TRAGIC DRAMAS. 
 
TRAGIC DRAMAS; 
 
 CHIEFLY INTENDED FOR 
 
 REPRESENTATION IN PRIVATE FAMILIES 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED, 
 
 ARISTODEMUS, 
 
 A TRAGEDY, 
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN OF VINCENZO MONTI. 
 
 BY FRANCES BURNEY. 
 
 n 
 
 " Virtue owns the Tragic Muse a friend ; 
 
 " Fable her means, Morality her end." 
 
 CRABBE. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY THOMAS DAV1SON, WHITEFEIARS, 
 FOR THE AUTHOR; 
 
 AND SOLD BY J. MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 
 
 1818. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 A LONG apology for a short work may be liable to 
 just censure, as annexing to a trifle an undue im- 
 portance. Various motives, nevertheless, having 
 combined to induce the Writer of the following 
 pages to bring them before the Public, she is de- 
 
 i o o 
 
 sirous, by stating a few of them, to obviate as much 
 as possible, the imputation of temerity, to which the 
 publication of them may subject her: more espe- 
 cially since, wholly unknown herself in the world of 
 literature, she can adduce the name, only, of her 
 family, to attract attention, and stimulate curiosity, 
 unaccompanied by any pretensions to" the abilities 
 requisite to fix the one, or gratify the other. 
 
 It has always appeared to her, that the objections 
 which may be urged against private Theatres in 
 
 M5543S5 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 general, are not, injustice, applicable to those domes- 
 tic Representations, in which the younger branches 
 of a family perform select pieces ; and to which only 
 parents, relations, or friends particularly intimate, 
 are admitted : and she has the sanction of judgments 
 far superior to her own, and even clerical authority, 
 for deeming the innocent and interesting recreation 
 of speaking in character, to a little circle of chosen 
 friends, an exercise not more obviously calculated 
 to afford general entertainment, than to promote 
 individual improvement. 
 
 Most people, at some period of their lives, are 
 fond of what is usually termed spouting; while 
 such as have, for themselves, outlived that inclina- 
 tion, often derive nearly equal amusement from wit- 
 nessing the scenic efforts of their j uniors. Recourse, 
 therefore, is not unfrequently had to Stage-plays, 
 for the purpose of private exhibition: but even 
 where these are not objectionable in any other re- 
 spect, which is by no means invariably the case, it 
 is a task, demanding no inconsiderable skill and 
 pains, to modify or curtail, so as to accommodate 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 them completely to the purpose ; while to perform 
 them in their pristine state, would frequently be 
 attended with difficulties yet more insurmountable. 
 
 Something, therefore, distinct from these, yet of 
 more continuity of interest, than can be maintained 
 by the recitation of detached Speeches, Dialogues, 
 or Scenes, though selected from dramatic works 
 of even the highest excellence; Something, also, 
 which consistently with propriety., and perfect free- 
 dom from any evil tendency, may admit of more 
 impassioned action and diversified effect, than is 
 usually thought within the province of the Sacred 
 Drama, appears desirable in our literature. The 
 Writer is well aware that she is, herself, incapable 
 of supplying the deficiency she indicates ; having 
 neither the time nor the talents needful for the pur- 
 pose ; but ventures to offer both her little sketches, 
 in the hope that, not only, some hand x more skilful 
 than her own, will hereafter improve on the im- 
 perfect plan which she merely shadows out; but 
 that, notwithstanding their acknowledged faults of 
 structure and execution ; their feebleness, and per- 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 haps inaccuracy, of diction, since they have received 
 no corrections but such as she has herself been able 
 to give them ; they will yet be found not inadequate 
 to the purpose for which they were designed, 
 and unexceptionable, at all events, in their moral 
 tendency. 
 
 A plot and scenery, of a simple, or at least, not 
 complicated description; and characters, few in 
 number, or if otherwise, attired in a costume easily 
 adopted by either sex ; are among the lesser deside- 
 rata of the domestic drama. An attempt has been 
 made to combine them, respectively, in the two first 
 pieces : little being aimed at, beyond furnishing 
 materials for occasional amusement, which, if not 
 esteemed as profitable, may at least be admitted to 
 be harmless. 
 
 It is, perhaps, a recommendation to these little 
 Dramas, which would not advantageously be with- 
 heldj that they have both already been, more than 
 once, represented by the junior members of a 
 Family of distinction, and of the first respectability. 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 That the performance of amiable and intelligent 
 young persons should elicit applause from an au- 
 ditory composed of their parents and private friends* 
 could tend neither to excite the surprise, nor flatter 
 the vanity of the writer. But she derives her chief 
 encouragement to make them public, from the sym- 
 pathy, apparently felt, and unequivocally expressed, 
 on the part of the audience, with which every re- 
 presentation has been honoured. Such demonstra- 
 tions of interest, however, as are the result, in gene- 
 ral, of something more than mere complaisance to 
 either actors or author, she now adduces, gratifying 
 as they must be, only as affording, perhaps, the best 
 palliation she can offer for her apparent presumption. 
 
 The publication of this little work has also been, 
 in some measure, accelerated, by the circumstance 
 of several transcripts of the Dramas having been 
 disseminated among friends who haVe requested 
 copies. It seemed not impossible, that, by a casualty 
 for which they might not be responsible, a more 
 defective specimen might make its appearance, in 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 these publishing times, to the manifest detriment of 
 the Writer in a variety of ways. 
 
 Honoured as she must, of necessity, feel herself, 
 by the flattering permission so kindly accorded her, 
 to inscribe the inconsiderable labours of her pen to 
 THREE LADIES, all less distinguished, even by their 
 elevated rank, than by their eminently amiable and 
 estimable qualities ; she is yet, from the very cir- 
 cumstance of the honour so conferred on her little 
 volume, compelled to feel, more sensibly, its in- 
 trinsic unimportance : and the pride with which she 
 would naturally contemplate names attached to her 
 work, which would bestow consequence on any^ is 
 thence, not merely abated in her mind, but even 
 converted into a sense of humiliation. 
 
 Sensations of a similar kind, alike the result of 
 conscious inferiority, accrue to the Writer from her 
 bearing the names, which once designated her Aunt, 
 Madame D'A RELAY ; an Author, whose deservedly- 
 admired compositions of another class, it is as need- 
 
PEE FACE. XI 
 
 less, as, at this juncture, impolitic, to recall to the 
 minds of the Readers. 
 
 FITZORMOND, the only piece in this collection, 
 which has any pretension to originality, or rather, 
 perhaps, which owes nothing to a foreign hand, 
 (for similitude may exist, though none has been 
 intended,) will, nevertheless, as & juvenile attempt, 
 make large demands on the indulgence of the Reader. 
 This is stated, in strict justice to the piece itself; 
 although to the majority, in all probability, of those 
 who may peruse it, the internal evidence it exhibits, 
 will sufficiently demonstrate the fact. It was, in- 
 deed, begun at the age of seventeen : and though 
 laid aside for a time, was concluded within a short 
 period of its commencement. As will be evident, 
 it was written for a very limited, as well as youthful 
 company ; and this circumstance, added to the great 
 restrictions which the Writer was under in regard 
 to scenery, occasioned her no small difficulty in the 
 construction and conduct of her little plot ; to which 
 her ignorance, at the time, of the established Laws 
 of the Drama, not inconsiderably contributed. 
 
Xll PREFACE. 
 
 MALEK ADHEL was expressly put into English 
 verse, and into a dramatic form, for a young family, 
 amateurs of tragic acting, to some among whom, 
 the brevity of the parts allotted to themselves fur- 
 nished their best recommendation. In consequence, 
 the characters are by no means fully developed. To 
 exhibit them in a more interesting point of view, 
 perhaps, the action should have been begun at an 
 earlier period of the story, and continued through 
 five acts, to the close. But this would have required 
 more leisure than could, at the time, be commanded 
 for the experiment; and would probably, when 
 done, have unfitted the piece, in some measure, for 
 the purpose intended. The Prologue originally 
 spoken at the performance, has oeen adjoined to 
 this drama, only as affording an introduction, ap- 
 parently necessary, to the local and relative situa- 
 tions of the characters at its commencement. It 
 has been attempted to preserve, in a certain degree, 
 the unity of place, by substituting the Plains of 
 Cesarea for Ascalon, the true scene of the decisive 
 battle against the Saracens : but in other respects, 
 the Romance of Madame COTTIN has been as 
 
PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 closely adhered to, and her sentiments as faithfully 
 retained, as possible ; from every motive of respect 
 and justice to her, the Spectators, and the Reader, 
 as well as to the obvious assistance and advantage 
 of the translating Dramatist. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS, which it is scarcely necessary to 
 distinguish here, as intended, neither by its Author 
 nor Translator, for private representation, she has 
 perhaps, rendered into English with as little devia- 
 tion from the celebrated ARISTODEMO of MONTI, 
 as the nature of the work, and the structure of our 
 verse would allow. The original is the most ad- 
 mired composition, as far as the Translator can 
 learn, on the Italian stage ; and is seemingly pre- 
 ferred, by the natives of Italy, even to the Tragedies 
 of ALFIERI himself. The work of translation was 
 undertaken at the express recommendation of a 
 Gentleman of that country, who was, himself, per- 
 suaded that it might be performed, with effect, before 
 an English Audience. It has never been submitted, 
 however, to the judgment of any Manager: the 
 little encouragement hitherto given, in our Theatres, 
 
XIV PREFACE. 
 
 to plays written on the ancient Greek model, ap- 
 pearing sufficiently decisive of the question. 
 
 To conclude, the three following attempts are 
 ushered into the world, with the anxiety natural on 
 an occasion, which, however uninteresting to the 
 Public, cannot, to the Writer, seem otherwise than 
 awfully important. But, while shrinking from the 
 recollection of her own insignificance, whether as 
 Author, Dramatist, or Translator, she deems her- 
 self fortunate in the privilege to shelter it, even par- 
 tially, under names of such eminence in the literary 
 world, as are those of MONTI and COTTIN. 
 
 F. B. 
 
 London, July 14, 1818. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FITZORMOND, or Cherished Resentment. 
 MALEK ADHEL, the Champion of the Crescent. 
 ARISTODEMCJS, or the Spectre. 
 
FITZORMOND; 
 
 OR, 
 
 &***mment* 
 
FITZORMOND; 
 
 OR, 
 
 CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 
 
 A TRAGIC DRAMA. 
 
 MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 BY PERMISSION, 
 TO HER GRACE 
 
 THE DUCHESS OP DORSET. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 FlTZORMOND, ) . XT 
 
 J- Irish Noblemen. 
 CHARLAMONT, j 
 
 JOSCELINE, an ancient Domestic of Fitzormond's. 
 
 LADY FITZORMOND. 
 CHILD. 
 
 The Scene lies in Ireland. 
 
FITZORMOND. 
 
 ACT I, 
 
 SCENE L 
 
 A Forest. Night. 
 Enter CHARLAMONT. 
 
 Char. HAIL, solitary shades, for silent woe 
 And deep, and mournful meditation made ! 
 Whose dark recesses ne'er were yet explor'd 
 By human foot j unless some wretch forlorn, 
 Like me, perchance, the sport of wayward fate, 
 Has 'mid your glooms that friendly refuge sought 
 Which the drear grave alone can give to me ! 
 Ye venerable oaks, whose tufted tops 
 And far-stretch'd boughs exclude the moon's pale beam, 
 Bidding these wild and melancholy woods 
 Frown with unvaried horror, ye are welcome, 
 Thrice welcome to the soul your sadness suits ! 
 The traveller with reverential awe 
 Gazes upon you, as the monuments 
 
 B 2 
 
4 FITZORMOND ', OR, Act I. 
 
 Of ages past, when Druids met, perhaps, 
 
 Amid your solemn shades, and spirits dwelt 
 
 In the old hollows of your time-worn trunks j 
 
 But I will welcome your severest glooms, 
 
 And dwell amid your dreariest solitudes. 
 
 No living eye shall e'er again behold 
 
 Or mock my sufferings. Hah ! what light is this, 
 
 Which casts its feeble rays athwart my way? 
 
 Am I so near the hated haunts of man ? 
 
 A female form! I am discover'd, lost! 
 
 Dark night, befriend me ! I must pierce these shades, 
 
 And seek their closest covert for my safety. 
 
 [Exit into the wood. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Lady FITZORMOND, bearing a light. 
 
 Lady. This light burns dimly ; and as I pass on, 
 It seems to throw gigantic shadows round. 
 I trust I was deceiv'd it could not be : 
 These unfrequented woods no ground afford 
 For coward fear, or womanish distrust j 
 Yet still, methinks, that piercing through the glade, 
 A form, no false illusion of the mind, 
 Quick darted 'cross my path : it could not be ; 
 And yet, methought I heard a human voice. 
 It must be fancy all j th' effect alone 
 Of feverous imagination, raising 
 New terrors, ever, for the mind oppress'd : 
 Mine has been long enfeebled by th' endurance 
 
Scene III. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 5 
 
 Of long-protracted, almost hopeless anguish. 
 
 My husband ! oh ! what fearful images 
 
 Throng on my fancy as my lips pronounce 
 
 That name, so justly houour'd, dearly lov'd ! 
 
 For sure some fatal accident detains thee, 
 
 Or thou but mock'st me with thy promis'd coming. 
 
 Would thou wert here ! my frame enfeebled bends 
 
 Beneath the weight of my anxiety 
 
 For thee, and for my child, perhaps, ere this 
 
 Robb'd of a father ! Oh, avert the thought, 
 
 All-pitying Heav'n ! and bid the ruthless war 
 
 Which with its own blood deluges my country, 
 
 And tears its entrails, cease from desolation ! 
 
 But let me seek the solitary cell, 
 
 Once sacred to the holy hermit's prayers, 
 
 Where undisturbed, and by the world unheard, 
 
 I dare breathe forth to heav'n my sad petitions. 
 
 Devotion shall dispel the gloomy fears 
 
 That haunt my mind, and bring the balm of ease. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Re-enter CHARLAMONT,/rowz the ivood. 
 Char. Angelic vision, stay ! ah no ! she's gone ! 
 Where am I ? Did my senses then deceive me, 
 Or did I truly hear and see my sister ? 
 'Twas doubtless she ; for by her taper's rays, 
 And by the trembling beam of the wan moon, 
 Which then first darted on us from the sky, 
 
 
6 FITZORMOND ; OR, Act L 
 
 Gilding her face with momentary light, 
 
 I mark'd her well : that lovely form, that voice too ! 
 
 I could not be mistaken. I must follow ; 
 
 But no ! curs'd fate ! I dare not ! scarce I dare 
 
 Thus linger here j for danger lurks around. 
 
 Perchance this spot, all dreary as it seems, 
 
 May near her habitation lie. Perchance 
 
 There is for me no hope,, no comfort left ! 
 
 Melania, wedded to some haughty lord, 
 
 Perhaps may look with horror on this wand'rer, 
 
 This vagrant brother, flying, still, the stroke 
 
 Severe, of justice for a murd'rous deed. 
 
 Her husband, too, may look with proud disdain 
 
 On all the guilty wretchedness I bring, 
 
 And scowl imperious on my misery. 
 
 That thought brings daggers to transfix my heart ! 
 
 Oh ! days for ever flown ! Days of delight ! 
 
 Succeeded by long years of galling pain, 
 
 Of torturing absence from my native home, 
 
 My hapless mother, and my dear Melania 
 
 Is this your end at last ? Thus do I meet thee ? 
 
 [Looking out, 
 
 Thus plung'd in anguish, thus condemn'd to shame? 
 And must I fly thee \ No ; whate'er th' event, 
 If once again thou turn this way, I'll break 
 The cruel chain that bound my tongue in silence, 
 And pour my sorrows in thy gentle ear. 
 Though I no hope expect to gain from thee, 
 fhy soft compassion yet may sooth my mind. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
Scene V. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Enter JOSCELINE. 
 
 Jos. Could I but learn the secret cause which brings 
 My lady, nightly, to this lonely spot, 
 'Twould ease my mind of many painful fears 
 Which have perplex'd it long. I hear her step ; 
 She comes this way : the moon will soon appear, 
 And aid me to perceive and note her purpose, 
 While at a distance I remain to watch her. 
 Forgive, fair lady, my intrusive zeal, 
 Which seeks to know, what you would fain conceal. 
 
 [Retires among the trees. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Re-enter Lady FITZORMOND. 
 
 Lady. My taper's spent, yet am I loth to quit 
 The deep'ning glooms of this sequester'd scene. 
 The solemn hour of midnight comes ; the forest 
 Is still, and darksome as the grave : no noise 
 Breaks the dread silence of the hour, save where 
 From yon far-distant battlements, the wind 
 Brings to mine ear, with its own hollow whistlings, 
 The screech-owl's ominous note : a mournful sound, 
 That thrills my mind with superstitious awe, 
 And dire presagements of approaching ill ! 
 Unfold, ye heavy, thick, portentous clouds; 
 
8 pirzoRMOND; OR, Act I. 
 
 And bid the radiant moon's bright glimm'rings fall 
 O'er my be wilder' d path, to chase this horror 
 Which creeps through every vein,, and numbs my heart ! 
 [Takes a picture, and sits down. 
 Come forth, thou little treasur'd consolation ! 
 Come, and charm far away these sad impressions, 
 Dear image of my hapless Charlamont 
 My rash, my generous, ill-fated brother ! 
 Ah ! whither has thy cruel doom convey'd thee ? 
 Art thou on earth, or does thy listening spirit 
 Still hover round, and witness my regrets ? 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Lady FITZORMOND, CHARLAMONT. 
 
 Char. Ah ! did I hear aright ? And beats, Melania, 
 Thy heart with all its wonted love for me ? 
 
 Lady, (retreating.) Oh Heav'n ! what art thou ? 
 
 Char. Charlamont thy brother ! 
 
 Lady, (alarmed.) Art thou indeed the shade of Char- 
 lamont ? 
 
 Char. Nay, I am Charlamont himself 5 and thus 
 1 claim Melania' s credence. [Embracing her. 
 
 Lady. Oh! forgive 
 
 If I have deem'd such joy was not for me ! 
 Say by what happy chance thou'rt here ? 
 
 Char. Through dangers, 
 
 Through toils severe, and sorrows which, describ'd 
 Would pain thy gentle soul, I found my way 
 
Scene VI. CHERISHED RKSENTMKNT. 9 
 
 To blest Hibernia's shores. Did I say blest ? 
 Ah, no ! my happiness was gone for ever ! 
 
 Lady. Thou shouldst not be unhappy, for thy heart 
 Is kind, and tender as the cradled babe's. 
 But where hast thou been wand' ring, Charlamont? 
 And what has been thy fate since last I saw thee ? 
 I will not chide thee now for cruelty ; 
 But sure, my brother, 'twas unkindly done, 
 To leave thy mother and myself; to fly, 
 Nor tell us why we lost thee ! 
 
 Char. Dear Melania, 
 
 I would not wound you with so sad a tale j 
 But 'twas a luckless duel, my dear sister, 
 Wherein I left for dead my fierce opponent, 
 And stamp' d the mis'ry of my after life, 
 Which forc'd me to an ignominious flight ; 
 Forc'd me to bring dishonour on our name. 
 To India's golden climes I wing'd my way, 
 When adverse fortune at one blow destroy'd 
 My sole remaining hopes ; a corsair seiz'd 
 Our hapless vessel, and for Tunis sail'd. - 
 There, sold to slavery, and doom'd to chains, 
 A tyrant master five long years I serv'd, 
 Who, dying, left me free. Oh ! with what haste 
 Would I again have sought my native isle ! 
 But slow and painful were the steps, Melania, 
 Which brought me hither. I would spare thee, yet, 
 The sad recital of my miseries past, 
 Since, Heav'n assisting, 1 at length found means 
 To turn once more to lov'd Hibernia : then, 
 
10 FITZORMOND ; OR, Act I. 
 
 I learn'd that he I thought a fallen foe, 
 Still liv'd ; I heard a rumour of your marriage : 
 But of my mother nothing could I learn, 
 Nor ev'n your husband's name. 
 
 Lady. Oh ! my poor mother ! 
 Thy cruel absence wrung her soul with anguish ; 
 Nor did she long so great a loss survive. 
 
 Char. Wretch that I am ! vile slave of headstrong rage, 
 And tool of passion, I destroy'd that parent, 
 That dear, that tender parent '.She who gave 
 The life I am not worthy to possess, 
 Liv'd but to see her own by me embitter'd ! 
 Unhappy, injured mother ! let these tears, 
 Which flow from unfeign'd sorrow, true repentance, 
 Appease thy shade ! Oh ! that this impious hand, 
 Which brought dishonour and disgrace on thee, 
 Were perish'd, ev'n to dust ! 
 
 Lady. Hold, Charlamont ! 
 I must not see thee thus destroy thyself 
 By these mad starts of passion. Calm the tempest 
 Of thy distracted mind, and tell me how 
 Thou hither cam'st. What friendly star convey'd thee 
 To thy fond sister? 
 
 Char. Chance convey'd me hither. 
 I sought alone a savage wilderness, 
 Wherein to hide me from mankind for ever j 
 But since, for once, my destinies have smiFd, 
 And brought me near th' abode of my Melania, 
 I will to her disclose my sufferings, 
 Ere I for ever bid the world farewell. 
 

 Scene VI. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. i \ 
 
 But I already have enough reveal'd 
 
 To shock thy feeling tenderness for me ; 
 
 The rest I will defer : and for to night 
 
 I'll leave thee, ev'n to seek amid these shades 
 
 Some cavern'd hollow of an o'ergrown oak, 
 
 Whose trunk may yield me shelter from the air. 
 
 Repose I look not for. Adieu, Melania ! 
 
 [Embracing her. 
 Again to-morrow meet me in this spot. 
 
 Lady. Wilt thou not to the shelter of our roof ? 
 The castle stands on the proud eminence 
 That woos yon silv'ry stream ; I'll lead thee to it : 
 Come with me. 
 
 Char. No. 
 
 Lady. But wherefore not ? 
 
 Char. Twere death, 
 
 Or, worse than death, 'twere public degradation, 
 For Charlamont, were he disco ver'd here : 
 Thy lord himself I dare not trust, Melania. 
 
 Lady. Oh ! he is goodness all all kind compassion ; 
 And now is distant far. Alas ! my brother, 
 Wherefore dost thou mistrust him ? wherefore fear ? 
 
 Char. I'm guilty, and I still must dwell in fear j 
 For 'tis their portion ever to be cowards, 
 Who feel that they deserve the ills they meet. 
 This wood shall be my refuge : no pursuit 
 O'ertake me here ; here may I nurse my sadness, 
 And hide my shame. 
 
 Lady. I'll not believe thee guilty ; 
 But since thou art so bent on solitude, 
 
12 F1TZORMOND; OR, Act I. 
 
 I'll point thee out a fitter place of rest. 
 
 That path will lead thee to a moss-grown cell, 
 
 Once an old hermit's simple habitation : 
 
 There, thou may'st screen thee from the winds of night, 
 
 And court repose in safety. Enter boldly j 
 
 That cell is sacred to my nightly prayers. 
 
 When I retire to pray for thee, my brother, 
 
 And for my husband : no one else, believe me, 
 
 E'er seeks admission there. 
 
 Char. Since 'tis a spot 
 Forsaken by the world, I'll gladly seek it ; 
 For well 'twill suit the temper of my soul. 
 
 Lady. To-morrow at the hour of noon I'll come, 
 And learn the rest of thy unhappy story : 
 I'll bring refreshments too, for sure thou need'st them ; 
 Till then, my Charlamont, farewell. 
 
 Char. All joy 
 
 Attend my much lov'd sister ! Be it hers 
 Never to know a woe that equals mine ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Manet Lady FITZORMOND. 
 
 Lady. Amen to thy sad pray'r, my hapless brother ! 
 Oh ! why do we thus meet, thus part ? What mystery 
 Involves thy fate, too dreadful to unfold ? 
 Hah! Josceline here? Heav'n grant he has seen nought 
 To raise conjecture, or awake his doubts ! 
 
Scene VIII. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 13 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 Lady FITZORMOND, JOSCELINE. 
 
 What brings thee here, my friend ? 
 
 Jos. My fears for you. 
 Pardon me, lady, that I interrupt 
 The sacred privacy of your retirement j 
 But anxious apprehensions for your safety, 
 In this lone wood, at this unwonted hour, 
 Induc'd me to pursue your steps : nay, more, 
 I wish'd to warn you 'gainst th' approaching storm, 
 That ev'n now gathers in the turbid air. 
 
 Lady, (aside.) He has seen no one, and I breathe 
 
 again. 
 
 (Aloud) Josceline, go forward, I will follow thee. 
 Lost in deep thought, I had not mark'd the storm ; 
 Yet, though no tim'rous thoughts my bosom share, 
 I'll take thy warning, and I thank thy care. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT THE FIRST. 
 
14 FITEORMOND; OR, Act II 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Another part of the Forest, near the Castle of Fitzormond . 
 Time, Morning. 
 
 Lady FITZORMOND seated, her CHILD tvith a basket, 
 gathering Jlowers. 
 
 To them, enter Jos CELINE, with a letter. 
 
 Lady. A letter ? and from whom ? 
 
 Jos. (giving it}. From Lord Fitzormond. 
 The messenger who brought it, was detain 'd 
 By a strong party of the enemy 
 Which scours the country round : but just escap'd/ 
 He brings this letter from my noble Master. 
 
 Lady (having read it). The words are few, but joy- 
 ous is their import. 
 
 Oh! bounteous Heav'n! what blessings dost thou shower 
 On me, and on my child ! This, this surpasses 
 All that my fondest expectations form'd 
 Of happiness, when Fancy held the reins, 
 And sober Reason had resign'd her power !~- 
 Josceline, thy lord will be with us ere noon. 
 
 Jos. 'Tis earlier than I had presumed to hope. 
 Lady, forgive an aged servant's weakness ; 
 
Scene II. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 15 
 
 But I can ill restrain, though in your presence, 
 Some drops of pleasure at my lord's return. 
 
 Lady. Seek not t' excuse what I know how to value. 
 Thy tears, good man, bespeak thine honest zeal j 
 And best congratulate Fitzormond's wife, 
 
 Jos. Some preparation will be needful, lady, 
 Which I must hence to forward. 
 
 Lady. Haste, oh haste ! 
 Let gay festivity and music join 
 To celebrate th* event of this glad day ! 
 Perhaps Fitzormond enters now the forest : 
 Do thou prepare j I will remain to greet him j 
 For he must pass us to attain the castle. 
 
 [Exit JOSCELINE. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Lady FITZORMOND, CHILD. 
 
 Lady. Rejoice, my child ! my best-belov'd, rejoice ! 
 Thy father comes to-day ! 
 
 Child. And shall I see him ? 
 I have almost forgot him. 
 
 Lady. What delight 
 
 Will soon be mine, to give thee to his arms, 
 And note the transports of paternal love ! 
 Oh ! when I think of all I have endur'd, 
 And of the blessed change which waits me now, 
 Lost in the wild extravagance of joy, 
 I am no more myself ! Delicious dream ! 
 If such thou art, oh, let me ever hold thee. 
 
15 FITZORMONDj OR, Act II. 
 
 Nor e'er wake more to sad reality ! 
 
 But hist ! methought I heard approaching steps 
 
 [Rises, and looks out. 
 My child, thy father comes ! 
 
 Fitzormond ( without}. Lead hence my horse. 
 I see her now, and will proceed on foot. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 FITZORMOND, Lady FITZORMOND, CHILD, 
 
 Fitz. My love ! [Embracing her. 
 
 Lady. Thrice welcome, oh, my heart's best treasure ! 
 
 Fitz. Sweet object of my soul's idolatry ! 
 Balm of my life, Fitzormond's earthly heaven ! 
 Have I attain'd this dear, long wish'd-for moment, 
 And do I clasp thee ? 
 
 Lady. Oh ! my sovereign good ! 
 For whom so oft I've look'd, and look'd in vain, 
 Art thou return'd at last, to bless mine eyes, 
 And give this image of thyself a father ? 
 
 Fitz. My darling boy ! Let me embrace thee, too. 
 How is it ? Art thou glad to see thy father ? 
 Dost thou remember him, and wilt thou love him ? 
 
 Child. I cannot say that I remember you 5 
 But I shall love you, if you love mamma. 
 
 Fitz. What, wilt thou love me for thy mother's sake ? 
 
 Child. Yes ; and I'll give you all my prettiest flowers : 
 Woodbines, anemonies, and sweet wild-roses ; 
 And many more whose names I do not know. 
 
8-cene III. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 17 
 
 I found them in the wood ; but you shall have them, 
 If you will love mamma. 
 
 Fits. I'll dearly love her; 
 
 Yet though I thank thee for the gift, my child, 
 I will not so deprive thee of thy treasures. 
 
 Child. I pick'd them for mamma j but now they're 
 
 yours -, 
 And I will seek for more in yonder brake. 
 
 Fitz. What is this music ? [Music heard. 
 
 Lady. 'Tis for thy reception, 
 Our tenants long have pray'd for thy return j 
 And have prepared with songs to welcome thee. 
 Wilt thou stay here to listen ? 
 
