ACT III

Robespierre.Take back the name. Ye citizens of France—[Violent clamour. Cries of—Down with the Tyrant!Tallien.Oppression falls. The traitor stands appall'd—Guilt's iron fangs engrasp his shrinking soul—He hears assembled France denounce his crimes!245He sees the mask torn from his secret sins—He trembles on the precipice of fate.Fall'n guilty tyrant! murder'd by thy rageHow many an innocent victim's blood has stain'dFair freedom's altar! Sylla-like thy hand250Mark'd down the virtues, that, thy foes removed,Perpetual Dictator thou might'st reign,And tyrannize o'er France, and call it freedom!Long time in timid guilt the traitor plann'dHis fearful wiles—success emboldened sin—255And his stretch'd arm had grasp'd the diademEre now, but that the coward's heart recoil'd,Lest France awak'd should rouse her from her dream,And call aloud for vengeance. He, like Caesar,With rapid step urged on his bold career,260Even to the summit of ambitious power,And deem'd the name of King alone was wanting.Was it for this we hurl'd proud Capet down?Is it for this we wage eternal warAgainst the tyrant horde of murderers,265The crownéd cockatrices whose foul venomInfects all Europe? was it then for thisWe swore to guard our liberty with life,That Robespierre should reign? the spirit of freedomIs not yet sunk so low. The glowing flame270That animates each honest Frenchman's heartNot yet extinguish'd. I invoke thy shade,Immortal Brutus! I too wear a dagger;And if the representatives of France,Through fear or favour, should delay the sword275Of justice, Tallien emulates thy virtues;Tallien, like Brutus, lifts the avenging arm;Tallien shall save his country.[Violent applauses.Billaud Varennes.I demandThe arrest of all the traitors. MemorableWill be this day for France.Robespierre.Yes! Memorable280This day will be for France—for villains triumph.

Robespierre.Take back the name. Ye citizens of France—[Violent clamour. Cries of—Down with the Tyrant!

Tallien.Oppression falls. The traitor stands appall'd—Guilt's iron fangs engrasp his shrinking soul—He hears assembled France denounce his crimes!245He sees the mask torn from his secret sins—He trembles on the precipice of fate.Fall'n guilty tyrant! murder'd by thy rageHow many an innocent victim's blood has stain'dFair freedom's altar! Sylla-like thy hand250Mark'd down the virtues, that, thy foes removed,Perpetual Dictator thou might'st reign,And tyrannize o'er France, and call it freedom!Long time in timid guilt the traitor plann'dHis fearful wiles—success emboldened sin—255And his stretch'd arm had grasp'd the diademEre now, but that the coward's heart recoil'd,Lest France awak'd should rouse her from her dream,And call aloud for vengeance. He, like Caesar,With rapid step urged on his bold career,260Even to the summit of ambitious power,And deem'd the name of King alone was wanting.Was it for this we hurl'd proud Capet down?Is it for this we wage eternal warAgainst the tyrant horde of murderers,265The crownéd cockatrices whose foul venomInfects all Europe? was it then for thisWe swore to guard our liberty with life,That Robespierre should reign? the spirit of freedomIs not yet sunk so low. The glowing flame270That animates each honest Frenchman's heartNot yet extinguish'd. I invoke thy shade,Immortal Brutus! I too wear a dagger;And if the representatives of France,Through fear or favour, should delay the sword275Of justice, Tallien emulates thy virtues;Tallien, like Brutus, lifts the avenging arm;Tallien shall save his country.[Violent applauses.

Billaud Varennes.I demandThe arrest of all the traitors. MemorableWill be this day for France.

Robespierre.Yes! Memorable280This day will be for France—for villains triumph.

Lebas.I will not share in this day's damning guilt.Condemn me too.[Great cry—Down with the Tyrants!

(The twoRobespierres, Couthon, St. Just, andLebasare led off.)

Collot d'Herbois.Caesar is fall'n! The baneful tree of Java,Whose death-distilling boughs dropt poisonous dew,Is rooted from its base. This worse than Cromwell,The austere, the self-denying Robespierre,Even in this hall, where once with terror mute5We listen'd to the hypocrite's harangues,Has heard his doom.Billaud Varennes.Yet must we not supposeThe tyrant will fall tamely. His sworn hirelingHenriot, the daring desperate Henriot,Commands the force of Paris. I denounce him.10Freron.I denounce Fleuriot too, the mayor of Paris.

