*£***' T-i 
 
 
 
 
 
 iiisp^^' 
 
 
FRANCES E. BENNETT. 
 
 DUKE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Treasure %oom 
 
 THE 
 COLERIDGE 
 COLLECTION 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 A TRAGEDY, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 By S. T. COLERIDGE. 
 
 Remorse is as the heart, in which it grows « 
 If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews 
 Of true repentance ; but if prond and gloomy, 
 It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost. 
 
 Weeps only ipara nf pnioin I 
 
 ACT I. SCEfffi I. 
 
 £econ& gftitiom 
 
 LONDON u 
 
 PRINTEB FOR \V, POPLE, 67, CHANCERY LANE. 
 1813. 
 
 Price Three Sellings. 
 
tf. Pople, Printer » 67, Chancery Lane. 
 

 PREFACE, 
 
 
 This Tragedy was written in the summer 
 and autumn of the year 1797 ; at Nether 
 Stowey, in the county of Somerset. By 
 whose recommendation, and of the manner 
 in which both the Play and the Author were 
 treated by the Reeommender, let me be 
 permitted to relate: that I knew of its 
 having been received only by a third per- 
 son ; that I could procure neither answer 
 nor the manuscript , and that but for an 
 accident I should have had no copy of the 
 Work itself. That such treatment would 
 damp a young mans exertions may be ea- 
 sily conceived : there was no need of after- 
 misrepresentation and calumny, as an ad- 
 ditional sedative. 
 
 I thought it right to record this cir- 
 cumstance ; but I turn gladly and with 
 sincere gratitude to the converse. In the 
 close of last year I Was advised to present 
 the Tragedy once more to the Theatre. 
 Accordingly having altered the names, 
 I ventured to address a letter to Mr. 
 Whi thread, requesting information as to 
 whom I was to present my Tragedy. My 
 Letter was instantly and most kindly an- 
 
 283847 
 
IV 
 
 swered, and I have now nothing to tell 
 but a Tale of Thanks. I should scarce 
 know where to begin, if the goodness of 
 the Manager, Mr. Arnold, had not call- 
 ed for my first acknowledgements. Not 
 merely as an acting Play, but as a dra- 
 matic Poem, the Remorse has been im- 
 portantly and manifoldly benefited by his 
 suggestions. I can with severest truth 
 say, that every hint he gave .me was the 
 ground of some improvement. In the 
 next place it is my duty to mention Mr. 
 Raymond, the Stage Manager. Had the 
 "Remorse" been his own Play — nay, 
 that is saying too little — had I been his 
 
 brother, or his dearest friend, he could not 
 
 have felt or exerted himself more, zea- 
 lously. 
 
 As the Piece is now acting, it may be 
 thought presumptuous in me to speak of 
 the Actors : yet how can I abstain, feel- 
 ing, as I do, Mrs. Glover's powerful 
 assistance, and knowing the circumstances 
 under which she consented to act Alha- 
 dra? A time will come, when without 
 painfully oppressing her feelings, I may 
 speak of this more fully. To Miss Smith 
 I have an equal, though different acknow- 
 ledgement to make, namely, for her accep- 
 tance of a character not fully developed, 
 and quite inadequate to her extraordinary 
 powers. She enlivened and supported 
 many passages, which (though not per- 
 
haps wholly uninteresting in the closet) 
 would but for her have hung heavy on the 
 ears of a Theatrical Audience. And in 
 speaking the Epilogue, a composition 
 which (I fear) my hurry will hardly ex- 
 cuse, and which, as unworthy of her name, 
 is here omitted, she made a sacrifice, 
 which only her established character with 
 all- judges of Tragic action could have 
 rendered compatible with her duty to 
 herself. To Mr. De Camp's judgement 
 and full conception of Isidore; to Mr. 
 Pope's accurate representation of the 
 partial, yet honourable Father; to Mr. 
 Elliston's energy in the character of 
 Alvar, and who in more than one in- 
 stance gave it beauties and striking points, 
 which not only delighted but surprized 
 me; and to Mr. Rae, to whose zeal, and 
 unwearied study of his part I am not less 
 indebted as a Man, than to his impassion- 
 ed realization of Ordonio, as an Author ; 
 
 to these, and to all concerned with 
 
 the bringing out of the Play, I can address 
 but one word— Thanks ! — but that word 
 is uttered sincerely ! and to persons con- 
 stantly before the eye of the Public, a 
 public acknowledgement becomes appro- 
 priate, and a duty. 
 
 I defer all answers to the d liferent cri- 
 ticisms on the Piece to an Essay, which 
 I am about to publish immediately,* on 
 
 283847 
 
VI 
 
 Dramatic Poetry, relatively to the present 
 State of the Metropolitan Theatres. 
 
 From the necessity of hastening the Pub- 
 lication I was obliged to send the Manu- 
 script intended for the Stage : which is the 
 sole cause of the number of directions print- 
 ed in Italics. 
 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
PROLOGUE, 
 
 BY C. LAMB. 
 
 Spoken by Mr, Carr* 
 gassass """m . t, ■: 5 g as 
 
 There are, I am told, who sharply criticise 
 
 Our modem theatres unwieldy size. 
 
 We players shall scarce plead guilty to that charge, 
 
 Who think a house can never be too large : 
 
 Griev'd when a rant, that's worth a nation's ear, 
 
 Shakes some pres.cqb'd Lyceum's petty sphere ; 
 
 And pleased to mark the grin from space to space 
 
 Spread epidemic o'er a town's broad face. — 
 
 O might old Bettertcui or Booth return 
 
 To view our structures from their silent urn, 
 
 Could Quin come stalking from Elysian glades, 
 
 Or Garrick get a day T rule from the shades — 
 
 Where now, perhaps, in mirth which Spirits approve, 
 
 He imitates the ways of men above. 
 
 And apes the actions of our upper coast, 
 
 As in his days of flesh he play'd the ghost : — ■ 
 
 How might they bless our ampler scope to please, 
 
 And hate their own old shrunk up audiences.— 
 
 Their houses yet were palaces to those, 
 
 Which Ben and Fletcher for their triumphs chose. 
 
 Shakspeare, who wish'd a kingdom for a stage, 
 
 Like giant pent in disproportion^! cage, 
 
 Motirn'd his contracted strengths and crippled rage. 
 
 He who could tame his vast ambition down 
 
 To please some scatter'd gleanings of a town, 
 
 And, if some hundred auditors supplied 
 
THE PROLOGHE, 
 
 Their meagre meed of claps, was satisfied, 
 
 How had he felt, when that dread curse of Learns 
 
 Had burst tremendous on a thousand ears, 
 
 While deeprstruck woqder from applauding band* 
 
 Return'd the tribute of as many hands 
 
 Rude were his guests ; he never made his bow 
 
 To such an audience as salutes us now. 
 
 He lack'd the balm of labor, female praise. 
 
 Few Ladies in his time frequented plays, 
 
 Or came to see a youth with aukward art 
 
 And shrill sharp pipe burlesque the woman's part* 
 
 The very use, since so essential grown, 
 
 Of painted scenes, was to his stage unknown. 
 
 The air-blest castle, round whose wholesome crest, 
 
 The martlet, guest of summer, chose her nest— 
 
 The forest walks of Arden's fair domain, 
 
 Where Jaques fed his solitary vein — 
 
 No pencil's aid as yet had dared supply, 
 
 Seen only by the intellectual eye. 
 
 Those scenic helps, denied to Shakspeare's page, 
 
 Our Author owes to a more liberal age. 
 
 Nor pomp nor circumstance are wanting here ; 
 
 *Tis for himself alone that he must fear. 
 
 Yet shall remembrance cherish the just pride^ 
 
 That (be the laurel granted or denied) 
 
 He first essay'd in this distinguish'd fane, 
 
 Severer muses and a tragic strain. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Marquis Valdejz, Father to the two bro.) 
 
 > Mr. P ope< 
 
 tliers, and Donna Teresa's Guardian. J 
 
 Pox Alvar, The eldest son Mr. Elliston. 
 
 Don Ordonjo, The youngest son .... Mr. Rae. 
 Monviedro, A Dominican and Inquisitor Ma. Powell. 
 Zulimez, The faithful attendant on Alrar. Mr, Crooke. 
 
 Isidore, A Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly } 
 
 > Mr. De Camp. 
 a Christian ) 
 
 Familiars of eiie Inquisition. 
 
 Naomi . , Mr. Wallack. 
 
 Moors and Servans, &c. 
 
 Donna Teresa, An Orphan Heiress. . . Miss Smith. 
 
 Aliiadra, Wife to Isidore Mrs. Glover. 
 
 Time. The reign of Philip //"., just, at the 
 close of the civil zvars against the Moors, and 
 during the heat of the persecution which raged 
 against them, shortly after the edict which for- 
 bad the wearing of Moresco apparel under pain 
 of Death, 
 
REMORSE, 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada, 
 
 Don Alvar, wrapt in a Boat Cloak, and Zu- 
 limez {a Moresco) both as just landed. 
 
 Zul. No sound, no face of joy to welcome us ! 
 
 Ah. My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment 
 Let me forget my anguish and their crimes. 
 If aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling, 
 Tis surely this — after long years of exile, 
 To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us, 
 To hail at once our country, and our birth place. 
 Hail, Spain ! Granada, hail ! once more I press 
 Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers ! , 
 
 Zul. Then claim your rights in it ! O, revered 
 Don Alvar, 
 Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose. 
 It is too hazardous ! reveal yourself, 
 And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt ! 
 
 Ah. Remember, Zulimez ! I am his brother, 
 Injur'd indeed ! O deeply injur'd ! yet 
 Ordonio's brother. 
 
 Zul. Nobly minded Alvar ! 
 
 This sure but gives his guilt a blacker die. 
 
 Ah. The more behoves it, I should rouse with- 
 in him 
 Remorse ! that I should save him from himself. 
 
2 REMORSE : 
 
 Zul. Remorse is as the heart in which it grows : 
 If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews 
 Of true repentance ; but if proud and gloomy, 
 It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost 
 Weeps only tears of poison ! 
 
 Alv. And of a brother, 
 
 Dare I hold this, unprov'd ? nor make one effort 
 To save him ? — Hear me, friend ! I have yet to tell 
 
 thee, 
 That this same life, which he conspir'd to take, 
 Himself once rescued from the angry flood, 
 And at the imminent hazard of his own. 
 Add too my oath — 
 
 Zul. ' You have thrice told already 
 
 The year of absence and of secrecy, 
 To which a forced oath bound you : if in truth 
 A suborned murderer have the power to dictate 
 A hinding oath— - 
 
 Alv. My long captivity 
 
 Left me no choice : the very Wish too languish 'd 
 With the fond Hope, that nurs'd it ; the sick babe" 
 Droop'd at the bosom of it's famish'd mother. 
 But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy ; 
 The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest, 
 No motive could have tempted him to falsehood ; 
 In the first pangs of his awaken'd conscience, 
 When with abhorrence of his own black purpose 
 The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast, 
 Fell from his palsied hand — 
 
 ZuL Heavy presumption 1 ; 
 
 Alv. It weigh'd not with me^-Hark . r I will tell 
 thee all. 
 As we pass'd by, I bade thee mark the base 
 Of yonder Cliff— 
 
 Zul. That rocky seat you jnean, 
 
 Shaped by the billows ? — 
 
 Alv. There Teresa met me 
 
A TRAGEDY. 9 
 
 The morning of the day of my departure. 
 
 We were alone: the purple hue of dawn, 
 
 Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us, 
 
 And blending with the blushes on her cheek 
 
 Suffus'd the tear-drops there with rosy light. 
 
 There seem'd a glory round us, and Teresa 
 
 The angel of the vision ! (then with agitation. 
 
 Had'st thou seen 
 How in each motion her most innocent soul 
 Beam'd forth and brighten'd, thou thyself wpuld'st 
 
 tell me, 
 Guilt is a thing impossible in her ! 
 She must be innocent ! 
 
 ZuL (with a sigh.) Proceed, my Lord ! 
 
 Ah. A portrait which she had procur'd by stealth, 
 (For even then it seems her heart foreboded 
 Or know Ordonio's moody rivalry) 
 A portrait of herself with thrilling hand 
 She tied around my neck, conjuring rne 
 With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred 
 To my own knowledge : nor did she desist, 
 Till she had won a solemn promise from me, 
 That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it 
 Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, 
 Knew that which none but she could have dis- 
 elos'd. 
 
 ZuL A damning proof! 
 
 Ah. My own life wearied me ! 
 
 And but for the imperative Voice within 
 With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen. 
 That Voice, which quell'd me, calm'd me : and I 
 
 sought 
 The Belgic states ; there join'd the better cause ; 
 And there too fought as one that courted death ! 
 Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, 
 In death-like trance : a long imprisonment follow'd. 
 
4s remorse: 
 
 The fulness of my anguish by degrees 
 Waned to a meditative melancholy ; 
 And still the more I mus'd, my soul became 
 More doubtful, more perplex'd : and still Teresa 
 Night after night, she visited my sleep, 
 Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, 
 Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me ! 
 Yes, still as in contempt of proof and reason, 
 I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless ! 
 Hear then my fix'd resolve : I'll linger here 
 In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain. — 
 The Moorish robes? — 
 
 ZuL All, all are in the sea-cave, 
 
 Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners 
 Secrete the boat there. 
 
 Ah. Above all, the picture 
 
 Of the assassination — 
 
 ZuL Be assur'd 
 
 That it remains uninjur'd. 
 
 Ah. Thus disguis'd 
 
 I will first seek to meet Ordonio's — wife! 
 If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk, 
 And this the hour ; her words, her very looks 
 Will acquit her or convict. 
 
 ZuL Will they not know you ? 
 
 Alv. With'your aid, friend, I shall unfearingly 
 Trust the disguise ; and as to my complexion, 
 My long imprisonment, the scanty food, 
 This scar, — and toil beneath a burning sun, 
 Have done already half the business for us. 
 Add too my youth, when last we saw each other. 
 Manhood has swoln my chest, and taught my voice 
 A hoarser note — Besides, they think me dead : 
 And what the mind believes impossible, 
 The bodily sense is slow to recognize. 
 
 ZuL 'Tis yours, sir, to command, mine to obey. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 5 
 
 Now to the cave beneath the vaulted rock, 
 Where having shap'd you to a Moorish chieftain, 
 I will seek our mariners ; and in the tmsk 
 Transport whate'er we need to the small dell 
 In the Alpuxarras — there where Zagri iiv'd. 
 