 Fitz. Willingly. 
 
 The song is sweet which gratitude inspires,, 
 How mean so e'er the bard, or rough the lay. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Set in night, thou baleful star 
 
 With malignant influence shining : 
 
 Waste no more our land with war, 
 Anarchy, and sad repining. 
 
 SEMI CHORUS. 
 
 Rise, propitious planet, rise^, 
 
 Bright o'er Erin's beauteous isle ! 
 
 Beaming from thy placid skies 
 Peace's sweet celestial smile, 
 
 c 
 
18 FiTZORMOND j OR, Act II 
 
 DUETT. 
 
 Bid her sons no longer mourn, 
 Carnage o'er the land prevailing : 
 
 Bid fair Peace's wish'd return 
 
 Chase hence sorrow and bewailing. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Rise, propitious planet, rise, 
 
 Bright o*er Erin's beauteous isle ! 
 
 Beaming from thy placid skies, 
 Bid the happy nation smile ! 
 
 Fitz. I thank thee, my Melania : thou hast studied 
 The means to make me welcome, 
 
 Lady. But, indeed, 
 
 In this I have no merit :' when successful 
 In pleasing thee, I am best pleas'd myself. 
 
 A dance of Tenants' Children. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Another part of the Forest, as in Act I. 
 CHARLAMONT sitting in a mournful posture. 
 
 Char* Oh I what a night of horror have I pass'd t 
 Methought the spirits of the tempest hover'd 
 Around my couch, to mock me with repose -, 
 And haunt my feverish slumbers with the visions 
 That most distract me, most unman my soul ! 
 
Scene V. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 19 
 
 For, in the midst of my perturbed dreams, 
 Before mine eyes the ministers of death, 
 Of torture, rise, to tax me with rebellion, 
 And fouler murder. Spectres glide before me, 
 And point at Charlamont, perdition's child ! 
 
 [Rising hastily. 
 
 See ! there they glance amid the trees ! Avaunt ! 
 Grim visions of a phrenzied mind, away ! 
 Ye sting my soul to madness ! Phantoms, hence ! 
 I'll bid a long adieu to fear and horror 
 My constant soul shall see you all, unmovM. 
 For why ? This hand is deep in blood j and fortified 
 'Gainst all the threat'ning terrors ye prepare ! 
 Then leave me! So. I am again alone. 
 I would be still alone ; the dreary grave 
 Should be my darksome dwelling. There would I 
 Lie ever hidden from the sun's proud beam ; 
 For there my woes would cease, and all my shame 
 Be hid from all. There, there alone, I look 
 For peace ; and yet, an angel moves this way ! 
 An angel sent me from the pitying skies! 
 
 SCENE V. 
 CHARLAMONT, Lady FITZORMOND ivith a basket. 
 
 Lady. Thou seest me true to mine appointment, 
 
 brother. 
 I bring thee the refreshments which I promis'd. 
 
 Char. (Wildly). Yes 5 true. Who art fhou ? speak. 
 
 C 2 
 
20 FITZORMOND ; OR, Act II. 
 
 Lady. Thy fond Melania. 
 Dost thou not know me ? 
 
 Char. Pardon me, thou com'st 
 I had forgot. But no j thou com'st to learn 
 More of my wretched story $ com'st prepar'd 
 To hate me, and to fly me far for ever ! 
 
 Lady. Ah ! why these doubts of thy Melania's love ? 
 
 Char. Say, art thou still the same, the kind Melania, 
 The tender, fond companion of my youth ? 
 Oh ! then return nor further tidings seek 
 Of a lost wretch, whom Hope herself forsakes ! 
 But, trust me, though I fought, 'twas my intent 
 To take his life alone [In a low and hurried voice. 
 
 Lady. Whose life ? 
 
 Char. Fitzormond's. 
 Curse on the sland'rous tongue that contradicts it! 
 
 Lady. Fitzormond's ? Heav'ns ! What can my bro- 
 ther mean ? 
 
 Thou didst not fight with him ! He lives, is safe, 
 Is here, and is oh Charlamont ! my husband ! 
 
 Char. (With surprise and horror). Is he thy husband ? 
 
 Lady. Yes ; for shortly after 
 Thy flight from Erin, he address' d and won mej 
 And Albion's isle beheld our plighted vows. 
 He brought me to my native land again, 
 The mistress of yon castle : ev'n the earth 
 Beneath thy feet, is his. 
 
 Char. (After a pause). Would that this earth 
 Would open, and receive me to its caverns ! 
 That I no more might hear thee speak, Melaiu'a; 
 
Scene V. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 21 
 
 No more might hear those petrifying sounds 
 
 Thou art his wife ! My bitt'rest enemy's wife ! 
 
 Lady. Thine enemy ! What means my Charlamont ? 
 Fitzormond is the friend of Charlamont 
 The friend of all the good. 
 
 Char. Thou, thou his wife ? 
 
 Oh ! thou hast fir'd my brain ! Fitzormond, saidst thou ? 
 No, no ! Thou canst not be Fitzormond's wife ! 
 Thou art too good too fair. A match like that 
 In its own essence were impossible : 
 'Twere darkness link'd to light ; the highest Heaven 
 Leagu'd with the lowest Hell ! 
 
 Lady. What may this be ? 
 
 Wherefore does thine outrageous tongue profane 
 The sacred tie that binds me to Fitzormond ? 
 Fitzormond is the master of my heart : 
 Generous as great, he won my first affections 
 Ere Heav'n had 'reft me of a parent's care j 
 He wip'd the tear of anguish from mine eyes, 
 When fate pronounc'd me an unfriended wretch ; 
 He took me, when the world had cast me off; 
 And by the sovereign ties of boundless love^ 
 And holy gratitude, enchain'd my soul ! 
 
 Char. Each word thou utt'rest plants a dagger here ! 
 
 [Striking his breast. 
 Oh sister ! sister, in my absence too ! 
 
 Lady. Was I then wrong ? 
 
 Char. If thou hast err'd, Melania 
 
 Lady. If I have err'd ? What mystery is this ? 
 If I have err'd, the blame is wholly thine ! 
 
22 FITZORMOND ; OR, Act II. 
 
 Why did not Charlamont remain to guide me ? 
 Why did my brother fly ? 
 
 Char. Keen, keen reproach, 
 That justly brands me with deserv'd dishonour! 
 Why did I fly, indeed ? Why save a life 
 Now more than ever loath' d, since it is now 
 Unvalued, ev'n by thee ! 
 
 Lady. Have 1 deserv'd 
 
 This harsh rebuke ? O pardon me, my brother, 
 That I have hurt thee by my rash complaint. 
 Forgive too, that I plead Fitzormond's cause : 
 Remember, he's my husband ! 
 
 Char. I forgive thee ? 
 
 Say that he's not thy husband, and I'll bless thee ! 
 Nay more, I'll kneel to thee, I'll do thee homage, 
 Kissing the dust thou tread'st on ! say, Melania, 
 But say, thou'rt not his wife ! 
 
 Lady. Oh ! never, never ! 
 
 Sooner, plague, famine, and disease shall rack me j 
 Sooner, deep shame and dire despair be mine ; 
 Sooner shall madness fire my tortur'd brain, 
 Than I deny my marriage with Fitzormond ! 
 To me, he's all ! Th' indulgent hand of Heaven, 
 Though it profusely lavished bounties on me, 
 Could add no blessing when it gave me him 
 Him, and his second self, my darling child, 
 Fitzormond's image, and Melania's joy ! 
 
 Char. Hast thou a child ? O teach him then, to curse 
 
 me! 
 Bid his young heart imbibe his father's hate ; 
 
Scene V. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 23 
 
 His tongue lisp forth his father's imprecations 
 Upon the name of Charlamont. My sister, 
 'Tis not Fitzormond's child, unless he curse me ! 
 
 Lady. No, he shall bless thy name, my Charlamont j 
 For I will teach him all his mother's love. 
 But wherefore rack me with mysterious hints ; 
 Yet keep me still in deepest ignorance ? 
 
 Char. Shall I disclose the tenfold hideous truth, 
 And bid Melania's gentle spirit hate me ? 
 Oh ! rather go, since thou'rt Fitzormond's wife, 
 And rest in peaceful ignorance of my fate. 
 I cannot yet resolve to break a silence, 
 Awful as that which hovers o'er the tomb. 
 Pity me, my Melania, my dear sister j 
 I have not yet resolv'd to make thee hate me ! 
 
 Lady. Wilt thou not speak ? Some future day per- 
 haps 
 
 Char. No ! When the sun, his radiant head conceal'd, 
 Bids brooding darkness overspread the earth ; 
 When the lone owl screams her nocturnal note, 
 And no intrusive ear can catch the sound 
 Then, then, my sister, shall my tongue unfold 
 The dreadful tale in all its horrors clad.- 
 But, mark me ! not till then. 
 
 Lady. Be't as thou wilt, 
 
 Since thou perforce wilt cherish thine afflictions : 
 This night I'll visit thee ; but now Fitzormond 
 Awaits me in the castle. Charlamont, 
 Thou wilt not in with me ? 
 
 Char. No, Heav'n forbid ! 
 
24 FITZORMOND) OR, Act JL 
 
 Lady. Heav'n then protect thee, and thy ways be- 
 friend ! {Exeunt, severally. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Enter FITZORMOND hastily, followed by JQSCEMNE. 
 
 Fitz. Traitor, recall thy words ! Taint not the air 
 With slander foul as this, lest, in the wrath 
 Thy calumnies inspire, I tear thee piecemeal, 
 And give thy mangled carcase for the food 
 Of wolves and carrion kites ! 
 
 Jos. Oh ! good my lord, 
 But deign to hear, and be thyself the judge. 
 
 Fitz. Yes, I will hear ; but on thy life, old man. 
 Breathe not a word to taint Melania's fame, 
 Pure as th* eternal snows on Alpine heights : 
 Nor let thy venom'd tongue asperse her faith 5 
 'Tis firm as earth's sound base. 
 
 Jos. Alas, my lord! 
 
 Your rage misconstrues all, and bears you far 
 Beyond the object which I have in view. 
 
 Fitz. Dotard, what object that ? 
 
 Jos. I only mean, 
 
 Indeed, my lord, to rouse your circumspection, 
 Lest your too noble nature be abus'd 
 By easy faith, and misplac'd trust, perhaps, 
 In one.'-'- 
 
 Fitz. In one who merits all my trust : 
 On whose unspotted purity of soul 
 $a firmly, so securely I rely, 
 
Scene VI. CHERISHKD RESENTMENT. 25 
 
 That all thy malice, can invent or urge, 
 
 Is lost upon me. She's so deeply rooted 
 
 In my affection, that no earthly words 
 
 Would be of pow'r to shake my stedfast faith 
 
 In her true constancy, and matchless worth. 
 
 But to thy proofs : unless thou bring' st me these,, 
 
 Thou losest all my friendship, all thy pains. 
 
 Jos. Proofs I perhaps have none : suspicions, guch 
 As may amount to 
 
 Fitz. Slave ! and dar'st thou .then 
 On mere suspicion thus presume to bring 
 Thine idle dreams to me ? Away ! 
 
 Jos. My lord' 
 
 Fitz. What can'st thou urge in thy defence for this, 
 Presumptuous reptile ? 
 
 Jos. I can nothing urge, 
 But that I am too prone, when duty calls, 
 And your dear honour is the cause in question, 
 Too prone, indeed, to think your wrongs mine own. 
 I have been long, I trust, a faithful servant 
 To.you, my lord j nay, from my earliest years, 
 J serv'd your father with fidelity : 
 'Tis hard, indeed, now that old Age has strewn 
 His silv'ry honours o'er my drooping head, 
 To find the meed of all my labours this -, 
 To find my word discredited ; mine age 
 With scorn and anger spurn'd ; by him, from whom 
 I hop'd most kindness, and deserv'd most trust. 
 Pardon, my lord ; these tears had not disgrac'd 
 My wither'd cheek, had you been just ; but now, 
 
26 F1TZORMOND ; OR, Act II. 
 
 Too late, I see that I was rashly bold, 
 
 When I attempted warning you against 
 
 The evils I foresee. And yet, my lord, 
 
 Believe me here ; I prize your honour more 
 
 Than all the worthless world contains for me : 
 
 But here I end ; my too importunate love 
 
 Shall never trouble or offend you more. [Going. 
 
 Fitz. Stay, Josceline, and let me now intreat, 
 As sure I ought, thy pardon. Good old man, 
 For worlds I would not hurt or injure thee ; 
 But trust me, every word of thy reproach 
 Has deeply wounded me. 
 
 Jos. You are too good. 
 
 Oh ! did I dare reproach you ? No ; my tongue, 
 However free, could never dare assume 
 So wide a license as to have reproach'd you ! 
 
 Fitz. Here is my hand. Now, Josceline, declare, 
 (For much my curiosity is rais'd, 
 Though I disclaim all fear, and all distrust,) 
 What in thy lady's conduct thou hast noted, 
 To authorize the doubts thou fosterest ? 
 
 Jos. E'er since the day you brought your lovely bride 
 To proud Fitzormond's tow'rs, I've had, my lord, 
 At times, these same surmises. It is now, 
 I think, six years ago. 
 
 Fitz. It is 5 proceed. 
 My heart accuses me of wronging her, 
 While I but listen to th' insidious tale. 
 
 Jos. Your lordship knows that she, at times, isplung'd 
 In fits of melancholy. These I noted j 
 
Scene VI. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 27 
 
 And much I thought, but never dar'd reveal 
 
 The doubts that fill'd my mind. Oft too, I found, 
 
 When you, my lord, were absent from the castle 
 
 T' attend the field, your lady would steal out, 
 
 Ev'n at the midnight hour, whene'er the moon 
 
 Had shed her tender radiance on the earth. 
 
 Long time I knew not where she bent her steps j 
 
 But took occasion, once, to watch at distance. 
 
 Last night I mark'd her, near this lonely spot, 
 
 Sitting beside yon rivulet that winds 
 
 Its way among the woods. Her lovely head, 
 
 In mournful seeming, rested on one hand ; 
 
 While in the other she a picture held, 
 
 Which from her bosom she with fondness took, 
 
 And wept as she caress' d it. 
 
 Fitz. Josceline, 
 
 Art thou assur'd she then no picture held 
 Which bore thy lord's resemblance ? 
 
 Jos. Well assur'd ; 
 For on the mossy turf I softly stole, 
 And gaz'd, unseen, upon the sacred treasure j 
 It bore the semblance of a youthful hero, 
 But was not yours, my lord. 
 
 Fitz. Proceed ; for now 
 I own myself perplex'd. (Aside.) Nay, ev'n alarm'd. 
 
 Jos. All this, your lordship well may think, amaz'd me. 
 But now a newer matter of surprise 
 Arose before me. Yesternight I saw, 
 Here, on this spot, a stranger with your lady, 
 In earnest converse, often with embraces 
 And fond endearments mingled. 
 
2-8 FITZORMOND ; OR, Act II. 
 
 Fitz. Josceline, hold ! 
 
 This last brings torturing racks to tear my soul ! 
 Yet I will hear thee through ; and then, this sword 
 Shall point the way to .vengeance on them both ! 
 
 Jos. Talk not of vengeance, good my lord ! unless 
 The proofs were clear. Remember, too, I meant 
 Alone t* awake your caution : not provoke 
 Your angry sword t* attempt your lady's life! 
 But all I know I have already told, 
 Save that my lady promis'd, ere she parted. 
 To meet him here at noon. 
 
 Fitz. A new appointment? 
 Death to my peace ! he lurks about MS then. 
 This wood, perhaps, conceals him. How ! at noon ? 
 The hour's already past. 
 
 Jos. It is, my lord. 
 
 My lady, too, was absent from the castle 
 Precisely at the time. I .could not gain 
 Your lordship's patient hearing earlier, 
 Or you had not been ignorant till now. 
 
 Fitz. I cannot blame thee, Josceline, for ev'n now 
 I grieve that ignorance is mine no more ! 
 Fare thee well, Josceline, I would be alone. 
 
 [Exit JOSCELINE. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Manet FITZORMOND. 
 
 Why, why am I to learn a tale like this ? 
 A tale so fraught with ruin to my hopes ? 
 
Scene VIII. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 29 
 
 How a few words that alienate esteem, 
 
 Graft sour suspicion on love's tender stem! 
 
 I loathe a life of jealous vigilance j 
 
 But would discreetly act, while doubt can be 
 
 Of her disloyalty : yet, if to-night 
 
 She venture forth again to meet this stranger, 
 
 This dark, unknown destroyer of my peace 
 
 No more ! for now she comes, with sweetest wiles 
 To twine about my heart ; and make it doubt 
 If, in a form where heav'nly beauty reigns, 
 Aught but the purest virtue can inhabit ! 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 FITZORMOND, Lady FITZORMOND, CHILD. 
 
 Fitz. Whence comes Melania ? Where has she been 
 wand 'ring ? 
 
 Lady. We have been ranging through the woods to 
 
 seek thee : 
 
 Why dost thou leave us thus, unkind Fitzormond ? 
 Art thou so late returned to thy fond wife ; 
 To thy g!acl home ; to this delighted cherub j 
 And yet so quickly weary of our love, 
 Our joy to see thee ? 
 
 Fitz. (Aside.) Let me, if I can, 
 Play the dissembler, even as herself ! 
 (Aloud.) Nay, my Melania, do not doubt my love. 
 It ever lives ! It warms this faithful breast 
 With all a husband's, all a father's fondness. 
 Believe, what I experience is no feign'd, 
 
3O FJTZORMOND 3 OR, Act IL 
 
 No artful passion 3 but the genuine flame, 
 The sacred ardour of unfading love, 
 Inspired by thee, and offspring of thy virtues ! 
 
 Lady. How precious is this kindness to my soul ! 
 Oh ! my Fitzormond ! it revives the sense 
 Of joy, long dead within my drooping heart ! 
 Ah ! could' st thou know the rapture it inspires, 
 Thou ne'er wouldst leave me, more, a prey to grief! 
 
 Fitz. Oh dear deceit ! oh flattering words of love ! 
 (Aside.} But now I'll put their meaning to the test. 
 (Aloud.) And deem'st thou I again would leave thy side, 
 For all the honours in my sovereign's gift ? 
 No, dear Melania : henceforth, when the duties 
 I owe my country, force me to resign 
 Fitzormond's peaceful shades, thy tenderness, 
 Thy love, shall cheer my dreary way ; again 
 Thou shalt not pine in solitude and grief. 
 
 Lady. Heav'n bless thee, ever, for those soothing 
 
 words, 
 
 My generous Fitzormond ! Come, my child ; 
 And twine thy little arms around his neck, 
 To thank thy father for this promis'd blessing. 
 Indeed your words. have fill'd me with a joy [To Fitz. 
 I cannot e'er express 3 my gratitude 
 For this indulgence shall be like your goodness 3 
 And own no limits ! 
 
 Fitz. (Aside.) She can ne'er be guilty 3 
 I'll not believe it. (Aloud.) Dearest love, thy hand. 
 We'll seek the castle, for the banquet waits. 
 Give me thy hand, my child. Be blest this day, 
 
Scent VIII. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 31 
 
 Which sees me thus restor'd to all I love ! 
 
 While others seek for riches or renown, 
 
 Yet find no pleasures they can call their own ; 
 
 Be't still my fortune, wheresoe'er I roam, 
 
 To find my real happiness at home ! [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT THE SECOND. 
 
32 F1TZORMOND ; OR, Act II f. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 The Forest; Night. 
 
 tinier CHARLAMONT and Lady FITZORMONIX 
 
 Lady. The trees are dropping with unwholesome 
 
 dews j 
 
 And the slow bat wings to his ivy'd nest. 
 Now, Charlamont, begin the tale of woe 
 Whose menac'd horrors have appall' d my soul. 
 
 Char. Lo ! the wan moon, dismay'd, has hid in clouds 
 Her pallid face, reluctant to behold me ! 
 The glittering starry host refuse their beams, 
 Their cheering beams, to illume th' uncertain path 
 Of such a wretch as I. Now, my Melania, 
 Art thou prepar'd to hear the dread narration 
 Of all thy brother's miseries, all his crimes ? 
 
 Lady. His crimes ! Ah me ! what has my brother 
 done? 
 
 Char. Nay, nay, when thou hast heard the fearful 
 
 truth, 
 
 Thou ne'er wilt own me for thy brother more. 
 That term shall bring reproach and shame upon thee ; 
 
Scene I. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 33 
 
 And thou eternal infamy shalt see 
 
 Link'd with the name, to stigmatize thy race ! 
 
 Lady. Speak, speak ! this dire suspense is tenfold 
 
 anguish. 
 Wherefore should I disown my brother ? 
 
 Char, (wildly.) Hah! 
 Dost thou not know me for a murderer ? 
 Nay, is not villain in each feature written 
 Of this accursed face ? Are not these hands 
 Imbrued in blood, the blood of guileless innocence ? 
 
 Lady. Oh, heav'n ! 
 
 Char. And wilt thou own me for a brother ? 
 No, rather leave me to the fate I merit, 
 To all the pangs of fruitless, late remorse : 
 Or if thou needs wilt stay, stay here to curse me ! 
 Yet, in mute wonder, now prepare to hear 
 What everlasting silence must conceal. 
 A tale too dreadful for the ear of day, 
 And best breath'd forth amid the glooms of night. 
 List then, Melania. Ere inglorious flight 
 Urg'd me, for safety, far from all I lov'd, 
 Thou know'st I fought ; yes, with thy husband fought, 
 And left him, as I deem'd, bereft of life. 
 Our cause of quarrel this; Fitzormond'look'd 
 With the proud eye of arrogant contempt, 
 On one he, falsely, term'd Hibernia's foe ! 
 For 'mid the civil broils that tore our land, 
 f Twas mine to join the cause of, liberty. 
 'Twas mine ( with pride I own it) to lead forth 
 Those daring champions of our country's freedom,, 
 
34 FITZORMOND J OR, Act III. 
 
 Who fought on Wexford's plains, and greatly fell, 
 Defending rights which God and nature gave ! 
 Proud boast ! which yet has pow'r to fire my soul, 
 And renovate the hero's ardours here 1 
 
 [Striking his heart. 
 
 Vain boast, alas ! too soon was Charlamont, 
 By fatal chance of war, Fitzormond's captive. 
 Yet, mid the dreary hours of sad confinement, 
 Fair Annabel would cheer my prison's glooms j 
 The sister of Fitzormond, form'd to win, 
 By matchless softness,, ev'n the savage heart; 
 With pity mark'd my now inglorious state, 
 And prais'd the valour of my young achievements. 
 Blooming with youthful loveliness and grace, 
 She seem'd a heav'nly messenger of bliss ! 
 Could I do less than love her ? Nay, Melania, 
 The heart she gave, 'twas luxury to hold, 
 (The heart she gave, 'twas agony to lose !) 
 The heart she gave was more than the reward 
 Of all that dauntless valour could achieve, 
 Or constancy could suffer : 'twas, indeed, 
 A commutation sweet for liberty ! 
 Yet, through her means, ev'n that was mine again. 
 Ah ! fatal freedom ! ill exchanged for bondage ! 
 We fled together from Fitzormond's power ; 
 We fled, and were pursued. Yes, my Melania ; 
 Ere Heaven's sacred sanction could be lent 
 To our disastrous loves, Fitzormond came 
 He came to force her from me, Oh ! for breath, 
 For breath to tell the rest ! 
 
Scene I. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 35 
 
 Lady. Oh, Charlamont! 
 My list'ning soul hangs eager on thy accents, 
 And longs, yet dreads to hear ! 
 
 Char. My sins deserve 
 That I should have this bitter tale to tell : 
 Yea, more, that I should have to tell it thee ! 
 But what, my gentle sister, have been thine ; 
 And how hast thou deserv'd to hear it told ? 
 
 Lady. Proceed, and if thou canst, relate it quickly; 
 For mine exhausted spirits warn me hence, 
 Lest, ere 'tis ended, they should wholly fail me. 
 
 Char. I will be brief. Tnflam'd with rage, he sought, 
 Fitzormond sought, and found us. In that hour, 
 For ever curs'd, when anger undisguised, 
 Disdain, reproaches mutual, pride, revenge, 
 And deadly hatred urg'd us, *in that hour 
 We fought : a bloody and remorseless conflict ! 
 For Annabel, the tender Annabel, 
 Eager to save, and screaming to restrain us, 
 Rush'd in, and ran between our driving swords! 
 Mine pierc'd her ! Oh ! be calm, my swelling heart, 
 Till I have told oh ! yet one pause for grief, 
 For love, and murder'd Annabel! 
 
 Lady. (Starting.) She died? 
 
 Char. Yes, as the saint she liv'd : with pray'rs for 
 
 both, 
 
 Her pure soul left its beauteous tenement. 
 Yet has black calumny aspers'd her fame, 
 Because she fled, and ere the holy altar 
 Could make us one, breath'd forth her spotless soul. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 FITZORMOND j OR, Act III. 
 
 And curst Fitzormond countenanced the slander, 
 Because she fled with me ! with Charlamont, 
 His foe confest, the daring son of freedom ! 
 Conceive what agonies of soul were mine, 
 When I beheld her at my feet expire ! 
 Conceive the whirlwind of my passions then, 
 The fury of my vengeance on Fitzormond ! 
 Wild with new griefs, with added spurs to wrath, 
 1 flew a raging lion on my foe ! 
 Despair lent vigour to my strong-nerv'd arm : 
 I slew him, as I thought, and joy'd to think it ! 
 Ah ! why had I not, rather, slain myself ? 
 
 Lady. Oh day of woe ! day of transcendent horror ! 
 
 Char. 'Twas on that day I left my native isle : 
 My flight allow'd no time for seeing thee. 
 Solely I penn'd three hasty lines to her, 
 The honour'd parent whom I thus had sham'd, 
 To warn her from a country where her name, 
 Rever'd till then, was grown a general mark 
 For scorn to smile, and obloquy to hoot at ! 
 Further, I pray'd her never to enquire 
 The fate of him whom once she call'd her son j 
 Besought her, as she valued bliss for thee, 
 Th' exalted name of Charlamont to quit, 
 For one less known, less honour'd, less disgrac'd. 
 
 Lady. Yes, thy mysterious mandate was obey'd : 
 She left her country, friends, and family ; 
 Exchanged her proud, her honourable name ; 
 Sought Albion's shores, and died f 
 
 Char. Oh! grief of heart ! 
 
Scene I. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 37 
 
 My mother ! and was this the recompense 
 Of all thy kind, indulgent cares for me ? 
 
 Lady. Thou wast her only son 3 when she had lost 
 
 thee, 
 Life lost its charms, and hope itself was dead. 
 
 Char. Oh Charlamont ! detested parricide \ 
 But I must think no more ! Melania, say, 
 What was thy fate when thus an orphan left, 
 By all deserted, in a foreign land ? 
 Who dried the tear of sorrow on thy cheek ? 
 Who guarded thee from all surrounding ills ? 
 Who stood my sister's friend ? [Taking her hand. 
 
 Lady. Fitzormond. 
 
 Char. (Abruptly dropping her hand. ) He ? 
 
 Lady. Yes, and my dying mother's voice approv'd 
 
 him. 
 Then start not at a name so justly lov'd. 
 
 Char. (Disdainfully.) I hate the name. 
 
 Lady, Believe me, thou dost wrong him. 
 And thou wilt own thy judgment too severe, 
 When thou shalt learn with what fond, filial care, 
 He watch'd thy dying parent's pillow. Oh ! 
 In friendship to my mother, love to me, 
 He was the son, the brother we had lost ! 
 
 Char. (Aside.) Another deep, yet undesign'd re- 
 proach ! 
 
 Lady. Once, and but once, he mention'd his dead 
 
 sister ; 
 
 But check'd himself, as if the subject pain'd him , 
 And we forbore to press it. 
 
38 FITZORMOND J OR, Act HI. 
 
 Char. (Abstractedly.*) Ye did well. 
 Tended upon her death-bed by my foe ! 
 Oh ! pangs imfelt before ! Severe decree 
 Of angry Heav'n to punish and confound me ! 
 Fitzormond triumphs in fulfilling duties 
 Which nature made it mine to have performed ! 
 Relentless Fate, yet art thou satiated, 
 Or hast thou still fresh chastisement in store ? 
 
 Lady. (Looking out .} My Charlamont, I fear 
 
 Char. What fears my sister ? 
 
 Lady. Methought, but now, I heard approaching 
 steps. 
 
 Char. Fear nothing : I will guard thee with my life. 
 
 Lady. Oh ! I am terror all, and wild alarm ! 
 My brother 
 
 Char. I conjure thee, name me not. 
 
 Lady. Not name thee ? Think, oh think ! should I 
 
 be found 
 
 At this late hour conversing with a stranger, 
 A nameless stranger too, in this lone wood, 
 What fatal stains would fix upon my name ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 fld[yFlTZORMOND,CHARLAMONT, FlTZORMOND behind. 
 
 Char. Fly then, and leave me : one embrace, and part. 
 