Billaud Varennes.Yet must we not supposeThe tyrant will fall tamely. His sworn hirelingHenriot, the daring desperate Henriot,Commands the force of Paris. I denounce him.10

Freron.I denounce Fleuriot too, the mayor of Paris.

EnterDubois Crancé.

Dubois Crancé.Robespierre is rescued. Henriot at the headOf the arm'd force has rescued the fierce tyrant.Collot d'Herbois.Ring the tocsin—call all the citizensTo save their country—never yet has Paris15Forsook the representatives of France.Tallien.It is the hour of danger. I proposeThis sitting be made permanent.[Loud applauses.Collot d'Herbois.The National Convention shall remainFirm at its post.20

Dubois Crancé.Robespierre is rescued. Henriot at the headOf the arm'd force has rescued the fierce tyrant.

Collot d'Herbois.Ring the tocsin—call all the citizensTo save their country—never yet has Paris15Forsook the representatives of France.

Tallien.It is the hour of danger. I proposeThis sitting be made permanent.[Loud applauses.

Collot d'Herbois.The National Convention shall remainFirm at its post.20

Enter aMessenger.

Messenger.Robespierre has reach'd the Commune. They espouseThe tyrant's cause. St. Just is up in arms!St. Just—the young ambitious bold St. JustHarangues the mob. The sanguinary CouthonThirsts for your blood.[Tocsin rings.25Tallien.These tyrants are in arms against the law:Outlaw the rebels.

Tallien.These tyrants are in arms against the law:Outlaw the rebels.

EnterMerlin of Douay.

Merlin.Health to the representatives of France!I past this moment through the arméd force—They ask'd my name—and when they heard a delegate,30Swore I was not the friend of France.Collot d'Herbois.The tyrants threaten us as when they turn'dThe cannon's mouth on Brissot.

Merlin.Health to the representatives of France!I past this moment through the arméd force—They ask'd my name—and when they heard a delegate,30Swore I was not the friend of France.

Collot d'Herbois.The tyrants threaten us as when they turn'dThe cannon's mouth on Brissot.

Enter anotherMessenger.

Second Messenger.Vivier harangues the Jacobins—the ClubEspouse the cause of Robespierre.35

Enter anotherMessenger.

Third Messenger.All's lost—the tyrant triumphs. Henriot leadsThe soldiers to his aid.—Already I hearThe rattling cannon destined to surroundThis sacred hall.Tallien.Why, we will die like men then.The representatives of France dare death,40When duty steels their bosoms.[Loud applauses.Tallien (addressing the galleries).Citizens!France is insulted in her delegates—The majesty of the Republic is insulted—Tyrants are up in arms. An arméd forceThreats the Convention. The Convention swears45To die, or save the country![Violent applauses from the galleries.Citizen (from above).We too swearTo die, or save the country. Follow me.[All the men quit the galleries.

Third Messenger.All's lost—the tyrant triumphs. Henriot leadsThe soldiers to his aid.—Already I hearThe rattling cannon destined to surroundThis sacred hall.

Tallien.Why, we will die like men then.The representatives of France dare death,40When duty steels their bosoms.[Loud applauses.

Tallien (addressing the galleries).Citizens!France is insulted in her delegates—The majesty of the Republic is insulted—Tyrants are up in arms. An arméd forceThreats the Convention. The Convention swears45To die, or save the country![Violent applauses from the galleries.

Citizen (from above).We too swearTo die, or save the country. Follow me.[All the men quit the galleries.

Enter anotherMessenger.

Fourth Messenger.Henriot is taken![Loud applauses.Three of your brave soldiersSwore they would seize the rebel slave of tyrants,Or perish in the attempt. As he patroll'd50The streets of Paris, stirring up the mob,They seiz'd him.[Applauses.Billaud Varennes.Let the names of these brave menLive to the future day.

Billaud Varennes.Let the names of these brave menLive to the future day.

EnterBourdon l'Oise, sword in hand.

Bourdon l'Oise.I have clear'd the Commune.[Applauses.Through the throng I rush'd,Brandishing my good sword to drench its blade55Deep in the tyrant's heart. The timid rebelsGave way. I met the soldiery—I spakeOf the dictator's crimes—of patriots chain'dIn dark deep dungeons by his lawless rage—Of knaves secure beneath his fostering power.60I spake of Liberty. Their honest heartsCaught the warm flame. The general shout burst forth,'Live the Convention—Down with Robespierre!'[Applauses.