 Ah. I know it well : it is the obscurest haunt 
 Of all the mountains — (both stand listening). 
 
 Voices at a distance ! 
 Let us away ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Teresa and Valdez. 
 
 Ter. I hold Ordonio dear ; he is your son 
 And Alvar's brother. 
 
 Vol. Love him for himself, 
 
 Nor make the living wretched for the dead. 
 
 Ter. I mourn that you should plead in vain, 
 Lord Valdez, 
 But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 
 Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living. 
 
 VaL Heaven knows with what delight I saw 
 your loves, 
 And could my heart's blood give him back to thee, 
 I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts I 
 Thy dying father comes upon my soul 
 With that same look, with which he gave thee to me; 
 I held thee in my arms a powerless babe, 
 While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty 
 Fixed her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this, 
 That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 
 And with slow anguish wear away thy lite, 
 The victim of a useless constancy. 
 I must not see thee wretched. 
 
6 REMORSE : 
 
 Ter. There are woes 
 
 111 bartered for the garishness of joy ! 
 If it be wretched with an untired eye 
 To 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 again 
 All past hours of delight 1 If it be wretched 
 To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there, 
 To go through each minutest circumstance 
 Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures 
 Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them ; 
 * (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid, 
 Who drest her in her buried lover's cloaths, 
 And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft 
 Hung with her lute, and play'd the self same tune 
 He used to play, and listened to the shadow 
 Herself had made)— if this be wretchedness, 
 And if indeed it be a wretched thing 
 To trick out mine own death bed, and imagine 
 That I had died, died just ere his return ! 
 Then see him listening to my constancy, 
 Or hover round, as he at midnight oft 
 Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon ; 
 Or haply in some more fantastic mood, 
 To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers 
 Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, 
 And there to wait his coming ! O my sire ! 
 My Aivar's sire I if this be wretchedness 
 That eats away the life, what were it, think you, 
 If in a most assured reality 
 He should return, and see a brother's infant 
 
 * [Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, 
 •which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a sooth- 
 ing half-playful tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy, 
 by the little tale in the parenthesis,] 
 
A TRAGEDY. 7 
 
 Smile at him from my arms ? 
 
 Oh what a thought ! {Clasping her forehead, 
 
 Vald. A thought ? even so ! mere thought ! an 
 empty thought. 
 The very week he promised his return — — 
 
 Ter. (abruptly.) Was it not then a busy joy? 
 to see him, 
 After those three years travels ! we had no fears — • 
 The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter, 
 Almost endear'd his absence ! Yet the gladness. 
 The tumult of our joy ! What then if now ■ 
 
 Vald. O power of youth to feed on pleasant 
 thoughts, 
 Spite of conviction ! I am old and heartless ! 
 Yes, I am old — I have no pleasant fancies — 
 Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest — 
 
 Ter. (with great tenderness.) My father ! 
 
 Vald. The sober truth is all too much for me \ 
 I see no sail which brings not to my mind 
 The home-bound bark in which my son was captur'd 
 By the Algerine — to perish with his captors ! 
 
 Ter. Oh no ! he did not 1 
 
 Vald. Captur'd in sight of land I 
 
 From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch 
 
 tower 
 We might have seen 
 
 Ter. His capture, not his death. 
 
 Vald. Alas ! how aptly thou forgett'st a tale 
 Thou ne'er didst wish to learn ! my brave Ordonio 
 Saw both the pirate and his prize go down, 
 In the same storm that baffled his own valor, 
 And thus twice snatch'd a brother from his hopes : 
 Gallant Ordonio ! (pauses, then tenderly/ O be- 
 loved Teresa, 
 Would'st thou best prove thy faith to generous Al « 
 var, 
 
8 remorse: 
 
 And most delight his spirit, go, make thou 
 His brother happy, make his aged father 
 Sink to the grave in joy. 
 
 Ter. For mercy's sake 
 
 Press me no more ! I have no power to love him. 
 His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow, 
 Chill melike dew damps of the unwholesome night: 
 My love, a timorous and tender flower, 
 Closes beneath his touch. 
 
 Vald. You wrong him, maiden I 
 
 You wrong him, by my soul ! Nor was it well 
 To character by such unkindly phrases 
 The stir and workings of that love for you 
 Which he has toil'd to smother. Twas not well, 
 Nor is it grateful in you to forget 
 His wounds and perilous voyages, and how 
 With an heroic fearlessness of danger 
 He roam'd the coast of Afric for your Alvar. 
 It was not well — You have moved me even to tears. 
 
 Ter. Oh pardon me, Lord Valdez ! pardon me! 
 It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, 
 A most ungrateful speech ! But I am hurried 
 Beyond myself, if I but hear of one 
 Who aims to rival Alvar. Were we not 
 Born in one day, like twins of the same parent ? 
 Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father! 
 A six years absence is a heavy thing, 
 Yet still the hope survives ■ 
 
 Vald. (looking forwards). Hush ! 'tis Monviedro. 
 
 Ter. The Inquisitor ! on what new scent of 
 blood? 
 
 Enter Monviedro with Alhadra. 
 
 Monv. (having first made his obeisance to Val- 
 dez and Teresa.) 
 Peace and the truth be with you ! Good my Lord, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 9 
 
 My present need is with your son. 
 
 (Looking forward. 
 We have hit the time. Here comes he ! Yes, 
 'tis he* 
 
 Enter from the opposite side Don Ordonio. 
 
 My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman 
 (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you. 
 
 Ord. Hail, reverend father ! what may be the 
 business ? 
 
 Mon. My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse 
 To his false creedj so lecently abjured, 
 The secret servants of the inquisition 
 Hare seized her husband, and at my command 
 To the supreme tribunal would have led him, 
 But that he made appeal to you, my lord, 
 As surety for his soundness in the faith. 
 Tho' lessen'd by experience what small trust 
 The asseverations of these Moors deserve, 
 Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, 
 Nor less the wish to prove* with what high honor 
 The Holy Church regards ner faithful soldiers, 
 Thus far prevailed with me that 
 
 Ord. Reverend father, 
 
 I am much beholden to vour high opinion, 
 Which so o'erprizes my light services. 
 
 (then to JAlhadra. 
 I would that I could serve you ; but in truth 
 Your face is new to me . 
 
 Mon. My mind foretold me, 
 
 That such would be the event. In truth, Lord 
 
 Valdez, 
 'Twas little probable, that Don Ordonio, 
 That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely 
 Some four years sinee to quell these rebel Moors, 
 
 c 
 
10 REMORSE ; 
 
 Should prove the patron of this infidel ! 
 The guarantee of a Moresco's faith ! 
 Now I return.* 
 
 Jihad. My Lord, my husband's name 
 
 Is Isidore. (Ordonio starts.) — You may re- 
 member it : 
 Three years ago, three years this very week, 
 You left him at Almeria. 
 
 Mon, Palpably false ! 
 
 This very week, three years ago, my lord, 
 (You needs must recollect it by your wound) 
 You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, 
 The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar! 
 (Teresa looks at Monviedro with disgust 
 and horror. Okdonio's appearance to be 
 collected from ivhatjollows.) 
 Mon. (to Valdez, and pointing at Ordonio.) 
 What is he ill, my Lord ? how strange he looks ! 
 Vald. (a?igj'ily.) You press' d upon him too 
 abruptly, father 1 
 The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted. 
 Ord. (starting as in sudden agitation.) 
 
 Heavens ! It — /doted? {then recovering himself.) 
 
 Yes ! I doted on him. 
 (Ordonio walks to the end of the stage, 
 Valdez/oIIozvs, soothing him.) 
 Ter. {her eye following Ordonio.) 
 
 1 do not, can not, love him. Is my heart bard ? 
 Is my heart hard ? that even now the thought 
 Should force itself upon me ? — Yet I feel it ! 
 
 Mon. The drops did start and stand upon hi6 
 forehead ! t 
 
 I will return. In very truth, I grieve 
 To have been the occasion. Ho ! attend me wo- 
 man ! 
 Jihad, (to Teresa.) O gentle lady ! make the 
 father stay, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 11 
 
 Until my lord recover. I am sure, 
 
 That he will say, he is my husband's friend. 
 
 Ter. Stay, father J stay ! my lord will soon re- 
 cover. 
 
 Ord. {as they return, to Valdez.) 
 Strange, that this Monviedro 
 Should have the power so to distemper me ! 
 
 Vald. Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son ! 
 
 Mon. My lord, I truly grieve 
 
 Ord. Tut ! name it not. 
 
 A sudden seizure, father ! think not of it. 
 As to this woman's husband, I do know him. 
 I know him well, and that he it a christian. 
 
 Mon. I hope, my lord, your merely human pity 
 Doth not prevail- 
 
 Ord. 'Tis certain that he was a catholic ; 
 What changes may have happen'd in three years, 
 I can not say ; but grant me this, good father : 
 Myself I'll sift him ; if I rind him sound, 
 You'll grant me your authority and name 
 To liberate his house. 
 
 Mon. Your zeal, my lord, 
 
 And your late merits in this holy warfare 
 Would authorize an ampler trust — you have it. 
 
 Ord. I will attend you, home within an hour. 
 
 Vald. Meantime return with us and take refresh- 
 meat. 
 
 Alhad. Not till my husband's free ! I may not 
 do it. 
 I will stay here. 
 
 Ter. {aside.) Who is this Isidore ? 
 
 Vald. Daughter I 
 
 Ter. With your permission, my dear lord, 
 I'll loiter yet awhile t'enjoy the sea breeze. 
 
 {Exeunt Valdez, Monviedro, 
 
 tffldORDONIO.J 
 
12 EEMORSE : 
 
 Jihad. Hah ! there he goes ! a bitter curse go 
 with him, 
 A scathing curse ! 
 
 {then as if recollecting herself, and with a t imid look) 
 You hate him, don't you, lady ? 
 
 Ter. (perceiving that Alhadra is conscious 
 she has spoken imprudently.) 
 Oh fear not me ! my heart is sad tor you. 
 
 Alhad. These fell inquisitors ! these sons of 
 / blood! 
 As I came on, his face so madden'd me, 
 That ever and anon I clutch'd my dagger 
 And half unsheath'd it- 
 
 Ter. Be more calm, I pray you. 
 
 Alhad. And as he walk'd along the narrow path 
 Close by the mountains edge, my soul grew eager; 
 Twas with hard toil I made mjself remember 
 That his Familiars held my babes and husband. 
 To have leapt upon him with a tygers plunge, 
 And hurl'd him down the rugged precipice, 
 O, it had been most sweet ! 
 
 Ter. Hush! hush for shame $ 
 
 Where is your woman's heart ? 
 
 Alhad. O gentle lady ! 
 
 You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, 
 Many and strange ! Besides, (ironically) I am a, 
 
 christian, 
 And christians never pardon — 'tis their faith ! 
 
 Ter. Shame fall on those who so have shown it 
 to thee ! 
 
 Alhad. . I know that man; 'tis well he knows 
 not me. 
 Five years ago (and he was the prime agent) 
 Five years ago the holy brethren seized me. 
 
 Ter. Wjjiat might your crime be ? 
 
 Alhad. I w as a Moresco, ! 
 
A TRAGEPY, 13 
 
 They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, 
 Into a dungeon of their prison house, 
 Where was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, 
 No touch, no sound of comfort ! The black air ? 
 It was a toil to breathe it ! when the door, 
 £>low opening at the appointed hour, disclosed 
 One human countenance, the lamp's red flame 
 Cower'd as it enter'd, and at once sunk down. 
 Oh miserable ! by that lamp to see 
 My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread 
 Brought daily : for the little wretch was sickly — 
 My rage had dried away its natural food. 
 Jn darkness I remained — the dull Bell counting, 
 Which haply told me, that the ail-cheering Sun 
 Was rising on our Garden. When I dozed, 
 My infant's moanings mingled with my slumbers 
 And waked me. — If you were a mother, lady, 
 I should scarce dare to tell you, that its noises 
 And peevish cries so fretted on my brain 
 That I have struck the innocent babe in anj»er. 
 
 Ter. O Heaven ! it is too horrible to hear. 
 
 Alhad. What was it then to suffer ? 'Tis most 
 right 
 That such as you should hear it, — Know you not* 
 What Nature males' you mourn, she bids you heal ? 
 Great Evils ask great Passions to redress them, 
 And Whirlwinds tidiest scatter Pestilence. 
 
 Ter. You were at length released ? 
 
 Alhad. Yes, at length 
 
 I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven ! 
 'Twas the first time my infant smifed. No more — - 
 For if I dwell upon that moment, Lady, 
 A trance comes on which makes me o'er again 
 All I then was — my knees hang loose and drag s 
 And my lip falls with such an idiot laugh, 
 That you would start and shudder I 
 
J4 KKMORSE : 
 
 Ter. But your husband 
 
 Jihad. A month's imprisonment would kill him, 
 
 Lady, 
 Ter. Alas, poor man ! 
 
 " 'A lhad. > He hath a lion's courage. 
 
 Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance ; 
 Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart 
 He worships nature in the hill and valley, 
 Not knowing what he loves, but love& it all — 
 
 Enter A lva r disg?iised as a Moresco, and in 
 Moorish garments. 
 
 Ter. Know you that stately Moor ? 
 Alhad. I know him not: 
 
 But doubt not he is some .Moresco chieftain, 
 Who hides himself among the Alpuxanas. 
 
 Ter. The Alpuxanas? Does he know his danger, 
 So near this seat ? 
 
 Alhad. He wears the Moorish robes too, 
 
 As in defiance of the royal edict. 
 
 [Alhad ra advances to Alvar, who has 
 walked to the back of the stage, near the 
 rocks. Teresa drops her veil.'] 
 Alhad. Gallant Moresco ! An inquisitor, 
 
 Monyiedro, of known hatred to our race > 
 
 Alv. {interrupting her,) 
 You have mistaken me. I am a christian. 
 
 Alhad. He deems, that we are plotting to en- 
 snare him ; 
 Speak to him, Lady — none can hear you speak, 
 And not believe you innocent of guile. 
 
 Ter. If ought enforce you to concealment, Sir— 
 Alhad. He trembles strangely. 
 
 [Alvar sinks down and hides his 
 face in his robe. 
 Ter. See, we have disturb'd him. 
 