 Lady. I'm lost for ever ! Fear, and dreaded shame, 
 Which urge my absence, still oppose my flight. 
 My limbs refuse their aid ; my sorrowing heart 
 Aches thus to leave thee 
 
Scene II. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 39 
 
 J'Vte. Art thou, then, so fond ? 
 
 iMcly. Oh ! 'tis my husband's voice ! 
 
 Fitz. (Advancing.} No, treach'rous woman! 
 No more thy husband, but thy direst foe ; 
 I bring hot vengeance on my dagger's point, 
 And thus [Attempts to strike her ; she shrieks. 
 
 Lady. Oh! 
 
 Char. (Interposing.) Hold, dark villain! nor presume 
 With impious hand to strike that lady's heart, 
 The seat of virtues thou canst never reach. 
 
 Fitz. Who talks of virtue with so loud a tongue, 
 Yet dares infringe a husband's sacred rights ? 
 Who meets my wife, here, at the midnight hour, 
 Yet thunders villain in Fitzormond's ears ? 
 
 Char. Ev'n I ; and boldly 111 proclaim myself 
 No foe of virtue, though no friend of thine. 
 
 Fitz. Too well I know thee none, thou base betrayer ! 
 I recognise thy voice j and, if strong guilt 
 Forbid not the avowal, speak thy name. 
 
 Char. 'Twould nought avail thee. Be thou satisfied, 
 Thy lady's innocent. 
 
 Lady. O speak thy name j 
 Or let me speak it, for my vindication ! 
 
 Fitz. What vindication hop'st thou for thyself, 
 Perfidious trait'ress ! Hence, with thy vile paramour ; 
 And ne'er approach me more ! 
 
 Lady. He is my brother ! 
 
 Fitz. Oh ! wretched artifice to screen deep guilt ! 
 Invention mean as false ! Peace, frail one, peace ! 
 Nor dream thy frauds shall e'er again deceive me. 
 
40 F1TZORMOND ; OR, Act III. 
 
 Char. Worthless defamer of thy wife's fair name, 
 Wanton destroyer of thine own soul's peace, 
 Restrain thy wrath. By Heav'n, she tells thee true.- 
 I am her brother ! 
 
 Fitz. She has none, impostor \ 
 Think'st thou this base, this coward subterfuge, 
 Shall serve t' appease an injur'd husband's wrath ?-- 
 Yet, ere my thirsty weapon drinks thy blood, 
 Tell me thy name, that I may know my foe \ 
 
 Char. Now, fey th' effulgent sun that soon shall rise 
 To gild yon eastern hills, while I have power 
 To hide it from thee, thou shalt never know it ! 
 
 Fitz. Is then thy birth so low, and so degraded, 
 So close allied to shame, thou dar'st not own it ? 
 Go, sordid wretch, contemptible as base ! 
 Fitzormond will not stain his righteous sword, 
 The sacred champion of Hibernia's laws, 
 With blood so vile, so infamous as thine ! 
 
 Char. Would it were so ! Would that my state had 
 
 been 
 
 So vile, that slander's self could scarce degrade, 
 So low, that foul disgrace could ne'er befal it ! 
 But learn, proud peer, that such was not my fortune. 
 I had a name which I with pride avow'd, 
 Which all with rev'rence heard ; but now 'tis lost $ 
 For I have sunk it in sepulchral night, 
 .And bade eternal silence rest upon it. 
 
Scene III. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 41 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 FITZORMOND, CHARLAMONT, Lady FITZORMOKD, JOS- 
 CELINE, ivith a light. 
 
 Jos. Pardon, my lord, the fond officious zeal 
 With which I have presum'd to follow you : 
 The noise I heard while waiting in the wood, 
 Awaken'd apprehensions for your safety, 
 
 Fitz. Give me thy light ! Now, by the pow'rs above, 
 I'll know my enemy ! [Holds the light to Charlamont. 
 
 Hah! Charlamont! 
 Base and detested rebel, is it thou ? 
 
 Char. {Half drawing y and then sheathing his sword.) 
 Ev'n so j for, as the husband of my sister, 
 Fitzormond may insult me thus, and live. 
 
 Fitz. Scourge of my life ! do I behold thee here > 
 Say, hell-born traitor, was it not enough 
 My sister fell the victim of thy treachery ? 
 Could not her death appease thy vengeful hate, 
 But must thou wound me in a dearer part, 
 Ev'n in the honour of the wife I love ? 
 
 Char. Forbear with foul and undeserv'd reproach 
 To taint the memory of the maid I lov'S. 
 By Heav'n, her soul was purity itself j 
 Nor shall the wretch exist who dares traduce her ! 
 As for my sister there, the drifting snow 
 That flies by night o'er the untrodden waste, 
 Bears not a heart of more unsullied whiteness. 
 Golconda's mines contain no gem more pure, 
 
42 FITZORMOND ; OR, Act III. 
 
 More perfect than her faith : she never err'd 
 But when she gave her spotless hand to thee ! 
 
 Fitz. Insulting villain, thou shalt pay me this ! 
 
 Char. Come on then. I am weary of existence, 
 And gladly shall resign the life I hate : 
 It is not worth defending. 
 
 Good old man, [To Josceline. 
 Haste with thy lady hence : it is not meet, 
 Her eyes be shock'd by such a scene as this. 
 
 Jos. Lady, will 't please you go ? 
 
 Lady. How ? go, and leave 
 My brother thus defenceless, here, to perish ? 
 Oh ! never, never ! Spare my brother's life, [Kneels. 
 Fitzormond, I conjure thee, on my knees ! 
 
 Fitz. Dost thou then plead for my sworn enemy, 
 And term th' accursed Charlamont thy brother ? 
 Take, rather, the reward of all thy crimes, 
 The thanks thou hast deserv'd from him thou'st wrong'd. 
 
 [Attempts to stab her. 
 
 Char. (Interposing, wounds him with the poniard he 
 
 had wrested from his hand.) 
 Monster ! I'll save thy soul one crime at least, 
 And spare thee the remorse of having kill'd her. 
 Die by my hand ! 
 
 Fitz. (Sinks down.) Too sure I feel the blow ! 
 Now, Charlamont, rebellion's boastful son, 
 And dark assassin, art thou satisfied ? 
 
 Lady. Oh ! Charlamont, what fury prompted thee 
 To do this deed of unexampled horror ? 
 
 Char. Thou know'st thy safety only could, my sister. 
 
Scene III. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 43 
 
 Lady. What was my safety, when compar'd with his ? 
 Rash brother, why didst thou attempt to save me ? 
 Had I but died by my Fitzormond's hand, 
 I had been happy. Oh ! thou hast undone me ! 
 My dear, rny murder'd lord, oh ! raise thine eyes, 
 And give thy lost Melania but one look 
 That may speak pardon to her tortur'd heart ! 
 I have not wrong'd thee : Charlamont himself 
 Forbade me e'er to name him as my brother. 
 O fatal caution ! fatally obey'd ! 
 Fitz. Does she I sought to murder, mourn for me ? 
 Lady. Ah ! Heav'n bear witness to the pangs I feel 
 To see thee thus, my husband ! Oh ! my brother, 
 Behold thy work ! 
 
 Jos. Oh, 'tis a bloody deed ! 
 My honour'd lord yet he perhaps may live. 
 
 Lady. Oh ! let us haste to bear him gently hence. 
 Fitz. Nay, let me die ev'n here. There is no pow'r 
 In art or nature to redeem my life. 
 Mourn not, Melania, that my hour is come : 
 Heav'n has, in mercy, snatch'd me from the earth 
 To save my soul from the tremendous crime 
 Of giving death to thee. Canst thou forgive 
 That I believ'd thee guilty ? 
 Lady. Oh, my husband ! 
 
 Tears choke my utt'rance that I do forgive thee, 
 This fond embrace shall testify. Ah, wherefore, 
 With fatal rashness, wak'd I thy suspicions ? 
 
 Char. Wherefore, but through my means > O Char- 
 lamont ! 
 
44 FiTZORMOND 3 OR, Act II f. 
 
 Born the blind instrument of hell, to scourge 
 Alike thy dearest friends and fellest foes, 
 Why, when thou fledst to India's distant climes, 
 Did not eternal slavery await thee ? 
 Why, when thou sought'st, again, Europa's shores, 
 Did not the angry ocean's waves ingulf thee ? 
 Fitzorinond, now, that, hovering o'er thy lips, 
 Pale Death asserts his victim may a wretch, 
 Conscious, too late, how deeply he has injur'd 
 Thee, and thy heart's best int'rests, plead for pardon? 
 
 Fitz. Thou'st sav'd Melania's life : here is my hand. 
 
 Char. Fitzormond, why, why were we ever foes ? 
 
 Fitz. Melania Heav'n protect thee, and my child! 
 "Tis past. Farewell, my love ! this parting pang, 
 And I am gone Oh ! Heav'n have mercy Oh! [Dies. 
 
 Lady. He's gone, he's gone for ever ! 
 
 Jos. (after a pause} . Oh, my lord ! 
 My honoured murder'd master ! wast thou spar'd 
 By the rude hand of all- destroy ing war, 
 To fall, inglorious, in thine own domain, 
 Ev'n at the moment when thy joys seem'd full ? 
 Sad, piteous sight ! My lady sinking, too, 
 Beneath the weight of grief! How shall I act ? 
 How draw her from this state of death-like sorrow ? 
 Stranger, Lord Charlamont 
 
 Char, (starting). What wouldst thou of me ? 
 
 Jos. Excuse me, lord ; behold my lady faints. 
 
 Char. Wouldst thou bring consolation to my sister, 
 Haste, seek her child : her dear-lov'd infant's voice, 
 Perhaps, may rouse the latent powers of sense, 
 
Scene IV. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 45 
 
 And waken all the mother in her heart. 
 I'll stay to guard her. 
 
 Jos. I obey. [Exit, leaving the light. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Lady FITZORMOND insensible, near the corpse O^FITZ- 
 OUMOND, CHARLAMONT. 
 
 Char. Ah wherefore 
 
 Have / no source of consolation left ? 
 Because I have deserv'd none ! Oh, Melania! 
 Pale, pale thou liest as life itself were flown 
 Thy lips have livid death impress'd upon them ; 
 An icy coldness has benumb'd thy veins ; 
 
 [Taking her hand. 
 
 And pow'rless nature yields to mighty grief! 
 Shall this be so ? and art thou gone, my sister? 
 And diest thou by the hand of Charlamont ? 
 Yea, thou dost die I lose thee, and for ever ! 
 Oh ! for one fresh, reviving breeze from Heav'n, 
 Of pow'r to^tell me, my Melania lives ! 
 Hah ! let me think ! yet, water may restore her. 
 Grey twilight tinges yonder eastern hills, 
 And soon the sun will mount th' illumin'd skies : 
 Could I but find the stream that skirts the wood 
 Thrice blessed orb ! [Looking out. 
 
 Thanks to thy dawning beams, 
 I see it now ! Melania, yet I'll save thee ! [Exit. 
 
4(5 FITZORMOND j OR, Act JJ7. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The sun rises. 
 
 Manet Lady FITZORMOND near the body of FITZOR- 
 MOND : after a pause, she raises herself on her hands t 
 looking around her with astonishment and terror. 
 
 Lady. Where am I ? What strange visions throng 
 
 my mind. 
 
 And strike upon my agonizing brain ? 
 What is this place ? And whence the fearful images 
 That rise, in gloomy retrospect, to view ? 
 Are not impressions horrible as these, 
 The wild precursors of impending phrenzy ? 
 Oh, let me check that thought ! I have but dream'd ;~ 
 But oh, ye pow'rs ! what ghastly dreams were mine ! 
 Methought I saw the corse of my Fitzormond ! 
 Methought I saw Oh ! Sight of blasting horror ! 
 And art thou here again ? 
 
 [Seeing the corpse, she screams, and sinks upon it* 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Re-enter CHARLAMONT, 'with water in his hat. 
 
 Char. Now, my lov'd sister, 
 Once to behold thee, once to hear thee speak,- 
 And then, to take an everlasting leave 
 
 Lady (starting). Who comes? Where' sCharlamont? 
 
 Char. High heav'n be prais'd ! 
 She lives, she speaks, and speaks of Charlamont ! 
 
Scene VI. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 47 
 
 Here, here behold thy brother, my Melania, 
 A supplicant for pardon. 
 
 Lady (points to the body) . Look on this ! 
 
 Char. Oh, fly far hence, Melania ! shun this scene ! 
 
 Lady. This is my pillow of eternal rest : 
 Sorrow, and solitude, and I dwell here ; 
 And what can bring thee near us ? Hie thee hence ! 
 This spot is sacred to despair alone. 
 
 Char. Then the despair / prove, should mark it mine. 
 Dost thou refuse the partnership of sorrow 
 To thy unhappy brother, my Melania ? 
 
 Lady. Have I a brother ? 
 
 Char. Cruel, cruel question ! 
 Yet, let me not repine, I have deserv'd it ! 
 Melania casts her brother off, for ever ! 
 
 Lady. Oh, it had slipp'd my mind : 1 have a brother -, 
 True \ and I wear his picture in my breast, 
 That I may wash it with eternal tears. 
 Oh ! that I should forget I had a brother ! 
 But thou, beware lest he should find thee here ; [ Wildly. 
 For know, his hands are steep'd in human gore ; 
 And he will take thy life ! 
 
 Char. What means my sister ? 
 
 Lady (with 'vehemence). Away! -"if Charlamont 
 
 should find thee here 
 
 But mark me ! do not let him know I warn'd thee ; 
 For then, he'll murder me ! Hah ! I should know thee ! 
 Art thou not Charlamont himself ? Alas ! 
 My wand'ring senses ever thus deceive me j 
 For as I gaz'd this moment on thy face, 
 I took thee for my brother ! Thou wilt smile ; 
 
48 *fTZORMONl> ; OR, Act III. 
 
 But I could weep to think it. Yet, forgive me ^ 
 I know not what I say, nor where I am ; 
 For sorrow weighs so heavy on my heart, 
 That Memory is driven from her seat. 
 'Twill all be over soon. 
 
 Char. Oh, agony ! 
 
 Lady. Nay, ask me not who kilPd him ; 'tis a secret 
 That I must hide for ever from the world j 
 But, if thou wilt, I am content to die, 
 To die, and hide it, ever, in my breast. 
 Yet something, still, I have to say to thee, 
 Something that presses here, upon my heart 
 For which, indeed, alone 1 wish to live. 
 I fain would ask of thee 'but 'tis forgotten ! 
 I now have lost all pow'r of recollection j 
 And it is gone Oh I my perplexed brain ! 
 
 Char. My sister, can I see thee thus, and live > 
 Oh, Reason ! struggle yet to keep thy throne 
 Within my tortur'd mind ! Flow, stream of agony? 
 Flow tears of blood ! 
 
 Lady. Stranger, where is my child ? 
 How ? dead ? and have they murder* d thee, my babe ? 
 Yea, and thy father too ! [Sinks on the body. 
 
 Char. He lives, my sister ! 
 Wherefore thus tardy, Josceline? [Looking out anxiously. 
 
 Lady (rising, and looking on all sides). Oh, where ? 
 Where ? where ? Thou canst not point my infant out? 
 Then leave me. He's no more ! 
 
 Char. O my Melania ! 
 How shall I banish these ungrounded fears ? 
 
 Lady. Shew me his tomb, and I will sit beside it. 
 
Scene VII. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 49 
 
 Lead me to where his little head has rest ! 
 Do not distrust me : I'll be calm, and still, 
 And mute as Silence* self. I'll go with thee j 
 And thou shalt point me out the sacred spot : 
 I'll sit and weep beside it strewing, still, 
 Fresh-gather'd flow'rs upon his early grave. 
 They'll all be moisten'd by a mother's tears. 
 But 111 be careful too, oh ! how I'll watch, 
 That harm shall ne'er approach my infant more ! 
 Come, then. Nay, nay, 'tis not for thee to weep ! 
 Sorrow, and pain, and agony, are mine ! 
 Thou hast no claim to them $ thou ne'er hast known 
 What 'tis to feel the deadliest wound, inflicted 
 Ev'n on the tend' rest fibres of thy heart ! 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Enter JOSCELINE with the CHILD. CHARLAMONT runs 
 to meet them, and brings the CHILD to Lady FITZ- 
 ORMOND. 
 
 Char. (With momentary exultation). Oh, lift thy lan- 
 guid eyes, and bless me still ! 
 Lady (Looking up, and embracing the Child). And art 
 
 thou here, my all of life that's left ? 
 Has Heav'n restor'd thee to my mourning heart ? 
 Jos. Yes, lady j Heav'n, in pity to your griefs, 
 Has sent your child to save you from despair. 
 
 Lady. I thought thee dead, my boy ; and lo ! I clasp 
 
 thee! 
 To God be all the praise ! [K/ieets. 
 
 
 
50 FITZORMOND j OR, Act HI. 
 
 Char. Her wand'ring sense 
 Returns : O God ! I praise I thank thee too ! 
 
 Lady (Rising hastily). Come thou, my heart's sole 
 
 consolation! Come! 
 
 We from this dark abode of death must fly , 
 Lest, brooding o'er the horrors of this night, 
 Perpetual Madness fix her dwelling here 
 
 [Putting her hand to her forehead. 
 
 Jos. Fly, lady, fly : this is no scene for you : 
 I'll stay to guard my honour' d lord's remains. 
 
 Lady. How shall I bid those sad remains farewell ? 
 
 (Goes to the corpse O/TITZORMOND, kneels, and 
 takes one of the hands, which she kisses with fer- 
 vent affection. After a short pause;) 
 
 Though thou, my life, my bosom's lord, be thus 
 Extended cold in death ; oh ! did I dare, 
 Still on thy bloodless features would I gaze, 
 Till sight grew dim, and sense itself decay'd. 
 But precious pledge of my lost partner's love I 
 This innocent child remains ; and J for him 
 Must think, must act, and must submit Farewell ! 
 
 [In a faltering voice. 
 
 Char. (Following her). Yet, if the sight of one so 
 
 criminal 
 
 Blast not thy view, turn, oh Melania ! turn, 
 And look on Charlamont 1 
 
 Lady. What would my brother ? 
 
 Char. One last embrace, that may assure my soul, 
 My parting soul, thou dost not hate my memory. 
 
Scene VII. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 51 
 
 Lady. Yes, this embrace I give j but why the last ? 
 If thou remain, none will betray thee here. 
 
 Char. My sister, I shall never hear thy voice, 
 Never behold thee more ! 
 
 Lady. Oh, Charlamont ! 
 My heart acquits thee of deliberate ill, 
 And deems thee luckless, more than criminal : 
 Else should I shrink in horror from thine arms, 
 As I were an accomplice in misdeeds. 
 Be reconcil'd then, to thyself. Thy sister, 
 Without a crime, may shelter and protect thee. 
 
 Char. Thy goodness with my ill contrasted so, 
 Shews it but more atrocious. Oh, farewell ! 
 For I must hence 
 
 Lady. But whither ? 
 
 Char. Ask not that : 
 
 I scarcely know, myself, my destination ; 
 But thou wilt know it soon. 
 
 Lady. Why must we part ? 
 
 Char. We must for ever part ; but not in wrath? 
 
 Lady. Oh ! not in wrath ! No ; may the God of Mercy 
 Forgive, as I do, all your errors here ! 
 
 Char. Farewell, Melania oh ! farewell for ever ! 
 [Exit Lady, with the Child. Char, follows her 
 some steps> then sinks on the earth. 
 
 E2 
 
52 FITZORMOND } OR, Act III. 
 
 SCENE VIII. and last. 
 JOSCELINE, CHARLAMONT near the body O/TITZORMOND. 
 
 Jos. No, I can ne'er enough lament the rashness 
 Of my mistaken zeal to serve my lord ! 
 Nor can I e'er to his sad shade atone 
 The injuries my folly has brought on him ! 
 Why did I kindle in his noble breast 
 The heart-consuming fire of jealousy ? 
 Lo ! there he lies lies weltering in his blood, 
 The victim of my well-meant aim to serve him ! 
 But what avail these fruitless self-reproaches ? 
 Let me, at least, assist this wretched youth 
 T' escape the fate that must await him here. 
 
 [Approaching Char. 
 
 Lord Charlamont, the day advances fast. 
 Rise, I beseech thee 5 fly this blood-stain'd spot ; 
 For soon th' events of this detested night 
 Will all be blaz'd abroad. If thou'rt discover'd, 
 Thou know'st offended justice asks thy life 
 
 Char. Who calls me from the precincts of the tomb 
 To warn from justice, and to prate of life ? 
 Life is my bitterest foe. Is't thou, old man ? 
 Why dost thou break the silence of the dead ? 
 
 Jos. I would persuade thee to preserve thy life 
 By flight : if thou remainest here, thou'rt lost. 
 
 Char. Am 1 not lost to happiness already ? 
 And wouldst thou have me live to misery ? 
 Where is my sister ? Ah ! she's gone for ever ! 
 
Scene Fill. CHERISHED RESENTMENT. 53 
 
 She leaves me to the furies that surround me ! 
 No parting look she gave, nor seem'd to know 
 That hell and Charlamont still lingered here ! 
 
 Jos. Pardon me, lord ; she left you with regret, 
 And pray'd for Heav'n's forgiveness of your sins. 
 Char. .How ? did she pray for him who stabb'd her 
 
 peace ? 
 
 Oh ! save me from that thought, though by distraction ! 
 But no, it will not be ! Yet, deep Remorse 
 Has in my bosom fix'd his iron fangs, 
 And plac'd this fearful sight before mine eyes, 
 
 [Pointing to the corpse. 
 To speak confusion to my guilty soul ! 
 And dire Despair shall halloo in mine ears 
 Melania's name : yea, haunt me with the shade 
 Of injur'd Annabel. Her image points 
 The desp'rate remedy for desp'rate ills. 
 
 [ Takes the dagger from the corpse 
 This is the gift which pitying Phrenzy offers 
 To the desponding child of misery. 
 Oh ! 'tis a gift which Reason might accept, 
 Could Reason e'er exist with griefs like mine ! 
 Now, Justice, summon Punishment, await me ! 
 I scorn, and thus do I escape your power !" 
 
 [Stabs himself. 
 
 Jos. (Advancing from the back scene). Hold thy mis- 
 guided hand ! Unhappy youth ! 
 What hast thou done ? 
 
 Char. Away, and let me die ! 
 Go, tell Melania that I have aveng'd her. 
 Oh ! what a pang was that ! Fitzorniond, say,- 
 
 
54f FITZORMOND. Act III. 
 
 Inveterate foe, now, art thou reconciled -, 
 And shall we be at peace ? Shall the cold tomb 
 Now close, for ever, on our deadly hate ? 
 And thou, Melania, sister of my love ! 
 Perhaps, when time has soften'd thine affliction, 
 Thou may'st remember, I was once thy brother, 
 And once deserv'd the name. Now, Annabel, 
 Fitzormond, now, I come. Oh ! pardon, Heaven ! 
 That I have liv'd the scourge of all I love, 
 And died, as I do now Oh ! 
 
 Jos. Ill-starr* d youth ! 
 In that last deep-drawn sigh his spirit fled ! 
 Is this the end of every sanguine hope 
 His mother cherish'd for her fav'rite child ? 
 Unhappy mother, cruelly deceiv'd! 
 She saw not that his life would prove her curse ; 
 But still with blind indulgence nurs'd the seeds 
 Of baleful passions, which in early youth 
 Inflam'd his mind, and threaten'd future woe. 
 
 Behold th* impetuous tide of wrathful blood, 
 Uncheck'd in youth by her maternal care, 
 In age mature boils up with foaming flood, 
 To whelm him deep in ruin and despair, 
 And bid his hapless race in all his mis'ries share ! 
 
 THE CURTAIN DROPS. 
 
MALEK ADHEL; 
 
 THE 
 
 of tfje 
 
MALEK ADHEL; 
 
 THE 
 
 CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 
 
 A TRAGIC DRAMA. 
 
 Adapted for representation from the celebrated Crusade* 
 Romance ofMathilde, by Madame Cottin. 
 
 MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 BY PERMISSION, 
 TO HER GRACE 
 
 THE DOWAGER DUCHESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 MEN. 
 SARACENS. 
 
 SALADIN the Great, Sultan of Egypt. 
 
 MALEK ADHEL, his Brother, Governor of Cesarea. 
 
 KALED, Friend of Malek Adhel. 
 
 CHRISTIANS. 
 
 LUSIGNAN, King of Jerusalem, dethroned by the Sara- 
 cens. 
 
 ANSELM, Archbishop of Tyre. 
 
 DEMAS, Lusignan's Esquire, formerly a Mussulman. 
 
 Guards. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 MATILDA, Sister of Richard Cceur de Lion, King of 
 England. 
 
 HERMINIA, a lady attending on the Princess Matilda. 
 
 The Scene lies in and near the city of Cesarea, in Palestine. 
 
PROLOGUE, 
 
 AS SPOKEN AT THE REPRESENTATION, 
 
 IN days remote, and surely unlike these, 
 
 When nought but feats of chivalry could please ; 
 
 When every trusty 'squire, and dauntless knight, 
 
 Rush'd eager forth, accoutred for the fight j 
 
 Hermits and priests with princes dar'd combine 
 
 T* avenge the wrongs of hallo w'd Palestine. 
 
 Then, Cceur de Lion left these favour'd coasts 
 
 To rescue Sion from the Arab hosts j 
 
 And his fair sister, as our records sing, 
 
 Pursued the fortunes of th' advent'rous king. 
 
 The royal pilgrim left her native home 
 
 To seek the city of the Holy Tomb, 
 
 Where, by the arms of Saracens subdued, 
 
 The Christians groan'd in abject servitude. 
 
 Yet vainly does she hope to see them freed ! 
 
 To fears for them, fears for herself succeed. 
 
 The maid, a captive now, consign'd to grief, 
 
 Mourns in the palace of an Arab Chief. 
 
 (The same whose conqu'ring arm Lusignan own'd 
 
 Judea's sceptred ruler, now dethron'd.) 
 
 Soon by her tears, her youth, her beauty mov'd, 
 
 The mighty victor saw, and own'd he lov'd. 
 
58 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Strange as it seems, the Infidel possest 
 
 A heart with every virtue's stamp imprest ; 
 
 A martial spirit, an exalted mind, 
 
 By glory kindled, and by love refin'd j 
 
 His various acts his various merits prove 5 
 
 And she, who sigh'd for freedom sighs for love. 
 
 Damsels, forbear our heroine to blame : 
 For who among you had not done the same ? 
 
 But now, Devotion's dictates interpose, 
 And doom the Cross and Crescent endless foes. 
 Duty, alone, the princely pair divides ; 
 For ah ! their diff' ring faith their mutual passion chides ! 
 At length to Carmel's convent walls, the maid 
 Ev'n by her generous lover is convey'd. 
 There, while the lovely novice seeks the veil, 
 And Richard's warriors Ascalon assail, 
 To the enamour' d chief a tale is brought, 
 (Whereby to jealous rage his soul is wrought,) 
 That bold Lusignan had presum'd t* invade 
 The sacred dwelling of the heav'nly maid ; 
 Aiming by stealth, by marriage rites profane, 
 And impious force, her royal hand t' obtain. 
 The prince with eager speed the city leaves, 
 The convent reaches, and the fair retrieves -, 
 While subterranean paths the lovers' flight 
 Conceal, and darkness of the favouring night. 
 Emerging now, on Cesarea's plain, 
 The Chief to martial duties hastes again. 
 But, soft ! I must not 'peach! What next befel, 
 The folks behind the curtain soon will tell. 
 
PROLOGUE. <59 
 
 Yet, ere I bid adieu, one little word 
 In our behalf, from me may sure be heard : 
 For though our humble writer holds no claim 
 By free translation to an author's name, 
 Yet, if this tribute your approval meet, 
 Each aim of her ambition is complete. 
 Alike our little acting troop, 'tis known, 
 Centre their hopes and fears in You alone. 
 No JORDAN bids you smile, no SIDDONS here 
 Appals the heart, or calls th' obedient tear ; 
 No magnet here the nightly audience draws, 
 Or claims the thund'ring peals of just applause. 
 A simple group alone, some short, some tall, 
 Appears to-night : alarm'd, unpractis'd, all. 
 But you with kindness will our efforts hail 5 
 Be pleas'd where we succeed, and pardon where we fail. 
 
MALEK ADHEL. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The Country near Cesarea, wild and rocky. 
 Enter KALED and HERMINIA, from a Cave. 
 
 Kaled. THUS far, through toilsome paths we've held 
 
 our way j 
 
 And now, to Cesarea nigh at hand, 
 Here, lady, let us wait awhile, and restj 
 Till mine illustrious chieftain shall rejoin us 
 With his fair Christian captive. 
 
 Her. Poor Matilda ! 
 
 Why was she hurried from her convent walls 
 By your inhuman, sacrilegious hands ? " 
 
 Kal. Call them not such. Our purpose was to save 
 
 her. 
 
 Think'st thou our Sultan's brother, Malek Adhel, 
 Lion of battles nam'd, for great exploits, 
 And Thunderbolt of war, who loves your Princess 
 
62 MALEK ADHEL j THE Act I. 
 
 Ev'n as the brother of great Saladin 
 
 Should love the sister of an English king 
 
 Think'st thou his great, his godlike heart could frame 
 
 A scheme of villany ? No, fair Herminia. 
 