(Shouts from without—Down with the Tyrant!)

Tallien.I hear, I hear the soul-inspiring sounds,France shall be saved! her generous sons attached65To principles, not persons, spurn the idolThey worshipp'd once. Yes, Robespierre shall fallAs Capet fell! Oh! never let us deemThat France shall crouch beneath a tyrant's throne,That the almighty people who have broke70On their oppressors' heads the oppressive chain,Will court again their fetters! easier were itTo hurl the cloud-capt mountain from its base,Than force the bonds of slavery upon menDetermined to be free![Applauses.75

EnterLegendre—a pistol in one hand, keys in the other.

Legendre (flinging down the keys).So—let the mutinous Jacobins meet nowIn the open air.[Loud applauses.A factious turbulent partyLording it o'er the state since Danton died,And with him the Cordeliers.—A hireling bandOf loud-tongued orators controull'd the Club,80And bade them bow the knee to Robespierre.Vivier has 'scaped me. Curse his coward heart—This fate-fraught tube of Justice in my hand,I rush'd into the hall. He mark'd mine eyeThat beam'd its patriot anger, and flash'd full85With death-denouncing meaning. 'Mid the throngHe mingled. I pursued—but stay'd my hand,Lest haply I might shed the innocent blood.[Applauses.

Freron.They took from me my ticket of admission—Expell'd me from their sittings.—Now, forsooth,90Humbled and trembling re-insert my name.But Freron enters not the Club again'Till it be purged of guilt:—'till, purifiedOf tyrants and of traitors, honest menMay breathe the air in safety.95[Shouts from without.Barrere.What means this uproar! if the tyrant bandShould gain the people once again to rise—We are as dead!Tallien.And wherefore fear we death?Did Brutus fear it? or the Grecian friendsWho buried in Hipparchus' breast the sword,100And died triumphant? Caesar should fear death,Brutus must scorn the bugbear.

Barrere.What means this uproar! if the tyrant bandShould gain the people once again to rise—We are as dead!

Tallien.And wherefore fear we death?Did Brutus fear it? or the Grecian friendsWho buried in Hipparchus' breast the sword,100And died triumphant? Caesar should fear death,Brutus must scorn the bugbear.

(Shouts from without—Live the Convention!—Down with the Tyrants!)

Tallien.Hark! againThe sounds of honest Freedom!

EnterDeputiesfrom theSections.

Citizen.Citizens! representatives of France!Hold on your steady course. The men of Paris105Espouse your cause. The men of Paris swearThey will defend the delegates of Freedom.Tallien.Hear ye this, Colleagues? hear ye this, my brethren?And does no thrill of joy pervade your breasts?My bosom bounds to rapture. I have seen110The sons of France shake off the tyrant yoke;I have, as much as lies in mine own arm,Hurl'd down the usurper.—Come death when it will,I have lived long enough.[Shouts without.Barrere.Hark! how the noise increases! through the gloom115Of the still evening—harbinger of death,Rings the tocsin! the dreadful generaleThunders through Paris—[Cry without—Down with the Tyrant!

Citizen.Citizens! representatives of France!Hold on your steady course. The men of Paris105Espouse your cause. The men of Paris swearThey will defend the delegates of Freedom.

Tallien.Hear ye this, Colleagues? hear ye this, my brethren?And does no thrill of joy pervade your breasts?My bosom bounds to rapture. I have seen110The sons of France shake off the tyrant yoke;I have, as much as lies in mine own arm,Hurl'd down the usurper.—Come death when it will,I have lived long enough.[Shouts without.

Barrere.Hark! how the noise increases! through the gloom115Of the still evening—harbinger of death,Rings the tocsin! the dreadful generaleThunders through Paris—[Cry without—Down with the Tyrant!

EnterLecointre.