 [approaches nearer to him. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 15 
 
 I pray you think us friends — uncowl your face r 
 For you seem faint, and the night breeze blows 
 
 healing. 
 I pray you think us friends ! 
 
 Alv. (raising his head.) Calm, very calm! 
 'Tis all too tranquil for reality ! 
 And she spoke to me with her innocent voice, 
 That voice, that innocent voice ! She is no traitress ! 
 Ter. Let us retire, {haughtily to Alhabra.) 
 (They advance to the front of the Stage.) 
 Alhad. (with scorn.) He is indeed a Christian. 
 Alv. {aside.) She deems me dead, yet wears 
 no mourning garment ! . 
 Why should my broth er's— wife — wear mourning 
 
 garments ? 
 (To Teresa) Your pardon, noble dame ! that I 
 
 disturb'd you : 
 I had just started from a frightful dream. 
 
 Ter. Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis 
 said, 
 They prophecy — 
 
 Alv. The Past lives o'er again 
 
 In it's effects, and to the guilty spirit 
 The ever frowning Present is it's image. 
 Ter. Traitress ! (then aside.) 
 
 What sudden spell o'ermasfers me? 
 Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman? 
 [Teresa looks round uneasily, but gra- 
 dually becomes attentive as Alvar pro- 
 ceeds in the next speech.] 
 Alv. I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I leant 
 With blindest trust, and a betrothed maid, 
 Whom I was wont to call not. mine, but me : 
 For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her, 
 This maid so idolized that trusted friend 
 Dishonour'd in my absence, soul and body! 
 Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, 
 
16 
 
 REMORS&: 
 
 And murderers were suborned against my life*. 
 But by my looks, and most impassion'd words, 
 I rous'd the virtues that are dead in no man, 
 Even in the assassins' hearts ! they made their 
 
 terms, 
 And thank'd me for redeeming them from murder. 
 
 Alhad. You are lost in thought : hear him no 
 more, sweet. Lady \ 
 
 Ter. From morn to night I am myself a dreamery 
 And slight things bring on me the idle mood I 
 Well sir, what happen'd then? 
 
 Ah. On a rude rock, 
 
 A rock, met nought, fast by a grove of firs, 
 Whose threaddy leaves to the low-breathing gale 
 Hade a soft sound most like the distant ocean, 
 I stay'd i as though the hour of death were pass'd, 
 And I were sitting in the world of spirits— 
 For all things seetnd unreal ! There I sate — 
 The dews fed clammy, and the night descende* 
 Black* sultry, close ! and ere the midnight hour 
 A storm came on, mingling all sounds of fear, 
 That woods, and sky, and mountains, seem'd one 
 
 havock. 
 The second flash of lightning shew'd a trere 
 Hard by me, newly scath'd. I rose tumultuous: 
 Mv soul work'd high, 1 bar'd my head to the storm, 
 And with loud voice and clamorous agony 
 Kneeling I pray'd to the great Spirit, that made me, 
 Prav'd, that Rumors*, might fatten on their hearts* 
 And cling with poisonous tooth, inextrieable 
 As the gor'd lion's bite ! 
 
 Ter. (shuddering.) A fearful curse ! 
 
 Alhad. (fiercely.) But dreamt you not that you 
 return'd and kill'd them ? 
 Dreamt you of no revenge ? 
 
 Atv. (His voice trembling, and in tones of 
 deep distress.) She would have died, 
 
A TRAGEDY. IT 
 
 Died in her guilt — perchance by her own hands ! 
 And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds, 
 I might have met the evil glance of frenzy, 
 And leapt myself into an un blest grave ! 
 I pray'd for the punishment that cleanses hearts : 
 For still I lov'd her ! 
 
 Alhad. And you dreamt all this ? 
 
 Ter. My soul is full of visions ail as wild ! 
 
 Alhad. There is no room in this heart for puling 
 love tales. 
 
 Ter. (Lifts up her veil, and advances to Alvar.) 
 Stranger farewell ! I guess not, who you are, 
 Nor why you so addressed your tale to me. 
 Your mien is noble, and I own, perplex'd me 
 With obscure memory of something past, 
 Which still escaped my efforts, or presented 
 Tricks of a fancy pampered with long wishing. 
 If, as it sometimes happens, our rude startling 
 Whilst your full heart was shaping out it's dream, 
 Drove you to this, your not ungentle, wildness — ■ 
 You have my sympathy, and so farewell ! 
 But if some undiscover'd wrongs oppress you, 
 And you need strength to drag them into light, 
 The generous Valdez, and my Lord Ordonio, 
 Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer, 
 Nor shall you want my favourable pleading. 
 
 {Eiveunt Teresa and Alhadra. 
 Ah. (alone.) -Tis strange ! It can not be ! my 
 Lord Ordonio ! 
 Her Lord Ordonio ! Nay, I will not do it ! 
 I cursed him once — and one curse is enough ! 
 How sad she look'd, and pale ! but not like guilt — 
 And her ca4m tones — sweet as a song of mercy ! 
 If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice, 
 Hell scarce were Hell. And why not innocent ? 
 Who meant to murder me, might well cheat her ? 
 
 D 
 
18 remorse: 
 
 But ere she married him, he had stain'd her honor — - 
 Ah ! there I am hamper'd— What if this were a lie 
 Fram'd by the assassin ? Who should tell it him, 
 If it were truth ? Ordonio would not tell him. 
 Yet why one lie ? all else, I know, was truth. 
 
 No start, no jealousy of stirring conscience ! 
 And she referr'd to me — fondly, methought ! 
 Could she walk here if she had been a traitress ? 
 Here where we play'd together in our childhood ? 
 Here where we plighted vows? where her cold cheek 
 Received my last kiss, when with suppressed feelings 
 She rj.ad fainted in my arms I It can not be ! 
 'Tis not in nature ! I will die believing, 
 That I shall meet her where no evil is, 
 No treachery, no cup dash'd from the lips. 
 I'll haunt this scene no more ! live she in peace ! 
 Her husband — -aye her husband ! May this angel 
 New mould his canker'd heart! — Assist me, heaven! 
 That I may pray for my poor guilty brother. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 END OP THE FIRST ACT. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A wild and mountainous Country. Ordonto and 
 Isidore are discovered, supposed at a little dis- 
 tance from Isidore's house. 
 
 Ord. Here we may stop : your house distinct in 
 view, 
 Yet we secured from listeners. 
 
A TRAGEDY- 1$ 
 
 Isidi Now indeed 
 
 My house ! and it looks cheerful as the clusters 
 Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock, 
 That over brows it ! Patron! Friend! Preserver! 
 Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle 
 You gave it me : next rescued me from suicide, 
 When for my follies I was made to wander, 
 With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them : 
 Now but for you, a dungeon's s>limy stones 
 Had been my bed and pillow. 
 
 Ord. Good Isidore ! 
 
 Why this to me? It is enough, you know it. 
 Isid. A common trick of Gratitude, my lord, 
 
 Seeking to ease her own full heart 
 
 Ord. Enough !— ~ 
 
 A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. 
 You have it in your power to serve me greatly. 
 hid. And how my lord ? I pray you name the 
 thing. 
 I would climb up an ice-glazed precipice 
 To pluck a weed you fancied ! 
 
 Ord. (zvith embarrassment and hesitation.) 
 
 Why — that — Lady— 
 hid. 'Tis now three years, my lord, since last I 
 saw you : 
 Have you a son, my lord ? 
 
 Ord. O miserable — (aside.) 
 
 Isidore ! you are. a man, and know mankind. 
 I told you what I wish'd— now for the truth — • 
 She loved the man, you kill'd. 
 
 Isid. (looking as suddenly alarmed.) 
 
 You jest, my lord ? 
 Ord. And tiH his death is proved she will not 
 
 wed me. 
 Isid, You sport with me, my lord ? 
 Ord, < Come, come ! this foolery 
 
 Lives only in thy looks, thy heart disowns it ! 
 
20 &EMORSE : 
 
 Isid. I can bear this, and any thing more grievous 
 From you, my lord — but how can I serve you here ? 
 
 Ord. Why you can utter with a solemn gesture 
 Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, 
 Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics — 
 
 Isid. I am dull, my lord I I do not comprehend 
 you. 
 
 Ord. In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer. 
 She hath no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true : 
 Her lover school'd her in some newer nonsense ! 
 Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her. 
 She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, 
 Shivers, and can not keep the tears in her eye : 
 And such do love the marvellous too well 
 Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy 
 With a strange music, that she knows not of — 
 With fumes of frankincense, and mummery, 
 Then leave, as one sure token of his death, 
 That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck 
 I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest. 
 
 Isid. Will that be a sure sign ? 
 
 Ord. Beyond suspicion. 
 
 Fondly caressing him, her favour'd lover, 
 (By some base spell he had bewitch'd her senses) 
 She whisper \i such dark fears of me forsooth, 
 As made this heart pour gall into my veins. 
 And as she coyly bound it round his neck, 
 She made him promise silence ; and now holds 
 The secret of the existence of this portrait 
 Known only to her lover and herself. 
 But I had traced her, stoln unnotic'd on them, 
 And unsuspected saw and heard the whole. 
 
 Isid. But now I should have cursed the man 
 who told me 
 You could ask ought, my lord, and I refuse- 
 But this I can not do. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 2 f 
 
 Ord. Where lies your scruple? 
 
 Isid. (with stammering.) Why — why, my lord ■! 
 You know you told me that the lady lov'd you, 
 Had loved you with incautious tenderness ; 
 That if the young man, her betrothed husband, 
 Returned, yourself, and she, and the honour of both 
 Must perish. Now, tho' with no tenderer scruples 
 Than those which being native to the heart, 
 Than those, my lord, which merely being a man — 
 
 Ord. (aloud, though to express his contempt lie 
 speaks in the third person ) 
 This Fellow is a Man — he kill'd for hire 
 One whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples! 
 
 [then turning to Isidore] 
 These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammer- 
 ing- - 
 Pish, fool ! thou bhmder'st thro' the book of guilt, 
 Spelling thy villainy \ 
 
 Isid. My lord — my lord— 
 
 I can bear much — yes, very much from you ! 
 But there's a point where sufferance is meanness ; 
 I am no villain — never kilFd for hire — 
 My gratitude 
 
 Ord. O aye — your gratitude ! 
 
 *Twas a well-sounding word- -what have you done 
 with it r 
 
 Isid. Who proffers his past favors for my virtue— 
 
 Ord. (zvith bitter scorn.) Virtue 
 
 Isid, Tries to o'erreach me — is a very sharper, 
 And should not speak of gratitude, my lord. 
 I knew not 'twas your brother ! 
 
 Ord. (alarmed.) And who told you ? 
 
 Isid. He himself told me. 
 
 Ord. Ha! you talk'd with him! 
 
 And those, the two Morescoes who were with you? 
 
 Isid. Both fell i» a night brawl at Malaga- 
 
22 remorse : 
 
 Orel, (in a low twice.) My brother — 
 hid* Yes, my lord, I could not tell you { 
 I thrust away the thought — it drove me wild. 
 
 But listen to me now — 1 pray you listen 
 
 Ord. Villain! no more. I'll hear no more of if, 
 Isid. My lord, it much imports your future safety 
 That you should hear it. 
 
 Ord. (turning off from Isidore.) 
 
 Am not /a Man ? 
 Tis as it should be ! tut — the deed itself 
 Was idle, and these after-pangs still idler! 
 Isid. We met him in the very place you men- 
 tioned, 
 Hard by a grove of firs— 
 
 Ord. Enough — enough — 
 
 isid. He fought us valiantly, and wounded all ; 
 
 In fine, compell'd a parley 
 
 Or d. {sighing as if lost in thought.) 
 
 Alvar ! brother ! 
 Isid. He ofter'd me his purse — 
 Ord. (zm'th eager suspicion.) Yes ? 
 Isid. {indignantly.) Yes — I spurn'd it- 
 He promised us I know not what —in vain I 
 Then with a look and voice that overawed me, 
 He said, What mean you, friends? My life is dear: 
 I have a brother and a promised wife, 
 Who make lite dear to me — and if I fall, 
 That brother will roam earth and hell for vengeance. 
 There was a likeness in his face to yours — 
 1 ask'd his brother's name : he said- -Ordonio, 
 Son of lord Valdez ! I had well nigh fainted. 
 At length I said (if that indeed / said it, 
 And that no Spirit made my tongue it's organ,) 
 That woman is dishonor'd by that brother, 
 And he the man who sent us to destroy you. 
 He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him, 
 
A TRAGEDY- 2.3 
 
 He wore her portrait round his neck.— He looked 
 As he had been made of the rock that propt his 
 
 back — 
 Aye, just as you look now — only less ghastly! 
 At length recovering from his trance, he threw 
 His sword away, and bade us take his life — 
 It was not worth his keeping, 
 
 Ord. And you kill'd him ? 
 
 Oh blood hounds I may eternal wrath flame round 
 
 you ! 
 He was his Maker's Image undefac'd ! 
 
 ( a pause.) 
 It seizes me— by Hell I will go on ! 
 What — would'st thou stop, man ? thy pale looks 
 won't save thee ! 
 
 \a pause.) 
 Oh cold — cold — cold ! shot thro' with icy cold ! 
 Isid- {aside.) Were he alive he had return'd ere 
 now— 
 The consequence the same — dead thro' his plotting! 
 
 Ord. O this unutterable dying away — here — 
 This sickness of the heart ! (a pause. 
 
 What if I went 
 And liv'd in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds ? 
 Aye! that's the road to heaven ! O fool! fool! fool! 
 
 (a pause.) 
 What have I done but that which nature destin'd, 
 Or the blind elements stirr'd up within me ? 
 If good were meant, why were we made these Beings? 
 And if not meant — 
 
 Is'ul. You are disturbed, my lord ! 
 
 Ord. {starts, looks at him zvildly j then, after 
 a pause, during which his features are 
 forced into a smile.) 
 A gust of the soul ! i'faith, it overset me. 
 O 'twas all folly — all ! idle as laughter ! 
 Now, Isidore ! I swear that thou shalt aid me. 
 
24 remorse: 
 
 Isid. (in a low voice.) I'll perish first ! 
 
 Ord. What dost thou mutter of? 
 
 Isid. Some of your servants know me, I am 
 certain. 
 
