
Tarik. At lastHe must be happy; for delicious calmFollows the fierce enjoyment of revenge.
Her.That calm was never his, no other will be!Thou knowest not, and mayst thou never know,How bitter is the tear that firy shameScourges and tortures from the soldier’s eye.Whichever of these bad reports be true,He hides it from all hearts, to wring his own,And drags the heavy secret to the grave.Not victory, that o’ershadows him, sees he!No airy and light passion stirs abroadTo ruffle or to soothe him; all are quelledBeneath a mightier, sterner, stress of mind:Wakeful he sits, and lonely, and unmoved,Beyond the arrows, views, or shouts of men;As oftentimes an eagle, when the sunThrows o’er the varying earth his early ray,Stands solitary, stands immovableUpon some highest cliff, and rolls his eye,Clear, constant, unobservant, unabased,In the cold light, above the dews of morn.He now assumes that quietness of soulWhich never but in danger have I seenOn his staid breast.
Tarik. Danger is past, he conquers;No enemy is left him to subdue.
Her.He sank not, while there was, into himself.Now plainly see I, from his alter’d tone,He cannot live much longer—thanks to God!
Tarik. What! wishest thou thy once kind master dead?Was he not kind to thee, ungrateful slave!
Her.The gentlest, as the bravest, of mankind.Therefor shall memory dwell more tranquillyWith Julian, once at rest, than friendship could,Knowing him yearn for death with speechless love.For his own sake I could endure his loss,Pray for it, and thank God; yet mourn I mustHim above all! so great, so bountiful,So blessed once! bitterly must I mourn.’Tis not my solace that ’tis his desire;Of all that pass us in life’s drear descentWe grieve the most for those that wished to die.A father to us all, he meritedUnhappy man! all a good father’s joyIn his own house, where seldom he hath been,But, ever mindful of its dear delightsHe formed one family around him, ever.
Tarik. Yes, we have seen and known him—let his fameRefresh his friends, but let it stream afar,Nor in the twilight of home-scenes be lost.He chose the best, and cherished them; he leftTo self-reproof the mutinies of vice—Avarice, that imps ambition’s tone and mien,Envy, sick nursling of the court; and prideThat cannot bear his semblance nor himself;And malice, with blear visage half-descriedAmid the shadows of her hiding-place.
Her.What could I not endure, O gallant man,To hear him spoken of, as thou hast spoken!Oh! I would almost be a slave to himWho calls me one.
Muza. What! art thou not? begone.
Tarik. Reply not, brave Hernando, but retire.All can revile, few only can reward.Behold the meed our mighty chief bestows!Accept it, for thy services, and mine.More, my bold Spaniard, hath obedience wonThan anger, even in the ranks of war.
Her.The soldier, not the Spaniard, shall obey.
[Muza,to Tarik.
Muza. Into our very council bringest thouChildren of reprobation and perdition?Darkness thy deeds and emptiness thy speech,Such images thou raisest as buffoonsCarry in merriment on festivals,Nor worthiness nor wisdom would displayTo public notice their deformities,Nor cherish them nor fear them; why shouldst thou?
Tarik. I fear not them nor thee.
Egilonaenters.
Abd.Advance, O queen.Now let the turbulence of faction cease.
Muza. Whate’er thy purpose, speak, and be composed.
Egil.He goes; he is afar; he follows her;He leads her to the altar, to the throne,For, calm in vengeance, wise in wickedness,The traitor hath prevailed, o’er him, o’er me,O’er you—the slaves, the dupes, the scorn, of Julian.What have I heard! what have I seen!
Muza. Proceed—
Abd.—And I swear vengeance on his guilty headWho intercepts from thee the golden raysOf sovranty; who dares rescind thy rights;Who steals upon thy rest, and breathes aroundEmpoisoned damps o’er that serenityWhich leaves the world, and faintly lingers here.
Muza. Who shuns thee—
Abd.—Whose desertion interdictsHomage, authority, precedency—
Muza. Till war shall rescue them—
Abd.—And love restore.
Egil.O generous Abdalazis! never! never!My enemies—Julian alone remains—The worst, in safety, far beyond my reach,Breathe freely on the summit of their hopes;Because they never stopt, because they sprangFrom crime to crime, and trampled down remorse.Oh! if her heart knew tenderness like mine!Grant vengeance on the guilty; grant but that,I ask no more; my hand, my crown, is thine.Fulfill the justice of offended heaven,Assert the sacred rights of royalty,Come not in vain, crush the rebellious crew,Crush, I implore, the indifferent and supine.