 Believe yourself, and your young princess, safe 
 
 In his protection. Infidels you term us ; 
 
 But you, within our pagan breasts, shall find 
 
 Hearts of the strictest honour, firmest faith ! 
 
 But soft -they Come. 
 
 Enter MALEK ADHEL and MATILDA,/ the caic. 
 
 M. Ad. Cheer up, my gentle love ! 
 We're near the city now, where all thy toils 
 Shall happily have end j but thou art sad j 
 And pale affright still sits upon thy brow. 
 What fears my love ? 
 
 Mat. All, all that Heav'n can send 
 To punish impious deeds ! Ev'n from the altar, 
 Where late, amid the Sisters of Mount Carmel, 
 I paid my 'custom d evening adorations, 
 Hast thou, with frantic haste, my Adhel, torn me ) 
 And I deplore thy fault, yet cannot hate thee ! 
 Will Heav'n look on, and not avenge the insult 
 Offer'd to its Almighty Majesty ? 
 Why didst thou violate, with force profane, 
 That holy dwelling, sacred to the vows 
 Of kneeling saints, and to their God devoted ? 
 Why tear me from the kind, protecting side 
 Of Tyre's rever'd Archbishop, holy Anselm, 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 63 
 
 Why bring me through yon excavated vaults, 
 
 [Pointing to the cave. 
 
 Where Danger holds his court with unseen Death, 
 To dwell 'mid worshippers of Mahomet, 
 Who hate the Christian name ? Didst thou not swear, 
 Since fate forbids I ever should be thine, 
 To let me live in peace 'mid Carmel's walls ? 
 Thou hast deceiv'd my hope. 
 
 M. Ad. No ; pardon me, 
 My best-belov'd, thou hast deluded mine. 
 Didst thou not say, the Christians would respect 
 
 them? 
 
 How dar'd Lusignan, then, invade those walls ? 
 How dar'd he force thee to appear before him ? 
 Perhaps, had Adhel lost another day, 
 Matilda had been now, Lusignan's bride ! 
 
 Mat. What sayst thou ? Hah ! thou mov'st my 
 
 wonder now ! 
 
 How should I be his bride ? Does Adhel dream ? 
 E'er since 1 quitted thee and Ptolemai's, 
 Mine eyes have ne'er beheld the hated face 
 Of proud Lusignan. Richard too, renounces 
 A marriage which must make Matilda wretched j 
 Ceases to prop Lusignan ? 3 claims, and leaves me 
 To dedicate my future days to Heaven. 
 
 M. Ad. Great Allah ! What a flash of light o'ercomes 
 
 me! 
 
 I ve been deceiv'd Oh ! where may all this end ? 
 No matter where. At least, she's mine alone j 
 And her dear lips have blest me with their vows. 
 
64 MALKK ADHEL; THE Act I. 
 
 Then, my Matilda, he, that stranger youth 
 Who told me that Lusignan had profan'd 
 The sacred precincts of thy cloister walls, 
 To make thee his, by a forc'd union there, 
 That youth was an impostor? 
 
 Mat. Oh! no more ! 
 No douht, a secret agent of Lusignan's, 
 Sent but t' inveigle thee from Cesarea. 
 
 M. Ad, Eternal Pow'rs ! and can ye, then, permit 
 That perjur'd wretches, thus, should cloak themselves* 
 In the bright robes of truth ? But no ; 'tis not 
 The traitor's subtlety, 'tis mine own heart 
 Which has misled me here. Oh ! I had been 
 With equal ease, dup'd by the grossest snare ! 
 When thou wast nam'd, Matilda, my fond eyes 
 Grew blind to aught but thee. Thy name, a charm, 
 A magic talisman, betray'd my senses, 
 O'ercame my prudence, and to Love alone 
 Allow'd the pow'r of action. Oh ! my life ! 
 A fear has cross'd me, freezing all my soul ! 
 For thou mayst suffer from my fatal rashness. 
 Lusignan, proud ev'n of his treachery, 
 Will seek his vantage from it : Cesarea 
 That city whose defence but late I swore 
 To Saladin, perhaps, ere this, is lost 5 
 And I the cause Oh Saladin ! my brother ! 
 How will my mad desertion seem to thee ? 
 Matilda, princess, now withdraw your love : 
 I am unworthy of it, since to gain it 
 I have betray'd my trust, betray'd my country ! 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 65 
 
 Kal. Yield not thy soul, oh ! noble Malek Adhel, 
 To black despair a prey ! 'Tis true, that Kaled 
 When he perceiv'd to combat it was vain,, 
 Obey'd thy will, and left with thee yon city j 
 Though had he, sooner, known thy wild design, 
 Thou hadst alone left Cesarea's gates, 
 Trampling his lifeless corse. But now, behold, 
 
 [Pointing behind the scenes. 
 Where yonder mist, arising from the vale, 
 Shews thy deserted post is still thine own ! 
 Great Allah saves thee. Yet, upon the walls 
 Float the proud standards of the Abassides 
 
 M. Ad. ( Looking out.) The Crescent too, beams still 
 
 its golden glories 
 
 From all our mosques and tow'rs; far to the North, 
 The banners of the Cross stream to the wind ; 
 And peace reposes in the Christian camp. 
 Within the city too, all seems as hush'd 
 As if grim war had ne'er besieg'd its walls. 
 
 Kal. Yonder, my prince, behold the gate of Omar, 
 Where hold our sentries yet their 'custom'd watch, 
 Moslems proclaim'd by robes and turban'd heads. 
 Thrice noble master, I behold thee safe, 
 And my heart leaps for joy ! Our holy Prophet 
 Has, sure, watch'd o'er thee ; and thy service past 
 Has pleaded for the pardon of thy rashness. 
 
 \Walks aside. 
 
 M. Ad. Thou great and mighty Pow'r! who hast 
 
 preserved 
 This cherish'd object of my every care 
 
66 MALEKADHJiL; THE Act I. 
 
 Whether the God by my Matilda worshipp'd, 
 Or the divinity my fathers ovvn'd, 
 Whate'er thy name, or Allah, or Jehovah, 
 Receive my thanks, for thou hast sav'd Matilda ! 
 
 [Ib MATILDA. 
 
 Oh, my belov'd ! behold the ills prepar'd 
 For me, by foemen's hands, will fall again 
 On the contrivers -, and, when they shall know thee 
 Safe in my palace, while I 'scape the chains 
 They have prepar'd, they will be fully punish'd. 
 
 Mat. Blest be the secret, subterranean pass 
 Which has preserved my noble Adhel's life -, 
 And sav'd his fame though it endangers mine. 
 
 M. Ad. Still dost thou sigh, Matilda, for thy cell, 
 Regretting that thou art rejoin' d to me ? 
 Wilt thou not grace, with all thy purest blessings, 
 The happy error which thus reunites us ? 
 
 Mat. Oh ! do not bid me be so criminal ! 
 For, Adhel, I can now no more dissemble. 
 My coward heart rejoices to perceive 
 That my return is now impossible. 
 Th' attempt would risk thy life ; and, at that price, 
 I ought not, sure, to wish it. Obstacles 
 Unnumber'd rise; and all increase my joy. 
 Oh ! Christian void of courage and of faith 1 
 Thy heart, with love inflated, owns no wish 
 But for a perishable good, and looks 
 With terror on the path that leads to Heaven ! 
 
 M. Ad. Joy of my life ! I cannot fear the future : 
 I'm henceforth, happy ; for I am with thee ! 
 
 [Talcing her hand. 
 
Scene II. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 67 
 
 Come j seek we now admittance to the city, 
 Where soft repose and sweet refreshment wait thee. 
 Lead on, good Kaled, towards the gate of Omar. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The gate of Omar , at the entrance of the city ofCesarea, 
 guarded by men in the Saracen habit. 
 
 He-enter MALEK ADHEL, MATILDA, KALED, and 
 
 ~ HERMINIA. 
 
 M. Ad. At length I welcome thee, my only love, 
 Before the gates of this my loyal city. 
 The Christians, dupes of their own perfidy, 
 Will mourn thy loss ; Lusignan vainly hope 
 To rob me of thee more. 
 
 Enter LUSIGNAN hastily, from the Gate, followed by 
 DEMAS and Guards. 
 
 Lus. 'Tis false, by Heaven ! 
 He robs thee of her now. 
 
 M. Ad. (Starting.) Lusignan here ? 
 Lus. Ay, Saracen, Lusignan holds command 
 Within thy Cesarea now. Disarm [To the Guards. 
 Those infidels 5 quick, bind their hands in chains, 
 And lead them captives to the western tower. 
 
 [MALEK ADHEL and KALED disarmed, and 
 
 put in chains. 
 
 M. Ad. Infernal prodigy ! Am 1 awake, 
 
 F 2 
 
68 MALEK ADHEL; THE Act I. 
 
 Or comes some hideous dream athwart my fancy ? 
 Where am I ? where ? 
 
 Lus. Thou'rt in the Christians' power. 
 Behold, in me, thy conqueror and rival j 
 And yield thy sword, thy liberty, and love : 
 For know Matilda mine ; thyself a prisoner, 
 Ev'n in these walls, where late thou held'st command. 
 
 Mat. Oh, treachery ! Oh ! horror past all utterance ! 
 My Adhel, thou art lost ! 
 
 M . Ad. Arid thou, Matilda ! 
 Fate, now, can do no more to ruin us. 
 
 Lus. Struggle, thou proudest bulwark of theCrescent ; 
 Lion of battles, struggle in my toils ! 
 In vain ; for Cesarea bends before me 5 
 And ev'n this royal maid, my future queen, 
 Shall own, ere long, Lusignan for her lord. 
 
 [Exit, leading MATILDA, toko looks bacTc y in despair, 
 
 at MALEK ADHEL, and, arrived at the side scene, 
 
 Joints, andis supported by HERMINIA OW^DEMAS. 
 
 Manent MALEK ADHEL, KALED, and Guards. 
 
 M. Ad. Oh ! thou hast torn my bosom'd heart away ! 
 Accurs'd, perfidious no, I will not curse thee : 
 I have too many wrongs, so to avenge them. 
 A time may come, when no ; 1*11 curse alone 
 The blindness which has made me, thus, thy dupe. 
 Madman ! I've led the maid my soul adores, 
 With mine own hands, into my rival's power ! 
 Let Cesarea in my absence fall ; 
 That Cesarea, Saladin so late 
 
Scene III. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 69 
 
 Entrusted to ray charge ; which, to defend 
 To my last breath, so solemnly I swore ! 
 These, these are horrors not to be surviv'd : 
 Ills that attack the very seat of life, 
 And bid pulsation cease. No more ! lead on ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 An apartment in the palace of MALEK ADHBL, in 
 Cesar ea. 
 
 MATILDA, reclining on a sopha; HERMINIA, standing 
 near her. 
 
 Her. How fares your highness now ? 
 
 Mat. Alas, Herminia ! 
 When I beheld the noble Adhel laden 
 With ignominious chains, that moment seem'd 
 To sum up all my miseries in one, 
 And bring them to one close 5 but tell, ah i tell me, 
 What fate attends th* unhappy prince ? 
 
 Her. Alas! 
 
 Within the dark cells of a narrow prison, 
 He pines away the hours ! Lusignan triumphs : 
 Forgetful that, to craft alone, he owes 
 This most inglorious conquest. 
 
 Mat. Base Lusignan, 
 
 Jerusalem's dethroned, unworthy sovereign, 
 Lord of thy life, heroic Malek Adhel ! 
 Thy Cesarea taken, thy Matilda, 
 Through thine excess of love, for ever lost ! 
 
70' MALEKADHEL; THE Act I. 
 
 Oh ! could I hide me from the light of day, 
 
 Which beams upon such sorrows ! Pow'rs of Heav'n ! 
 
 Is, then, th' 4extent of mine offences made 
 
 The standard whence my chastisement is measur'd ? 
 
 Enter LUSIGNAN hastily. 
 
 Lus. (To Herminia.) Lady, you may withdraw: 
 
 1 would be left 
 To speak , alone, with England's princess, here. 
 
 [Exit HERMINIA. 
 
 Mat. (Rising luith dignity, and coming forward. ) 
 Lusignan lords it, then, in Cesarea. 
 In truth, when I beheld a hero's hands 
 With shackles charg'd, well might I rest assur'd 
 'Twas not my brother who commanded here. 
 
 Lus. Princess, the Christians to Lusignan owe 
 A signal victory : rejoices not 
 The pious sister of great Cceur de Lion, 
 When conquest sits upon the Christian helm ? 
 
 Mat. I should indeed rejoice, if, to my soul, 
 The Christians' honour were not dearer, far, 
 Than their most splendid victories -, if thou, 
 Lusignan, hadst not bought by treachery, 
 A sorry triumph o'er the Crescent's sons. 
 
 Lus. Madam, our foes could hold no other language. 
 
 Mat. Such language, were he here, would Richard 
 
 hold: 
 
 For perfidy his royal soul disdains. 
 And know, his sister boasts an equal scorn 
 Of all duplicity. Would Cceur de Lion 
 
Scene HI. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 71 
 
 Say, would that generous monarch have endur'd 
 To see enchain'd by thee, those princely hands 
 Which sav'd him twice from death, in battle's hour ? 
 The hands of Malek Adhel, noblest hero 
 That e'er the world beheld ? 
 
 Lus. (Impatiently.) Hold, madam, hold ! 
 This is too much ! Too well you know your power 
 Over my heart, since fearlessly, you thus 
 Extol a rival to my face, whose life 
 Lies, now, within my grasp. 
 
 Mat. Thou speakest, sire, 
 As though the sole authority were thine. 
 Richard, our chief, I know at Ascalon ; 
 But are the Christian princes, who engag'd 
 In this crusade, stripp'd then, of pow'r and rights ? 
 If they have aided, hitherto, thy triumphs, 
 Claim, they not, also, share in the disposal 
 Of the war's prisoners ? 
 
 Lus, (Impetuously.) No! I alone 
 The siege conducted, its success ensur'd. 
 No doubt, the princes of the Holy League, 
 To leave me sole disposer of a conquest 
 They owe to me, requir'd not that, departing, 
 Richard with all his own supremacy 
 Should have invested me. 
 
 Mat. (Looking ^fixedly at him.) 'Tis well, Lusignan ; 
 Since, then, this enterprise is thine alone, 
 To Malek Adhel thou, alone, didst send 
 That slave, with foul impostures charg'd, and taught 
 By thee in base deception's arts, who led 
 
72 MALEK ADHEL ; THK Act I. 
 
 The unsuspecting prince to take a step, 
 
 Of danger, as of boldness unexampled : 
 
 Tearing me even from the altar's side ! 
 
 And if the sanctity of mine asylum 
 
 By Saracens was forcibly invaded, 
 
 *Tis thou, alone, wert cause of their offence. 
 
 Lus. How, madam ! make you me responsible 
 For crimes of sacrilegious infidels ? 
 
 Mat. And who committed, if not thou, Lusignan, 
 This impious crime > Did not thy thoughts devise it ? 
 And tell me now, which is most culpable, 
 The Mussulman who blindly dealt the blow, 
 Or subtle Christian who directed it ? 
 
 Lus. (Aside.) By Heav'n! she more esteems iny 
 
 rival's chains, 
 
 Than the proud palms that deck my victor brow ! 
 (Aloud.) Let us leave now, this idle controversy ; 
 For here, Matilda, by th* eternal Power 
 That reigns above, I swear, you must be mine. 
 I swear that, rather than resign this hand, 
 I would resign my life. 
 
 [Taking her hand, which she withdraws again. 
 
 In vain you seek 
 
 To fly : you shall not leave me. Long, too long, 
 I've sufler'd your disdain without a murmur, 
 Although your royal brother propp'd my cause, 
 And Christendom united to approve it. 
 Then, since, by shewing rev'rence most profound^ 
 As though you were my sovereign, I have fail'd ; 
 Terhaps I better may be profited 
 
Scene III. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 73 
 
 Commanding as your master. Henceforth, therefore, 
 1 will employ, to force you to be mine, 
 My utmost scope of power. 
 
 Mat. (Indignantly.) When England's king 
 His pow'r consign'd to thee, he surely dream'd not 
 Thou wouldst employ it to oppress the weak. 
 Lusignan, oh ! amid the infidels 
 A captive long I've dwelt ; yet never saw 
 That worshipper of Mahomet, whose soul 
 Would not, indignantly, have spurn'd the part 
 Judea's king has in my presence chosen, 
 Whereby to stain his character. 
 
 Lus. Matilda, 
 
 My projects by your scorn are but confirm'd ; 
 And, by the Power we both revere, I swear, 
 If yonder sun set not upon our nuptials, 
 My rival dies. 
 
 Mat. Profane and barb'rous man ! 
 Heav'n, dost thou lend thy name to oaths like these ? 
 
 Lus. (Taking her hand.) Decide, Matilda j wilt thou 
 
 reign hereafter, 
 The holy city's queen, Lusignan's wife ? 
 
 Mat. (Withdrawing her hand.) Never ! since ev'n the 
 
 death of Malek Adhel, 
 To me, has less of dread than such a marriage. 
 
 Lus. (Coldly.) J Tis well; then shall I doom the pagan's 
 
 death 
 
 More gladly, since his unconverted soul 
 Will be from thine eternally divided. [Going. 
 
74 MALEK ADHEL ; THE Act /. 
 
 Mat. (Aside.} Terrific thought! that freezes every 
 
 vein 
 
 Oh ! what more fearful than the future doom 
 
 That waits the infidel's rejected soul, 
 
 If he resist the truth, and die in error ! 
 
 (Aloud.) No, the enleagued princes ne'er will suffer 
 
 The perpetration of so black a crime : 
 
 All will revolt against this base injustice ; 
 
 All will combine, Lusignan, to oppose thee. 
 
 'Tis but appealing to my loyal English, 
 
 With Austrian Albert, and brave Burgundy 
 
 Lus. (Interrupting.) Nor Austrian Albert, nor brave 
 
 Burgundy, 
 
 Nor ev'n your loyal English can preserve him : 
 I here command alone. 
 
 Mat. Commanding crimes, 
 Our Christians, justly, will refuse t' obey thee : 
 Nor will the high-born chiefs who grace our armies 
 Submit to see their holy cause so sullied. 
 
 Lus. Perhaps, like you, those high-born chiefs will 
 
 deem 
 
 Their honour bound to spare th' ensnared life 
 Of their most potent foe ; but I, with ease, 
 Can secretly destroy him 3 and, myself 
 Soar, ev'n beyond suspicion. 
 
 Mat. (Aside.) Oh ! he dies then ! 
 (Aloud.) But grant that human justice shall absolve, 
 Is there no higher court whose power can awe thee ? 
 Are there, in Heav'n, no thunderbolts t' appal 
 The man who meditates so foul a crime ? 
 
Scene III. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 75 
 
 Lus. (Kneeling at her feet.) I merit,, I expect my 
 
 punishment : 
 
 But oh ! remorse and fear are light, compar'd 
 With the superior dread of seeing thee 
 The wife of Malek Adhel, of my rival ! 
 
 Mat. (Disdainfully.} This impious frenzy would in- 
 spire more pity 
 
 Than ev'n aversion, were I not reduc'd 
 To that extreme of misery, which makes 
 Thy hated hand, or the eternal doom 
 Of a brave prince, my dire alternative. 
 But ere I take my last resolve, Lusignan, 
 I must behold him. 
 
 Lus. (Rising imperiously.) No believe me, madam, 
 You shall not see him : well I know your power. 
 Or e'er he would behold you mine, perhaps 
 He would consent to own the Gospel's light ; 
 That you might firmly look upon his death. 
 Perhaps would ev'n receive baptismal rites. 
 No, no ! refuse me still, that he may die 
 An obdurate heathen $ and deliver thus 
 My jealous soul from fear of your reunion, 
 Ev'n through eternity's unbounded reign. 
 
 Mat. (Throwing her self at his feet.) Inhuman prince! 
 
 If, for a matchless hero 
 
 Thou own'st no reverence ; if thy bosom feels 
 No pity for Matilda's deep despair ; 
 Pity, at least, thyself ! Oh, think! Destruction 
 Awaits thee in the path thou art pursuing! 
 Thou art about to see thy guilty hands 
 
76 MALEK ADHEL ; THK Act I. 
 
 Crioison'd with innocent blood! To stub a prince 
 Thou hast condemn'd in dungeon glooms to pine, 
 And robb'd of all protection, but thine own ! 
 Christian ! recall to mind thy heav'nly Master ! 
 Such were not His instructions ! 
 
 Lus. Heav'nly beauty! 
 
 Demand my blood, my life j nay, ask yet more ! 
 For thy sake, every sacrifice is easy, 
 Except resigning thee. Then rise, Matilda 
 
 Mat. (Still prostrate.} Never, till thou hast heard me ! 
 
 Here I lie 
 
 Till Death himself release, if thou refuse me. 
 Hear now, Lusignan, how thou mayst retrieve 
 My lost esteem : nay, gain my admiration. 
 Though passion has awhile degraded thee, 
 One glorious effort may redeem the past. 
 Oh ! let the hands which now I press in mine, 
 Break the harsh chains which fetter Malek Adhel's ! 
 Beholding thee so great, so generous, 
 He doubtless, more will fear, but must admire thee ! 
 'Tis heroism that I require, I grant -, 
 But well thou know'st its influence o'er my soul : 
 Let me not think, then, I o'errate thy worth, 
 When I believe thee capable t' attain it. 
 
 Lus. (Aside.) Now must I shift my ground j and, to 
 
 amuse her 
 
 With hope's delusive dreams, affect the hero. 
 ( Aloud, raising her.) Rise, lovely princess ! you have 
 
 conquer'd : rise, 
 And speak a generous pardon of that boldness 
 
Scene III. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 77 
 
 Which an excess of love alone inspir'd, 
 
 And best may justify. I promise all 
 
 That you have deign'd to ask ; and, further yet 
 
 To prove my zeal, I would still more perform. 
 
 Mat. (Aside.) Though he grants all, I am not 
 
 reassur'd ; 
 
 For somewhat in his favour seems more dreadful 
 Than his most fiery rage. How shall I answer ? 
 
 Enter DEM AS hastily. 
 
 Dem. The Christian princes, sire, are all assembled : 
 Soon as they heard of Malek AdhePs capture, 
 They left their tents, and now, within this palace, 
 Demand an audience. 
 
 Lus. Know'st thou what they purpose ? 
 
 Dem. They from your majesty would learn, what fate 
 Is destin'd for th' illustrious captive 
 
 Lus. (Starting.) Hah! 
 
 Dem. Th' occasion asks some haste, my royal lord ; 
 For great commotion now prevails among them. 
 
 Lus. How ? sayst thou so ? Then, Demas, quickly 
 
 bring me 
 My lance and buckler. I'll attend them., 
 
 [Exit DEMAS, and returns tvith the armour. 
 
 Mat. Yet, 
 Remember, sire, your promises. 
 
 Lus. I will. 
 Be calm, and fear not, madam. 
 
 [Exit LusiGNANj/oJ/otued by DEMAS. 
 
 Mat . Oh ! great Heaven ! 
 
78 MALKK ADIIKL; THE Act L 
 
 He makes me tremble, bidding me be calm ! 
 
 What can I do ? Where look on earth for comfort ? 
 
 By man deceiv'd, abandoned, and betray'd ! 
 
 When Tyre's archbishop saw me torn away 
 
 From holy Camel's altars, why, alas ! 
 
 Did he not follow my bewilder'd steps ? 
 
 Oh ! charitable Anselm ! 'twere a task, 
 
 Well worthy thee, to clear my Adhel's doubts ; 
 
 Complete conversion's pious work, and bid 
 
 The blaze of truth illume a hero's soul ! 
 
 Depriv'd of him, of thee, of every aid, 
 
 My joyless soul can turn alone to Heaven. [Kneels. 
 
 But thou, Heav'n's Lord ! art merciful ! To thee 
 
 The wretched suppliant never kneels in vain ! 
 
 \Tke scene closes. 
 
 END OF ACT THE FIRST. 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 79 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A Prison. 
 
 MALEK ADHEL seated on the ground, in a mournful pos^ 
 ture. To him, enter the ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 Arch. Darkness and horror reign within these cells ; 
 And groans, and stifled sighs assail mine ear. 
 
 [Seeing MALEK ADHEL. 
 
 Heav'n ! has Thy guiding hand convey'd him hither ? 
 And hast thou charg'd Misfortune to reveal 
 Thy name all powerful to him ? 
 
 M. Ad. ( Suddenly rising.) Hah ! what voice 
 What well-known voice pervades these realms of woe ? 
 Is 't Anselm that I hear ? 
 
 Arch. ( Embracing him.) 'Tis he ! My son, 
 My son, Heav'n will deliver thee 
 
 M. Ad. (Interrupting.) Ah no ! 
 My honour Heav'n will not restore my honour ! 
 Oh, Father ! I have lost it ! I have felt 
 There was, for me, a greater grief on earth, 
 Than ev'n Matilda's loss. 
 
 Arch. Our great Creator 
 Can yet, my son, with vantage render back 
 All thou hast lost : for still our frail possessions 
 Are poor, compar'd with His celestial treasures. 
 
 M. Ad. No, no j there is no peace, no hope for me 
 Abandoning the town he trusted to me, 
 
80 MALEKADHEL} THE Act IT. 
 
 I have betray'd my brother ; been surpris'd 
 Entrapp'd by traitor hands -, and, loaded thus, 
 With chains, most slave-like, dragg'd to this vile 
 
 dungeon j 
 And here, upon this straw, I wait for death. 
 
 Arch. Talk not of death, my son 5 thou shalt not die ! 
 Behold the time when Anselm may redeem 
 His various debts of gratitude to thee. 
 I have the means to set thee free. 
 
 M. Ad. My father, 
 What dost thou mean r 
 
 Arch. What I may well perform. 
 
 M. Ad. But oh ! reflect ; what were Lusignan's rage, 
 Should he thus lose his prey, his destin'd slave ? 
 
 Arch. No matter ; thou shalt hence. 
 
 M. Ad. Bethink thee yet, 
 
 If I go hence, 'twill be t' oppose the Christians j 
 If I go hence, 'twill be t' avenge my brother, 
 And to restore to him his Cesarea. 
 
 Arch. (Impatiently.) Why tell me this, young man ? 
 I had not ask'd thee ! 
 
 M. Ad. Nay, rather than deceive thee, I would die 
 Amid these dreary vaults. And tell me, now, 
 Since he thou wouldst preserve, must fight against thee, 
 Still wouldst thou have me free ? 
 
 Arch. All-gracious Heaven ! 
 Did he not break my bonds at Damietta ? 
 At Jaffa and Damascus, save my life ? 
 Has he not, ever, sent me to rejoin 
 Our Christians, though I urg'd them on to war 
 

 Scene /. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 81 
 
 Against his faith and nation ? Would st thou see 
 Thine enemies more generous than thy sons ?+- 
 No ; by this act of charity, I hurt not 
 Thy sacred cause : for I have ever known 
 More hearts by love converted, than by wrath. 
 
 [To M. AD. 
 
 'Tis He, Prince Adhel, that indulgent master, 
 All tenderness and mercy, bids me save thee. 
 
 [Taking off his chains. 
 It is not I, 'tis He delivers thee, 
 Who reigns above, the Saviour of the world ! 
 Oh ! may this thought arrest thy conqu'ring sword 
 In battle's heat, and bid thee spare the Christians ! 
 
 [Takes the hand ofM. AD. 
 
 Come now, my son j I know each winding way 
 'Mid these abodes of sorrow. Oft 't has been, 
 In times long past, the kind decree of Heav'n, 
 That I should visit them, thereby to learn 
 The happy means of saving Malek Adhel. 
 
 M. Ad. Anselm, a pow'r unknown disturbs my 
 
 heart : 
 
 All that I hear from thee, and feel within, 
 Wakes to new thoughts. Thy words seem truth itself ; 
 But ere I will believe will listen to them, 
 I must efface the insults I have suffered ; 
 Must meet in arms Lusignan 
 
 Arch. (With solemnity.} Be a Christian: 
 Learn to subdue thy pride, and hate revenge. 
 
 .)/. Ad. (Kneeling to Arch.) Pity me, Father! for I 
 dare not listen ! 
 
82 MAL-EJi ADHiLL ; THE Act U. 
 
 Somewhat there is in thee, awakes my wonder ; 
 Nay, bids me waver, even on my duties : 
 Somewhat, which speaks more loudly, ev'n than 
 
 honour ! 
 
 Stay me no longer. I may soon recal thee j 
 May need thy kind compassion. Life is odious 
 I am from my Matilda torn for ever ! 
 Ah ! daring then no longer live for her, 
 It will be sweet to me, by thee to die ! 
 