Lecointre.So may eternal justice blast the foesOf France! so perish all the tyrant brood,120[515]As Robespierre has perish'd! Citizens,Caesar is taken.[Loud and repeated applauses.I marvel not that with such fearless frontHe braved our vengeance, and with angry eyeScowled round the hall defiance. He relied125On Henriot's aid—the Commune's villain friendship,And Henriot'sboughtensuccours. Ye have heardHow Henriot rescued him—how with open armsThe Commune welcom'd in the rebel tyrant—How Fleuriot aided, and seditious Vivier130Stirr'd up the Jacobins. All had been lost—The representatives of France had perish'd—Freedom had sunk beneath the tyrant armOf this foul parricide, but that her spiritInspir'd the men of Paris. Henriot call'd135'To arms' in vain, whilst Bourdon's patriot voiceBreathed eloquence, and o'er the JacobinsLegendre frown'd dismay. The tyrants fled—They reach'd the Hôtel. We gather'd round—we call'dFor vengeance! Long time, obstinate in despair,140With knives they hack'd around them. 'Till forebodingThe sentence of the law, the clamorous cryOf joyful thousands hailing their destruction,Each sought by suicide to escape the dreadOf death. Lebas succeeded. From the window145Leapt the younger Robespierre, but his fractur'd limbForbade to escape. The self-will'd dictatorPlunged often the keen knife in his dark breast,Yet impotent to die. He lives all mangledBy his own tremulous hand! All gash'd and gored150He lives to taste the bitterness of death.Even now they meet their doom. The bloody Couthon,The fierce St. Just, even now attend their tyrantTo fall beneath the axe. I saw the torchesFlash on their visages a dreadful light—155I saw them whilst the black blood roll'd adownEach stern face, even then with dauntless eyeScowl round contemptuous, dying as they lived,Fearless of fate![Loud and repeated applauses.Barrere mounts the Tribune.For ever hallowed be this glorious day,160When Freedom, bursting her oppressive chain,Tramples on the oppressor. When the tyrant[516]Hurl'd from his blood-cemented throne, by the armOf the almighty people, meets the deathHe plann'd for thousands. Oh! my sickening heart165Has sunk within me, when the various woesOf my brave country crowded o'er my brainIn ghastly numbers—when assembled hordes,Dragg'd from their hovels by despotic power,Rush'd o'er her frontiers, plunder'd her fair hamlets,170And sack'd her populous towns, and drench'd with bloodThe reeking fields of Flanders.—When within,Upon her vitals prey'd the rankling toothOf treason; and oppression, giant form,Trampling on freedom, left the alternative175Of slavery, or of death. Even from that day,When, on the guilty Capet, I pronouncedThe doom of injured France, has faction rearedHer hated head amongst us. Roland preach'dOf mercy—the uxorious dotard Roland,180The woman-govern'd Roland durst aspireTo govern France; and Petion talk'd of virtue,And Vergniaud's eloquence, like the honeyed tongueOf some soft Syren wooed us to destruction.We triumphed over these. On the same scaffold185Where the last Louis pour'd his guilty blood,Fell Brissot's head, the womb of darksome treasons,And Orleans, villain kinsman of the Capet,And Hébert's atheist crew, whose maddening handHurl'd down the altars of the living God,190With all the infidel's intolerance.The last worst traitor triumphed—triumph'd long,Secur'd by matchless villainy—by turnsDefending and deserting each accompliceAs interest prompted. In the goodly soil195Of Freedom, the foul tree of treason struckIts deep-fix'd roots, and dropt the dews of deathOn all who slumber'd in its specious shade.He wove the web of treachery. He caughtThe listening crowd by his wild eloquence,200His cool ferocity that persuaded murder,Even whilst it spake of mercy!—never, neverShall this regenerated country wearThe despot yoke. Though myriads round assail,And with worse fury urge this new crusade205[517]Than savages have known; though the leagued despotsDepopulate all Europe, so to pourThe accumulated mass upon our coasts,Sublime amid the storm shall France arise,And like the rock amid surrounding waves210Repel the rushing ocean.—She shall wieldThe thunder-bolt of vengeance—she shall blastThe despot's pride, and liberate the world!