Muza. Roderigo thus escaped from Julian’s tent?
Egil.No, not escaped—escorted—like a king.The base Covilla first pursued her wayOn foot; but after her the royal car,Which bore me from San Pablos to the throne,Empty indeed, yet ready at her voice,Rolled o’er the plain, amid the carcasesOf those who fell in battle or in flight:She, a deceiver still, to whate’er speedThe moment might incite her, often stoptTo mingle prayers with the departing breath,Improvident! and those with heavy woundsGroaned bitterly beneath her tottering knee.
Tarik. Now, by the clement and the merciful!The girl did well: when I breathe out my soul,Oh! if compassion give one pang the more,That pang be mine; here be it, in this land—Such women are they in this land alone.
Egil.Insulting man!
Muza. We shall confound him yet.Say, and speak quickly, whither went the king?Thou knewest where was Julian.
Abd.I will tellWithout his answer: yes, my friends! yes, Tarik,Now will I speak, nor thou, for once, reply.There is, I hear, a poor half-ruin’d cellIn Xeres, whither few indeed resort;Green are the walls within, green is the floorAnd slippery from disuse; for christian feetAvoid it, as half-holy, half-accurst.Still in its dark recess fanatic sinAbases to the ground his tangled hair,And servile scourges and reluctant groansRoll o’er the vault uninterruptedly,Till, such the natural stilness of the place,The very tear upon the damps belowDrops audible, and the heart’s throb replies.There is the idol maid of christian creed,And taller images, whose historyI know not, nor inquired—a scene of blood,Of resignation amid mortal pangs,And other things, exceeding all belief.Hither the aged Opas of SevilleWalked slowly, and behind him was a manBarefooted, bruized, dejected, comfortless,In sack-cloth; the white ashes on his headDropt as he smote his breast—he gathered up,Replaced them all, groan’d deeply, looked to heaven,And held them, like a treasure, with claspt hands.
Egil.O! was Roderigo so abased?
Muza. ’Twas he.Now, Egilona, judge between your friendsAnd enemies—behold what wretches broughtThe king, thy lord, Roderigo, to disgrace.
Egil.He merited—but not from them—from meThis, and much worse: had I inflicted it,I had rejoiced—at what I ill endure.
Muza. For thee, for thee alone, we wished him here,But other hands released him—
Abd.—With what aimWill soon appear to those discerning eyes.
Egil.I pray thee, tell what past until that hour.
Abd.Few words, and indistinct: repentant sobsFilled the whole space; the taper in his hand,Lighting two small dim lamps before the altar,He gave to Opas—at the idol’s feetHe laid his crown, and wiped his tears away:The crown reverts not, but the tears return.
Egil.Yes, Abdalazis! soon, abundantly.If he had only called upon my name,Seeking my pardon ere he looked to heaven’s,I could have—no! he thought not once on me!Never shall he find peace or confidence;I will rely on fortune and on theeNor fear my future lot: sure, Abdalazis,A fall so great can never happen twice,Nor man again be faithless, like Roderigo.
Abd.Faithless he may be still, never so faithless.Fainter must be the charms, remote the days,When memory and dread example die,When love and terror thrill the heart no more,And Egilona is herself forgotten.
Julianenters.
Tarik. Turn, and behold him! who is now confounded?Ye who awaited him, where are ye? speak—Is some close comet blazing o’er your tents?Muza! Abdalazis! princes, conquerors,Summon, interrogate, command, condemn.
Muza. Justly, don Julian—but respect for rankAllays resentment, nor interrogatesWithout due form—justly may we accuseThis absence from our councils, from our camp;This loneliness in which we still remainWho came invited to redress your wrongs.Where is the king?
Jul.The people must decide.
Muza. Imperfectly, I hope, I understandThose words, unworthy of thy birth and age.
Jul.O chieftain, such have been our gothic laws.
Muza. Who then amid such turbulence is safe?
Jul.He who observes them: ’tis no turbulence,It violates no peace: ’tis surely worthA voice, a breath of air, thus to createBy their high will the man, form’d after themIn their own image, vested with their power,To whom they trust their freedom and their lives.
Muza. They trust! the people! God assigns the charge,Kings open but the book of destinyAnd read their names, all that remains for themThe mystic hand from time to time reveals.Worst of idolaters! idolaterOf that refractory and craving beastWhose den is in the city, at thy handI claim our common enemy, the king.
Jul.Sacred from justice then! but not from malice!