 Arch. (Laying his hands on MALEK ADHEL'S head.) 
 I bless thee, oh my son ! and may our God 
 Bless thee, as 1 do ! May he new create 
 Thy mind, and arm thee with his Holy Spirit. 
 May thy past errors henceforth be forgotten ; 
 Thy heart subdued. Soon mayst thou learn t' acknow- 
 ledge 
 
 His hand, who founded earth and measured heaven. 
 May thy salvation dawn, and Heav'n's high justice 
 Soon be reveal'd to thee ! \A long pause. 
 
 (Discovering a secret door.) Mark now, this outlet 
 Leads secretly beyond the city walls. [M. AD. rise*. 
 Plung'd in the neighbouring wood of sycamores, 
 Await the darkness of the night, and cross 
 The plain tow'rds Ascalon. Elude thy foes ; 
 But ever, still, the eye of Providence 
 Shall be upon thee, never shall forget thee ! 
 
 M. Ad. Oh, holy patriarch ! Do we part even here t 
 Remain' st thou then imprisoned ? Wouldst thou take 
 My chains ? Ah ! will the Christians dare revenge 
 My flight upon thy venerated head ? 
 
 Arch. No, fear it not, my son. Thy victor sword 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THK CRESCENT. 83 
 
 Made it their prudence to detain thee captive j 
 
 But prudence, to the noble sons of Christ, 
 
 Is far less dear than generosity. 
 
 Believe not all our Christians like Lusignan j 
 
 There is not one but will rejoice, prince Adhel, 
 
 To know thee safe : not one, but will with thanks 
 
 Repay my having dar'd to give thee freedom ! 
 
 M. Ad. If they are such as thou describ'st, my father, 
 How great, how noble are the sons of Christ ! 
 But how surpassing great, that Power Divine, 
 Who form'd such souls as thine, and my Matilda's ! 
 Matilda ! Oh ! that name is steep'd in sorrow ! 
 My father, I shall never see her more ! 
 
 Arch. (Severely.) Rash youth ! thou wouldst have 
 
 torn her from her Maker ! 
 
 Thou hast presum'd thine arm had pow'r to wrestle 
 Against Omnipotence ! Lo ! now, how Heaven 
 Can mock th' audacious thought ! The youthful princess 
 Must yet come back to Heav'n ; and thou, prince Adhel, 
 Must think of her no more. 
 
 M. Ad. Twill soon be thus : 
 Soon may she quit the world, and Malek Adhel 
 No more be here to mourn for her. My -father, 
 Tell her, that I restore her recent promise ; 
 And pray her to devote her thoughts to Heaven. 
 Oh ! she will comprehend this supplication -, 
 For she will feel it is my last adieu ! 
 
 [After a pause, embracing the Archbishop. 
 Adieu, too, thou deliverer, friend, and father ! 
 Should Adhel die ere he again behold thec, 
 
 2 
 
84 MALEK ADHEl- ', THE Act If. 
 
 Promise him, now, to mourn o'er his cold ashes, 
 And call down blessings from thy God upon him ! 
 
 [They embrace again, and exit M. AD. hastily. 
 
 Manet ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 Arch. Eternal Lord ! ev'n in the noon-day beam 
 O'ershade and hide, him whom the sword pursues ; 
 And guide in secresy the wanderer's path ! 
 Illustrious Adhel, now I take thy place : [Sits down. 
 Perhaps, too, take thy chains thy heavy chains ! 
 Poor prince ! and is it thus they have o'ercharg'd thee ? 
 Pardon, oh Lord ! those who oppress their foes ! 
 
 Enter LUSIGNAN. 
 
 Lus. Hah ! what means this ? My pris'ner gone ; and 
 
 Anselm, 
 The Tyrian primate, in his place ? Confusion ! 
 
 Arch. Whom seeks the Holy City's king, within 
 These gloomy walls ? Comes he to free from chains 
 The captive sufferer ? 
 
 Lus. Anselm, no I seek 
 
 The Saracen's blood alone, whose impious sword 
 Laid waste that holy city, and despoil'd 
 Lusignan of his crown. 
 
 Arch. He's here no longer. 
 My son, I've taken on this head his sin, 
 And charg'd myself with his iniquity. 
 Look now if blood be thy demand for this, 
 1 freely give thee mine. 
 
 Lus. Who broke his bonds ? 
 Who dar'd to set him free ? 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 85 
 
 Arch. (Rising.) HE set him free, 
 Who sent me forth to heal misfortune's wounds ; 
 To publish freedom to the wretched slave, 
 And to the captive, blest deliverance ! 
 Oh, Christian king ! what path hast thou essay'd 
 To bring thee back to Sion, and thy throne! 
 An artifice, of royalty the stain, 
 Drew to thy wily net this foe illustrious j 
 A treachery to the Christian name injurious, 
 Brings thee to visit thy defenceless victim ; 
 To bid him die, perhaps 
 
 Lus. (Aside.) Oh! would I could ! 
 But now, what fate hath lost, must art redeem. 
 (Aloud.} H eav'n speaks by holy Anselm's mouth ; and I 
 Must own, that I have merited its wrath j 
 Must own, a fatal passion has misled me : 
 But can I ne'er efface these ills, my father ? 
 I can ; and let me now explain the means* 
 Though Kaled I already have set free, 
 At fair Matilda's suit, the confidence 
 Of the crusading princes, who resent 
 My treatment of Prince Adhel, will be lost, 
 Unless they deem that, by my private prder, 
 Thou hast enfranchis'd him. This, holy primate, 
 Allow me, unoppos'd, to say ; and then 
 May Christendom hope conquest, glory, gain, 
 Every advantage that our cause requires, 
 From my unvanquish'd arm, undaunted spirit. 
 
 Arch. Thy loss of fair Jerusalem, thy kingdom, 
 Too well I see, is not enough, Lusignan, 
 
86* MALEK ADHEL ; THK Act IL 
 
 T' abate the swellings of thy boastful heart ; 
 Arrest its vain impetuosities j 
 And teach thee modest, sage humility. 
 The least success, howe'er ignobly won. 
 Exalts thy pride, and bids it aim at all 
 That human heart can hope, or hand achieve. 
 Yet will I not unveil thy shame, Lusignan ; 
 Twere too opprobrious to our holy cause : 
 But all thy future steps I will pursue 
 With a fix'd, watchful eye ; though I respect 
 Thy purple royalty, thy high descent j 
 Know, that 'tis mine t'annihilate thy greatness, 
 If thou employ it to unworthy ends : 
 Know, I can plead with Heav'n the sinner's cause, 
 But cannot be the advocate of sin ; 
 And lastly know, that, stripp'd of all disguise 
 From outward pow'r or innate artifice, 
 I to the wide surrounding world will shew 
 The man who dares persist in evil deeds ! [Exit. 
 
 Lus. Accurs'd mischance ! 
 
 Enter DEM AS. 
 
 What brings thee, Demas, hither ? 
 
 Dem. I bring you, sire, important news : ev'n now, 
 Encamp'd on the surrounding plain, the sultan, 
 With all his forces, threatens Cesarea, 
 Kaled already joins him. 
 
 Lus. Malek Adhel, 
 
 Whom yon officious priest has freed from prison, 
 Is, doubtless, on his way to aid his brother ; 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OP THE CRESCENT. 87 
 
 And, Demas, we must meet, and give them battle, 
 
 Ere they invest the city. (Aside.} Curs'd mischance ! 
 
 That spoils me of my most secure revenge ! 
 
 But yet, 'tis something still, that we may meet. 
 
 This formidable Saracen, this chief 
 
 Victorious ever in the bloody fight, 
 
 Rival in arms, not less than in my love, 
 
 May fall and by this hand. Oh ! be it so! 
 
 The thought alone so soothes my angry soul, 
 
 I reck not how reality's achiev'd ! 
 
 (Aloud.) Demas, thou wast thyself a Mussulman, 
 
 Though now some years have seen thee in' my train ? 
 
 Dem. 'Tis true, my liege, and much my state is 
 
 better'd, 
 
 By leaving for a king's a prophet's service. 
 So am I now a Christian like yourself, 
 And prompt to execute your every wish. 
 
 Lus. Good Demas, what if I demand a service 
 Whose true performance shall enrich thee ever ? 
 As earnest of reward, this purse receive j 
 
 [Gives a purse. 
 And tell me, wilt thou serve me ? 
 
 Dem. While I live. 
 Let me but know your majesty's good pleasure. 
 
 Lus. What if the deed I ask be criminal ? 
 Thou wouldst not hesitate ? 
 
 Dem. ( Looking on the purse.) No, by this gold ! 
 Nought should deter me, sire, from serving you. 
 
 Lus. Know, Demas, then, that in th' expected battle, 
 I own but one desire, see but o;ie object : 
 
88 MALEK ADHEL; THJS Act II. 
 
 It is to conquer, by whatever means, 
 The Arab chief, my rival, Malek Adhel. 
 By all those names so rooted in my hate, 
 That his survival would embitter mine. 
 Let him not live to boast of my defeat ! 
 Death he may give, but let him death receive. 
 Be thou, my squire, still near us. If we move 
 Forth from the general shock of combatants, 
 Follow our steps in secret. Victory mine, 
 In peace shalt thou a rich reward enjoy ; 
 But if I fall, I here repeat it, Demas, 
 On thy fidelity I would depend 
 That he shall not survive me. 
 
 Dem. Sire, rely 
 On mine obedience. 
 
 Lus. I am satisfied. 
 
 The chance of war I, now, no longer dread ; 
 Since there is nothing left but death to fear. 
 Send we to Ascalon, and warn them there, 
 That Saladin besieges Cesarea. 
 Richard, no doubt, will on the news return, 
 And reassume the sovereign command ; 
 While I shall, freely, quench my private hate, 
 Ev'n in the heart's-blood of this unbeliever. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
Scene 11. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 89 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Changes to SALADIN'S camp near Cesarea. 
 
 Enter SALADIN attended. 
 
 Sal. ( To his guards.} If he asks audience, bid him 
 
 seek it here ; 
 
 And send me Kaled hither, instantly. [Exeunt guards . 
 (After a pause.) This is most strange! After such base 
 
 defection, 
 
 Thus does he dare, alone, unarm'd, to come, 
 A ready victim to my just resentment? 
 
 Enter MALEK ADHEL. 
 
 Sal. (Severely.) Oh, Malek Adhel ! when to thee I 
 
 trusted 
 
 The guard of Cesarea, 'twas not thus 
 Despoil'd, dishonour'd, humbled, and abash'd, 
 I thought again to see thee ! 
 
 M.Ad. Saladin, 
 
 I am too culpable to meet thine eyes ; 
 And Ayoub's * glorious name, in me disgrac'd, 
 Forbids me, now, to claim a brother's title. 
 My duty, oaths all, all I have forgotten ! 
 Lusignan holds command in Cesarea, 
 Master of walls^, which to my care, thou gav'st ! 
 Lusignan Oh ! I have no words t* express 
 The anguish of this moment 
 
 * The name of the father of Saladin and Malek Adhel. 
 
90 A1ALEK ADI1EL , HIE A,.l If. 
 
 Sal. (Softened.) Yet relate 
 
 What strange event hath plac'd him in thy seat ? 
 Thou hast been still invincible, till now. 
 
 M. A. Would I had died, or e'er I ceas'd to be so ! 
 But treachery, that stain on warrior's deeds, 
 Alone enabled him to seize the city. 
 Dupe of my fatal love, of my heart's weakness, 
 I ventur'd forth to rescue England's princess, 
 As I imagin'd, from Lusignan's power. 
 My rival knew the flight himself had plann'd, 
 And quickly seiz'd th j advantage of my absence 
 To make the city his : while, to entrap me, 
 Returning with my prize, his sentinels 
 Assum'd the Arab garb. 1 seek not, sultan, 
 T' avert thy wrath, or justify iny folly. 
 The keen remorse I feel, permits me not 
 To seek or find excuse. 
 
 Sal. The faithful Kaled, 
 A witness of thy conduct, and a victim 
 Of thine imprudence, had already brought 
 To mine astonish'd ear, this strange recital ; 
 Yet did he paint thee far less culpable. 
 Kaled, thy friend, while he deplor'd thine errors, 
 Deem'd them not wholly inexcusable. 
 
 M. Ad. Is Kaled here ? Oh ! lives he ? Is he free ? 
 
 Enter KALED. 
 
 KaL Prince, thou behold'st him. 
 .V. Ad. Oh ! my valued friend ! [Embracing. 
 
 Blest be the angel who deliver' d thee ! 
 
Scene II. CHAMPION OF THE CRKSCKNT. 91 
 
 This opes, again, to joy, a heart I thought 
 For ever clos'd to happiness ! 
 
 Kal Prince Adhel, 
 
 Much have the prophet's sons and I endur'd ; 
 But it were yet ungrateful to deny 
 That, save Lusignan, every Christian chief 
 Hath prov'd himself humane and generous. 
 For me, although the hand was hid in darkness 
 That broke my chains, I yet have cause to know 
 That England's princess gain'd me liberty. 
 
 M. Ad. (Aside.) Ah yes ! the pitying act was thine, 
 
 Matilda ! 
 But gratitude, like love, must now be hush'd. 
 
 Sal. ( To M. Ad.) What now are thy resolves, and 
 
 to thy country 
 What reparation dost thou offer ? 
 
 M. Ad. Hear me. 
 
 When I beheld these limbs with fetters charg'd, 
 And fair Matilda in Lusignan's power 5 
 Proud Cesarea humbled, lost, enslav'd ; 
 My glory tarnish'd, thee betray 'd, my brother ! 
 Death, instant death, had been my only prayer, 
 Had not the dear hope of avenging thee" 
 Left me a sacred duty to fulfil. 
 
 Sal. The hero then, o'er a weak love triumphant, 
 Again, will mount the heights whence late he fell ; 
 And lead, again, my armies on to conquest ? 
 
 M. Ad. It may not be. Oh ! mighty Saladin ! 
 O'erwhelm me not with so much clemency ! 
 So dear thy interests to Malek Adhel, 
 
92 MALfcK AJJHEL ; THft Act 11. 
 
 He cannot see thee to thyself unjust 5 
 And in this hour of humbled pride, he feels 
 Thy goodness far more painful than thy rigour. 
 Ah ! let me then, ev'n in the lowest ranks, 
 Amid the meanest of thy soldiers, hide ! 
 Too happy, if they will permit me this : 
 They, whose fidelity, whose honour, still 
 Have been untainted, even by suspicion. 
 
 SaL From earliest youth our constant friend, thou, 
 
 Kaled, 
 
 Know'st well the heart, dost not defend the errors 
 Of Malek Adhel ; and thy words shall guide me. 
 If thou unfit shalt judge him, or unworthy 
 His former state of high command to hold, 
 Thy sultan swears, by mighty Allah's throne, 
 Regardless of the ties of blood, to hush 
 The softer pleadings of fraternal love, 
 And listen, solely, to the voice of justice. 
 Speak, Kaled, and pronounce his final doom. 
 
 Kal. Great sultan, hear from me, the general wibh 
 Live Malek Adhel still, the glorious brother 
 Of our brave sovereign : may bright victory 
 Still gild his steps, and friendship's fondest ties 
 To Saladin unite him. Still, the object 
 Of our affection, may he be our leader ! 
 Such would we have him, ever. 
 
 Sal. Such he shall be. 
 
 Come j in this fond embrace, the past is buried ; 
 And thou'rt my brother still. [To M. AD. 
 
 M. Ad. Thy sla.ve for ever ! [Embrace. 
 
 To all thy will devoted. Saladin 
 
Scene II. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 93 
 
 And Kaled, oh ! 'tis sweet to be thus cherish'd : 
 I feel it, though these touching proofs of love 
 Tear me, for ever, from the gentle maid, 
 But late the object of my fondest hopes. 
 Ah, fatal hopes ! by every duty cross'd, 
 And, now, to every duty sacrific'd; 
 Farewell ! Eternally farewell, Matilda ! 
 
 Sal. (Giving him a sword.) Banish her now thy 
 
 thoughts ; and let this weapon 
 Plant glory there, where love too long has reign'd. 
 
 M. Ad. My noble brother, and thou, trusting friend, 
 Who, at the moment when I have betray' d you, 
 Can still place faith in me your confidence 
 I thankfully accept ; for now, I feel 
 I'm worthy of it. Oh ! the sacrifice 
 My heart has vow'd to you, assures me so ; 
 And soon this sword shall prove it. 
 
 Sal. Let us haste, then, 
 And join to form our plan of battle : sure, 
 That in th* intoxication of their triumph, 
 The Christians will not hesitate to meet us. 
 
 M. Ad. That battle will be terrible decisive ! 
 Yet a few days, perchance, and War's loud tongue 
 Shall to the world proclaim, which empire falls. 
 Whether, beneath the Prophet's mighty standard, 
 Or the far-streaming banners of the Cross, 
 The subjugated East shall henceforth bend ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT THE SECOND. 
 
94 MALBK AmiEI,; THK Act II I. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The plains ofCesarea, as in Act 1. 
 
 MALEK ADHEL and KALED. 
 
 M. Ad. Behold the moment when our eager warriors ,. 
 Led to the fight by valiant Saladin, 
 Rush forth, and hasten to the grand assault. 
 Their lances now in rest, their vizors down, 
 The Christians too, forsake the guardian walls 
 Of Cesarea, rous'd with equal ardour. 
 Each spurs his courser's sides, and onward hastes 
 To meet th* opposed foe. Ere these shall part, 
 Sword shall cross sword j shield against shield shall 
 
 strike 3 
 
 And jav'lin against jav'lin shall rebound. 
 Now must this arm to Saladin redeem 
 The city I have lost him. At the price, 
 (To me, the precious price,) of Christian blood, 
 Must his revenge be bought. It must, it shall, 
 Though, as Matilda's brother, every Christian 
 Is dear to Malek Adhel, save Lusignan ! 
 
 Kal. (Looking out.} Yonder, my prince, behold they 
 meet so closely, 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 95 
 
 That the crusading, from the Arab troops, 
 The eye can scarce distinguish. 
 
 M. Ad. Let's away ; 
 For Saladin will soon demand our aid : 
 And oh, Matilda ! could it lead to thee, 
 How gladly should I fly to victory ! [Exit. 
 
 Manet KALED. 
 
 Kal. (Looking out) Now clouds of dust, thick rising 
 
 from the throng, 
 
 Conceal the combatants from view, obscure 
 The air, and mount to heav'n. Th* affrighted hills 
 Reverberate the clash of meeting arms, 
 The shouts of victory, and groans of death. 
 Heav'n be thy shield, brave prince ! for much I fear 
 Thou art, thyself, too heedless of defence. [Exit. 
 
 [Drums behind the scenes, heard at interval*. 
 
 Enter LUSIGNAN and DEMAS. 
 
 Lus. Richard, already, o'er their left wing triumphs ; 
 And I have broke their central lines. Our Christians 
 Have, thus, th' advantage, though the infidels 
 Headed by Saladin, have yet repuls'd us 
 With their right wing j but since this Saracen, 
 This Malek Adhel, has attack'd our rear, 
 The victory seems about t* abandon us. 
 Could I withdraw my formidable rival 
 To single combat, in this spot remote, 
 Our troops would speedily redeem their loss j 
 And I, though sure to perish in the struggle, 
 
9$ MALEKADHKL; THE Act HI. 
 
 Since sure the Arab chief will perish also, 
 Should hail ev'n death as welcome. Tarry, Demas, 
 Within yon cave : I'll seek him through the field : 
 Provoking to the fight with bitterest taunts, 
 Until (his prudence to his anger yielding,) 
 He grasp at vengeance, and my vengeance meet ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Manet DEMAS. 
 Dem. (Looking out.) The battle rages still. The 
 
 Mussulman s 
 
 Retain th' advantage, and the Christians fall. 
 Yonder, Prince Adhel leads his pow'rs triumphant, 
 With Kaled by his side, a bulwark vain j 
 For he is, surely, wounded, and Lusignan 
 Shall buy an easy conquest. Now, my master, 
 Reach, challenge, goad him too, with terms of scorn ; 
 And probe him to the quick. His fury rous'd, 
 Affect to fly, and lead him to his fate. 
 They come, they come ! I must to my retreat. 
 
 [Retires among trees to the cave. 
 
 Enter LUSIGNAN hastily, followed by MALEK ADHEL 
 wounded, both with swords drawn. 
 
 M. Ad. Have I at length attain'd thee, recreant king } 
 When thou by wrongs and insults hast provok'd, 
 Wouldst thou by flight avoid, my just revenge? 
 
 Lus. I meet thee, Saracen, I scorn thy power $ 
 And joy to see, that vengeance to thy soul 
 Is dearer than the cause of Saladin, 
 Which now thou art deserting. 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OP THE CRESCENT. 97 
 
 M. Ad. Thy destruction 
 Will best assist the cause of Saladin. 
 One instant may suffice to rid the earth 
 Of thee, detested rival ! and 'twere vain, 
 To deem one instant of their leader's absence 
 Would bring to my brave troops defeat. Then haste 
 Haste we t' extinguish in our blood, the hatred 
 Which mutually inflames us. 
 
 Lus. (Smiling scornfully .} Thou art wounded. 
 Our Christian steel, I see, has drunk thy blood, 
 And thou hast ceas'd to be invincible. 
 
 M. Ad. Your Christians have small cause of triumph 
 
 there ; 
 
 For life is worthless, now, to Malek Adhel, 
 And his warm life-blood may they freely take : 
 But were they shed t* avenge thee, my Matilda 
 And were it not, that thou would'st mourn my death, 
 How should I bless these parting vital drops ! 
 
 Lus. Matilda mourn thy death ? No, pagan ; trust me, 
 She would partake the joy of Christendom. 
 
 M. Ad. Believe, Lusignan, thou'rt the only Christian 
 Whose blood, without reluctance, I could shed. 
 
 Lus. Yet thou, with all thy pride of waflike fame, 
 Shalt shortly bow thy crested head, subdued 
 By my superior force. 
 
 M . Ad. ( Throwing away his shield.) Thy God for- 
 bid it ! 
 
 Oh ! throw we by, these vain defences, yet, 
 Which but retard defeat ; and, rather, hasten 
 
Q8 MALEK ADHEL; THE Act III. 
 
 The happy hour when one of us shall cease 
 To hate the other. 
 
 Lus. (Throning away Ids shield.) There, then, lies 
 
 my buckler. 
 
 Horrible Death ! now hear our wrathful strokes ! 
 Fly hover round, and smile to see the victim, 
 The glorious victim, which this day shall fall 
 Beneath thy dreaded sway \ [Exeunt Jighting. 
 
 DEM AS coming forward, looks after them. 
 
 Dem. Lusignan never 
 Shew'd valour so resistless ; never yet 
 Did hopes so bright invigorate his arm : 
 For Malek Adhel, weaken'd by his wounds, 
 Fails in that active strength, which yet, in him, 
 Courage may well supply. In either hand 
 He grasps his sword ; now on Lusignan's head 
 Levels a furious blow Lusignan staggers 
 His helmet falls in shivers to the earth, 
 While show'rs of blood o'erwhelm his blinded eyes. 
 As if he scorn'd unequal fight, Prince Adhel 
 Throws his own casque far wide. Lusignan now, 
 Scarce yet himself, springs quick upon the foe, 
 Ere he have time t' evade the heavy stroke : 
 Yet, though his blood wide gushes from his wound, 
 The Arab pierces quick his rival's side. 
 Now, less t' attack, than to defend himself, 
 Lusignan seems to aim : avoids the prince 
 Wheels round him, wearies him, exhausts his strength 5 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 99 
 
 Lo ! Malek Adhel, seizing, now, his poniard, 
 Makes at my master's heart, they struggle now 
 Entwin'd, attack each other, and repulse. 
 Adhel has seiz'd his royal adversary j 
 He strikes with forcethey fall, they fall together ! 
 [A noise, as of falling, behind. 
 
 Lus. (Without.) Hear me, Prince Adhel ! Oh ! 
 
 Dem. Lusignan dies ! [Drains his dagger. 
 
 Then, come thou forth, my trusty weapon ! now, 
 Thy time is ripe for action. [Runs off. 
 
 He-enter DEMAS hastily, followed by MALEK ADHEL, 
 in a wounded and bleeding state ; his helmet off, and 
 his dagger drawn. 
 
 M. Ad. Lurking traitor, 
 
 Where art thou ? I have strength yet left to punish 
 Ah, no ! I sink mine eyes refuse to guide me. 
 Oh ! if thou hast, within thy heart, one nerve 
 That yields to pity's touch, tell my Matilda [Falls. 
 
 Dem. (Locking out.) By Heav'n, she comes! and 
 
 with her the Archbishop. 
 
 How shall I meet their questions ? Wretched man ! 
 Why canst not thou redeem thy crime, and bring 
 This prince, again, to life > Ah ! 'tis too late ! 
 No pow'r can save him now ! 
 
 Enter MATILDA and the ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 Mat. Believe me, father, 
 I from the palace turrets watch'd their steps ; 
 
 H 2 
 
100 MALEK ADHEL ', THE Act III, 
 
 And saw them quit th' embattled field together. 
 They bent this way their course. Oh ! Pow'rs Su- 
 preme ! 
 What horror strikes mine eyes ? Tis Malek Adhel ! 
 
 Arch. Horror indeed ! Here lies the prince we seek, 
 Cover'd with wounds, extended on the dust. 
 But who hath done this deed ? 
 
 Mat. (To DEMAS.) The deed was thine, 
 Assassin base ! Thy bloody dagger speaks it ! 
 
 Arch. Miscreant ! Hope no forgiveness for thy crime, 
 But by sincere repentance, and confession. 
 Fell Malek Adhel by thy hand > 
 
 Dem. Too truly. 
 
 Lusignan's the command, but mine the act. 
 Yet tremblingly my rash hand dealt the blow ; 
 And still, perhaps, he lives. Oh ! let me hence 
 I cannot bear to look at him again ! [Exit. 
 
 Mat. (Putting her hand to the heart O/MALEK ADHEL.) 
 My Adhel ! let there beat one pulse of life 
 Within thy noble heart, however faintly, 
 And thy Matilda shall discover it I 
 If thou'rt no more $ if virtues great as thine 
 Must be hereafter punish'd, where, high Heav'n ? 
 Would be thy justice, where thy truth ? 
 
 Arch. My daughter, 
 
 Die, rather, of thy grief, than question, thus, 
 The Great Creator's will. 
 
 [MATILDA kneeling, places the head of MALEK 
 ADHEL on her lap. 
 
 Mat. (After a pause.) He breathes, my father! 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 101 
 
 He breathes again, and Heav'n is justified ! 
 
 I hear him faintly sigh. Oh ! Thou, who reign' st 
 
 Above, Thou know'st my thoughts, Thou know'st, 
 
 'tis not 
 
 For love, or for myself, I now implore thee ! 
 Take Thou the sole possession of his heart -, 
 And let him but behold the light again, 
 To learn t* acknowledge Thee. Be Thou, be Thou, 
 His only thought, and let me be forgotten ! 
 (To the ARCHBISHOP.) Oh ! pray thou for him, 
 
 venerable saint ! 
 
 Heav'n will not, surely, to thy pray'rs, refuse 
 Acceptance to the hero's soul. 
 
 Arch. I will j 
 
 And yon pure current shall supply, my child, 
 The waters that shall wash away his sins ; 
 Atone the errors of his faith, and bid him, 
 Assur'd of Heav'n's forgiveness, die in peace. 
 
 [Exit, and returns "with water, with which he 
 
 bathes the forehead O/MALEK ADHEL. 
 Mat. Touch'd by those hands which bless'd the 
 
 sacred stream, 
 
 His eyes he half uncloses speak to him- : 
 Approach him, holy Anselm : 'tis not, now, 
 My voice he ought to hear 5 but Heav'n's, and thine. 
 Arch. (Kneeling by the side O/'MALEK ADHEL.) My 
 son, thy Maker calls, and Heav'n awaits thee. 
 M. Ad. (In ajeeble voice.} Art thou return'd, my 
 
 father ? Is it thou ? 
 Still dost thou not abandon, then, thy child ? 
 
102 MALEK ADHBL 5 THE Act IIL 
 
 Mat. (Passionately clasping her hands.) I bless thee, 
 
 gracious Lord ! my Adhel lives ! 
 M. Ad. (Endeavouring to raise himself.) Oh yet, 
 
 \vhat voice is that ? What heav'nly voice 
 Comes, to impart delight to death itself? 
 
 Arch. Give, oh my son ! to other thoughts, these 
 
 moments, 
 
 These few, short moments of departing life ; 
 For they may give thee life and bliss eternal. 
 
 M. Ad. (Talcing MATILDA'S hand.) With her, my 
 
 father ? 
 
 Arch. Yes, my son, with her. 
 Surely, a Power all mercy, truth, and love, 
 Will grant acceptance to conversion, wrought 
 By love sincere and pure. With her, my son, 
 If thy last thoughts, last wishes rise to Him, 
 Who breath'd in death compassion on the sinner, 
 Thou shalt live ever happy, in a world, 
 Where sickness, crime, and sorrow are unknown. 
 M. Ad. Oh ! smooth with heav'nly hope the paths 
 
 of death j 
 And make me worthy happiness like this ! 
 