 Ord. There's some sense in that scruple ; but 
 we'll mask you. 
 
 isid. They'll know my' gait: but stay ! last 
 night I watch'd 
 A stranger near the ruin in the wood, 
 Who as it seem'd was gathering herbs and wild 
 
 flowers. 
 I had follow'd him at distance, seen him scale 
 Its western wall, and by an easier entrance 
 Stoln after him unnoticed. There I marked, 
 That mid the chequer work of light and shade 
 With curious choice he pluck'd no other flowers, 
 But those on which the moonlight fell : and once 
 I heard him muttering o'er the plant. A Wizard — 
 Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employ- 
 ment. 
 
 Ord. Doubtless you question'd him ? 
 
 Isid. Twas my intention,. 
 
 Having first traced him homeward to his haunt. 
 But lo ! the stern Dominican, whose spies 
 Lurk every where, already (as it seem'd) 
 Had given commission to his apt familiar 
 To seek and sound the Moor ; who now returning, 
 Was by this trusty agent stopp'd midway. 
 I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him 
 In that lone place, again conceal'd myself: 
 Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd, 
 And in your name, as lord of this domain. 
 Proudly he answer'd, Say to the lord Ordonio, 
 *• He that can bring the dead to life again !'* 
 
 Ord. A strange reply ! 
 
 Isid. Aye, ajl of him is strange. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 2£ 
 
 He call'd himself a christian, yet he wears 
 The Moorish robes, as if he courted death. 
 
 Ord. Where does this wizzard live? 
 
 Isid. {pointing to the distance.) 
 
 You see that brooklet ? 
 Trace its course backward : thro' a narrow opening 
 It leads you to the place. 
 
 Ord. How shall I know it ? 
 
 Isid. You cannot err. It is a small green dell 
 Built all around with high off-sloping hills, 
 And from its shape our peasants aptly call it 
 The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst, 
 And round its banks tall wood tiiat branches over, 
 And makes a kind of faery forest grow 
 Down in the water. At the further end 
 A puny cataract falls on the lake : 
 And there, a curious sight ! you see its shadow 
 For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke, 
 Up thro' the foliage of those faery trees. 
 His cot stands opposite. You can not miss it. 
 
 Ord. [in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of 
 the scene, and then turning round to Isidore) 
 Ha! — Who lurks there? Have we been overheard ? 
 There where the smooth high wall of slate-rock glit- 
 ters — 
 
 Isid. 'Neath those tall stones, which propping, 
 each the other, 
 Form a mock portal with their pointed arch ?- — 
 Pardon my smiles ! — Tis a poor Ideot Boy, 
 Who sits in the Sun, and twirls a Bough about, 
 His weak eyes seeth'd in most unmeaning tears. 
 And so he sits, swaying his cone-like Head, 
 And staring at his Bough from Morn to Sun-set 
 See-saws his Voice in inarticulate Noises. 
 
 Ord. 'Tis well ! and now for this same Wizard's 
 Lair. 
 
 Isid. Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash 
 
 E 
 
86 remorse; 
 
 Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters 
 O'er the old thatch. 
 
 Ord. I shall not fail to find it. 
 
 [Exeunt Ordonio and Isidore. 
 
 SC£NE II. 
 
 The inside of a Cottage, around which flowers and 
 plants of various kinds are seen. Discovers 
 Alvar, Zulimez and Alhadra, as on the 
 point of leaving. 
 
 Alhad. {addressing Alva r.) 
 Farewell then ! and tho* many thoughts perplex me, 
 Aught evil or ignoble never can I 
 Suspect of Thee ! If what thou seem'st thou art, 
 The oppressed brethren of thy blood have need 
 Of such a leader. 
 
 Alv. Nobly minded woman ! 
 
 Long time against oppression have I fought, 
 And for the native liberty of faith 
 Have bled and suffer'd bonds. Of this be certain ; 
 Time, as he courses onward, still unrolls 
 The volume of Concealment. In the Future, 
 As in the optician's glassy cylinder, 
 The indistinguishable blots and colors 
 Of the dim Past collect and shape themselves, 
 Upstarting in their own completed image 
 To scare or to reward. 
 
 I sought the guilty, 
 And what I sought I found : but ere the spear 
 Flew from my hand, there rose an angel form 
 Betwixt me and my aim. With baffled purpose 
 To the Avenger I leave Vengeance, and depart I 
 
 Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid, 
 
A TRAGEDY, 27 
 
 Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee : 
 For many are thy wrongs, and thy soul noble. 
 Once more farewell. [Exit Alhadra. 
 
 Yes, to the Bclgic states 
 We will return. These robes, this stain'd com- 
 plexion, 
 Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit. 
 Whate'er befall us, the heroic Maurice 
 Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance 
 Of our past services. 
 
 Zul. And all the wealth, power, influence which 
 is yours, 
 You let a murderer hold ? 
 
 Ah. O faithful Zulimez ! 
 
 That my return involved Ordonio's death, 
 I trust, would give me an unmingled pang, 
 Yet bearable :— but when I see my father 
 Strewing his scant grey hairs, e'en on the ground, 
 Which soon must be his grave, and my Teresa — - 
 Her husband proved a murderer, and her infants 
 His infants — poor Teresa ! — all would perish, 
 All perish — all ! and I (nay bear with me) 
 Could not survive the complicated ruin ! 
 
 Zul. {much affected^) 
 Nay now ! I have distress' d you — ^you well know, 
 I ne'er will quit your fortunes. True, 'tis tiresome ! 
 You are a painter*, one of many fancies ! 
 You can call up past deeds, and make them live 
 On the blank canvas ; and each little herb, 
 That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest, 
 
 You have learnt to name- 
 
 Hark ! heard you not some footsteps ? 
 
 Ah. What if it were my brother coming onwards? 
 I sent a most mysterious message to him. 
 
 Vide Appendix, page 77. 
 
2$ REMORSE I 
 
 Enter Ordonio. 
 
 Ah. (starting.) It is he ! 
 
 Ord. (to himself as he enters.) 
 If I distinguish' d right her gait, and stature, 
 It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife, 
 That pass'd me as I enter'd. A lit taper, 
 In the night air, doth not more naturally 
 Attract the night flies round it, than a conjuror 
 Draws round him the whole female neighbourhood. 
 
 {addressing Alvar. 
 You know my name, I guess, if not my person. 
 I am Ordonio, son of the lord Valdez. 
 
 Ah. {with deep emotion.) The son of Valdez ! 
 [Ordonio walks leisurely round the room, 
 and looks attentively at the plants. 
 
 Zul. {to Alvar.) Why what ails you now ? 
 How your hand trembles ! Alvar, speak ! what 
 wish you ? 
 
 Ah. To fall upon his neck and weep forgiveness ! 
 
 Ord. {returning, and aloud.) 
 Pluck'd in the moonlight from a ruin'd abbey — 
 Those only, which the pale rays visited ! 
 O the unintelligible power of weeds, 
 When a few odd prayers have been mutter'd o'er 
 
 them : 
 Then they work miracles ! I warrant you, 
 There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks 
 Some serviceable, imp.* 
 
 There's one of you 
 Hath sent me a strange message. 
 
 Ah, I am he. 
 
 Ord* With you, then, I am to speak : 
 
 (Haughtily waving his hand to Zulimez. 
 And mark you, alone. [Exit Zulimez. 
 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again !" — 
 Such was your message, Sir ! You are no dullard, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 29 
 
 But one that strips the outward rind of things ! 
 
 Alv. *Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting 
 rinds, 
 That are all dust and rottenness within. 
 Would'st thou 1 should strip such ? 
 
 Ord. Thou quibbling fool, 
 
 What dost thou mean? Think'st thou I journey'd 
 
 hither, 
 To sport with thee ? 
 
 Alv. O no, my lord ! to sport 
 
 Best suits the gaiety of innocence. 
 
 Ord. (aside.) 
 O what a thing is man ! the wisest heart 
 A Fool ! a Fool that laughs at its own folly, 
 Yet still a Fool ! (Looks round the cottage. 
 
 You are poor ! 
 
 Alv. What follows thence ? 
 
 Ord. That you would fain be richer. 
 
 The inquisition, too — You comprehend me ? 
 You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power, 
 Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty : 
 And for the boon I ask of you but this, 
 That you should serve me — once — for a few hours. 
 
 Alv. (solemnly.) 
 Thou art the son of Valdez ! would to Heaven 
 That I could truly and for ever serve thee. 
 
 Ord. The slave begins to soften. {aside.) 
 
 You are my friend — 
 *' He that can bring the dead to life again " — 
 Nay, no defence to me ! The holy brethren 
 Believe these calumnies — I know thee better. 
 
 (then with great bitterness. 
 Thou art a man, and as a man I'll trust thee ! 
 
 Alv. {aside.) 
 Alas ! this hollow mirth — Declare your business, 
 
 Ord. I love a lady, and she would love me 
 But for an idle and fantastic scruple. 
 
30 REMORSE : 
 
 Have you no servants here, no listeners ? 
 
 [Ordoxio steps to the door. 
 
 Alv. What faithless too r False to his angel wife ? 
 To such a #tfe ? Well might'st thou look so wan, 
 
 IU-starr'd Teresa ! Wretch ! my softer soul 
 
 Is pass'd away, and I will probe his conscience ! 
 
 Ord. In truth this lady lov'd another man, 
 But he has perish'd. 
 
 Alv. What ! you kill'd him ? hey ? 
 
 Ord. I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but 
 think'st it ! 
 Insolent slave ! how dar'dst thou — 
 
 {turns abruptly fron. Alvar, 
 and then to himself.) 
 
 Why ! what's this ? 
 *Twas idiocy ! I'll tie myself to an aspen, 
 And wear a fool's cap — 
 
 Alv. (watching his agitation.) Fare thee well — 
 I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish. 
 
 [Alvar is retiring. 
 
 Ord. (having recovered himself). 
 Ho ! {calling to Alvar.) 
 
 Alv, Be brief, what wish you ? 
 
 Ord, You are deep at bartering — You charge 
 yourself 
 At a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely. 
 
 Alv. I listen to you. 
 
 Ord. In a sudden tempest, 
 
 Did Alvar perish — he, I mean— the lover— 
 The fellow 
 
 Alv. Nay, speak out ! 'twill ease your heart 
 To call him villain! — Why stand'st thou aghast? 
 Men think it natural to hate their rivals. 
 
 Ord. (hesitating.) 
 Now, till she knows him dead, she will not wed me. 
 
 Alv. (with eager vehemence.) 
 Are you not wedded then ? Merciful Heaven ! 
 
A TRAGEDY. 31 
 
 Not wedded to Teresa ? 
 
 Ord. Why what ails thee ? 
 
 What, art thou mad? why look'stthou upward so? 
 Dost pray to Lucifer, Prince of the Air ? 
 
 Alv. [recollecting himself.) 
 Proceed. I shall be silent. (Alvar sits, and 
 leaning on the table, hides his face.) 
 
 Ord. To Teresa f 
 
 Politic wizzard ! ere you sent that message, 
 You had conn'd your lesson, made yourself proficient 
 In all my fortunes. Hah ! you prophecied 
 A golden crop ! Well, you have not mistaken— 
 Be faithful to me and I'll pay thee nobly. 
 
 Alv. [lifting up his head.) 
 Well ! and this lady ! 
 
 Ord. If we could make her certain of his death, 
 She needs must wed me — Ere her lover left her, 
 She tied a little portrait round his neck, 
 Entreating him to wear it. 
 
 Alv. (sighing.) Yes ! he did so ! 
 
 Ord. Why no : he was afraid of accidents, 
 Of robberies, and shipwrecks, and the like. 
 In secrecy he gave it me to keep, 
 Till his return. 
 
 Alv. What ! he was your friend then? 
 
 Ord. (zvounded and embarrassed.) 
 I was his friend. — 
 
 Now that he gave it me, 
 This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizard — 
 Can call the dead man up — he will not come — 
 He is in heaven then — there you have no influence. 
 Still there are tokens — and your imps may bring you 
 Something he wore about him when he died. 
 And when the smoke of the incense on the altar 
 Is pa3s'd, your spirits will have left this picture. 
 What say you now ? 
 
 Alv. (after a pause.) Ordonio, I will do it. h 
 
S3 remorse : 
 
 Ord. "We'll hazard no delay. Be it to-night, 
 In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Valdez/ 
 I will prepare him. Music too, and incense, 
 (For I have arranged it — Music, Altar, Incense) 
 All shall be ready. Here is this same picture, 
 And here, what you will value more, a purse. 
 Come early for your magic ceremonies. 
 
 Ah. I will not fail to meet you. 
 
 Ord. Till next we meet, farewell ! 
 
 \Eocit Ord on 10. 
 
 ■Alv * (alone, indignantly flings the purse away, 
 and gazes passionately at the portrait). 
 And I did curse thee ? 
 At midnight ? on my knees? and I believed 
 Thee perjur'd, thee a traitress ! Thee dishonor'd ? 
 
 blind and credulous fool ! O guilt of folly ! 
 Should not thy inarticulate Fondnesses, 
 
 Thy Infant Loves — should not thy Maiden Vows 
 Have come upon my heart ? And this sweet Image 
 Tied round my neck with many a chaste endearment, 
 And thrillinghands,that made me weep and tremble— 
 Ah, coward dupe ! to yield it to the miscreant, 
 Who spake pollution of thee ! Ibarter for Life 
 This farewell Pledge, with which impassion'd Vow 
 
 1 had sworn, that I would grasp — ev'n in my Death- 
 
 pang ! 
 
 I am unworthy of thy love, Teresa, 
 Of that unearthly smile upon those lips, 
 Which ever smil'd on me ! Yet do not scorn me — 
 I lisp'd thy name, ere I had learnt my mother's. 
 
 Dear Portrait ! rescued from a traitor's keeping, 
 I will not now prophane thee, holy Image, 
 To a dark trick. That worst bad man shall find 
 A picture, which will Make the hell within him, 
 And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND ACT. 
 
A TRAGEDY* 33 
 
 ACT HI. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A Hall of Armory, with an Altar at the hack 
 of the Stage. Soft Music from an Instrument 
 of Glass or Steel. 
 
 Valdeiz, Ordonio, and Alvar in a Sorcerer's 
 robe, are discovered. 
 
 Ord. This was too melancholy, Father. 
 