Tarik. Surrender him, my friend: be sure his painsWill not be soften’d.
Jul.’Tis beyond my power.
Tarik. Tomorrow—if in any distant fortHe lies tonight: send after him.
Jul.My faithIs plighted, and he lives—no prisoner.
Egil.I knew the truth.
Abd.Now, Tarik, hear and judge.
[Abdalazis to Julian.
Was he not in thy camp? and in disguise?
Tarik. No: I will answer thee.
Muza. Audacious man!Had not the Kalif Walid placed thee here,Chains, and a traitor’s death, should be thy doom.Speak, Abdalazis! Egilona, speak.Were ye not present? was not I, myself,And aided not this Julian his escape?
Jul.’Tis true.
Tarik. Away then friendship; to thy fateI leave thee: thou hast render’d Muza just,Me hostile to thee. Who is safe! a manArm’d with such power and with such perfidy!
Jul.Stay, Tarik! hear me; for, to thee aloneWould I reply.
Tarik. Thou hast replied, already.
[Goes.
Muza. We, who were enemies, would not inquireToo narrowly what reasons urged thy wrathAgainst thy sovran lord; beneath his flagThe christians first assailed us from these shores,And we seized gladly the first aid we foundTo quell a wealthy and a warlike king.We never held to thee the vain pretenceThat ’twas thy quarrel our brave youth espoused,Thine, who hast wrought us much disgrace and woe.From perils and from losses, here we restAnd drink of the fresh fountain at our feet,Not madly following such illusive streamsAs overspread the dizzy wilderness,And vanish from the thirst they have seduced.Ours was the enterprise, the land is ours:What gain we by our toils if he escapeWhom we came hither solely to subdue?
Jul.Is there no gain to live in amity?
Muza. The gain of traffickers and idle men;Courage and zeal expire upon such calms.Further, what amity can Moors expectWhen you have joined your forces?
Jul.From the hourThat he was vanquished, I have laid asideAll power, all arms.
Muza. How can we trust thee, onceDeceived, and oftener than this once despised?Thou camest hither with no other aimThan to deprive Roderigo of his crownFor thy own brow.
Egil.Julian, base man, ’tis true.He comes a prince, no warrior, at this hour.
Muza. His sword, O queen, would not avail him now.
Abd.Julian, I feel less anger than regret.No violence of speech, no obloquy,No accusation shall escape my lips:Need there is none, nor reason, to avoidMy questions: if thou value truth, reply.Hath not Roderigo left the town and camp?Hath not thy daughter?
Egil.—Past the little brookToward the Betis—from a tower I sawThe fugitives, far on their way; they wentOver one bridge, each with arm’d men—not halfA league of road between them—and had join’d,But that the olive-groves along the pathConcealed them from each other; not from me:Beneath me the whole level I surveyed,And, when my eyes no longer could discernWhich track they took, I knew it from the storksRising in clouds above the reedy plain.
Muza. Deny it, if thou canst.
Jul.I order’d it.
Abd.None could beside: lo! things in such a massFalling together on observant minds,Create suspicion and establish proof:Wanted there fresh—why not employ our arms?Why go alone?
Muza. To parley, to conspire,To reunite the Spaniards, which we saw,To give up treaties, close up enmities,And ratify the deed with Moorish blood.
Jul.Gladly would Spain procure your safe return,Gladly would pay large treasures, for the aidYou brought against oppression—
Muza. Pay she shall—The treasures of her soil, her ports, her youth:If she resist, if she tumultuouslyCall forth her brigands and we lose a man,Dreadful shall be our justice; war shall rageThrough every city, hamlet, house, and field,And, universal o’er the gasping land,Depopulation.
Jul.They shall rue the dayWho dare these things.
Muza. Let order then prevail.In vain thou sendest far away thy child,Thy counsellor the metropolitan,And Sisabert—prudence is mine, no less.Divide with us our conquests, but the kingMust be delivered up.
Jul.Never by me.
Muza. False then were thy reproaches, false thy grief.
Jul.O Egilona! were thine also feigned?
Abd.Say, lovely queen, neglectful of thy charmsTurned he his eyes toward the young Covilla?Did he pursue her to the mad excessOf breaking off her vows to Sisabert,And marrying her, against the christian law?
Muza. Did he prefer her so?
Abd.Could he preferTo Egilona—
Egil.Her! the child Covilla?Eternal hider of a foolish face—Incapable of any thing but shame—To me? old man! to me? O Abdalazis!No: he but followed with slow pace my hate.And cannot pride check these unseemly tears!