 Arch. (Giving him the Crucifix from his girdle.) Take 
 
 then, the holy symbol of Redemption : 
 Adore the beams of that bright Sun, which set ^ 
 In blood, upon the Cross, to give thee light j 
 And hope, more fervently, thy soul's salvation, 
 From knowing that our Saviour's pow'r t' obtain, 
 Far, far exceeds all pow'r thine errors have 
 To rob thee of Heav'n's favour. Take, and live. 
 
Scene L CHAMPION OP THE CRESCENT. 103 
 
 M. Ad. (Taking the Crucifix 'with both hands, and 
 pressing it to his lips.) Rays of celestial light ! I have 
 
 beheld you- 
 Eternal life descending in my soul, 
 And ne'er can lose you more ! Faith, hope, and love, 
 To you I give my heart. Receive, Matilda, 
 My last farewell. My love ! I go before thee 5 
 But to expect thee in those realms of bliss 
 Which Anselm promises. Cease, then, to weep ! 
 Mat. Oh ! these are tears which should with smiles 
 
 be mingled -, 
 
 For now, we are assur'd to meet hereafter. 
 With blest eternity before our eyes, 
 Death seems but absence of a few short days. 
 (Wildly) My friend, my love my Adhel, I con- 
 sent ! 
 
 Be happy first ! I too sincerely love thee, 
 To wish thee longer on this sorrowing earth, 
 Or murmur at thy freedom ! 
 
 Arch. (Joining their hands.) Christians, thus, 
 Religion, which once parted, now permits me 
 For ever to unite you. Malek Adhel, 
 Go, and receive thy baptism's high reward : 
 Mount to yon blest abodes, and there prepare 
 The bliss of this thy wife, whose tears below 
 Will expiate thine errors. 
 
 M. Ad. Oh ! my father ! 
 When I am gone, thou wilt protect Matilda ; 
 And I would thank thee for thy pious cares 
 But time permits not for my fainting strength 
 
104 MALEK ADHEL ; THE Act III. 
 
 Deserts me. Father ! may Matilda's God 
 And thine, accept my soul ! Farewell, dear love ! 
 Farewell, but for a season, and thine Adhel 
 Is thine, for ever ! [Dies. 
 
 [A long pause, during 'which MATILDA and the 
 ARCHBISHOP contemplate, sorrowfully^ the corpse 
 O^MALEK ADHEL. 
 
 Arch. Peace, for ever peace, 
 Departed hero, to thy noble soul ! 
 Kind Heaven ! sanctify this virgin's grief ! 
 Let her rejoice at all thy bounty gives, 
 Without regretting what thou tak'st away. 
 Oh ! daughter of affliction ! raise thy head : 
 Droop not beneath a weight of earthly sorrow. 
 Daughter of Christ, thy mourning brings to Heav'n, 
 Atonement of thy husband's sins : Thy tears 
 Complete, perhaps, his punishment below. 
 Complain not, then, of sufferings or tears : 
 For him wilt thou not suffer willingly ? 
 
 Mat. I will I do ! I am resign'd to all ! 
 
 Arch. (After a pause.) Oh! leave this little earth, 
 
 and raise thine eyes 
 To yon unbounded space. See there, thy husband ! 
 
 [Pointing uptvards. 
 
 Mat. True, oh my father ! yet, he's also here ! 
 See this cold, livid corse mine arms encircle 
 It once was Malek Adhel ; and the heart 
 Which beat for me so lately, beats no more ! 
 
 Arch. Daughter, these mortal relics, to the earth 
 Which claims them, now, must be restor'd, 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 105 
 
 / 
 
 Mat. Ah no ! 
 
 I never will restore them. Oh, dear husband ! 
 I swear I will not quit thee. When thou hVdst, 
 Ah ! was I not enough divided from thee ? 
 What fear they now ? Am I still envied, then, 
 The mournful pleasure of beholding thee, 
 Thine eyes in darkness clos'd 3 thy pale, cold lips ? 
 This, the sole blessing which remains to me 
 Why would their cruelty deprive me of it ? 
 
 Arch. My child, one short hour past, didst thou 
 
 not cry, 
 
 " Let him be sav'd, and I'll forbear complaint ?" 
 Behold, he now is sav'd, yet dost thou murmur. 
 
 Mat. I murmur not. I weep, but I rejoice; 
 Bless, and adore the great Creator's mercies : 
 But never will I part from Malek Adhel. 
 These hands, alone, shall, o'er thy pallid face, 
 The veil funereal spread, my lost, lost love ! 
 
 [Sinks down, her head jailing on the bosom of 
 MALEK ADHEL. 
 
 Arch. (Turning away> and contemplating the body 
 at some distance.) How art thou fallen, glorious 
 
 luminary, 
 
 Son of the morning ! Thou'rt cut down to earth, 
 Who didst affright didst scatter wide the nations ! 
 Ah ! to deplore the wounded unto death, 
 Might my dim eyes become a source of tears 
 That ceas'd nor night nor day ! What step is this ? 
 
 [Returns to MATILDA. 
 
106 MALEK ADHEL 5 THE Act III, 
 
 Enter KALED. 
 
 Kal. The Christians masters of the day j our 
 
 sultan 
 
 Defeated, and withdrawing from the field ; 
 What arm could now redeem our heavy loss, 
 Save thine, oh Malek Adhel ! Yet, 'tis rumour' d 
 That thou art fall'n. What dost thou, Christian, 
 there > [To the ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 Hast thou deprived of life the Crescent's champion > 
 
 Arch. (Calmly resuming the Crucifix.) Rather, I 
 deem that I have giv'n him life. 
 
 Mat. (Rising, and placing herself between KALED 
 and the corpse.) Whoe'er thou art, approach not ! 
 
 Come not near 
 Seek not to tear him from me ! 
 
 Kal. Royal maid ! 
 Is't thou ? My master, then, is surely here. 
 
 Mat. (Fearfully and wildly.) Kaled, I will not give 
 
 him up to thee ! 
 
 Thou wast his friend, I know it ; but no matter 
 I'll never give him up to thee ! 
 
 Kal. (Perceiving the corpse, casts himself on the 
 ground beside it, and strikes his head.) My prince ! 
 My master oh ! my master ! Is it thus, 
 I'm doom'd again to see thee ? 
 
 Mat. Kaled, know, 
 
 Thy master died my husband, and I'll die, 
 Ev'n by my husband's side. 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT. 107 
 
 Kal. (Rising, and pointing behind the scenes.) At 
 
 risk of life,, 
 
 With yonder troop of horse I came, to seek 
 If living, Malek Adhel j or if dead, 
 To Saladin, the precious, sad remains 
 Of what was once his brother, to restore. 
 Of right, they to our sultan must belong. 
 
 Mat. No! they belong to me alone! And, Kaled, 
 If thou dost tear from me my husband, know, 
 That I will follow to th' extremest verge 
 Of the wide earth, on foot I'll follow thee, 
 And claim again, with screams, my husband's corse ! 
 [Sinks down, andpresses the hand O/^MALEK ADHEL 
 to her heart. 
 
 Kal. To the departed soul of Malek Adhel, 
 Princess, I know that thou wert justly dear. 
 Nor can I better honour his lov'd memory, 
 Than by a prompt obedience to thy wishes : 
 But we to Saladin have sworn to bring 
 His brother's body 5 and we must obey him. 
 Yet come thou with us j come, illustrious Christian ! 
 The sultan, touch'd by thy severe distress, 
 Will, sure, respect, in thee, the mourning widow 
 Of Malek Adhel, and will not divide you. 
 
 Mat. (Rising, and lowering her veil. ) I'll fly to ask 
 
 it of him. Thou, my father, 
 Turn to the Christians to the victor camp 
 Return 5 and let me, here, f ulfil a duty, 
 Attending on my husband. 
 
108 MALEK ADHEL ; THE Act III. 
 
 Arch. No, my daughter, 
 I shall not quit thee. 
 
 Kal. See, the sultan comes; 
 And unattended, to this place of woe. 
 
 Enter SAL AD IN. He walks with a slow step towards the 
 body, kneels, and embraces it. 
 
 Sal. My brother Malek Adhel ! my sole friend ! 
 And have I lost thee ? Is it truly thou ? 
 Ah ! how shall Saladin support, without thee, 
 The weight of empire ? Prince, thou'rt dead indeed ; 
 And every virtue will, with thee, be buried ! 
 (Rises.) Faith, justice, valour, generosity, 
 Will leave the desolated earth to mourn, 
 While cruelty and rapine take their place. 
 Oh ! I shall not survive thee long ! In thee, 
 The world hath lost its brightest ornament, 
 The sky its light, the empire its defender, 
 And Saladin his best his only friend ! 
 
 Mat. (Throwing back her veil, and prostrating herself 
 at the feet of SAL AD IN.) Of all that I was destin'd to 
 
 possess 
 
 On earth, oh pow'rful monarch ! nothing, now, 
 Remains to me, save this pale corse. Oh sultan ! 
 I do conjure thee, take it not away ! 
 Conspire not, with my griefs, to ruin me ! 
 
 Sal, (Greatly troubled.) What dost thou ask of me ? 
 
 Mat. I ask my husband ! 
 The prince, before he died, embrac'd my faith, 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OF THE CRESCENT, 109 
 
 Receiv'd my marriage vow, and gave me his : 
 Permit me, then, to pass my few short hours 
 Of sad existence, by his coffin's side! 
 Give me, of Malek Adhel, what alone 
 Remains of Malek Adhel, still, on earth. 
 Lend, noble Saladin ! an ear of pity 
 To the last pray'rs of a despairing wife ! 
 
 Sal. (Raising her tvith kindness.) Art thou indeed, 
 my brother's wife ? 
 
 Mat. (Bursting into tears.) Oh, Heaven ! 
 I was, I was ! Alas ! I am no longer ! 
 
 Arch. Great sultan, I bear witness of the truth $ 
 And know, that Malek Adhel died a Christian, 
 And died Matilda's husband. 
 
 Sal. (After a pause.) Malek Adhel 
 A Christian died ? What strange event is this ? 
 I know that Anselm would not stoop to falshood, 
 Or should refuse it credit. Malek Adhel 
 A Christian died ? Oh ! fatal, fatal beauty ! 
 Thou, who hast robb'd me of my brother, living, 
 Hast caus'd his loss, and even after death, 
 Hast snatch'd him from me keep, still keep thy hus- 
 band, 
 Since his last vows were thine. 
 
 Mat. (Letting fall her veil.) Thanks, gracious sultan. 
 Now have I nothing of the world to ask ; 
 And soon shall I withdraw from it, for ever. 
 
 Sal. Widow of Malek Adhel, where the spot 
 Which thou hast chosen for the final rest 
 Of these belov'd remains ? 
 
110 MALBK ADHEL; THE Act III. 
 
 Mat. With me they go 
 To Carmel's monastery last retreat 
 Of grief eternal, soon to be my tomb. 
 Oh ! there, more happy than on earth I hop'd, 
 Near to my husband I shall live, and die. 
 
 Arch. Oh ! noble sultan ! to the Christians grant 
 Some days of truce, that they, with solemn pomp, 
 Their rites of burial may in peace perform. 
 
 Sal. Christian, I grant the boon, but, though I give 
 You him, who gave himself, by his last vows; 
 His murderer must be consign'd to me. 
 
 Arch. The impious instigator of his murder, 
 Lusignan, fell, ev'n by the hero's hand, 
 In single combat ; and the sordid tool 
 Of his iniquity, lives but to suffer 
 The tortures of remorse, and late repentance. 
 
 Sal. Still let him live to suffer. If 'tis so, 
 I'm satisfied. Oh ! there my brother lies ! 
 Take him, since he among your dead hath chosen 
 His last abode -, and Kaled, follow me. 
 
 [Exit SALADIN, followed by KALED, each tvith slow 
 steps, and sorrowful countenances. 
 
 Mat. (Sitting down beside the body.) Peace to thine 
 
 ashes, oh ! thou most belov'd ! 
 Peace, if it may be, to Matilda's soul ! 
 Oh ! wherefore dost thou suffer yet, my soul, 
 This mortal sadness ? Wherefore art thou plung'd 
 In deep dejection thus ? Thy best-belov'd 
 Hath ceas'd to mourn, ere now 5 and, while thy weak- 
 ness 
 
Scene I. CHAMPION OP THE CRESCENT. ill 
 
 Would call him back to earth, he tastes of joys 
 
 Unspeakable, surpassing human thought, 
 
 Ev'n in the bosom of felicity, 
 
 To which high Heav'n hath, in its mercy, call'd him ! 
 
 THE CURTAIN DROPS. 
 
ARISTODEMUS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 *$%* Spectre, 
 
ARISTODEMUS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE SPECTRE. 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 From the Italian of the Abate Vincenzo Monti. 
 
 MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY PERMISSION, 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE AND MONTGOMERY. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS, King of Messenia. 
 LYSANDER, Ambassador from Sparta. 
 PALAMEDES, a Captive in Messenia. 
 
 GONIPPUS,-! 
 
 > Friends of Anstodemus. 
 
 EUM-EUS, J 
 
 CESIRA, a Captive in Messenia. 
 
 The Scene lies in the Royal Palace of Messenia. 
 
ARISTODEMUS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The Royal Palace in Meesenia. 
 LYSANDER and PALAMEDES. 
 
 La/s. YES, Palamedes -, to Messenia's court, 
 Doth Sparta send me, messenger of peace. 
 Sparta is weary of these ceaseless wars : 
 And now our laurels, dyed in patriot blood, 
 Seem weighty to our brows j nay, ev'n disgraceful! 
 Wrath, now, subdued by pity Reason rules 5 
 Persuading us 'tis worse than folly, madness, 
 Through a mean jealousy of foreign states, 
 To hew men piecemeal, and lay waste the earth. 
 Since then, our foes have been the first to wish it, 
 Peace, Sparta willing grants, and peace I bring. 
 Nor this alone ; but freedom from the yoke, 
 To all the sons of Sparta, here detain'd 
 In slav'ry. Chief, to thee, beloved friend ! 
 Who, still regretted and desir'd, hast languish'^ 
 
118 AR1STODEMUS; OR, Act I. 
 
 Three tedious years, within these hostile walls, 
 A sad, unhonour'd, yet illustrious captive. 
 
 Pal. Lysander, I with joy again behold thee. 
 Yes 5 'twill to me be sweeter, from thy hands 
 To welcome freedom, and return once more 
 To meet th* embraces of my kindred friends, 
 Amid the green Amyclse's pleasant shades. 
 And yet kind fortune could not have reserv'd me 
 A happier bondage, than I here experience. 
 Thou art not ignorant, that, here, Cesira, 
 Talthybius* beauteous daughter, also dwells 
 My fellow-captive : now, moreover, learn, 
 That, in the royal sight, such favour found 
 The lovely features of the fair Cesira, 
 Her gentle manners, and her modest speech, 
 That, with a servile chain, Aristodemus 
 Would never have her charg'd ; but rather, heaps 
 Fresh favours, still, upon her ; giving me 
 Permission so to share her prosperous fortune, 
 That free 1 range, as now, the royal palace, 
 At my own will. 
 
 Lys. The king, then, Palamedes, 
 Loves her ! 
 
 Pal. He loves her with a father's heart 5 
 And only when with her, the wretched man 
 Feels in his breast infus'd, a few small drops 
 Of joy, to soften the severe affliction 
 Which ever weighs upon him. But for her, 
 No gleaming smile would e'er be seen t' illume 
 His sad, and darksome countenance. 
 
Scene I. THE SPECTRE. 119 
 
 Lys. Through Greece, 
 Is this his mortal melancholy known ; 
 Yet none assigns the cause. But here, methinks, 
 That must be manifest, which, elsewhere, rests 
 Profoundly secret. Kings have ever round them 
 A thousand keen and vigilant observers, 
 Who note each word, each look, each half-drawn sigh, 
 Nay, sift their very thoughts. Here then, amidst 
 So many prying eyes, what real source 
 Hath been discover'd, of his sadness ? 
 
 Pal. I, 
 
 Without disguise, as 'twas to me imparted, 
 Will tell this wretched prince's mournful tale. 
 Messenia, scourg'd by cruel pestilence, 
 The Delphic Oracle required a maid, 
 Born of th' illustrious race of ./Epytus, 
 In sacrifice to Pluto, to be slain. 
 The lots were drawn, and nam'd Lyciscus' daughter? 
 When, by an impious pity mov'd, her sire 
 Snatch'd her, by secret flight, from threaten'd death. 
 Another victim, the defrauded people 
 Demanded. Then stood forth Aristodemus 3 
 And his own lovely daughter, bright Dircea, 
 Spontaneous offer'd to -the priest. Dircea, 
 Slain at the altar in the other's stead, 
 Ev'n with her pure blood slak'd the greedy thirst 
 Of dark Avernus ; to procure the health 
 And life of others, yielding up her own. 
 
 Lys. Thus far, I've heard before 5 for loudly, fame 
 
120 ARISTODEMUS J OR, Act I. 
 
 Proclaim'd around the fact ; and of her mother, 
 Related too, a direful circumstance. 
 
 Pal. Unable to support Dircea's death, 
 And prompted by a grief that rose to madness, 
 She her own bosom pierc'd> and headlong fell, 
 A bloody, and disfigur'd corse rejoining 
 (A frantic, thus, and voluntary shade), 
 Her daughter, in the empire of the dead. 
 Yet this, of the heart-struck Aristodemus, 
 Form'd but the second woe ; to which, a third 
 Succeeded, in the sad, untimely fate 
 Of young Argia. She, her father's last 
 Remaining hope, (a lovely infant girl, 
 Whose tender foot still trac'd uncertain steps) 
 Scarce half a lustre had attain'd. He, then> 
 While closely to his bosom clasping her, 
 Was wont to find the painful mem'ry soften'd 
 Of his past sufferings ; find a father's name 
 Lisp'd by her tongue, strike sweetly to his heart, 
 And cheer his pensive brow. But brief his joy j 
 And ev'n this last remains of bliss soon vanish'd. 
 For, suddenly, our armies gaining, then, 
 Amphea's fatal day; and with fierce siege 
 Threatening Ithome's steeps Aristodemus, 
 Who fear'd the city's seizure and destruction, 
 Tore, from his fond paternal heart, his child, 
 And to Eumaeus' long-tried faith consign'd her, 
 Bidding him bear her, safe, to Argos' walls. 
 Long, first, he waver'd $ and with many prayers, 
 
Scene I. THE SPECTRE. 121 
 
 Committed to his trust a life so precious. 
 Vain care ! For there, where Ladon's stream com- 
 mingles 
 
 With fam'd Alpheus' flood, a troop of ours, 
 Warn'd of their flight, or thither urg'd by fate, 
 Attacked and kill'd the guides ; nor spar'd a life 5 
 And 'mid the rest, the royal babe was slain. 
 
 Lys. And know'st thou, Palamedes, nothing more 
 Of that transaction ? 
 
 Pal. Nothing more. 
 
 Lys. Then, know, 
 
 Lysander was the leader of those bands 
 'Twas I attack'd Eumseus. 
 
 Pal. Hah ! is 't true ? 
 Wast thou destroyer of the young Argia ? 
 Here, were it ever known 
 
 Lys. Pursue thy tale. 
 We'll find an after-time to talk of this. 
 
 Pal. Aristodemus, by Argia' s fate, 
 Heart-struck, now yielded all his soul to grief: 
 Nor ever since, has aught of pleasure shone 
 On his sad heart ; or gleaming there, 't has seem'd 
 A lightning's flash, which, momentarily, 
 Shoots through the veil of night, and disappears. 
 Still pensive, sad, he's seen to wander, now, 
 'Mid solitary spots, and tow'rds high Heaven, 
 Heaves, from his inmost heart, deep sighs and groans. 
 Now, frantic, heard to howl aloud, by name, 
 Still calling his Dircea, at the foot 
 Of her sad tomb, he, sobbing, casts himself, 
 
322 ARISTODEMUS j OR, Act I. 
 
 And motionless remains, embracing it : 
 So motionless, a statue thou mightst deem him, 
 Did not the tears, which take their silent course 
 Down his wan cheek, and stream upon the tomb, 
 Proclaim him living. Such, Lysander, now, 
 Is of this wretched king, the woeful state. 
 
 Lys. Sad state indeed ! But be it what it may, 
 It nought concerns me. I am hither come 
 Sparta to serve, not pity Sparta's foes. 
 On this, th' important things I have to say, 
 Must wait a fitter time ; for now, behold 
 Some one approaches, who might note our words. 
 
 Pal. Look : 'tis Cesira. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 CESIRA, LYSANDER, 
 
 Fair Cesira, come $ 
 
 Behold Lysander, the illustrious friend 
 Of your renowned father. 
 
 Ces. (to LYSANDER.) From Gonippus, 
 Who bore, ev'n now, the tidings to the king, 
 I learn'd, my lord, your coming j and in haste 
 Have flown to meet you. Say, I pray, what news 
 Bring you of my beloved sire ? How fares 
 His venerable age ? 
 
 Lys. The hope, alone, 
 Of seeing thee again, preserves his life. 
 Cesira, yes ; ev'n from the fatal hour, 
 
Scene II. THE SPECTRE. 123 
 
 When sad Therapne's field beheld thee made 
 
 A captive by the foe, a deadly weight 
 
 Of grief, preys on him : fearing, still, for thee 
 
 The ills of slav'ry, nought affords him comfort 5 
 
 And all his joy 's the sole, sad luxury 
 
 Of the unhappy, tears. 
 
 Ces. He knows not yet, 
 Aristodemus* generous mind ; knows not 
 How lavish he hath been of bounties tow'rd me. 
 Nor how, love, pity, gratitude conspire 
 To bind me io him, by a powerful tie $ 
 So powerful, in truth, that, when I leave him, 
 My heart will seem divided from my bosom. 
 
 Lys. To this extent, dost thou, then, feel for him ? 
 
 Ces. Alas ! his sorrows speak to every heart j 
 And, more than all, to mine ! Nor can I tell thee, 
 What I would give t* alleviate them, and learn 
 All their sad, latent cause. 
 
 Pal. To judge of that 
 
 From signs external, it must be tremendous. 
 Gonippus solely, he, to whom he speaks 
 Freely, his inmost thoughts, Gonippus only, 
 Might wrest the dreadful secret fronrhis heart. 
 
 Ces. Behold Gonippus. Oh ! how much disturb'd 
 His looks ! what deep affliction clouds his brow ! 
 
124 ARISTODEMUS ; OR, Act I. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 GONIPPUS, CESIRA, LYSANDEK, and PALAMEDES. 
 
 Ah! why thus sad, Gonippus? Wherefore weep'st 
 thou? 
 
 Gon. Who would not weep ? Aristodemus now, 
 Hath reached to such excess of mental anguish, 
 That it becomes distraction. Now he raves, 
 Groans, sighs, like leaves, too, shaken by the wind, 
 His whole frame trembles. His wide- wandering eyes, 
 Affrighted roll ; while on his cheeks, the tears 
 Dry, ling'ring in their channels. The past hour 
 In wild delirium spent, he quits, at length, 
 His own apartments ; and desires again 
 Here, to behold the cheering light of day. 
 His grief free vent requiring, I beseech you 
 All, to withdraw hence. 
 
 Lys. When fit time shall serve, 
 Recall, Gonippus, to thy lord's remembrance, 
 That here, Lysander asks an audience ; 
 And waits his summons only. 
 
 Gon. Thou, with speed, 
 Shalt be acquainted, when his pleasure's known. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 GONIPPUS, then ARISTODEMUS. 
 
 Gon. How vain the pomp and splendour of the 
 
 throne ! 
 If closely view'd, what misery oft surrounds it ! 
 
Scene IV. THE SPECTRE. 125 
 
 Behold the greatest prince, the potentate 
 
 Most dreaded throughout Greece, become so wretched, 
 
 That, not to pity him, were savage sternness ! 
 
 Advance, my lord. Here no one overhears us j 
 
 And safely thou mayst vent thy bitter griefs. 
 
 We are alone. 
 
 Arts. Oh ! my Gonippus, fain 
 Would I be hidden from all human sight ! 
 Ay, hidden, if I could, ev'n from myself. 
 All troubles, all disquiets me j lo ! too, 
 Yon Sun himself, which I, awhile ago, 
 So eagerly desir'd, I now detest, 
 And cannot bear his light ! 
 
 Gon. Nay, yet look up, 
 
 Be not dishearten'd thus. Where, now, is flown 
 The generous spirit of Aristodemus ? 
 His fortitude, his courage, where ? 
 
 Aris. My courage ? 
 
 My fortitude ? I've lost them. I am even 
 The hatred of high Heav'n ; and, when abhorr'd 
 Of Heav'n, ev'n monarchs are debas'd and vile. 
 I once was happy, once, was powerful : now, 
 I am the last, the lowest of mankind. 
 
 Gon. Yet what to thee were needful, to confirm 
 
 thee 
 
 The first of mortals ? Plainly I perceive 
 Some dreadful thought, which thou from me con- 
 
 cealest, 
 Has thus disturb'd thy mind. 
 
 Aris. Gonippus, yes : 
 
126 ARISTODEMUS ; OR, Act I. 
 
 A thought most horrible. Hoiv horrible, 
 Thou ne'er canst guess. Thine eye can never pierce 
 Within my heart : it cannot see the storm 
 Which rages there, and lays waste all my soul ! 
 Ah ! trusty friend ! Believe me most unhappy 
 Beyond all measure wretched: impious, 
 Accurs'd, condemn'd ev'n by the wrath of Heaven ; 
 Th' abhorrence both of nature and myself ! 
 
 Gon. Alas ! how strange a tumult of the mind ! 
 Grief, sure, bedims thy reason ; and thy sadness 
 Springs, simply, from derang'd imagination, 
 Replete with fancied ills. 
 
 Aris. Oh ! would it did ! 
 But, dost thou know me? Know'st thou, too, what 
 
 blood 
 
 Is dropping from my hands ? Hast thou beheld 
 The sepulchres, wide-yawning, from their depths 
 Send forth their spectres to o'erturn my throne ? 
 Nay, with their hands thrust in my bristling hair, 
 To wrest from me my crown ? Hast thou e'er heard 
 A voice tremendous thundering around : 
 ( ' Die, die, accursed wretch ! " Yes ; I will die : 
 
 [Wildly. 
 I'm ready, Here's my breast, my heart's warm 
 
 blood : 
 
 Shed, shed it all : be nature's cause aveng'd j 
 And save me from the horror of thy sight, 
 Relentless shade ! 
 
 Gon. Thy words, in truth, appal me. 
 Too much thou'st said, to be misconstrued now : 
 
Scene IV. THE SPECTRE. 127 
 
 Thy soul, I see, is stung with fell remorse. 
 How hast thou sinn'd 1 What crime hast thou com- 
 mitted 
 
 T* inflame the Gods with so much wrath against thee ? 
 Unfold this mystery.- The fidelity 
 Of thy Gonippus is well known to thee ; 
 Oft hast thou honour'd him with confidence : 
 Entrust him, now, with this -, for still, the weight 
 Of ills is lessen'd by participation. 
 
 Aris. Mine, by disclosure, would but be embitter'd. 
 Seek not to penetrate their hidden source, 
 Gonippus. Tempt me not to break a silence 
 Ah ! leave, in pity, leave me ! 
 
 Gon. Never, no ! 
 While thou maintain'st that silence. These white 
 
 locks, 
 
 And my long service, have not, sure, deserv'd 
 Distrust from thee ? 
 
 Aris. But what is thy design 
 In thus entreating ? For, the veil remov'd, 
 Which hides this fatal secret, horror, sure, 
 Will strike thee dumb ! 
 
 Gon. Ah ! what canst thou reveal ' 
 Which yields not to the horror of beholding 
 Thee, thus, expiring in my sight ? My lord ! 
 J. do beseech thee, by the tears I shed, 
 And by thy sacred knees which thus I clasp, 
 No longer torture me, but speak ! [Kneeling. 
 
 Aris. I will, 
 
128 ARISTODEMUS; OR, Act I. 
 
 Since them so earnestly entreat'st it. Rise. 
 Oh Heaven ! What a tale must I unfold I 
 
 [Draws a dagger from his bosom. 
 
 Gon. Speak on ; proceed. What weapon is't thou 
 grasp'st ? 
 
 Arts. A murd'rous steel. Inspect it. Dost thou 
 
 mark 
 This blood congeal' d upon it ? 
 
 Gon. Heav'n ! What blood ? 
 
 Who shed it ? 
 
 Arts. From my daughter's heart it came 5 
 And know'st thou, by what hand ? 
 
 Gon. No more, no more ! 
 Utter it not : too well I understand thee ! 
 
 Aris. But dost thou know the cause ? 
 
 Gon. There, I'm perplex'd. 
 
 Aris. Hear then. Remember thou hast wrung from 
 
 me, 
 
 The dread recital which will freeze thy veins. 
 Hear me 5 and learn the whole atrocious truth -, 
 My mystery, and my crime. Recall to mind, 
 That period, when the Delphic Oracle, 
 For Erebus demanding human victims, 
 A virgin of the race of Jipytus 
 Was, from Messenia, claim'd in sacrifice. 
 Thou wilt remember, by the fatal urn, 
 Lyciscus' daughter, solemnly coiidemn'd, 
 By flight was by her father sav'd. For her, 
 Another maid must perish; and behold ! 
 