 Vald. Nay, 
 
 My Alvar lov'd sad music from a child. 
 Once he was lost ; and after weary search 
 We found him in an open place in the wood, 
 To which spot he had followed a hlind boy, 
 Who breath'd into a pipe of sycamore 
 Some strangely moving notes : and these, he said. 
 Were taught him in a dream. Him we first saw 
 Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank: 
 And lower dow*n poor Alva it, fast asleep, 
 His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleas'd me 
 To mark how he had fastend round the pipe 
 A silver toy his grandam had late given him. 
 Methinks I see him now as he then look'd— 
 Even so !— He had outgrown his infant dress, 
 Yet still he wore it. 
 
 Ah. My tears must not flow ! 
 
 I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father ! 
 
 Enter Teresa, and Attendants. 
 
 Ter. Lord Valdez, you have asked my presence^ 
 here, 
 
 F 
 
54 REMORSE : 
 
 And I submit; but (Heaven bear witness for me) 
 My heart approves it not I 'tis mockery. 
 
 Ord. Believe you then no preternatural influence* 
 Believe you not that spirits throng around us ? 
 
 Ter. Say rather that I have imagin'd it 
 A possible thing : and it has sooth'd my soul 
 As other fancies have ; but ne'er seduced me 
 To traffick with the black and frenzied hope 
 That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard. 
 {To Alvar) Stranger, I mourn and blush to see 
 
 you here, 
 On such employment ! With far other thoughts 
 I left you. 
 
 Ord. (aside) Ha! he has been tampering with her? 
 
 Abo. Ohigh-soul'd Maiden! and more dear to me 
 Than suits the Stranger's name ! — 
 
 I swear to thee 
 I will uncover all concealed Guilt. 
 Doubt, but decide not ! Stand ye' from the altar. 
 [Here a strain of music is heard froin 
 behind the scene.} 
 
 Ah. With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm 
 I call up the Departed ! 
 
 Soul of Alvar! 
 Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spell ; 
 So may the Gates of Paradise, unbarr'd, 
 Cease thy swift toils ! Since haply thou art one 
 Gf that innumerable company 
 Who in brOad circle, lovelier than the rainbow, ' 
 Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, 
 With noise too vast; and constant to be heard : 
 Fitliest unheard ! For oh, ye numberless, 
 And rapid Travellers ! what ear unstunn'd, 
 What sense unmadden'd, might bear up against 
 The rushing of your congregated wings ? 
 [Music] 
 
A TRAGEDY. 35 
 
 Even now your living wheel turns o'er my head ! 
 [ Music expressive of the movements and 
 images that follow.] 
 Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desart Sands, 
 That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters, 
 A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion 
 To the parch'd caravan that roams by night ! 
 And ye build up on the becalmed waves 
 That whirling pillar, which from Earth to Heaven 
 Stands vast, and moves in blackness ! Ye too split 
 The ice mount! and with fragments many and huge 
 Tempest the new-thaw'd sea, whose sudden gulphs 
 Suck in, perchance, some Lapland wizard's skiff! 
 Then round and round the whirlpool's marge ye dance, 
 Till from the blue swoln Corse the Soul toils out, 
 And joins your mighty Army. 
 
 [Here behind the scenes a voice sings the three 
 words, " Hear, sweet Spirit**] 
 Soul of Alvar ! 
 Hear the mild spell, and tempt no blacker Charm ! 
 By sighs unquiet, and the sickly pang 
 Of a half dead, yet still undying Hope, 
 Pass visible before our mortal sense ! 
 So shall the Church's cleansing rites be thine, 
 ijer knells and masses, that redeem the Dead ! 
 
 Behind the Scenes, accompanied by the same 
 Instrument as before. ' 
 
 Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, 
 Lest a blacker charm compel ! 
 So shall the midnight breezes swell 
 With thy deep long-lingering knell. 
 
 And at evening evermore, 
 In a Chapel on the shore, 
 Shall the Chaunters sad and saintly, 
 
36 remorse: 
 
 Yellow tapers burning faintly, 
 Doleful Masses chaunt for thee, 
 Miserere Domine ! 
 
 Hark ! the cadence dies away 
 
 On the yellow moonlight sea : 
 The boatmen rest their oars and say, 
 
 Miserere Domine ! 
 
 [A long Pause. 
 
 Ord. The innocent obey nor charm nor spell ! 
 My brother is in heaven. Thou sainted spirit, 
 Burst on our sight, a passing visitant ! 
 Once more to hear thy voice, once more to see thee, 
 O 'twere a joy to rue ! 
 
 Alv.. A joy to thee ! 
 
 What if thou heardst him now? What if his spirit 
 Re-enter'd it's cold corse, and came upon thee 
 Wtth many a stab from many a murderer's poniard? 
 What if (his stedfast Eye still beaming Pity 
 And Brother's love) he turn'd his head aside, 
 Lest he should look at thee, and with one look 
 Hurl thee beyond ali power of Penitence ? 
 
 Vald. These are unholy fancies ! 
 
 Ord. (Struggling with his feelings ) 
 
 Yes, my father^ 
 He is in Heaven ! 
 
 4I>V' (Still tO ORDOfrlO.) 
 
 But what if he had a brother, 
 Who had liv'd even so, that at his dying hour, 
 The name of heaven would havecqnvuls'd his face, 
 ^Iore than the death-pang f 
 
 Veil, Idly prating man ! 
 
 Thou hast guess'd ill : Don Alvar's only brother 
 Stands here before thee — a father's blessing on him ! 
 Jie is most virtuous. 
 
 Alp. (Still tO OllBONloJ 
 
 What, if his very virtues 
 
A TRAGEDY. 37 
 
 Had pamper'd his swoln heart and made him proud ? 
 And what if Pride had dup'd.him into guilt? 
 Yet still he stalk'd a self created God, 
 J^ot very bold, but exquisitely cunning ; 
 And one that at his Mother's looking glass 
 Would force his features to a frowning sternness ? 
 Young Lord! I tell thee,that there are such Beings — 
 Yea, and it gives fierce merriment to the damn'd, 
 To see these most proud men, that loath mankind, 
 At every stir and buz of coward conscience, 
 Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypocrites ! 
 Away, away ! Now let me hear more music. 
 [Music again]. 
 Ter. 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures ! 
 But whatsoe'er it mean, I dare no longer 
 Pe present at these lawless mysteries, 
 This dark Provoking of the Hidden Powers ! 
 Already I affront — if not high Heaven — 
 Yet Alvai's Memory 1- Hark ! I make appeal 
 Against th' unholy rite, and hasten hence 
 To bend before a lawful Shrine, and seek 
 That voice which whispers, when the still Heart 
 
 listens, 
 Comfort and faithful Hope ! Let us retire. 
 
 Alv. (To Teresa anxiously). 
 O full of faith and guileless love, thy Spirit 
 Still prompts thee wisely." Let the pangs of guilt 
 'Surprise the guilty : thou art innocent ! 
 
 [Exeunt Teresa and Attendant. 
 (Music as before.) 
 The spell is mutter'd— Come, thou wandering Shape, 
 Who own'st no Master in a human eye, 
 Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it, or foul, 
 If he be dead, O come ! and bring with thee 
 That which he grasp'd in death! But if he live, 
 Some token of his obscure perilous life. 
 
 [The whole Musk clashes into a Chorus* 
 
38 remoksir : 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Wandering Demons ! hear the spell ! 
 Lest a blacker charm compel— 
 
 [The incense on the altar takes fire suddenly, 
 and an illuminated picture of Alyar'j 
 assassination is discovered, and having re- 
 mained a jew seconds is then hidden by 
 ascending flames.] 
 Ord. (starting in great agitation.) 
 Duped ! duped ! duped ! — the traitor Isidore ! 
 [At this instant the doors t are forced open, 
 Monviedro and the familiars of the m- 
 quisition, servants, 8fc. enter and Jill the 
 stage.] 
 Man. First seize the sorcerer! suffer him not 
 to speak ! 
 The holy judges of the Inquisition 
 Shall hear his first words. — Look you pale, lord 
 
 Valdez? ' 
 Plain evidence have we here of most foul sorcery. 
 There is a dungeon underneath this castle, 
 And as you hope for mild interpretation, 
 Surrender instantly the keys and charge of it, 
 Ord. (recovering himself as from stupor > to 
 the servants.) 
 "Why haste you not? Off with him to the dungeon ! 
 
 [All rush out in tumult, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Interior of a Chapel, with painted Windows. 
 
 Enter Teresa. 
 
 When first I enter'd this pure spot, forebodings 
 Press'd heavy on my heart : but as I knelt. 
 Such calm .unwonted bliss possess'd my spirit, 
 A trance so cloudless, tfjat those sounds, hard by, 
 
A 'TRAGEDr. 5$ 
 
 Of trampling uproar fell upon mine ear 
 As alien and unnoticed as the rain-storm 
 Beats on the roof of some fair banquet- room, 
 While sweetest melodies are warbling 
 
 Enter Valdez. . 
 
 Void. Ye pitying saints, forgive a father's blind- 
 ness, 
 And extricate us from this net of peril ! 
 
 Ter. Who wakes anew my fears, and speaks of 
 
 peril ? 
 Void. O best Teresa, wisely wert thou prompted! 
 This was no feat of mortal agency ! 
 That picture — Oh, that picture tells me all ! 
 With a flash of light it came, in flames it vanish'd, 
 Self- kindled, self-cons iiin'd : bright as thy Life, 
 Sudden and unexpected as thy Fate, 
 Alvar ! My Son ! My Son ! — The Inquisitor — 
 Ter. Torture me not ! But Alvar — -Oh of Alvar ^ 
 Vald. How often would He plead for these Mo- 
 rescoes ! 
 The brood accurst! remorseless, coward murderers! 
 
 Ter, (wildly. ) 
 So ? so ?— -I comprehend you — He is— — 
 Vald. (with aver ltd countenance.) 
 
 He is no morel 
 Ter. O sorrow ! that a Father's Voice should say 
 this, 
 A Father's' Heart believe it ! 
 
 Vald. A worse sorrow 
 
 Are Fancy's wild Hopes to a heart despairing! 
 Ter. These rays that slant in thro' those gorgeous 
 ) windows, 
 From yon bright orb — tho r colord as they pass, 
 
40 fcEMORSE i 
 
 Are they not Light ? — Even so that voice, Lord 
 
 Valdez ! 
 Which whispers to my soul, tho* haply varied 
 By many a Fancy, many a wishful Ho^e, 
 Speaks yet the Truth : and Alvar lives for me f 
 Vatd. Yes, for three wasting years, thus and nd 
 other, 
 He has Jiv'd for thee — a spirit for thy spirit ! 
 My child, we must not give religious faith 
 To every voice which makes the heart a listener 
 To its own wish. 
 
 Ter 4 1 breathed to the Unerring 
 
 Permitted prayers. Must those remain unanswered, 
 Yet impious Sorcery, that holds no commune 
 Save with the lying spirit, claim belief? 
 
 Vald. O not to-day, not now for the first time 
 Was Aivar lost to thee — 
 
 (turning off] aloud, but yet as to himself. 
 Accurst assassins ! 
 Disarmed, o'erpower'd, despairing of defence, 
 At his bared breast he seem'd to grasp some relict 
 More dear than was his life- — -- 
 Ter. {with faint shriek.) 
 
 O [leavens I my portrait I 
 And he did grasp it in his death pang ! 
 
 Off, false Demon, 
 That beat'st thy black wings close above my head ! 
 [Ordonio enters with the keys of 
 the dungeon in his hand.] 
 Hush ! who comes here ? The wizard Moor's em- 
 ployer ! 
 Moors were his murderers, you say? Saints shield us 
 
 From wicked thoughts 
 
 [Valpez moves toward the back of the stag* 
 to meet Ordonio, and during the conclud- 
 ing lines of Teresa'.? speech appears as 
 eagerly conversing with him.] 
 
A ffcAGEDY. 41 
 
 Is Alvar dead ? what then ? 
 The nuptial rites and funeral shall be one ! 
 Here's ho abiding-place for thee, Teresa. — 
 Away ! they see me not — 77/ ou seest me, Alvar I 
 To thee I bend my course.— But first one question, 
 One question to Ordonio. — My limbs tremble — 
 There I may sit unmark'd — a moment will restore me. 
 
 {retires out of sight.) 
 
 Ord. (as he advances with Valdez.) 
 These are the dungeon keys. Monviedro knew not, 
 That I too had received the wizard's message* 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again." 
 But now he is satisfied* I plann'd this scheme 
 To work a full conviction on the 'culprit* 
 And he entrusts him wholly to my keeping. 
 
 Vald. 'Tis well, my son ! But have you yet dis- 
 cover'd 
 (Where is Teresa ?) what those speeches meant — 
 Pride, and Hypocrisy, and Guilt, and Cunning ? 
 Then when the wizard fix'd his eye on you, 
 And you, I know not why, look'd pale and trem- 
 
 5 bled— 
 Why — why, what ails you now ? — 
 
 Ord. (confused.) Me? what ails me? 
 
 A pricking of the blood — It might have happcu'd 
 At any other time* —Why scan you me ? 
 
 Vald. His speech about the corse, and stabs, 
 and murderers, 
 Bore reference to the assassins 
 
 Ord, Dup'd! dup'd! dup'd! 
 
 The traitor, Isidore ! (a pause, then wildly. 
 
 I tell thee, my dear father ! 
 I am most glad of this. 
 
 Vald. {confused.) Tme-r-Sorcery 
 Merits its doom ; and this perchance may guide us 
 To the discovery of the murderers. 
 I have their statures and their several faces 
 
 G 
 
42 remorse : 
 
 So present to me, that but once to meet them 
 Would be to recognize. 
 
 Ord. . Yes ! yes ! we recognize them ! 
 
 I was benumb'd, and stagger d up and down 
 Thro' darkness without light— dark — dark—dark ! 
 My flesh crept chill, my limbs felt manacled* 
 As had a snake coil'd round them £ — Now 'tis sua 
 
 shine, 
 And the blood dances freely thro' its channels ! 
 
 [Turns off, abruptly : then to himself. 
 This is my virtuous, grateful Isidore .! 
 
 [then mimicking IsidoiilV manner and voice — - 
 " A common trick of gratitude, my lord !" 
 Old Gratitude ! a dagger would dissect 
 His "own full heart "— 'twere good to see its color, 
 
 Vald. These magic sights ! O that I ne'er had 
 yielded 
 To your entreaties! Neither had I yielded, 
 But that in spite of your own seeming faith 
 I held it for some innocent stratagem, 
 Which Love had prompted, to remove the doubts 
 Of wild Teresa— by fancies quelling fancies ! 
 