Barrere mounts the Tribune.For ever hallowed be this glorious day,160When Freedom, bursting her oppressive chain,Tramples on the oppressor. When the tyrant[516]Hurl'd from his blood-cemented throne, by the armOf the almighty people, meets the deathHe plann'd for thousands. Oh! my sickening heart165Has sunk within me, when the various woesOf my brave country crowded o'er my brainIn ghastly numbers—when assembled hordes,Dragg'd from their hovels by despotic power,Rush'd o'er her frontiers, plunder'd her fair hamlets,170And sack'd her populous towns, and drench'd with bloodThe reeking fields of Flanders.—When within,Upon her vitals prey'd the rankling toothOf treason; and oppression, giant form,Trampling on freedom, left the alternative175Of slavery, or of death. Even from that day,When, on the guilty Capet, I pronouncedThe doom of injured France, has faction rearedHer hated head amongst us. Roland preach'dOf mercy—the uxorious dotard Roland,180The woman-govern'd Roland durst aspireTo govern France; and Petion talk'd of virtue,And Vergniaud's eloquence, like the honeyed tongueOf some soft Syren wooed us to destruction.We triumphed over these. On the same scaffold185Where the last Louis pour'd his guilty blood,Fell Brissot's head, the womb of darksome treasons,And Orleans, villain kinsman of the Capet,And Hébert's atheist crew, whose maddening handHurl'd down the altars of the living God,190With all the infidel's intolerance.The last worst traitor triumphed—triumph'd long,Secur'd by matchless villainy—by turnsDefending and deserting each accompliceAs interest prompted. In the goodly soil195Of Freedom, the foul tree of treason struckIts deep-fix'd roots, and dropt the dews of deathOn all who slumber'd in its specious shade.He wove the web of treachery. He caughtThe listening crowd by his wild eloquence,200His cool ferocity that persuaded murder,Even whilst it spake of mercy!—never, neverShall this regenerated country wearThe despot yoke. Though myriads round assail,And with worse fury urge this new crusade205[517]Than savages have known; though the leagued despotsDepopulate all Europe, so to pourThe accumulated mass upon our coasts,Sublime amid the storm shall France arise,And like the rock amid surrounding waves210Repel the rushing ocean.—She shall wieldThe thunder-bolt of vengeance—she shall blastThe despot's pride, and liberate the world!

FINIS

[Not in MSS.]

Osorio, 1797.Remorse.Velez=Marquis Valdez, Father to the two brothers, and Doña Teresa's Guardian.Albert=Don Alvar, the eldest son.Osorio=Don Ordonio, the youngest son.Francesco=Monviedro, a Dominican and Inquisitor.Maurice=Zulimez, the faithful attendant on Alvar.Ferdinand=Isidore, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian.Naomi=Naomi.Maria=Doña Teresa, an Orphan Heiress.Alhadra, wife ofFerdinand=Alhadra, Wife of Isidore.Familiars of the Inquisition.Moors, Servants, &c.

Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbad the wearing of Moresco apparel under pain of death.

[518:1]First published in 1873 by Mr. John Pearson (under the editorship of R. H. Shepherd): included inP. and D. W.1877-80, and inP. W.1893.Four MSS. are (or were) extant, (1) the transcript of the play as sent to Sheridan in 1797 (MS. I); (2) a contemporary transcript sent by Coleridge to a friend (MS. II); (3) a third transcript (the handwriting of a 'legal character') sold at Christie's, March 8, 1895 (MS. III); (4) a copy of Act I in Coleridge's handwriting, which formerly belonged to Thomas Poole, and is now in the British Museum (MS. P.). The text of the present issue follows MS. I. The variants are derived from MSS. I, II as noted by J. Dykes Campbell inP. W.1893, from a MS. collation (by J. D. Campbell) of MS. III, now published for the first time, and from a fresh collation of MS. P.Osoriowas begun at Stowey in March, 1797. Two and a half Acts were written before June, four and a half Acts before September 13, 1797. A transcript of the play (MS. I) was sent to Drury Lane in October, and rejected, on the score of the 'obscurity of the last three acts', on or about December 1, 1797. See 'Art.' Coleridge,OsorioandRemorse, by J. D. Campbell,Athenaeum, April 8, 1890.In the reign of Philip II shortly after the civil war against the Moors, and during the heat of the Persecution which raged against them. Maria an orphan of fortune had been espoused to Albert the eldest son of Lord Velez, but he having been supposed dead, is now addressed by Osorio the brother of Albert.In the character of Osorio I wished to represent a man, who, from his childhood had mistaken constitutional abstinence from vices, for strength of character—thro' his pride duped into guilt, and then endeavouring to shield himself from the reproaches of his own mind by misanthropy.Don Garcia (supposed dead) and Valdez father of Don Ordoño, and Guardian of Teresa di Monviedro. Don Garcia eldest son of the Marquis di Valdez, supposed dead, having been six years absent, and for the last three without any tidings of him.Teresa Senñora [sic] di Monviedro, an orphan lady, bequeathed by both Parents on their death-bed to the wardship of the Marquis, and betrothed to Don Garcia—Gulinaez a Moorish Chieftain and ostensibly a new Christian—Alhadra his wife.MS. III.For the Preface ofMS. I, vide Appendices of this edition.