Scene IV. THE SPECTRE. 129 
 
 A second time, assembling round the urn, 
 Each parent trembled for his daughter's doom. 
 Precisely then, Messenia's throne was vacant. 
 Dost thou remember this ? 
 
 Gon. I do. Moreover, 
 I recollect, the royal diadem 
 Was pending, at that time, between thyself, 
 Damis, and Cleon : for the people's choice 
 Suspended hung, 'mid three opposing factions. 
 
 Aris. Well then, Gonippus : to secure the throne, 
 At once, and gain the people, hear the thought 
 Which my unpitying, mad ambition fram'd. 
 Let me (cried I within myself,) henceforth, 
 To profit turn the weakness of mankind. 
 The vulgar ever favour most, the man 
 Who most can dazzle and deceive them ; thus 
 A kingdom oft rewards superior craft, 
 Let me, then, cheat this senseless crowd, amending 
 Lyciscus* error : let my daughter's blood 
 Atone it: be the people, and the crown, 
 Both purchas'd by her blood. 
 
 Gon. Ah, Heav'n ! My lord, 
 
 What say'st thou ? What could to thy mind inspire 
 A project so atrocious ? 
 
 ris. Learn, Gonippus, 
 The man who is ambitious, must be cruel. 
 Between his views of greatness and himself, 
 Place ev'n his father's and his brother's heads, 
 Beneath his feet he'll trample them ; and make 
 Of both, a footstool for himself to rise on. 
 
 K 
 
 
130 ARISTODKMUS; OK, Act I. 
 
 Such did I make my daughter j to the axe 
 Of sacrificing priests, so did I proffer 
 My child, Dircea. Then did Telamon, 
 Dircea's lover, aim t* oppose my plan. 
 He supplicated, threaten'd 5 yet, in vain, 
 Essay 'd to tear from me my fix'd resolve. 
 Desperate, at length, while prostrate at my feet 
 He fell, my pardon craving, he declar'd, 
 Dircea could not now be sacrific'd. 
 A virgin's blood the oracle demanded ; 
 But she was near to claim a mother's title, 
 While he confess'd a father's. To his aid, 
 My wife, Argia came, and, to secure 
 Belief from me, bore witness to the words 
 Of Telamon. 
 
 Gon. What didst thou then ? 
 
 Aris. With rage 
 
 I inly burn'd : and, goaded by the shame 
 Of my insulted honour ; sharpen'd more 
 By the defeat of my ambitious hopes, 
 (Since, from my grasp, I deem'd the kingdom torn 5) 
 Silent, on Telamon my angry eyes 
 I fix'd, dissembling calmness, though my wrath 
 To phrensy rose ; and sought my daughter's chamber. 
 Stretch'd on her couch, I found her ; pale, perturb'd, 
 Disconsolate: her eyes, with weeping weary, 
 A languid lethargy awhile had clos'd. 
 Gonippus, ah ! what wrath might not that sight 
 Have soften'd ? but wild rage mine eyes had seal'd ; 
 While indignation boil'd in every vein. 
 
Scene IV. THE SPECTRE. 131 
 
 Whence (grasping this accursed steel,) all sense 
 Of nature's shudderings, wholly quench'd within me, 
 Furious, I rais'd then, piling' d it in her breast. 
 The hapless creature op'd her eyes j she knew me : 
 Quick cov'ring then her face, " My father, oh ! " 
 She cried, ' ' my father ! "and she spoke no more. 
 
 Gon. I freeze with horror 
 
 Aris. To express thy feelings, 
 Awhile forbear j and thou ere long, Gonippus, 
 Shalt find deep horror overwhelm thy soul. 
 Now, agonizing in the grasp of death, 
 Wounded, and panting still, the victim lay. 
 With dying eyes she still appear'd to seek 
 The light again 5 the last breath faintly play'd 
 On her wan lip. Meanwhile, the blood in torrents 
 Gush'd from the wound, and flow'd beneath my feet. 
 In the fierce transports of my unslak'd rage, 
 And of my crime, yet incomplete, convinc'd 
 That she was guilty, with this steel I dar'd 
 Lay open wide her dying frame. Nay, dar'd, 
 Amidst the hot smoke of her weltering corse, 
 To seek her crime oh ! she was innocent ! 
 
 Gon. (after a pause.} Gods ! Could the wildest fury 
 so transport thee ? 
 
 Aris. Ask not : suffice it, she was innocent. 
 Then, from mine eyes the bandage fell 5 then, clear 
 The fraud appear'd ; and pity whelm'd my heart. 
 Through all my shiv'ring veins, cold horror ran ; 
 Nay, even seem'd to petrify the tears 
 That rested on my cheeks. Congeal'd I stood, 
 
 K 2 
 
132 AR1STODBMUS ; OR, Act I. 
 
 Until her mother, entering suddenly, 
 
 Beheld the direful spectacle. Awhile, 
 
 Pale, cold, and mute, she gaz'd; then, desp'rate 
 
 rush'd, 
 
 Swift as the winged lightning, grasp'd the poniard, 
 Which, from my nerveless hand, had fall'n to earth, 
 And, piercing her own bosom, fell, in death 
 Extended by her murder'd daughter's side. 
 Behold the fatal end of both. Behold 
 The mystery, which fifteen years have seen 
 Entomb'd within my heart ; which, but for thee, 
 Were buried still, within it. 
 
 Gon. Thou hast told, 
 
 In truth, a fearful tale j and thy narration 
 Has with such horror chilTd my freezing veins, 
 That from the bare thought, all my soul recoils ! 
 Yet, tell me, how have scenes so terrible 
 Been, still, conceal'd from all enquiring eyes ? 
 
 Aris. Be not at this surpris'd. My name was great, 
 My name was dreaded too -, and, to the throne, 
 The general suffrage, at this period, call'd me. 
 'Twas easy, then, t' effect a fraudful purpose ; 
 For, well thou know'st, the shadow of a throne 
 Spreads wide, to cover crimes. The feeble priests, 
 (Who are constraint the voice of Heav'n itself 
 To hide in silence, when the law of force 
 Speaks from the lips of power) alone, and silent, 
 Beneath the fav'ring shade of night, convey'd 
 Within the precincts of the sacred fane, 
 The dead Dircea : raising thus, belief 
 
Scene IV. THE SPECTRE. 133 
 
 That she, upon the altar slain, that night, 
 Had, with her blood, appeas'd th' offended gods. 
 Her virgin frame they shew'd, to falsify 
 The base and wide-spread fraud of Telamon 3 
 Adding, that heart-struck by Dircea's fate, 
 Her mother had, in phrensy, slain herself. 
 But o'er the wicked, still, the eyes of Heaven 
 Are vigilant ; and there is, sure, a God, 
 Who, from the tomb itself, will rouse to life, 
 From their long sleep, the crimes of guilty men, 
 Thund'ring their cry ev'n on their impious hearts. 
 Shall I divulge it ? I, seme time, have been 
 By a tremendous spectre 
 
 Gon. (interrupting.) Leave, ah! leave 
 The fear of spectres to the vulgar herd ; 
 And seek not from their graves to raise the dead. 
 Think, for thy comfort, that thy keen remorse 
 May lessen, in the sight of Heav'n, thy crime. 
 Be calm ; give place to thoughts of greater moment. 
 I have already told thee, that Lysander, 
 Th' ambassador from Sparta, is arriv'd, 
 And brings us terms of peace. Hear him ; reflect, 
 It is thy country that entreats this peace ; 
 And that her walls, and her few torn remains 
 Of devastated empire, recommend it. 
 
 Arts. Then shall my country be obey'd. Come hence. 
 
 [ExeunL 
 
 END OF ACT THE FIRST. 
 
134 AlllSTODKMUS; OR, Act II. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 LYSANDER 
 
 Pal. How strange a tale is this ! I'm so replete 
 With wonder, that I feel as in a dream ! 
 Cesira, daughter of Aristodemus ? 
 
 Lys. Speak lower. Yes, Cesira is his daughter $ 
 His lost, his long-deplor'd Argia. How, 
 On Ladon's banks, I took her prisoner, 
 Three lustres since ; and how compassion, then, 
 For the poor innocent, overcame me, I 
 Already have informed thee : I proceed 
 To tell thee, that, designing to employ her 
 Against Aristodemus' self, should need 
 Require, I, to my friend Talthybius, gave 
 In charge to rear her; binding him, by oath, 
 Ne'er to divulge her birth. He rear'd, and lov'd her 
 As she had been his own : he was reputed 
 Her father, and took pleasure in the name : 
 And, though he had it not by nature, love 
 Entitled him to bear it. 
 
 Pal. Has Cesira 
 Suspected aught of this ? 
 
 Lys. Nay; never aught. 
 
I. THE SPECTRE. 135 
 
 Pal. But what became, then, of Eumams, he 
 Who bore the babe in charge ? 
 
 Lys. A prison held 
 
 Eumaeus, safely ; for 'twas my intent, 
 In him, a witness of the truth to keep, 
 And call for, at my need. I, therefore, spar'd him, 
 Not through compassion, friend, but policy. 
 
 Pal. And lives he still ? 
 
 Lys. I know not : for the duties of the field 
 Have held me long remote from Sparta's walls. 
 But well, ere this, Talthybius knows, who shar'd 
 Throughout, my confidence unlimited. 
 
 Pal. Strange tale ! But wherefore, to the injury 
 Of these unhappy beings, wouldst thou, now, 
 With fruitless caution, still, the secret hide ? 
 
 Lys. Nay, 'tis a secret useful to the hate 
 Of Sparta ; useful to her deep-laid schemes 
 Of policy j and comes, at once, in aid 
 Of universal vengeance. Gall to mind, 
 Aristodemus is our greatest foe. 
 The valleys of Amphea, yet, are red 
 With our best blood, shed by his vengeful sword: 
 The Spartan widows, weeping still, deplore 
 Their husbands slain j while, by his hand transpierc'd, 
 At once, a sire, and brother, I bewail. 
 
 Pal. He slew them, bravely, in an equal field : 
 Not like a base assassin. 
 
 Lys. Wouldst thou have me 
 For this, forgive m'm, or abhor him less ? 
 
 Pal. Abhor him ? Wherefore ? Pardon me ; I too, 
 
136 ARISTODKMUS ; OR, Act II. 
 
 Well recollect the slaughter j and the flames 
 
 Of our paternal roofs : and still, methinks, 
 
 I see Aristodemus, 'mid the fires, 
 
 Tread my slain children's bodies in the dust : 
 
 Yet, not for this, do I abhor him -, since, 
 
 Possess'd of power, I had myself, 'gainst him, 
 
 Shewn equal enmity j but rather, I 
 
 Feel grateful tow'rds him, who so kindly freed 
 
 From me, my chains, as from a friend 5 and truly, 
 
 I should ev'n love him, were I not a Spartan, 
 
 And he Messenian born. 
 
 Lys. 'Tis evident, 
 
 That slavery has corrupted, in thy mind, 
 Its pristine, strict, and vigorous sentiments. 
 But though thy thoughts have chang'd, so have not 
 
 mine: 
 
 Within my heart, if any virtue dwell, 
 Assur'dly, 'tis not pity for my foes. 
 For ill should I esteem I serv'd my country, 
 Did I, forgetful of th' imperious duty 
 Of every Spartan soul, through weak affections, 
 Betray her cause. 
 
 Pal. Is pity, then, a weakness ? 
 
 Lys. If to our country prejudicial, 
 'Tis more j disgraceful and unjust. But see, 
 Cesira comes. Retire we hence. More safely, 
 We elsewhere may converse. I'd have thee know 
 The whole importance of this mystery. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
Scene II. THE SPECTRE. 157 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 GONIPPUS and CESIRA. 
 
 Gon. They'll talk of peace 3 but the result, Cesira, 
 Who, of this singular discourse, may tell ? 
 The vulgar eye transpierces not the depth 
 Of kingly thoughts. To govern and dispose 
 Is, still, the sov' reign's part : 'tis ours t' obey. 
 Yet hope 1 peace j and peace, I'm well assur'd, 
 Provided Sparta with discretion seek it, 
 Aristodemus wishes, and will grant. 
 
 Ces. Alas ! I know not why, I rather fear it ; 
 And feel my soul divided in its choice. 
 To Sparta, now, a mourning father calls me j 
 Now, in Messenia, pity for the fate 
 Of sad Aristodemus, bids me stay. 
 And, should I be oblig'd to leave him Ah ! 
 Heav'n knows how painfully 'twill wring my heart ! 
 What secret, sweet intelligence exists, 
 Through which his mournful features won my soul 
 I cannot comprehend -, but, more than these, 
 Methinks, his very misery binds me to him. 
 I only know, that, when remote from him, 
 My days will be disconsolate and sad. 
 
 Gon. And dost thou deem that, losing thee, his days 
 Will be more joyous ? Oft have I observ'd 
 The wretched king, when by thy side, t* appear 
 Forgetful of his sorrows. Often, too, 
 
 
138 AK1STODEMUS ', OR, Act II. 
 
 A word, a smile of thine,, has had the power 
 To calm the tempests that lay waste his soul, 
 And render life itself less painful to him. 
 Judge then, what anguish will attend thy loss ! 
 
 Ces. See, he approaches - } and his looks, methinks, 
 Speak, somewhat more compos'd, his spirit. 
 
 Gon. True. 
 
 He comes a conference of peace to hold 5 
 A subject to discuss, whereon depends 
 The kingdom's welfare : and, when cares so weighty 
 Demand his thoughts, all other cares give place. 
 i 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS, GONIPPUS, and CESIRA. 
 Aris. Let the ambassador from Sparta come. 
 
 [Exit GONIPPU N S. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS and CESIRA. 
 
 Aris. If fate propitious smile on me, this day, 
 The long-protracted enmity, Cesira, 
 Of Sparta and Messenia shall have end j 
 And we, once more, shall welcome peace. But yet, 
 The first-fruits of such peace will bring, to me, 
 A taste of bitterness ; since I must lose thee, 
 And here in sickness, and in grief remain, 
 While thou shalt, gladly, wing thy flight, to seek 
 The walls of Sparta, long desir'd in vain. 
 
Scene IV. THE SPECTRE. 139 
 
 Ces. This proves, thou dost not read my heart j but 
 
 Heaven 
 Both reads, and comprehends it. 
 
 Aris. Generous maid! 
 
 Wouldst thou, indeed, with willingness remain ? 
 Couldst thou sincerely wish it? Ah! forgett'st thou, 
 Thy father, who, while anxiously awaiting, 
 Lives but in the fond hope of seeing thee ? 
 
 Ces. My father lives for ever in my heart : 
 But thou art also here 5 {.Laying her hand on her heart, 
 
 and still, for thee, 
 
 This heart pleads warmly, telling me, that thou 
 Hold'st ev'n superior right : a right, thou clainl'st 
 From my true gratitude, from thy misfortunes, 
 My pity, and another fond sensation, 
 Which agitates my soul j and yet remains 
 Ev'n to myself, inexplicable. 
 
 Aris. Yes: 
 
 Our hearts, indeed, hold sympathy together ; 
 But, to thy father, and to him alone, 
 Thou ow'st these tender sentiments, Cesira. 
 Return to him j and be his comfort still. 
 Happy old man ! I cannot number thee 
 'Mid those, whom Heav'n has, in its wrath, made 
 
 fathers, 
 
 But to chastise them. Thou wilt have, at least, 
 One who may close thine eyes -, and thou wilt feel 
 In death, thy cheeks warm'd by a daughter's kisses, 
 And water' d by her tears. While I Oh, Heaven ! 
 Hadst thou but left her to me ! even I 
 
14O ARISTODEMUS ; OR, Act II. 
 
 My hopes might also flatter with like bliss, 
 And bury all my sufferings in her arms ! 
 
 Ces. How ! Of whom speaks my lord ? 
 
 Aris. I speak, Cesira, 
 Of my Argia. Pardon, that so oft 
 I call her to remembrance. Well thou know'st, 
 In her, my last, my dearest hopes were centred 
 Of consolation, in my wane of life. 
 Methinks I see her, even now : her form 
 Imagination cruelly portrays ; 
 And while, in thee, I fancy I behold her, 
 With trembling, and with palpitating heart, 
 Heav'n mocks my fruitless fondness. 
 
 Ces. Wretched father! 
 
 Aris. Still had she liv'd, her years had equalPd 
 
 thine : 
 
 Nor had, perchance, her charms and virtues bloom'd 
 To thine inferior. 
 
 Ces. 'Twas a fatal step, 
 Indeed, my lord, the sending her to Argos ; 
 The peril of her capture unforeseen. 
 
 Aris. Yes j 'twas a fatal step : a foolish prudence. 
 Ah ! was not the unhappy babe with me, 
 Sufficiently secure ? A safer shield 
 Can children have, than the parental breast ? 
 
 Ces. Oh! wherefore has Heav'n torn her from 
 thee? 
 
 Aris. Heaven 
 Design'd the full completion of my woes. 
 
 Ces. Still did she live, would it content thee fully ? 
 
Scene V. THE SPBCTRE. 141 
 
 Aris. Cesira, one embrace of hers, one sole 
 Embrace, and I were happy. 
 
 Ces. Would to Heaven, 
 I, then, were she ! 
 
 Aris. Ah! if thou wert My daughter! 
 
 Ces. Call'st thou me, daughter? 
 
 Aris. Yes ; that name, my heart 
 Impell'd my lips to utter. 
 
 Ces. And my heart, 
 With like affection, bids me call thee, father. 
 
 Aris. Yes, yes j still call me father. In that name, 
 A charm I find, a sweetness, that transports me. 
 Fully to taste the pleasure it aifords, 
 'Twere needful to have drain'd, as I have done, 
 The bitter chalice of calamity 5 
 The pangs of nature to have felt, and keenly ! 
 One's children to have lost, and lost for ever ! 
 
 Ces. (aside.) He breaks my heart. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS, CESIRA, and GONIPPUS. 
 
 Gon. My lord, the orator 
 Of Sparta comes. 
 
 Aris. Oh, Heav'n ! in what a moment 
 Does he surprise me ! Go, and leave me, both. 
 Farewell, Cesira ; we shall meet again. 
 
142 ARISTODEMUS; OR, Act II. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Manet ARISTODEMUS. 
 
 Aris. Awake, arouse thee, now, my dormant virtue ! 
 Behold, at stake, the welfare of our kingdom ; 
 Whence it, at once, behoves us to maintain 
 Our rights, and satisfy our people's wishes. 
 Yes! to command, be 't now, the subject's part; 
 And be 't the king's, t' obey. But, like a king, 
 Let him obey : nor let Aristodemus 
 Be seen to crouch, a timorous supplicant 
 For peace, from hostile hands. Nor breathe my words 
 The servile spirit of peace j as, in his heart, 
 Doubtless, this haughty Spartan deems they will. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS and LYSANDER. 
 
 Aris. Lysander, sit ; and freely now, impart, 
 Be they of adverse or of friendly scope, 
 The views of Sparta. 
 
 Lys. To Messenia's king, 
 Sparta sends health ; and peace, if he desire it 
 
 Aris. Peace I demanded ; it is, therefore, clear, 
 That I desir'd it. And I now, with joy, 
 Hear that, at length, of strife and slaughter weary, 
 Sparta, desisting from an unjust war, 
 Seeks to renew our ancient amity. 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRE. 143 
 
 Lys. How ! unjust war ? Call you that war unjust, 
 Which aims t' avenge an injury sustained ? 
 Your subjects, with the blood of Teleclus, 
 Polluted the Limnean sacrifices ; 
 And Teleclus, (you know it,) was our king. 
 From this, and from no other source, have sprung 
 Our long contentions. This, my lord, remember. 
 
 Aris. Nay, I on this have purposely been silent, 
 Only to spare thee shame. Say now, Lysander, 
 Where learn'd the great Alcides' generous sons 
 Meanly to skulk, disguis'd in female robes ; 
 And basely plot the death of my Messenians ; 
 Who then, in all the confidence of peace, 
 With hymns, with dances, and with festal rites, 
 Around the sacred altar were assembled ? 
 
 Lys. That tale, full oft, hath diff rently been told : 
 Neither is Sparta so devoid of worth, 
 That, purposing destruction to her foes, 
 By making war, she need descend t' adopt 
 Th* unworthy medium of a base pretext. 
 
 Aris. 'Tis true ; while Sparta deems herself possess'd 
 Of pow'r superior, she but ill maintains 
 Her dignity, employing base pretexts. 
 When contests are decided by the sword, 
 Justice and truth become an useless plea, 
 If not injurious ; nor, indeed, is justice 
 The virtue Sparta boasts -, but despotism 
 Adroitly veil'd beneath the modest cloak 
 Of liberty. 'Tis hence, your policy 
 T' avoid the path of honour, if it seem 
 
144 ARISTODEMUSj OR, Act II. 
 
 To lead to aught that hurts yourselves ; and fly 
 With ready zeal, to profitable crimes. 
 To sow dissension, still, 'mid neighbouring states, 
 And, when division has impair'd their strength, 
 T' attack them suddenly, and, more betray'd 
 Than conquer'd, drag them to a servile yoke. 
 And thus,*all Greece ye would subdue. In truth, 
 A noble art is this, of conq'ring empires ! 
 And dare ye boast yourselves, for other states, 
 A bright example ? Of the fam'd Lycurgus, 
 Are you the fellow-citizens r Did he 
 These laws bequeath to you ? Away ! Strip off 
 These pompous seemings. To the eyes of men, 
 Shew fewer laws, and more substantial virtues : 
 Yes j let faith, honour, justice, henceforth reign 
 Ev'n among you, degen'rate sons of Sparta ! 
 
 Lys. Sire, clemency still reigns among her sons j 
 And what, were it not so, would be your fate ? 
 Already are the rocks and tow'rs, that crown'd 
 The heights of burnt Ithome, laid in ruins. 
 And should all- conqu' ring Sparta further urge 
 Her triumph, what Divinity defends you ? 
 
 Arts. Aristodemus. And, while still he breathes, 
 He will suffice alone : and when the grave 
 Receives him, still, his silent ashes there 
 Shall, ev'n in death, strike terror to your hearts. 
 
 Lys. Deem you, my lord, that they who fear you not 
 Alive, will fear you dead ? But, if we meet 
 To parley of offence alone, I've done. 
 To Sparta I return j and I will warn her, 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRE. 145 
 
 Not yet to sheathe the sword ; but challenge, here, 
 Her few remaining foes. [Rises. 
 
 Aris. (Rising.) Return to Sparta, 
 Ev'n what thou wilt $ but warn her yet, at least, 
 That, to subdue those few remaining foes, 
 She, first, must breathe awhile j and with fresh blood, 
 Her empty and exhausted veins replenish. 
 
 Lys. Less will she need, than now, Messenia asks, 
 To heal the wounds which, weeping, she deplores. 
 
 Aris. Grant that Messenia weep j 'tis not less true, 
 That Sparta does not smile. 
 
 Lys. Yet, Sparta's pride 
 Stoops not to sue for peace. 
 
 Aris. I sued for peace. 
 
 And now, let Sparta tremble, lest, repentant, 
 I should reject it. Well she knows, the arms 
 Of Elis, Argos, Sicyon, prop my cause. 
 She knows how ardent a desire of vengeance 
 Inflames Messenian breasts ; how keen our swords, 
 How strongly-nerv'd our arms. She knows, full well, 
 That various are the fortunes of the field : 
 She well remembers, that, when she o'ercame us, 
 Fraud, more than valour, ever won the day. 
 Lysander, this the sum of Sparta's mercy : 
 Peace to concede, and boast of clemency, 
 Through fear, alone, of being foil'd in war. 
 
 Lys. For war declare, then. 
 
 Aris. I declare for peace. 
 And thank your Gods, that so I fix my choice. 
 Oh, yet, had it been true ! But come; once more 
 
 L 
 
146 ARISTODJKMUS I OR, Act II. 
 
 Let us be friends, [.They sit again, 
 
 be brothers j and forgetting 
 Our past dissensions, sheathe the angry sword. 
 Shall human wrath eternally endure ? 
 Have we from Heav'n receiv'd the gift of life, 
 Only to hate and massacre each other ? 
 Did Nature, from the bosom of the earth, 
 Bid us the iron tear, that man might pierce 
 His fellow's breast, and make it so, the tool 
 Of human slaughter, and inhuman crimes ? > 
 Unless we shortly terminate our wars. 
 Both Sparta and Messenia will be deserts. 
 Nor will there aught remain, ere long, in either, 
 Save wretched bands of widows and of orphans. 
 And what, meanwhile, says Greece, of our dissensions ? 
 She says : The horrible atrocities 
 Of Thebes, we're now renewing j that, the Spartans, 
 With our Messenians own the self-same blood 5 
 That, Thebes, two fratricides alone disgrac'd ; 
 But here, they are as numerous as the corses 
 With which our savage fury strews the field. 
 And wherefore all this rage ? But for a few 
 Parch'd clods of earth, which barely will suffice 
 T* afford us sepulture ; which yet, are crimsonM 
 With fathers' and with brothers' blood, of whom 
 Ourselves are the assassins. Ah ! let Greece 
 No longer tell, of us, such tales of shame ! 
 Or, if fame move us not, at least, let interest. 
 Proud Thebes and jealous Athens, by our side, 
 Of our protracted contests, wait th' event, 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRE. 147 
 
 To fall upon the wearied conqueror j 
 
 Strip him of victory ; and overthrow 
 
 His rising greatness. Now, while in our power, 
 
 Let timely peace prevent these threaten'd ills. 
 
 Lys. Or to accept, or to reject it, lies 
 Entirely at thy choice. 
 
 Arts. It first were needful, 
 To hear the terms propos'd. 
 
 Lys. They're briefly these : 
 
 " AMPHEA YOU SHALL CEDE, WITH THE TAYGETUSJ 
 AND COME NO MORE TO HOLD YOUR FEASTS INLlMNJE." 
 
 Aris. The first and second articles, I grant ; 
 The third reject j moreover, ask, what cause 
 Excludes us, thus, from Limnae's solemn feasts, 
 And robs us of the Deity's protection ? 
 
 Lys. Thejlrst spark of a war, which thirty years 
 Of bloodshed, have not yet suffic'd t* extinguish, 
 Broke forth, amid the feasts of Limn re. There, 
 Will burst the second, if the cause be not 
 With speed remov'd. 'Tis therefore, needful, since 
 Such wrath still burns between us, to cut off 
 That perilous communication. 
 
 Aris. Know 
 
 That, by disgraceful means, Aristodemus 
 Stoops not to purchase peace. Our wealth, our 
 
 honours, 
 
 Our lives, our children, all we own, in short, 
 May be surrender'dj but the Gods, Lysandcr? 
 The tutelary Gods, the long-rever'd 
 
146 ARISTODEMUS; OB, Act IL 
 
 Religion of our fathers,, and the chief 
 Of all our duties and affections ? 
 
 Lys. Add, 
 
 Chief of our errors, too. I to a man, 
 Am speaking, who would scorn to be enslav'd 
 By vulgar prejudices. To a warrior, 
 I speak, who smiling with contempt, beholds 
 These Gods, (mere shadows rais'd by human fear,) 
 And rests, meanwhile, his hand upon his sword. 
 How far, till now, by this Limnean God, 
 We have been profited, I'm yet to learn j 
 But this, full well, I know : that, in times past, 
 He hath much injur d us ; and will, yet more r 
 If haply now, another, greater Power, 
 Nam'd Prudence, in a seasonable time, 
 Diminish not his votaries and victims. 
 
 Aris. Frank speech I'll frankly answer. Hitherto, 
 So little have the Gods befriended me, 
 That I, too surely, cannot boast their favour, 
 Yet, do I not presume to scorn their power. 
 I have, within my heart, full many a reason, 
 Secret and forcible, whereby I'm urg'd 
 Both to adore and fear them. If, thy self, 
 Thou own'st a motive for acknowledging, 
 Own, also, one for venerating them. 
 If thou hast none, respect the people's error ; 
 Awful not less, than are the Gods themselves, 
 Since it gives law to kings, and none obeys. 
 Your own example, too, I here may cite : 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRB. 149 
 
 Elis, erewhile, from the Olympic games, 
 (As all well know,) would have excluded you : 
 What tumults rose among you, on this insult ! 
 With what preparatives of arms, what wrath, 
 Did ye oppose yourselves to this repulse ! 
 And yet, th' offence was widely different. 
 In her own state did Elis exercise, 
 Her own undoubted right ; while Sparta fought 
 For a Divinity not hers. But here, 
 At once, for our hereditary temples, 
 And for our Gods domestic, do we fight. 
 Ours is the soil, the altars ours ; and know 
 That, to preserve them, still, untouch'd, we'll fight 
 While we have arms and hands - } and, these cut off, 
 We'll combat with our breasts : for where War lifts 
 The standard, in Religion's name, will men 
 Fight hoodwinked, while to rage ev'n pity turns- 
 Such rage, that life is yielded ere the sword. 
 No more. If Sparta seek a solid peace, 
 The chief foundation of such peace be this : 
 To leave to us our Gods. If she contest it, 
 Return we to hostilities. 
 