 Ord. (in a slow voice, as reasoning to himself*) 
 Love ! Love ! and then we hate ! and what ? and 
 
 wherefore ? 
 Hatred and Love ! Fancies oppos'd by fancies ! 
 What ? if one reptile sting another reptile ? 
 Where is the crime ? The goodly face of nature 
 Hath one disfeaturing stain the less upon k. 
 Are we not all predestin'd Transiency, 
 And cold Dishonor t Grant it, that this hand 
 Had given a morsel to the hungry worms 
 Somewhat too early — Where's the crime of this? 
 That this must needs bring on the idiocy 
 Of moist-eyed Penitence — T tis like a dream ! 
 
 Vald. Wild talk, my son ! But thy excess of feel- 
 ing*— — (averting himself. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 45 
 
 Almost I fear, it hath unhinged his brain. 
 
 Qrd. (now in soliloquy, and now addressing his 
 father: and just after the speech has 
 commenced, Teresa reappears and ad- 
 vances slowly*) 
 Say, I had lay'd a body in the sun ! 
 Well ! in a month there swarm forth from the corse 
 A thousand, nay, ten thousand sentient beings 
 In place of :that one man. — Say, I had kilFd him ! 
 
 [Teresa starts t and stops listening. 
 Yet who shall tell me, that each one and all 
 Of these ten thousand lives is not as happy, 
 As that one life, which being push'd aside, 
 Made room for these unnumbered— — 
 
 VaH. O mere madness ! 
 
 [Teresa moves hastily f invar d&, and. places 
 herself directly before Okdonjo.] 
 Ord. (Checking the feeling of surprize, and 
 forcing his tones into an expression of playful 
 courtesy J. 
 Teresa r or the Phantom of Teresa? 
 
 Ter. Alas !. the Phantom only, if in truth 
 The substance of her Being, her Life's life, 
 Have ta'en its flight thro* Alvar's death- wound — - 
 
 (a pause). Where — 
 
 (Even coward Murder grants the dead a grave) 
 ■O tell me, Valdez h— answer me, Ordonio ! 
 Where lies the corse of my betrothed husband ? 
 Ord. There, where Ordonio likewise would fain 
 lie ! 
 In the sleep-compelling earth, in unpiere'd darkness! 
 For while we live — 
 An inward day, that never, never sets,. 
 G lares rou nd tjie soul, and mocks the closingeyelids? 
 
 . . 
 Over his rocky grave the Fir-grow sighs 
 
44 remorse:. 
 
 A lulling ceaseless dirge ! Tis well with him ► 
 [Strides off in agitation towards the altar \ 
 but returns as Valdez is speaking.] 
 Ter. {recoiling with the expression appropriate 
 to the passion.) 
 The rock! the fir-grove! (To Valdez) 
 
 Did -st thou hear him say it? 
 Hush ! I will ask him \ 
 
 Void. Urge him not — not now i 
 
 This we beheld. Nor He nor I know more, 
 Than what the magic imagery feveal*d. 
 The assassin, who prest foremost of the threes — - 
 Ord. A tender-hearted, scrupulous, grateful 
 villain, 
 Whom I will strangle ! 
 
 Vald. (looking with anxious disquiet at his Son s 
 yet attempting to proceed with his 
 description.) 
 
 While his two companions 
 
 Ord. Dead ! dead already ! what care we for 
 
 the dead ? ■ .. 
 Vald. (To Teresa.) 
 Pity him ! soothe him ! disenchant his spirit ! 
 These supernatural shews, this strange disclosure, 
 And his too fond affection, which still broods 
 O'er Alvar's Fate, and stjill burns to avenge it — 
 These, struggling with his hopeless love for you, 
 Distemper him, and give reality 
 To the creatures of his fancy. 
 
 Ord. Is it so ? 
 
 Yes I yes I even like a child, that too abruptly 
 Rous'd by a glare of light from deepest sleep 
 Starts up bewilder'd, and talks idly. 
 (Then mysteriously.) Father l . 
 
 What if the Moors that made my brother's grave, 
 Even now- w^re digging ours* r* WJiat if tjhf bolt, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 4£ 
 
 Though aim'd, I doubt not, at the son of Valdez, 
 Yet miss'd its true aim when it fell on Alvar ? 
 
 Vald. Alvar ne'er fought against the Moors,— 
 say rather, 
 He was their advocate ; but you had march'd 
 With fire and desolation through their villages. — I 
 Yet he by chance was captur'd. 
 
 Ord. Unknown, perhaps, 
 
 Captur'd, yet as the son of Valdez, murder'd. 
 Leave all to me. Nay, whither, gentle Lady ? 
 
 Vald. What seek you now ? 
 
 TV. A better, surer light, 
 
 To guide me 
 
 Both Val. 8C Ord. Whither? 
 
 Ter. To the only place 
 
 Where life yet dwells for me, and ease of heart. 
 These walls seem threat'ning to fall in upon me 1 
 Detain me not ! a dim power drives me hence, 
 And that will be my guide. 
 
 Vald. To find a lover ! 
 
 Suits that a high born maiden's modesty ? 
 
 folly and shame ! Tempt not my rage, Teresa I 
 Ter. Hopeless, I fear no human being's rage. 
 
 And am I hastening to the arms O Heaven ! 
 
 1 haste but to the grave of my beloved ! 
 
 [Exit, V A%.X)Ezfollow27ig after her. 
 Ord. This, then, is my reward ! and must I 
 love her? 
 Scorn'd! shudder'd at ! yet love her still? yes ! yes ! 
 By the deep feelings of Revenge and Hate 
 I will still love her— woo her — %x}in her too ! 
 (a pause.) Isidore safe and silent, and the portrait 
 Found on $he wizzard — he, belike, self- poison 'd 
 
 To escape the crueller flames My soul shouts 
 
 triumph ! 
 The mine .is undermin'd ! Blood ! Blood! Blood ! 
 
46 remorse : 
 
 They thirst for thy blood ! thy blood, Ordonio I 
 
 (a pause.) 
 The Hunt is up! and in the midnight wood 
 With lights to dazzle and with nets they Seek 
 A timid prey : and lo ! the tyger s eye 
 Glares in the red flame of his hunter's torch ! 
 
 To Isidore I will dispatch a message, 
 And lure him to the cavern! aye, that cavern! 
 He cannot fail to find it. Thither I'll lure him, 
 Whence he shall never, never more return ! 
 
 (Looks through the side window,) 
 A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea, 
 And now 'tis gone ! All shall be done to ni^ht. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 END OF THE THIRD ACJT, 
 
 
A TftAGEDtt. 4.1 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A cavern, dark,- except where a gleam of moon- 
 light is seen on one side at the further end oj'it ; 
 supposed to be cast on it, from a crevice in a 
 part of the cavern out of sight. Isidore alone i 
 an extinguished torch in his hand.) 
 
 Isid. Faith 'twas a moving letter — very moving ! 
 i% His life in danger, no place safe but this," 
 " Twas his turn now to talk of gratitude." 
 And yet— but no! there can*t be such a villain. 
 It can not be ! 
 
 Thanks to that little crevice, 
 Which lets the moonlight in ! I'll go and sit by it. 
 To peep at a tree , or see a he goat's beard, 
 Or hear a cow or two breath loud in their sleep — 
 Any thing but this crash of water drops ! 
 These dull abortive sounds, that fret the silence 
 With puny thwartings and mock opposition ! 
 So beats the death-watch to a sick man's ear. 
 
 [lie goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of 
 moonlight , returns after a minutes elapse, 
 in an exstacy of fear]. 
 A hellish pit ! The very same I dreamt of ! 
 X was just in — 'and those damn'd fingers of ice 
 Which clutch'd my hair up! Ha ! — what's that — it 
 mov'd. 
 [Isidore stands staring at another recess in the 
 cavern* In the mean time, Ordonio enters 
 with a torch, and halloos to Isidore.] 
 Isid. I swear that I sa^v something moving there ! 
 
48 REMORSE 
 
 The moonshine came and went like a flash of light- 
 
 ning— 
 
 I swear, I saw it move. 
 
 Orel, (goes into the recess, then returns, and 
 with great scorn.) 
 
 A jutting clay stone 
 Drops on the long lank weed, that grows beneath : 
 And the weed nods and drips. 
 Isid. {jorcing a laugh faintly). 
 
 A jest to laugh at ! 
 It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord. 
 Ord. What sCar'd you, then ? 
 hid. You see that little rift? 
 
 But first permit me ! 
 
 [Lights his torch at Ordonio's* 
 and white lighting it] 
 (A lighted torch in the hand, 
 Is no unpleasant object here — one's breath 
 Floats round the flame, and makes as many colors, 
 As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.) 
 You see that crevice there ? 
 My torch extinguished by these water drops, 
 And marking that the moonlight came Irom thence* 
 I slept in to it, meaning to sit there •, 
 But scarcely had I measured twenty paces — 
 My body bending forward, yea o'erbalanCed 
 Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink 
 Of a huge chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshine 
 Fiilincr the Void so counterfeited Substance, 
 That my foot hung aslant adown the edge. 
 Was it my own fear ? 
 
 Fear too hath it's instincts ! 
 (And yet such dens as these are wildly told of, 
 And there are Beings that live, yet not for the eye) 
 An arm of frost above and from behind me 
 Pluck'd up and snatcht me backward. Merciful 
 Heaven ! 
 
A TRAGEDY. 43 
 
 You smile ! alas, even smiles look ghastly here! 
 My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it. 
 Ord. It must have shot some pleasant feelings 
 
 through you. 
 Isid. If every atom of a dead man's flesh 
 Should creep, each one with a particular life, 
 Yet all as cold as ever — 'twas just so ! 
 Or had it drizzled needle points of frost 
 Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald — ■ 
 Ord. {interrupting him) Why Isidore, 
 I blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled, 
 I grant you, even a brave man for a moment — 
 13ut such a panic — 
 
 Isid. When a boy, my Lord I 
 
 I could have sate whole hours beside that chasm, 
 Push'd in huge stones and heard them strike and 
 
 rattle 
 Against its horrid sides : then hung my head 
 Low down, and listen'd till the heavy fragments 
 Sank with faint crash in that still groaning well,. 
 Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which never 
 A living thing came near —unless, perchance, 
 Some blind-worm battens on the ropy mould 
 Close at its edge. 
 
 Ord. Art thou more coward now ? 
 
 Isid. Call him, that fears his fellow man, a, 
 coward ! 
 I fear not man — but this inhuman cavern,. 
 It were too bad a prison house for goblins. 
 Beside, fyou'll smile my lord) but true it is, 
 My last night's sleep "was very sorely haunted, 
 By what had pass'd between us in the morning. 
 O sleep of horrors !' Now run down and star'd at 
 By Forms so hideous that they mock remembrance— 
 Now seeing nothing and imagining nothing, 
 But only being afraid — stifled with Fear ! 
 
 H 
 
50 REMORSE : 
 
 While every goodly or familiar form 
 
 Had a strange power of breathing terror round me ! 
 
 I saw you in a thousand fearful shapes; 
 
 And, I entreat your lordship to believe me, 
 
 In my last dream— 
 
 Ord. Well? 
 
 Isid. I was in the act 
 Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra 
 Wak'd me : she heard my heart beat. 
 
 0?'d. Strange enough! 
 
 Had you been here before ? 
 
 Isid. Never, my lord ! 
 
 But mine eyes do not see it now more clearly, 
 Than in my dream 1 saw— that very chasm. 
 
 Ord. (stands lost in thought, then after a pause) 
 I know not why it should be ! yet it is — 
 
 Isid. What is, my lord ? 
 
 Ord. Abhorrent from our nature, 
 
 To kill a man.^ 
 
 Isid. Except in self defence. 
 
 Ord. Why that's my case ; and yet the soul 
 recoils from it— 
 'Tis so with me at least. But you, perhaps, 
 Have sterner feelings ? 
 
 Isid. Something troubles you. 
 
 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 tiling, 
 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 chearful moon- 
 light, 
 Collects the guilt, and crowds it round the heart. 
 It must be innocent. 
 
A TRAGEDY. Si 
 
 [Ordonio darkly, and in the feeling of self jus- 
 tification t tells what he conceives of his own 
 character and actions, speaking of himself in 
 the third person.] 
 Ord. Thyself be judge. 
 
 One of our family knew this place well. 
 Isid. Who ? when ? my lord ? 
 Ord. What boots it, who or when ? 
 Hang up thy torch —I'll tell his tale to thee. 
 
 [They hang tip their torches on some ridge 
 in the cavern.] 
 He was a man different from other men, 
 And he despis'd them, yet rever'd himself. 
 
 Isid. {aside, .) 
 He ? He despised ? Thou*rt speaking of thyself ! 
 I am on my guard however : no surprize. 
 
 (then to OrDonio.) 
 What he was mad ? 
 
 Ord. All men seem'd mad to him ! 
 Nature had made him for some other planet, 
 And press'd his soul into a human shape 
 By accident or malice. In this world 
 He found no fit companion. 
 
 Isid. Of himself he speaks, (aside.) 
 
 Alas ! poor wretch 1 
 Mad men are mostly proud. 
 
 Ord. He walk'd alone, 
 
 And phantom thoughts unsought for troubled him. 
 Something within would still be shadowing out 
 All possibilities ; and with these shadows 
 His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happeri'd, 
 A fancy cross'd him wilder than the rest : 
 To this in moody murmur and low voice 
 He yielded utterance, as some talk in sleep.' 
 The man who heard him. — 
 
 Why didst thou look round ?— 
 
52 remorse : 
 
 Isid. I have a prattler three years old, my lord ! 
 In truth he is my darling. As I went 
 l<rom forth my door, he made a moan in sleep — 
 But I am talking idly — pray proceed . r 
 And what did this man ? 
 
 Ord. With his human hand 
 
 He gave a substance and reality 
 To that wild, fancy of a possible thing. — 
 "Well it was done ! {then very wildly.) 
 
 Why babblest thou of guilt ? 
 The deed was done, and it pass'd fairly off. 
 And he whose tale I tell thee — dost thou listen ? 
 
 Isid. I would my lord you were by my fire-side, 
 I'd listen to you with an eager eye, 
 Tho' you began this cloudy tale at midnight. 
 But I do listen — pray proceed my lord — 
 
 Ord. Where was I ? 
 