[518:1]First published in 1873 by Mr. John Pearson (under the editorship of R. H. Shepherd): included inP. and D. W.1877-80, and inP. W.1893.

Four MSS. are (or were) extant, (1) the transcript of the play as sent to Sheridan in 1797 (MS. I); (2) a contemporary transcript sent by Coleridge to a friend (MS. II); (3) a third transcript (the handwriting of a 'legal character') sold at Christie's, March 8, 1895 (MS. III); (4) a copy of Act I in Coleridge's handwriting, which formerly belonged to Thomas Poole, and is now in the British Museum (MS. P.). The text of the present issue follows MS. I. The variants are derived from MSS. I, II as noted by J. Dykes Campbell inP. W.1893, from a MS. collation (by J. D. Campbell) of MS. III, now published for the first time, and from a fresh collation of MS. P.

Osoriowas begun at Stowey in March, 1797. Two and a half Acts were written before June, four and a half Acts before September 13, 1797. A transcript of the play (MS. I) was sent to Drury Lane in October, and rejected, on the score of the 'obscurity of the last three acts', on or about December 1, 1797. See 'Art.' Coleridge,OsorioandRemorse, by J. D. Campbell,Athenaeum, April 8, 1890.

In the reign of Philip II shortly after the civil war against the Moors, and during the heat of the Persecution which raged against them. Maria an orphan of fortune had been espoused to Albert the eldest son of Lord Velez, but he having been supposed dead, is now addressed by Osorio the brother of Albert.

In the character of Osorio I wished to represent a man, who, from his childhood had mistaken constitutional abstinence from vices, for strength of character—thro' his pride duped into guilt, and then endeavouring to shield himself from the reproaches of his own mind by misanthropy.

Don Garcia (supposed dead) and Valdez father of Don Ordoño, and Guardian of Teresa di Monviedro. Don Garcia eldest son of the Marquis di Valdez, supposed dead, having been six years absent, and for the last three without any tidings of him.

Teresa Senñora [sic] di Monviedro, an orphan lady, bequeathed by both Parents on their death-bed to the wardship of the Marquis, and betrothed to Don Garcia—Gulinaez a Moorish Chieftain and ostensibly a new Christian—Alhadra his wife.MS. III.

For the Preface ofMS. I, vide Appendices of this edition.

OsorioA Tragedy—Title] Osorio, a Dramatic PoemMS. II: Osorio, The Sketch of a TragedyMS. III.

Scene—The sea shore on the coast of Granada.

Velez, Maria.

Maria.I hold Osorio dear: he is your son,And Albert's brother.Velez.Love him for himself,Nor make the living wretched for the dead.Maria.I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Velez!But Heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain5Faithful to Albert, be he dead or living.Velez.Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves;And could my heart's blood give him back to theeI would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts!Thy dying father comes upon my soul10With that same look, with which he gave thee to me:[520]I held thee in mine arms, a powerless babe,While thy poor mother with a mute entreatyFix'd her faint eyes on mine: ah, not for this,That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom,15And with slow anguish wear away thy life,The victim of a useless constancy.I must not see thee wretched.Maria.There are woesIll-barter'd for the garishness of joy!If it be wretched with an untired eye20To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean;Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock,My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze,To shape sweet visions, and live o'er againAll past hours of delight; if it be wretched25To watch some bark, and fancy Albert there;To go through each minutest circumstanceOf the bless'd meeting, and to frame adventuresMost terrible and strange, and hearhimtell them:(As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid,30Who dress'd her in her buried lover's cloaths,And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleftHung with her lute, and play'd the selfsame tuneHe used to play, and listen'd to the shadowHerself had made); if this be wretchedness,35And if indeed it be a wretched thingTo trick out mine own death-bed, and imagineThat I had died—died, just ere his return;Then see him listening to my constancy;And hover round, as he at midnight ever40Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon;Or haply in some more fantastic moodTo be in Paradise, and with choice flowersBuild up a bower where he and I might dwell,And there to wait his coming! O my sire!45My Albert's sire! if this be wretchednessThat eats away the life, what were it, think you,If in a most assur'd realityHe should return, and see a brother's infantSmile at him frommyarms?[Clasping her forehead.[521]O what a thought!50'Twas horrible! it pass'd my brain like lightning.Velez.'Twere horrible, if but one doubt remain'dThe very week he promised his return.Maria.Ah, what a busy joy was ours—to see himAfter his three years' travels! tho' that absence55His still-expected, never-failing lettersAlmost endear'd to me! Even then what tumult!Velez.O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughtsSpite of conviction! I am old and heartless!Yes, I am old—I have no pleasant dreams—60Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest.Maria (with great tenderness).My father!Velez.Aye, 'twas the morning thou didst try to cheer meWith a fond gaiety. My heart was bursting,And yet I could not tell me, how my sleepWas throng'd with swarthy faces, and I saw65The merchant-ship in which my son was captured—Well, well, enough—captured in sight of land—We might almost have seen it from our house-top!