[To herself.Goes.
Muza. The most offended, an offended woman,A wife, a queen, is silent on the deed.
Abd.Thou disingenuous and ignoble man,Spreading these rumours! sending into exileAll those their blighting influence injured most:And whom? thy daughter and adopted son,The chieftains of thy laws and of thy faith.Call any witnesses, proclaim the truth,And set, at last, thy heart, thy fame, at rest.
Jul.Not, if I purposed or desired to live,My own dishonour would I e’er proclaimAmid vindictive and reviling foes.
Muza. Calling us foes, avows he not his guilt?Condemns he not the action we condemn,Owning it his, and owning it dishonour?’Tis well my cares prest forward, and struck home.
Jul.Why smilest thou? I never saw that smileBut it portended an atrocious deed.
Muza. After our manifold and stern assaults,With every tower and battlement destroyed,The walls of Ceuta still were strong enough—
[Stops.
[Julian hastily.
Jul.For what? who boasted now her brave defence,Or who forbad your entrance, after peace?
Muza. None: for who could? their engines now aroseTo throw thy sons into the arms of death.For this erect they their proud crests again.Mark him at last turn pale before a Moor.
Jul.Imprudent have they been, their youth shall plead.
Abd.O father, could they not have been detained?
Muza. Son, thou art safe and wert not while they lived.
Abd.I feared them not.
Muza. And therefor wert not safe:Under their star the blooming EgilonaWould watch for thee the nuptial lamp in vain.
Jul.Never, oh never, hast thou worked a wileSo barren of all good! speak out at once,What hopest thou by striking this alarm?It shocks my reason, not my fears or fondness.
Muza. Be happy then as ignorance can be;Soon wilt thou hear it shouted from our ranks.Those who once hurled defiance o’er our heads,Scorning our arms, and scoffing at our faith,The nightly wolf hath visited, unscared,And loathed ’em as her prey; for famine first,Atchieving in few days the boast of years,Sunk their young eyes and opened us the gates:Ceuta, her port, her citadel, is ours.
Jul.Blest boys! inhuman as thou art, what guiltWas theirs?
Muza. Their father’s.
Jul.O support me, Heaven!Against this blow! all others I have borne.Ermenegild! thou mightest, sure, have lived!A father’s name awoke no dread of thee!Only thy mother’s early bloom was thine!There dwelt on Julian’s brow—thine was serene—The brightened clouds of elevated souls,Feared by the most below: those who looked upSaw, at their season, in clear signs, advanceRapturous valour, calm solicitude,All that impatient youth would press from age,Or sparing age sigh and detract from youth:Hence was his fall! my hope! myself! my Julian!Alas! I boasted—but I thought on him,Inheritor of all—all what? my wrongs—Follower of me—and whither? to the grave—Ah no: it should have been so! years far hence!Him at this moment I could pity most,But I most prided in him; now I knowI loved a name, I doated on a shade.Sons! I approach the mansions of the just,And my arms clasp you in the same embrace,Where none shall sever you; and do I weep!And do they triumph o’er my tenderness!I had forgotten mine inveterate foesEverywhere nigh me, I had half forgottenYour very murderers, while I thought on you:For, O my children, ye fill all the spaceMy soul would wander o’er—O bounteous heaven!There is a presence, if the well-belovedBe torne from us by human violence,More intimate, pervading, and complete,Than when they lived and spoke like other men,And their pale images are our supportWhen reason sinks, or threatens to desert us.I weep no more—pity and exultationSway and console me: are they—no!—both dead?
Muza. Aye, and unsepulchred.
Jul.Nor wept nor seenBy any kindred and far-following eye?
Muza. Their mother saw them, if not dead, expire.
Jul.O cruelty!—to them indeed the least!My children, ye are happy—ye have livedOf heart unconquered, honour unimpaired,And died, true Spaniards, loyal to the last.
Muza. Away with him.
Jul.Slaves! not before I liftMy voice to heaven and man: though enemiesSurround me, and none else, yet other menAnd other times shall hear: the agonyOf an opprest and of a bursting heartNo violence can silence; at its voiceThe trumpet is o’erpowered, and glory mute,And peace and war hide all their charms alike.Surely the guests and ministers of heavenScatter it forth thro’ all the elements,So suddenly, so widely, it extends,So fearfully men breathe it, shudderingTo ask or fancy how it first arose.
Muza. Yes, they shall shudder—but will that, henceforth,Molest my privacy, or shake my power?