 Isid. He of whom you tell tke. tale— 
 
 Ord. Surveying all things with. a quiet scorm, 
 Tam'd himself down to living purposes, 
 The occupations and the semblances 
 Of ordinary men — and such he seem'd ! 
 But that same over ready agent — he — 
 - -Mid. Ah ! what of h'mi, my lord ?' 
 
 Ord. He prov d a traitor* 
 
 Betray'd the mystery to a brother traitor, 
 And they between them hatch'd a damned plot 
 To hunt him down to infamy and death. 
 What did the Valdez ? I am proud of the name 
 Since he dar'd do it. — 
 
 [Okdon 10 graps his sword, and turns off from 
 Isidore, then after a pause returns.'] 
 Our links burn dimly. 
 
 Isid. A dark tale darkly finish'd ! Nay, my lord ! 
 Tell what he did. 
 
 Ord. That which his wisdom prompted — 
 
A TRAGEDY. S3' 
 
 He made the Traitor meet him in this cavern, 
 And here he kill'd the Traitor. 
 
 Isid. , No ! the fool t 
 
 He had not wit enough to be a traitor. 
 Poor thick- ey'd beetle ' not to have foreseen 
 That he who gull'd thee with a whimper'd lie 
 To murder his own brother, would not scruple 
 To murder thee, if e'er his guilt grew jealous,? 
 And he could steal upon thee in the dark P 
 Orel. Thou would'st not then have come, if — 
 Isid. Oh yes, my lord ! 
 I would have met him arm'd> and scar'd the' 
 coward. 
 [Isidore throws offhis robe / shews himself 
 armed and draws his sword.] 
 Ord. Now this is excellent and warms the 
 blood ! 
 My heart was drawing back, drawing me back 
 With weak and womanish scruples. Now my 
 
 Vengeance 
 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 
 Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter. 
 hid. And ail my little ones fatherless- 
 Die thou first. 
 \Theyjighty Ordo-n io disarms Isidore, and 
 in disarming him throws his sic ord up 
 that recess opposite to which tfiev xvere 
 standing. Isidore hurries into the 
 recess with his torch, Ordomo follows 
 him; a loud cry of "Traitor ! Monstsr /' r 
 is heard from the cavern, and in a mo- 
 ment Ordonio returns alone.] 
 Ord. I have hurl'd him down the Chasm! 
 Treason for Treason. 
 
54 REMORSE : 
 
 He dreamt of it : henceforward let him sleep, 
 A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can 
 
 wake him. f 
 His dream too is made out — Now for his friend. 
 
 [Exit Ordonio.] 
 
 SCENE II.* 
 
 The Interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic 
 Castte, with the Iron Gate of Dungeon visible. 
 
 Ter. Heart-chilling Superstition! thou canst glaze 
 Ev'n 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 1 a Sorcerer I 
 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 fixed ! myself will rescue him, 
 And learn if haply if he know aught of Alvar. 
 
 Knter Valdez. 
 
 Vat. Still sad ? — and gazing at the massive door 
 Of that fill Dungeon which thou ne'er had'st sight of, 
 Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shap'd it 
 When the nurse still'd thy cries with unmeant threats. 
 Now by my faith, Girl ! this same wizard haunts thee ^ 
 
 • * Vide Appendix. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 55 
 
 A stately man, and eloquent and tender — 
 
 (with a sneer J 
 Who then need wonder if a lady sighs 
 Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans 
 
 Ter. (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 tho' the dearest inmates of our household 
 Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are — 
 
 Vald. Hush, thoughtless woman ! 
 
 Ter. Nay it wakes within me 
 
 More than a woman's spirit. 
 
 Val. No more of this — 
 
 What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us ! 
 I dare not listen to you. 
 
 Ter. My honor'd lord, 
 
 These were my Alvar's lessons, and whene'er 
 I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them, 
 As if to give a voice to the mute linage. 
 
 Vald. We have mourn'd for Alvar. 
 
 Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt. 
 Have I no other son ? 
 
 Ter. Speak not of him ! 
 
 That low imposture ! That mysterious picture I 
 If this be madness, must I wed a madman? 
 And if not madness, there is mystery, 
 And guilt doth lurk behind it. 
 
 Vald. Is this well? 
 
 Ter. Yes v it is truth ; saw you his countenance? 
 How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear, 
 Displac'd each other with swift interchanges ? 
 
 that I had indeed the sorcerer's power 
 
 1 would call up before thine eyes the ima^e 
 Of my betrothed Alvar, of thyFirst-born? 
 
 His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, 
 
56 REMORSE : 
 
 His tender smile?, love's day-dawn on bis 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 ! 
 
 O my father I 
 Itecall that morning when we knelt together, 
 And thou dids't 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 coukl'st 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. 
 
 Void. Ungrateful woman ! I have tried to stifle 
 An old man's passion ! was it not enough, 
 That thou hast made my son a restless man, 
 Banish'd his health, and half unhing'd his reason ; 
 But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion ? 
 And toil to blast his honor ? I am old, 
 A comfortless old man ! 
 
 Ter. O Grief ! to hear 
 
 Hateful intreaties from a voice we love \- 
 
 Enter a peasant and presents a letter to Valdez. 
 Valdez reading it. 
 
 V He dares not venture hither !" Why what caa 
 this mean ? 
 
a Tragedy. 57 
 
 " Lest the familiars of the Inquisition, 
 
 *' That watch around my gates, should intercept him; 
 
 " But he conjures me^ that without delay 
 
 if t hasten to him — for my own sake entreats me 
 
 44 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 an hostage for his safety. 
 Nay, that they dare not ? Ho ! collect my servants ! 
 I will go thither — let them arm themselves. 
 
 [MValdez. 
 Ter. (alone) 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 thro' the night, 
 As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep. 
 
 Alvar ! Alvar! that they could return 
 
 Those blessed days that imitated heaven, 
 
 When vvre two wont to walk at even tide ;' 
 
 When we saw nought but beauty ; when vie heard 
 
 The voice of that Almighty One who lov'd us 
 
 In every gale that breath'd, and wave that 
 
 murmur'd ! 
 we have listen'dy even till high-wrought pleasure 
 Hath half assum'd the countenance of griel^ 
 And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight 
 Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart. 
 
 ( a pause.) 
 And this majestic Moor, seems he not one 
 •Who Oft and long communing with my Alvar 
 Hath drunk in kwndred lustre from his presence, 
 And guides me to him with reflected light ? 
 What if in yon dark dungeon coward Treachery 
 • ' j 
 
<5tf REMORSE ! 
 
 Be groping for him with envenom'd poignard— 
 Hence womanish fears, traitors to love and duty—*' 
 I'll free him. 
 
 [Exit Teresa. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The mountains by moonlight. Alhadra alone in 
 a Moorish dress. 
 
 Alhad. Yon hanging woods, that touched by au- 
 tumn 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 I 
 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 Alia,, 
 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, 
 To float for ever with a careless course, 
 And think myself the only lieing alive I 
 
 My children ! — Isidore's children ! — SonofValde^ 
 This hath new strung mine arm. Thou coward 
 
 Tyrant ! 
 To stupify a Woman's Heart with anguish, 
 
A TRAGEDY- $9 
 
 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 cons der able number of Morescoes 9 
 all in Moorish garments and Moorish armour. 
 They form a circle at a distance round Alha- 
 dka, and remain siUnt till the Second in com- 
 mand, Naomi, enters, distinguished by his 
 dress and armour, and by the silent obeisance 
 paid to him on his entrance by the other Moors] 
 
 Naomi, Woman ! May Alia and the prophet 
 bless thee ! 
 We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief? 
 And why dids't thou enjoin these Moorish gar- 
 ments ? 
 
 Alhad. (raising her eyes, and looking round on 
 the circle,} 
 Warriors of Mahomet ! faithful in the battle ! 
 My countrymen ! Come ye prepared to work 
 An honourable deed ? And would ye work it 
 In the slaves sarb ? Curse on those christian robes! 
 They are spell-blasted : and whoever wears them, 
 His ami shrinks wither'd, his heart melts away, 
 And his bones soften. 
 
 Naomi. Where is Isidore ? 
 
 Alhad. {In a deep lozv voice.) 
 Tins 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 perished — — 
 
 All Morescoes. Perish'd ? 
 
 Alhad. He had perish'd ! 
 Sleep on, poor babes ! not one of you doth know 
 That he is fatherless — a desolate orphan ! 
 Why shou'd we wake them ? Can an infant's arm 
 Revenge his murder ? 
 
60 remorse : 
 
 One Moresco to another. 
 
 Did she say his murder ? 
 
 Naomi. Murder? Not murder'd ? 
 
 Alhad. Murder d by a christian ! 
 
 {They all at once draw their sabres.) 
 
 Alhad. (To Naomi, who advances from the, 
 circle.) 
 Brother of Zagri ! fling away thy sword : 
 This is thy chieftain's ! {Hcstepsjorwardto take it.) 
 
 Dost thou dare receive it ? 
 For I have sworn by Alia and the Prophet, 
 No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heart 
 Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword 
 Wet with the life-blood of the son of Valdez I 
 
 {a pause.) 
 Ordqnip was your chieftian's murcjerer ! 
 
 Naomi. He dies, by Alia ! 
 
 Ally {kneeling.) By Alia ! 
 
 Alhad. This night your chieftain arm'd himself, 
 And hurried from me. But I followed him 
 At distance, till I saw him enter — there! 
 
 Naomi. The cavern I 
 
 Alhad. 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 d|ash of swords I 
 And soon the son of Yaldez re-appear'd: 
 He flung his torch towards the moon in sport, 
 And seem'd as he were mirthful 1 1 stood listening, 
 Impatient for the footsteps of my husband ! 
 
 Naomi. Thou calle^'st him ? 
 
 Alhad. I crept into the cavern — 
 
 5 Twas dark and very silent. {Then zoildly,) 
 
 What said'st thou ? 
 No ! no ! I did not dare call, Isidore, 
 Lest I should hear no answer L A brief while, 
 
A TRACJEDy. G\ 
 
 Belike, I lost all thought and memory 
 
 Pf that for which I came ! After that pause, 
 
 Heaven i I heard a groan, and follow'd it j 
 And yet another groan, which guided me 
 Into a strange recess- -and there was light, 
 
 A hideous light ! his torch lay on the ground ; 
 It's flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink. 
 
 1 spake ; and whilst I spake, a feeble groan 
 Came from that chasm ! it was his last ! his deatlj- 
 
 groan ! 
 
 Naomi. Comfort her, Alia. 
 
 Alhad. I stood in unimaginable trance 
 And agony that cannot be remember'd, 
 Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan \ 
 But I had heard his last: my husband's 4eath- 
 groan ! 
 
 Naomi. Haste ! let us onward. 
 
 Alhad. 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 fcrain grew hot as fire 1 
 And all the hanging drops of the wet roof 
 Turn'd into blood — I saw them turn to blood! 
 And 1 \fas 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 mov'd in Heaven, and I am here, 
 And he hath not had vengeance ! Isidore ! 
 Spirit of Isidore ! thy murderer lives ! 
 Away ! avvayi 
 
 AIL Away, away ! 
 
 [She rushes off t all following* 
 
 END QF THE FOURTH ACT, 
 
62 
 
 remorse: 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A Dungeon. 
 Axvar (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds. 
 
 Ah. And this place my forefathers made for 
 Man! 
 This is the process of our Love and Wisdom 
 To each poor brother who offends against us — . 
 Most innocent, perhaps — and what if guiity ? 
 Is this the only cure? Merciful God ! 
 EacU pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up 
 By Ignorance and parching Poverty, 
 His energies roll back upon his heart, 
 And stagnate and corrupt, 'till ehang'd to poison, 
 They break out on him, like a loathsome plague- 
 spot I 
 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 vapours of his dungeon 
 By the lamp's dismal twilight ! So he lies 
 Circled with evil, 'till his very soul 
 Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deformed 
 By sights of evermore deformity ! 
 
 With other ministrations thou, O Nature I 
 Healest thy wand'ring and distemper'd child : 
 Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, 
 Thy sunny hues, fair forms, aud breathing sweets ; 
 
A. TRAGEDY. $3 
 
 Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters ! 
 
 Till he relent, and :;nn no more endure 
 
 To be a jarrin;-; and a dissonant thin^ 
 
 Amid this general dance and miustre sy ; 
 
 But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, 
 
 Hks angry spirit heafd and har/nornVd 
 
 By the benignant touch of love and beauty. 
 
 I am chill and weary ! Yon rude bench of stone, 
 In that dark angle, the sole retting-plaee ! 
 But the sell-approving mind is its own light, 
 And life's best warmth stili radiates from the heart, 
 Where love sits brooding, and an honest purpose. 
 
 (Retires out of sight. 
 
 Enter Teresa with a Taper. 
 
 Ter. 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 1 
 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 Jront 
 the recess.) 
 Alv. (Rushes towards her, and catches her at 
 she is falling.) 
 
64 
 
 REMORSE 
 
 O gracious heaven ! it is, it is Teresa : 
 Shall I reveal myself ? The sudden shock 
 Of rapture will blow out this spark of life, 
 And Joy compleat what Terror has begun. 
 
 ye impetuous beatings here, be still ! 
 Teresa, best belov'd ! pale, pale, and cold ! 
 Her pulse doth flutter! Teresa ! my Teresa f 
 
 Ter. (Recovering, looks round wildly.) 
 
 1 heard a voice ; but often in my dreams 
 
 I hear that voice ! and wake, and try — and try — - 
 To hear it waking ! but I never could — 
 And 'tis so now — even so ; ! Well ! he is dead* — '■ 
 Murder'd perhaps \ And I am faint, and feel 
 As if it were no painful thing to die I 
 
 Alv. Qfttgcrh/,) 
 Believe it not, sweet maiif ! Believe it not, 
 Beloved woman ! 'Twas a low imposture, 
 Fram'd by a guilty wretch, 
 
 Ter, (Retires from him, and feebly supports 
 herself against a pillar of the dungeon.) 
 Ha ! Who att thou ? 
 
 Ah. (exceedingly affected^- 
 Suborned by his brother — 
 
 Ter. Dids't thou murder him ? 
 
 And dost thou now repent ? Poor troubled man, 
 I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee ! 
 