Maria.I hold Osorio dear: he is your son,And Albert's brother.

Velez.Love him for himself,Nor make the living wretched for the dead.

Maria.I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Velez!But Heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain5Faithful to Albert, be he dead or living.

Velez.Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves;And could my heart's blood give him back to theeI would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts!Thy dying father comes upon my soul10With that same look, with which he gave thee to me:[520]I held thee in mine arms, a powerless babe,While thy poor mother with a mute entreatyFix'd her faint eyes on mine: ah, not for this,That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom,15And with slow anguish wear away thy life,The victim of a useless constancy.I must not see thee wretched.

Maria.There are woesIll-barter'd for the garishness of joy!If it be wretched with an untired eye20To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean;Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock,My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze,To shape sweet visions, and live o'er againAll past hours of delight; if it be wretched25To watch some bark, and fancy Albert there;To go through each minutest circumstanceOf the bless'd meeting, and to frame adventuresMost terrible and strange, and hearhimtell them:(As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid,30Who dress'd her in her buried lover's cloaths,And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleftHung with her lute, and play'd the selfsame tuneHe used to play, and listen'd to the shadowHerself had made); if this be wretchedness,35And if indeed it be a wretched thingTo trick out mine own death-bed, and imagineThat I had died—died, just ere his return;Then see him listening to my constancy;And hover round, as he at midnight ever40Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon;Or haply in some more fantastic moodTo be in Paradise, and with choice flowersBuild up a bower where he and I might dwell,And there to wait his coming! O my sire!45My Albert's sire! if this be wretchednessThat eats away the life, what were it, think you,If in a most assur'd realityHe should return, and see a brother's infantSmile at him frommyarms?[Clasping her forehead.[521]O what a thought!50'Twas horrible! it pass'd my brain like lightning.

Velez.'Twere horrible, if but one doubt remain'dThe very week he promised his return.

Maria.Ah, what a busy joy was ours—to see himAfter his three years' travels! tho' that absence55His still-expected, never-failing lettersAlmost endear'd to me! Even then what tumult!

Velez.O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughtsSpite of conviction! I am old and heartless!Yes, I am old—I have no pleasant dreams—60Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest.

Maria (with great tenderness).My father!

Velez.Aye, 'twas the morning thou didst try to cheer meWith a fond gaiety. My heart was bursting,And yet I could not tell me, how my sleepWas throng'd with swarthy faces, and I saw65The merchant-ship in which my son was captured—Well, well, enough—captured in sight of land—We might almost have seen it from our house-top!

Maria (abruptly).He did not perish there!Velez (impatiently).Nay, nay—how aptly thou forgett'st a tale70Thou ne'er didst wish to learn—my brave OsorioSaw them both founder in the storm that partedHim and the pirate: both the vessels founder'd.Gallant Osorio![Pauses, then tenderly.O belov'd Maria,Would'st thou best prove thy faith to generous Albert75And most delight his spirit, go and makeHis brother happy, make his agéd fatherSink to the grave with joy!Maria.For mercy's sakePress me no more. I have no power to love him!His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow80Chill me, like dew-damps of the unwholesome night.My love, a timorous and tender flower,Closes beneath his touch.Velez.You wrong him, maiden.You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it wellTo character by such unkindly phrases85The stir and workings of that love for youWhich he has toil'd to smother. 'Twas not well—Nor is it grateful in you to forgetHis wounds and perilous voyages, and howWith an heroic fearlessness of danger90He roamed the coast of Afric for your Albert.It was not well—you have moved me even to tears.Maria.O pardon me, my father! pardon me.It was a foolish and ungrateful speech,A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried95Beyond myself, if I but dream of oneWho aims to rival Albert. Were we notBorn on one day, like twins of the same parent?Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father!A six years' absence is an heavy thing;100Yet still the hope survives——Velez (looking forwards).Hush—hush! Maria.

Maria (abruptly).He did not perish there!

Velez (impatiently).Nay, nay—how aptly thou forgett'st a tale70Thou ne'er didst wish to learn—my brave OsorioSaw them both founder in the storm that partedHim and the pirate: both the vessels founder'd.Gallant Osorio![Pauses, then tenderly.O belov'd Maria,Would'st thou best prove thy faith to generous Albert75And most delight his spirit, go and makeHis brother happy, make his agéd fatherSink to the grave with joy!

Maria.For mercy's sakePress me no more. I have no power to love him!His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow80Chill me, like dew-damps of the unwholesome night.My love, a timorous and tender flower,Closes beneath his touch.

Velez.You wrong him, maiden.You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it wellTo character by such unkindly phrases85The stir and workings of that love for youWhich he has toil'd to smother. 'Twas not well—Nor is it grateful in you to forgetHis wounds and perilous voyages, and howWith an heroic fearlessness of danger90He roamed the coast of Afric for your Albert.It was not well—you have moved me even to tears.

Maria.O pardon me, my father! pardon me.It was a foolish and ungrateful speech,A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried95Beyond myself, if I but dream of oneWho aims to rival Albert. Were we notBorn on one day, like twins of the same parent?Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father!A six years' absence is an heavy thing;100Yet still the hope survives——

Velez (looking forwards).Hush—hush! Maria.

Maria.It is Francesco, our Inquisitor;That busy man, gross, ignorant, and cruel!

EnterFrancescoandAlhadra.

Francesco (to Velez).Where is your son, my lord? Oh! here he comes.

EnterOsorio.

My Lord Osorio! this Moresco woman105(Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you.Osorio.Hail, reverend father! What may be the business?Francesco.O the old business—a Mohammedan!The officers are in her husband's house,And would have taken him, but that he mention'd110Your name, asserting that you were his friend,[524]Aye, and would warrant him a Catholic.But I know well these children of perdition,And all their idle fals[e]hoods to gain time;So should have made the officers proceed,115But that this woman with most passionate outcries,(Kneeling and holding forth her infants to me)So work'd upon me, who (you know, my lord!)Have human frailties, and am tender-hearted,That I came with her.Osorio.You are merciful.[Looking atAlhadra.120I would that I could serve you; but in truthYour face is new to me.

My Lord Osorio! this Moresco woman105(Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you.

Osorio.Hail, reverend father! What may be the business?

Francesco.O the old business—a Mohammedan!The officers are in her husband's house,And would have taken him, but that he mention'd110Your name, asserting that you were his friend,[524]Aye, and would warrant him a Catholic.But I know well these children of perdition,And all their idle fals[e]hoods to gain time;So should have made the officers proceed,115But that this woman with most passionate outcries,(Kneeling and holding forth her infants to me)So work'd upon me, who (you know, my lord!)Have human frailties, and am tender-hearted,That I came with her.

Osorio.You are merciful.[Looking atAlhadra.120I would that I could serve you; but in truthYour face is new to me.

[Alhadrais about to speak, but is interrupted by

Francesco.Aye, aye—I thought so;And so I said to one of the familiars.A likely story, said I, that Osorio,The gallant nobleman, who fought so bravely125Some four years past against these rebel Moors;Working so hard from out the garden of faithTo eradicate these weeds detestable;That he should countenance this vile Moresco,Nay, be his friend—and warrant him, forsooth!130Well, well, my lord! it is a warning to me;Now I return.Alhadra.My lord, my husband's nameIs Ferdinand: you may remember it.Three years ago—three years this very week—You left him at Almeria.Francesco (triumphantly).Palpably false!135This very week, three years ago, my lord!(You needs must recollect it by your wound)You were at sea, and fought the Moorish fiendsWho took and murder'd your poor brother Albert.

Alhadra.My lord, my husband's nameIs Ferdinand: you may remember it.Three years ago—three years this very week—You left him at Almeria.

Francesco (triumphantly).Palpably false!135This very week, three years ago, my lord!(You needs must recollect it by your wound)You were at sea, and fought the Moorish fiendsWho took and murder'd your poor brother Albert.

[Marialooks atFrancescowith disgust and horror.Osorio'sappearance to be collected from the speech that follows.

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