 Alv. Ordonio — he — 
 
 Ter. If thou didst murder him — 
 
 His spirit ever at the throne of God 
 Asks mercy for thee : prays for mercy for thee, 
 With tears in Heaven ! 
 
 Alv. Alvar was not murder'd. 
 
 Becalm! Becalm, sweet maid ! 
 
 Ter, (wildly) Nay, nay, but tell me ! 
 
 (a pause, then presses her forehead.) 1 
 O 'tis lost again ! 
 
A TRAGEDY. 65 
 
 This dull confused pain — 
 
 {a pause , she gazes at Alvar v 
 Mysterious man ! 
 Methinks I can not fear thee : for thine eye 
 Doth swim with love and pity —Well ! Ordonio— 
 Oh my foreboding heart ! And he suborn'd thee, 
 And thou did'st spare his life ? Blessings shower 
 
 on thee, 
 As many as the drops twice counted o'er 
 In the fond faithful heart of his Teresa ! 
 
 Ah. I can endure no more. The Moorish sor- 
 cerer 
 Exists but in the stain upon this face. 
 That picture — 
 
 Ter. {advances tozvards him) Ha ! sj ak on ! 
 
 Ah. Belov'd Teresa ! 
 
 It told but half the truth. O let this portrait 
 Tell all — that Alvar lives — that be is here ! 
 Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar. 
 
 [Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives 
 it her.] 
 
 Ter. {receiving the portrait.) 
 The same — it is the same. Ah ! Who art thou? 
 Nay I will call thee, Alvar ! {She falls on his neck.) 
 
 Ah.. O joy unutterable! 
 
 But hark ! a sound as of removing bars 
 At the dungeon's outer door. A brief, brief while 
 Conceal thyself, my love ! It is Ordonio. 
 For the honour of our race, for our dear father j 
 O for himself too (he is still my brother) 
 Let me recall him to his nobler nature, 
 That he may wake as from a dream of murder 1 
 O let me reconcile him to himself, 
 Open the sacred source of penitent tears, 
 And be once more his own beloved Alvar. 
 
 Ter. O my all- virtuous Love ! I fear to leave 
 thee 
 
 K 
 
66 remorse : 
 
 With that obdurate man. 
 
 Alv. Thou dost not leave me ! 
 
 But a brief while retire into the darkness : 
 
 that my joy could spread it's sunshine round thee! 
 Ter. The sound of thy voice shall be my music ! 
 [Retiring, she returns hastily and embracing 
 
 Alvar.] 
 Alvar ! my Alvar! am I sure I hold thee? 
 Is it no dream? thee in my arms, my Alvar ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 [A noise at the Dungeon door. It opens, and 
 Ordonio enters, with a goblet in his hand. 
 Ord. Hail, potent wizard! in my gayer mood 
 
 1 pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto, 
 
 And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought on thee. 
 Thou hast conspired against my lite and honor, 
 Hast trick'd me foully ; yet I hate thee not. 
 Why should I hate thee? this same world of ours, 
 'Tis 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. 
 
 Alv. I see thy heart ! 
 
 There is a frightful glitter in thine eye, 
 Which doth betray thee. Inly-torturd man, 
 This is the revelry of a drunken anguish, 
 Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt, 
 And quell each human feeling. 
 
 Ord. Feeling ! feeling ! 
 
 The death of a man — the breaking oi a bubble — 
 'Tis true I cannot sob for such misfortunes ; 
 But faintness, cold, and hunger — curses on me 
 If willingly I e'er inilicted them ! 
 Come, take the beverage; this chill place demands 
 it. [Ordonio proffers the goblet. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 67 
 
 Alv. Yon insect on the wall, 
 Which moves, this way and that, it's 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 
 Unerringly to pleasurable Ends ! 
 Saw I that insect on this goblet's brim 
 I would remove it with an anxious pity ! 
 
 Ord. What meanest thou? 
 
 Alv. There's poison in the wine„ 
 
 Ord. Thou hast guess'd right ; there's poison in 
 the wine. 
 There's poison hVt— which of us two shall drink it? 
 For one of us must die ! . 
 
 Alv. Whom dost thou think me? 
 
 Ord. The accomplice and sworn friend of Isi- 
 dore. 
 
 Alv. I know him not. 
 
 And yet, methinks, I have heard the name but 
 
 lately. 
 Means he the husband of the Moorish woman? 
 Isidore? Isidore? 
 
 Ord. Good ! good ! that Lie ! by heaven it has 
 restor'd me. 
 Now I am thy master !- Villain! thou shaltdrink it, 
 Or die a bitterer death. 
 
 Alv. What strange solution 
 
 Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, 
 And drug them to unnatural sleep? 
 
 [Alvar takes the goblet, and throwing it 
 to the ground with stern contempt. .] 
 My master ! 
 
 Ord. Thou mountebank ! 
 
 dlv. Mountebank and villain ! 
 
6*8 REMORSE ! 
 
 What then art thou ? For shame, put up thy sword ! 
 
 What boots a weapon in a wither'd arm ? 
 
 I fix mine eye upon thee, and thou tremblest ! 
 
 I speak, and fear and wonder crush thy rage, 
 
 And turn it to a motionless distraction ! 
 
 Thou blind self- worshipper ! thy pride, thy cunning, 
 
 Thy faith in universal villany, 
 
 Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn 
 
 For all thy human brethren — out upon them ! 
 
 What have they done for thee ? have they given 
 
 thee peace ? 
 Cur'd thee of starting in thy sleep ? or made 
 The darkness pleasant when thou wak'st at mid- 
 night ? 
 Art happy when alone? Can'st walk by thyself 
 With even step and quiet cheerfulness ? 
 
 Yet, yet thou may'st be sav'd 
 
 Ord. (mcantly repeating the words.) 
 
 Sav'd?sav*d? 
 Ah. One pang ! 
 
 Could I call up one pang of true Remorse ! 
 
 Ord. He told me of the bahes that prattled to him, 
 His fatherless little ones ! Remorse ! Remorse I 
 Where got'st thou that fool's word ? Curse on 
 
 Remorse \ 
 Can it give up the dead, or recompact 
 A mangled body ? mangled — dash'd to atoms ! 
 Not all the blessings of an host of angels 
 Can blow away a desolate widow's curse ! 
 And though thou spill thy heart's blood for atone- 
 ment, 
 It will not weigh against an orphan's tear 1 
 
 Ah. But Ahar 
 
 (almost overcome by his feelings.) 
 Ord. Ha ! it choaks thee in the throat, 
 Even thee ; and yet I pray thee speak it out — 
 Still Alvar !•— Alvar ! — howl it mine ear ! 
 
A TRAGEDY. 6 9 
 
 Heap it like coals of fire upon my heart, 
 And shoot it hissing through my brain ! 
 
 Alv. Alas! 
 
 That day when thou did'st leap from off the rock 
 Into the waves, and grasp'd thy sinking brother, 
 And bore him to the strand ; then, son of Valdez, 
 How sweet and musical the name of Alvar ! 
 Then, then, Ordonio, he was dear to thee, 
 And thou wert dear to him : heaven only knows 
 How very dear thou wert ! Why did'st thou hate 
 him ? 
 
 heaven ! how he would fall upon thy neck, 
 And weep forgiveness ! - 
 
 Ord. Spirit of the dead ! 
 
 Methinks I know thee! ha! my brain turns wild 
 At its own dreams ! — off — off — fantastic shadow ! 
 
 Alv. I fain would tell thee what I am ; but dare 
 not! 
 
 Ord. Cheat! villain! traitor! whatsoe'er thou he — 
 
 1 fear thee, Man ! 
 
 Ter. (rushing out and falling on Alvau's neck?) 
 
 Ordonio ! 'tis thy Brother. 
 [Ordonio with frantic xoildness runs upon 
 Alvar with his sword. Teresa flings her- 
 self on Ordonio and arrests his arm.] 
 Stop, madman stop \ 
 Alv. Does then this thin disguise impenetrably 
 Hide Alvar from thee ? Toil and painful wounds, 
 And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons, 
 Have marr'd perhaps all trait and lineament, 
 Of what I was ! But chiefly, chiefly, brother, 
 My anguish for thy guilt ! 
 
 Ordonio — Brother ! — - 
 Nay, nay, thou shalt embrace me. 
 
 Ord. (drawing back, and gazing at Alvar 
 with a countenance of at once awe and terror.} 
 
 Touch me not ! 
 
70 REMORSE : 
 
 Touch not pollution, Alvar ! I will die. 
 
 (He attempts to fall on his sword, Alvar and 
 Teresa prevent him). 
 
 Alv. We will find means to save your honor. Live, 
 Oh live, Ordonio! for our Father's sake ! 
 Spare his grey hairs ! 
 
 Ter. And you may yet be happy. 
 
 Orel. O horror ! not a thousand years in heaven 
 Could recompose this miserable heart, 
 Or make it capable of one brief joy! 
 Live! Live ! Why yes! 'Twere well. to live with you ; 
 For is it fit a villain should be proud ? 
 My Brother ! I will kneel to you, my Brother ! 
 
 (kneeling.^ 
 Forgive me, Alvar!- Curse me with forgiveness ! 
 
 Ah. Call back thy soul, Ordonio, and look round 
 thee ! 
 Now is the time for greatness! Think that heaven— 
 
 Ter. O mark his eye ! he hears not what you say. 
 
 Ord. {pointing at the vacancy). 
 Yes mark his eye ! there's fascination in it ! 
 Thou saidst thou didst not know him — That is he ! 
 lie comes upon me ! 
 
 Alv. Heal, O heal him, heaven ! 
 
 Ord. Nearer and nearer ! and I can not stir ! 
 Will no one hear these' stifled groans, and wake me 2 
 He would have died to save me, and I killed him — 
 A husband and a father ! — 
 
 Ter. Some secret poison 
 
 Drinks up his spirit ! 
 
 Ord. (fiercely recollecting himself .) 
 
 Let the Eternal Justice 
 Prepare my punishment in the obscure world— 
 I will not bear to live — to live— O agony! 
 And be myself alone my own sore torment! 
 
 {The doors of the dungeon are broken open, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 71 
 
 and hi rush Alhadra, and the band of Mo- 
 rescoes). 
 Alhad. Seize first that man 1 
 
 (Alvar presses onward to defend Ouvqtxio). 
 Ord. Off, Ruffians! I have flung away my sword. 
 Woman, my life is thine ! to thee I give it ! 
 Off ! he that touches me with his hand of flesh, 
 I'll rend his limbs asunder ! I have strength 
 With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes. 
 Alhad. My husband— 
 Ord. Yes, I murder' d him most foully. 
 Abo. 8C Ter. O horrible ! 
 
 Alhad. Why didst thou leave his children? 
 
 Demon, thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell 
 To lap their blood. Then, then I might have 
 
 i. hardened 
 My soul in miserv, and have had comfort. 
 I would have stood far off, quiet tho' dark, 
 And bade the race of men raise up a mourning 
 For the deep horror of a desolation, 
 Too great to be one soul's particular lot ! 
 Brother of Zagri ! let me lean upon thee. 
 
 [Struggling to suppress her feelings* 
 The time is not yet come for woman's anguish, 
 I have not seen his blood^ — Within an hour 
 Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, 
 Where is our father ? I shall curse thee then ! 
 Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee 
 thence ! 
 Ter, He doth repent ! See, see, I kneel to thee! 
 
 O let him live ! That aged man, his father 
 
 Alhad. {sternly) Why had he such a son? 
 {Shouts from the distance of, Rescue ! Res^ 
 cue! Alvar! Alvar! and the mice of 
 Valdez heard.) 
 Alhad. Rescue? — and Isidore's Spirit una- 
 venged? 
 The deed be mine ! {suddenly stabs Ordonio.) 
 
72 
 
 HE 310 USE. 
 
 Now take my Life ! 
 Orel, {staggering from the wound.) Atonement! 
 Abo, (while with Teresa supporting Ordonio.) 
 Asm of avenging Heaven! 
 Thou hast snatch'd from me my most cherish'd 
 
 hope — 
 But go! my word v\ as pledged to thee, 
 
 Orel. Away ! 
 
 Brave not my Father's Rage I I thank thee ! Thou — 
 
 {then turning his eyes languidly to Alvar) 
 She hath aveng'd the blood of Isidore ! 
 I stood in silence like a slave before her 
 That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, 
 And satiate this self-accusing heart 
 With bitterer agonies than death can give. 
 Forgive me, Alvar ! — 
 
 Oh!— could'st thou forget me! 
 
 [Dies. 
 [Alvar and Teresa bend over the body of 
 Ordonio.] 
 Alhad. {to the Moors). 
 I thank thee, Heaven ! thou hast ordained it wisely, 
 That still extremes bring their own cure. That 
 
 point 
 In misery, which makes the oppressed Man 
 Regardless of his own life, makes him too 
 Lord of the Oppressor's — Knew I an hundred men 
 Despairing, but not palsied by despair, 
 This arm should shake the Kingdoms of the World; 
 The deep foundations of iniquity 
 Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath 
 
 them ; 
 The strong-holds of the cruel men should fall, 
 Their Temples and their mountainous Towers 
 
 should fall ; 
 Till Desolation seem'd a beautiful thing, 
 And fcll that were and had the Spirit of Life, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 73 
 
 Sang a new song to her who had gone forth, 
 Conquering and still to conquer ! 
 
 [Alhadra hurries of with the Moors s the 
 stage ,/ills with armed peasants, and ser- 
 vants, Zulimez and Valdez at their head. 
 Valdez rushes into Alvar's arms.] 
 Ah. Turn not thy face that way, my father ! hide, 
 Oh hide it from his eye ! Oh let thy joy 
 Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing. 
 
 '(Both kneel to V aldezJ. 
 Vald. My Son ! My Alvar ! bless, Oh bless him, 
 
 heaven ! 
 Ter. Me too, my Father ? 
 Vald. Bless, Oh bless my children! 
 
 {both rise). 
 Ah. Delights so full, if unalloy'd with grief, 
 Were ominous. In these strange dread events, 
 Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, 
 That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. 
 Our inward Monitress to guide or warn, 
 If listened to ; but if repelled with scorn, 
 At length as dire Remorse, she reappears, 
 Works in- our guilty hopes, and selfish feais ! 
 Still bids, Remember ! and still cries, Too late ! 
 And while she scares us, goads us to our fate. 
 
 THE ENi>. 
 
n 
 
 %