 Lys. Not so. 
 
 Turn we our thoughts to peace. I glory not 
 In obstinate adherence to my purpose : 
 That is the weakness of inferior minds ; 
 And great enough I dare esteem myself, 
 T* allow, to thee, the undiminish'd honour 
 Of having vanquish'd and persuaded me. 
 
150 ARISTODBMUS ; OR, Act IT. 
 
 Away, then, with our claims to Limnae. Yet, 
 Declare if, to the other terms we offer, 
 You willingly subscribe, my lord > 
 
 Aris. I do. 
 
 Behold, in pledge, my hand. Remains there, now, 
 Aught else to be requir'd of me ? 
 
 Lys. Nought else. 
 
 Aris. Farewell Lysander, then. 
 
 Lys. Aristodemus, 
 I take my leave. Farewell. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 END OF ACT THE SECOND. 
 
Scene I. THE SPECTRE. !5i 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A Tomb in the distance, and ARISTODKMUS seated 
 beside it. 
 
 Arts. No, no ; were mine existence here eternal, 
 I feel that equally eternal, still, 
 Would be my mental anguish. Give me, Heav'n ! 
 But courage to endure it. Tempt not thou 
 My hand, nor dim my reason. Wretched man ! 
 What have I said ? My reason ? What, if 't were 
 My best of hope, to lose it altogether ? 
 What, if a single stroke might terminate 
 Mine every ill ? Yes, all my sufferings. 
 One, single stroke ? Let me avoid that thought : 
 Let me not dwell upon it ; for, already, 
 'Tis too seducing to my heart. And thou, 
 Importunate and too remorseless shade! 
 At length be pacified ! oh! be appeas'd, 
 And pardon me ; for I, however guilty, 
 May plead a father's name. My crime was great j 
 I know it 5 but I am a father, still j 
 And thou a daughter, thou, who dost torment, 
 And persecute me, with such ceaseless rage. 
 
152 ARISTODEMUS ; OH, Act III. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS and GONIPPUS. 
 
 Gon. My liege, this is no time to nourish grief; 
 When all Messenia testifies her joy 
 For the return of peace. Come hence, then ; leave 
 This place of woe, and seek with me, the people. 
 Present thyself to their exulting sight ; 
 For they demand their king j they pine to see thee, 
 And call thee, father. 
 
 Aris. I, a father ? Once, 
 
 I own'd that name ; and, with delight, I heard it 
 Sound ev'n within my heart. But now, no more 
 I hear it. Nature gave to me that name, 
 So dear, so sacred ; and mine own mad rage 
 Hath 'reft me of it. 
 
 Gon. Dwell no longer, then, 
 Upon thy loss ; and let new objects, now, 
 Engage thy thoughts. 
 
 Arts. And yet, at times, 1 seem'd 
 Not wholly to have lost that soothing name. 
 And often, by the young Cesira's side, 
 Have I again, in thought, become a father. 
 Whether it be, that, hearts like mine unhappy, 
 Feel, still, a mournful need to speak their sorrows, 
 Yielding themselves, with ease, to the relief 
 And pleasure of indulging their affliction ; 
 Or whether, of my now declining years, 
 And sick, desponding state, the dread effect , 
 
Scene II. THE SPECTRE. 153 
 
 Or of sensations, hitherto unknown, 
 
 Which deeply make me feel my childless state, 
 
 And wake, so keenly in my breast, the wish 
 
 To be again a parent ; whether, even 
 
 The strange emotions I acutely feel, 
 
 Yet cannot comprehend, be doom'd my scourge, 
 
 By an avenging, and an unseen God : 
 
 This will I own to thee, that, when with her, 
 
 The horror of my suff'rings seems to cease ; 
 
 And a sweet, silent joy beguiles my sense ; 
 
 Whose gentle influence, stealing through my soul, 
 
 Calms its remorse, and draws the gushing tears 
 
 From my heart's deep recesses to mine eyes. 
 
 Now, shortly, shall I be depriv'd, Gonippus, 
 
 Ev'n of this dear illusion. 
 
 Gon. If thou deem'st it 
 For thine advantage, that Cesira here 
 Remain, still interpose to her departure 
 Some motive for delay j and send meanwhile, 
 T' entreat it of Talthybius- 
 
 Arts. Canst thou think, 
 That her despairing father, he, to whom 
 So little life remains, en9ugh indeed, 
 Alone, t f embrace his daughter ere he die, 
 Canst thou believe, that he would e'er consent ? 
 Ah ! thou wast ne'er a father ! dost not feel 
 The charm, the value of so fond a name ! 
 And wouldst thou have me so forget its force ? 
 So purchase to myself a satisfaction, 
 Plunging another in despair ? Ah, no ! 
 
15* AR1STODBMC7S; OR, Act III. 
 
 Let dear Cesira go: yes, let her hence j 
 And if it can be, without seeing me. 
 
 [Exit GONJPPUS. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS and CESIRA. 
 
 Ces. Go, without seeing thee ! Ah ! from thy lips, 
 Issued so harsh a mandate ? 
 
 Aris. Wherefore com'st thou, 
 Dear, fatal object of a wretch's love ? 
 Avoidance mutual had been, surely, best ; 
 And best, to shut for ever, from our eyes, 
 The mournful pleasure which our meeting gives. 
 
 Ces. Oh ! who could so resign it ? How should I 
 Far from my benefactor go, nor see, 
 Nor thank him j nor with him exchange the sighs 
 Of bitterness at parting ? Mutually, 
 To give and to receive the last adieu, 
 Mingles such sweetness in the cup of grief, 
 Such moments are delightful. 
 
 Aris. All delight 
 
 Hath ceas'd for me. Mark'st thou yon marble tomb ? 
 My peace, my very heart are there enclos'd j 
 And there, lies all I have on earth most dear, 
 At once, and most tremendous. 
 
 Ces. I, my lord, 
 
 Do not presume to blame your heartfelt grief j 
 'Tis nature's law, and therefore it is just : 
 
Scene III. THE SPECTRE. 15.) 
 
 But, o'er the much-lov'd ashes of their children, 
 Shall parent's tears for ever flow ? 
 
 Arts. For me, 
 
 It were not much, ev'n were my tears eternal. 
 Still, therefore, let me shed them. Tears, my daughter, 
 Befit my state. They are the only virtue 
 Which hath remain'd to me j the only comfort 
 Which the avenging wrath of Heav'n hath left me. 
 
 Ces. Judge better. Heav'n respects, in thee, the 
 
 virtue 
 
 Of a good father, citizen and king, 
 Such as thou still hast been. 
 
 Aris. (After a pause.) Good father ? I ? 
 Good citizen ? 
 
 Ces. Is not he such, in truth, 
 Who, mov'd by generous patriotism, yields up 
 In willing sacrifice t* appease the Gods, 
 His very children, at his country's need ? 
 
 Aris. (Aside.) Oh Heav'n ! What dread events does 
 she recall ? 
 
 Ces. And gives them, torn from his paternal arms, 
 Ev'n to the fatal sacerdotal axe ? 
 
 Aris. Hush, prithee, hush ! Thine every word's a 
 
 sword 
 That stabs my heart. 
 
 Ces. But here, thou hast not cause 
 For being sad. Remembrance, such as this, 
 Is glorious, noble, great 3 and, from a father, 
 Bather than grief, asks proud complacency. 
 
 Aris. (Aside.) Oh torture ! madness ! 
 
156 ARJSTODEMUS ; Oil, Act III. 
 
 Ces. Let the consciousness 
 Console thee, then, of this thy virtue; which, 
 Despite of time and fortune, ne'er can die ; 
 And witli it, for thy comfort, still, recall 
 Thy subject's love, thy glory, and thy kingdom. 
 
 Arts. What sayst thou ? Kingdom? Of all human ills, 
 That is the greatest. Oh ! if, from the dust, 
 Man might interrogate the crowned slave 
 Upon the throne, thou then wouldst be convinc'd 
 That, solely for our punishment, full oft, 
 Doth Heav'n inflict on us a crown and sceptre! 
 
 Ces. And yet, the regal diadem is oft 
 The bright reward of virtue ; 'twas, most surely, 
 Such, when it bound thy brow. 
 
 Aris. (Aside.} Ah! break we off 
 A conference that kills me ! (Aloud.} Much, Cesira, 
 Thy fav'ring judgment honours me 5 but thou 
 Thou know'st me not. Enough. I too ev'n I 
 Have, of a throne, become the proud possessor : 
 But happy were I, had I ne'er attain'd it ! 
 Oh ! blest is he, ten thousand, thousand times, 
 Who, o'er his guileless family, alone, 
 Desires to reign ; and asks no other throne 
 Than his fond children's hearts ! The throne of nature j 
 And oh ! from mine how different ! Mine, thou see'st, 
 Is this sad stone. Allow me, then, to sit 
 Here, all alone, here weep j and go thou hence, 
 Cesira, and be happy. 
 
 Ces. In this state, 
 Must I, then, leave thee ? in this wretched state ? 
 
Scene III. , THE SPECTRE. 157 
 
 Aris. I'm worthy of it. 'Tis at length arriv'd, 
 The hour when we must separate 5 and never 
 Again behold each other, never more ! 
 Thou weep'st, my daughter ! my Cesira, yes, 
 Thou weep'st to hear this. Oh ! may pitying Heav'n 
 Reward thy pious tears ! 
 
 Ces. This grief e'en kills me. 
 
 Aris. Farewell With kindness to thy father's 
 
 thoughts 
 
 Recall me. Happy father ! Oh ! when he 
 Shall question thee upon thy fortunes past ; 
 And, haply, raise himself on his sick couch, 
 To hang, intent in silence, on thy speech, 
 Tell him, how dearly I have lov'd thee still j 
 And what sweet interchange of soft affections 
 Our hearts have held together. Tell him, too, 
 Aristodemus' sad and painful fate ; 
 And, sometimes, interrupt thy mournful tale, 
 With one sad sigh, one pitying tear for me. 
 Adieu, now, my Cesira. 
 
 Ces. Whither go'st thou ? 
 Ah! stay return. 
 
 Aris. What wouldst thou say ? 
 
 Ces. Oh Heaven ! 
 I know not 5 but I do beseech thee, stay ! 
 
 Aris. Cesira ! 
 
 Ces. Oh, Aristodemus ! 
 
 Aris. Come 5 
 
 For I no longer can resist. Come here ; 
 Ev'n to my heart; embrace me oh delight! 
 Oh ! sweet inexplicable tenderness ! 
 
158 AttlSTODKMUS j OR, Act III. 
 
 And yet, this seems not foreign to my heart : 
 
 Its pow'r I've felt before. Great Heav'n ! dost thou 
 
 This strong sensation mingle with my torments, 
 
 But to redouble them ? Thou cruelly 
 
 Deceiv'st, and dost mislead me. Ah ! away, 
 
 Cesira : hence ! It was a fury, hot 
 
 From shades infernal, urg'd me to embrace thee : 
 
 Away then hence ! 
 
 Ces. I pray thee, hear me yet. 
 
 Aris. Leave me, I say. 
 
 Ces. What sudden phrensy's this ? 
 
 Aris. Fly me, ah ! fly. A cruel, unseen hand 
 Between us interposes, and repels 
 Our meeting hearts. Then fly me far, far hence. 
 
 Ces. One moment only 
 
 Aris. 'Tis too late. Adieu j 
 Adieu for ever ! 
 
 Ces. I beseech thee, stay, 
 But stay, and hear me ! [Exit AHISTODEMUS. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Manet CESIRA. 
 
 He avoids me then j 
 Flies me, in deepest agony of mind ; 
 And I how shall I have the heart to leave him ? 
 To quit so much affection ? To resign 
 So many dear, such precious recollections ? 
 
Scene V. THE SPECTRE. 159 
 
 Ah ! no 3 I cannot do it. In the name 
 Of Heav'n, then, who art thou, Aristodemus ? 
 That thou usurp'st, o'er my sad heart, such sway - 7 
 At once so troublest, and so touchest it? 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 LYSANDER, PALAMEDES, and CESIRA. 
 
 Lys. We were this moment seeking thee, Cesira 
 All is prepar'd for our departure hence ; 
 And we await but thee. . 
 
 Ces. Ah ! yet, Lysander, 
 Delay awhile this mournful separation ! 
 Aristodemus in so sad a state 
 Of desp'rate grief is plung'd, that I'm alarm M 
 For what may be th' event : in me, it were 
 Ingratitude and cruelty extreme, 
 T' abandon him : so tenderly he lov'd me ; 
 And so much kindness ever lavish'd on me. 
 
 Lys. Chief of the Spartan embassy, I came. 
 Sparta awaits, impatient, its result ; 
 And all delay, on my part,/ were a crime. 
 Thou, if thou wilt, remain. But yet, I grieve 
 I for thy father grieve ; who, not beholding 
 His daughter's wish'd return, will suffer, thence, 
 A weight of heart -felt woe. 
 
 Ces. Ah ! dost thou think it ? 
 
 Lys. Grief will accelerate his end, no doubt. 
 
 C. Well then, let pity for my father's state 
 
160 ARISTODEMUS $ OR, Act III. 
 
 Prevail. The Gods, I trust meanwhile, will feel it 
 For sad Aristodemus, and watch o'er him, 
 When I am gone, 
 
 Pal. (^oLY SANDER) She weeps. Ah! see, my friend, 
 How barbarous a part thou play'st ! 
 
 Lys. Be silent. 
 
 Thy promise keep ; and ne'er let Sparta know 
 Of this thy weakness. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 GONIPPUS, LYSANDER, PALAMEDES and CESIRA. 
 
 Gon. Take from me, dear friends, 
 My last farewell. Thou Palamedes, thou 
 Cesira, sometimes call to mind, Gonippus j 
 Remember too, Aristodemus. Much 
 I fear, of him ere long, ye will receive 
 Dire tidings. 
 
 Ces. Say not thus ! Heav'n will defend him - f 
 Who virtue still, and the good king, protects. 
 But tell me pray, how fares th' unhappy man ? 
 What says he ? 
 
 Gon. Nothing. Speechless, motionless, 
 Immers'd in gloomy thoughts, with folded arms, 
 Alone he sits. Perturb'd and dark of soul, 
 Now, on the ground, his wildly-glaring eyes 
 He fixes; while, from time to time, the tears 
 Stream, from their lids, down his unconscious cheeks 
 As one arous'd from sleep profound, he then 
 
Scene VI. THE SPECTRE. l6l 
 
 Starts up, and roves at random, here and there, 
 Touching and striking all his hands encounter. 
 When question'd, still he gazes, but replies not. 
 
 Ces. How much I pity him ! 
 
 Gon. Relief, at length, 
 A timely gush of tears affords, whereby 
 The dread, oppressive weight has been remov'd 
 From his o'er-loaded heart ; and now, more calm, 
 He asks, if yet Cesira is departed. 
 This, fain he'd know, and this to learn, I came. 
 
 Ces. To him return then : say, thou wert, thyself, 
 Witness to my departure. With what pain 
 I go, my heart attests. Oh ! bid him live ! 
 Say, his Cesira supplicates it of him. 
 Bid him resist with fortitude his ills j 
 And in the goodness of the Gods confide. 
 Thou too, support and aid him, still, Gonippus : 
 I recommend him to thy care and love. 
 
 Gon. This heart of mine pleads yet more warmly for 
 
 him, 
 Than do thy words ; and both I strongly feel. 
 
 Ces. I both believe, and comprehend, Gonippus, 
 The state of thy heart, from mine own. Say too, 
 That I his kind remembrance ask 5 and add, 
 That I will cherish his lov'd memory, 
 Long as a soul this grateful breast shall warm. 
 
 Gon. All thy commands I'll punctually fulfil. 
 
 Ces f Hear yet. Should he enquire of thee, Gonippus, 
 If in affliction I went hence, do thou, 
 Who seest my sorrow, witness it for me. 
 
 M 
 
162 ARISTODEMITS ; OR, Act III. 
 
 Lys. The pain of parting, this delay redoubles. 
 
 Ces. Then let us go at once. 
 
 Lys. Come, Palamedes. 
 
 Pal. Behold me ready. [Aside. 
 
 I am doubtful, yet, 
 
 Whether 'twere best, still to maintain my silence, 
 Or break my promise. How shall I resolve ? 
 
 [Exeunt LYSANDER, PALAMEDES, and CESIRA. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 GONIPPUS, afterwards ARISTODEMUS. 
 
 Gem. How tender and how grateful is her soul ! 
 Oh, tears ! of human pity sweet attestors, 
 How soothing your enchantment to th* unhappy ! 
 (To ARIS.) At length, my lord, Cesira has departed. 
 Nor unaccompanied her going hence, 
 With show'rs of tears, and sighs of heartfelt grief. 
 
 Aris. I could have wish'd that she had not departed. 
 My heart a powerful, secret motive own'd 
 For wishing to behold, yet once again, 
 And speak with her. But be it so. Gonippus, 
 War, grievous war is raging here within me. 
 
 Gon. Ere long 'twill cease, I trust : yes, it will cease ; 
 But be not thus enfeebled by thy woes. 
 Struggle with them, and with thyself ! Endeavour 
 To cast aside each dark, and troubled thought. 
 
 Aris. Tell me, Gonippus, tell me, of my state 
 Wiiat dost thou think > Am T not truly wretched ? 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRE. 163 
 
 Gon. We all are so, my lord : each has his sorrows. 
 
 Aris. 'Tis true: we all are wretched. We have, 
 
 here, 
 No earthly good, but death. 
 
 Gon. How ? 
 
 Aris. Yes $ 'tis certain, 
 
 Death is our only good. And think'st thou, death 
 Can painful be, ev'n as it is describ'd ? 
 
 Gon. What says my king ? 
 
 Aris. Painful ? I rather deem it, 
 When 'tis the close of suffering, sweet and friendly. 
 
 Gon. Ah ! what imply these words, so wildly 
 raving ? 
 
 Aris. (After a pause.') Hear me, Gonippus ; I en- 
 trust thee with it ; 
 
 But, I beseech thee, let me not behold 
 Thee, sadden'd by my words. Yet, one day more , 
 Solely, this day then, down, into my grave. 
 
 Gon. Into thy grave ? What mean'st thou ? With 
 
 those words, 
 Thou'st pierc'd my very heart. 
 
 Aris. But wherefore thus 
 Afflict thyself, oh ! my most faithful friend ! 
 Be calm 3 I would not wound thy soul : I am 
 Unworthy of thy tears. Allow then, all 
 My painful destiny its full completion j 
 And let the star, which hitherto, its course 
 Has guided, set at length. The Sun to-morrow 
 Will rise, wlu'ch, from on high, was wont t' illume 
 My greatness j through this palace he will seek me, 
 
 M2 
 
164 ARISTODEMUS ; OR, Act III. 
 
 In vain ! Nought will he find, save the cold stone 
 Which shall enclose my corse. Ev'n thou, Gonippus, 
 Shalt see it shortly. 
 
 Gon. Cease, I pray thee, cease 
 Such words to utter. From thy mind dispel 
 This horrible madness 
 
 Aris. No ; my faithful friend : 
 Rather, 'twere madness to endure this life, 
 When it becomes a load. 
 
 Gon. Whate'er it be, 
 It is the gift of Heaven. 
 
 Aris. If it makes me 
 Unhappy, I renounce it. 
 
 Gon. Yet, say, whence, 
 My lord, thou hast receiv'd the right to do so ? 
 
 Aris. From my misfortunes. 
 
 Gon. Suffer them with courage. 
 
 Aris. While still my courage rose to them superior, 
 I've suffer' d them. It now has sunk beneath them. 
 That, also, had its bounds : the fulness, now, 
 Of grief, has overpass'd them, and I yield. 
 
 Gon. Thou'rt then, resolv'd ? 
 
 Aris. To die. 
 
 Gon. Dost thou forget 
 
 That, of the Gods thou, thus, usurp 'st the right ? 
 That men thou dost offend ; and Heav'n itself, 
 A crime still greater, adding to thy first ? 
 
 Aris. My friend, thou speakest with a heart at ease : 
 Nor canst conceive, how mine is overcharg'd. 
 Thou ne'er hast in thy children's bosoms thrust 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRE. 1<>5 
 
 The deadly steel, nor, with their guiltless blood, 
 A kingdom purchas'd. When it costs a crime, 
 Thou knowest not, how heavy weighs a crown. 
 The sleep is thine, of sweet security : 
 Dread, supernatural voices rouse thee not ; 
 Thou'rt not for ever haunted by a spectre, 
 Which furious, raging, closely follows thee, 
 And even seizes thee 
 
 Gon. Thus, of a spectre, 
 
 Must I, still, hear thee rave ? Oh ! good my lord ! 
 Chase these ungrounded fears, that blind thy judg- 
 ment ? 
 
 Aris. Ungrounded fears ? Oh ! did I tell thee, yet, 
 How barb'rous 'tis, thy hair would rise on end, 
 Through the excess of dread ; and on thy brow, 
 Would stand, impress'd, the terrors of mine own ! 
 
 Gon. But yet, what pow'r may break through 
 
 nature's laws, 
 
 And the infernal barrier overleaping, 
 Draw, thence, the dead to light ? And wherefore this ? 
 
 Aris. To make the living tremble. Trust me, friend, 
 I'm not, herein, deceiv'd ; myself have seen it 5 
 And with these eyes, and with these hands But 
 
 wherefore 
 Should I relate ? Too dreadful is the tale. 
 
 Gon. Must I believe 
 
 Aris. Nay, nay ; give it no credit. 
 I rav'd 'twas but a dream. Believe it not. 
 Oh ! dread remains of my departed child ! 
 Dark spectre ! Daughter ! yes 5 I hear thy moan 
 
160 ARISTODEMUS j Oil,, Act III. 
 
 Within yon tomb. Peace, peace j I will content thee. 
 Be hush'd, then ; rest ! And thou, Gonippus, say, 
 Dost thou, too, hear it ? Oh ! I hear, and tremble ! 
 
 Gon. My lord, what shall I say ? An air of truth, 
 And ev'n of greatness, so pervades thy words, 
 They freeze my very heart. And is yon tomb, 
 Truly, th' abode, then, of a spectre ? hast thou 
 Thyself, both seen and heard it ? How ? Ah ! tell me, 
 Tell, I conjure thee, all. 
 
 Aris. Well then j be this, 
 This tale of horror, from my lips the last, 
 Thou e'er shalt hear. Ev'n as thou now see'st me, 
 Oft do I see my murder'd daughter's shade 5 
 Alas ! and how tremendous is the sight ! 
 When all things sleep, and I, alone, sit wakeful, 
 By the faint glimm'ring of a midnight lamp, 
 Behold ! the red flame suddenly grows pale j 
 And when I raise mine eyes, behold, the spectre 
 Stands in my sight, and occupies the portal, 
 With form of giant size, and threat'ning mien ! 
 In a sepulchral mantle it is wrapt j 
 That self-same mantle, wherewith my Dircea 
 Was shrouded, when they bore her to the grave. 
 Clotted with blood and dust, the hair falls back 
 Upon its visage ; yet more horrible, 
 By such concealment, rend'ring it. AppalTd, 
 I backward start, averting, with a groan, 
 My pained eyes j when lo ! again I see it 
 Beside me seated. Fixedly it eyes me, 
 Immoveable and speechless, long remaining. 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRE. 167 
 
 Then, from its face, the hair (still show'ring blood,) 
 
 Removing, opes its vesture, and displays 
 
 Its mangled bosom, its disfigur'd form, 
 
 Foul with still-dropping, black, corrupted wounds. 
 
 In vain I thrust it from me ; yet more fiercely 
 
 Advancing tow'rds me, with its breast and arms, 
 
 It presses on. Oh! then, methinks, I feel 
 
 The pulses of its heart, still warm, though mangled : 
 
 While, at the touch, my hair with horror stands 
 
 Upright, and bristled on my head. I aim 
 
 To fly 5 but then, the spectre seizing me, 
 
 Drags me, ev'n to the foot of yonder tomb ; 
 
 And, <f Here I wait for thee !" it cries: this said, 
 
 It disappears. 
 
 Gon. My soul is struck with horror ! 
 And, whether this portentous scene be real, 
 Or of a melancholy mind, depress'd, 
 By its afflictions, the delusive work, 
 I pity thee, my liege 5 for hence, thou needs 
 Must suffer much. But, not the less, it were 
 A weakness to despair. Unshaken firmness 
 O'er all disasters triumphs. Time, and distance 
 May, of thy troubled mind, dispel the mists. 
 Forsake this spot, where, by so many objects 
 Thy grief is nourished. Let us travel o'er 
 Thy provinces j and visiting their cities, 
 Their various customs note. A hundred ways 
 Wilt thou, then, find, t' employ and to divert 
 Thy mind. What dost thou meditate > Alas I 
 Rash man ! what dost thou aim to do ? 
 
1&8 AKiSTODEiYlUSj OR, Act II L 
 
 Aris. (Going towards the tomb.) I fain 
 Would enter there. 
 
 Gon. Within that tomb ? Ye Gods ? 
 Hold ? to what purpose ? 
 
 Aris. To consult that shade. 
 T' appease its wrath, or die. 
 
 Gon. Yet stay, my lord ; 
 My king, I do conjure thee ! 
 
 Aris. What alarms thee ? 
 
 Gon. I fear thine own wild fantasies. Return j 
 Give up this project. 
 
 Aris. Hope it not ! 
 
 Gon. Ah ! hear me. 
 Alas ! my liege, what if it be the fact, 
 That there a spectre dwells ? 
 
 Aris. I long have been 
 Accustom'd to behold it. 
 
 Gon. What intend 'st thou ? 
 
 Aris. To speak to it. 
 
 Gon. Ah ! no ; do not attempt it. 
 
 Aris. Let what of dreadful will, befall me, I 
 That shade will question. 1 will ask the cause, 
 Wherefore a crime no pardon can obtain 
 After such long remorse. I would, herein, 
 Learn the designs of Heav'n j what it commands, 
 What it requires from me. 
 
 Gon. Hear me. Oh Gods ! 
 How horrible a project ! 
 
 Aris. Leave me, now j 
 Give me free passage, I command thee. 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRE. 169 
 
 Gon. Yet, 
 
 For pity hear me. Since thy will is fix'd, 
 I ask one only favour j and I ask it, 
 Thus, at thy feet. [Kneeling. 
 
 Aris. Speak ; what dost thou desire ? 
 
 Gon. My lord, that steel, which by thy side thou 
 hidest 
 
 Aris. Proceed. 
 
 Gon. That steel, Task of thee. 
 
 Aris. (After a pause.} Well, take it. 
 The moment is not yet arriv'd for me : 
 Take it, affectionate and trusty servant ! 
 So much attachment touches me at heart. 
 Embrace me 5 and be this pledge of my friendship, 
 Of thy unequalled faith, the recompence. 
 
 [Enters into the tomb. 
 
 END OF THE THIRD ACT. 
 
170 AIUSTODKMUS } OR, Ad IV. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter CESIRA, with a wreath ofjtowers. 
 
 Ces. To Palamedes, sure, some friendly power 
 An obstacle has furnish' d to our going. 
 I'll profit from it, to behold again 
 These scenes, so dear to me. Awhile ago, 
 I left the griev'd Aristodemus here ; 
 And hither, he, perchance, will soon return. 
 This wreath, my daily and accustom'd tribute, 
 Meanwhile, I'll o'er yon tomb append. Receive 
 This token of affection, honour'd shade ! 
 Oh ! why art thou not living still, Dircea ? 
 I should with fondness love thee ; thou shouldst be 
 The chosen friend, nay, sister of Cesira. 
 But yet, ev'n dead, I love thee ; and the name 
 And mem'ry of Dircea, will I hold 
 Sacred and mournful ever. Hah ! what noise 
 Sounds from within the tomb? What moans and 
 cries ? 
 
 Aris. (Within the tomb.} Horrible apparition ! hence, 
 and leave me ! 
 
 Ccs. Oh, Heav'n ! it seems Aristodemus' voice. 
 Oh help ! oh aid, ye holy Gods ! 
 
Scene II. THE SPECTRE. 171 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS (rushing impetuously from the tomb, and 
 falling senseless in front of the stage.) 
 
 Ah ! leave me ! 
 
 Have mercy, cruel shade ! 
 
 Ces. Where shall I hide ? 
 Wretch that I am, I neither can behold him, 
 Nor cry aloud, nor fly. Who will resolve me ? 
 How shall I act ? Oh ! could I but assist him ! 
 Alas ! the pallid hue of death is on him ! 
 How from his brow, distil cold, deadly dews, 
 While his locks, bristling, stand erect ! The view 
 O'erwhelms me with affright ! Aristodemus, 
 Aristodemus, dost thou hear me ? 
 
 Aris. Fly, 
 Avaunt, and touch me not, unpitying vision ! 
 
 Ces. Ope, yet, thine eyes. Look on me : it is I 
 Who call thee, good my lord ! 
 
 Aris. How ? vanish' d gone ? 
 Where has it hid itself ? Who, from the ire 
 Of that remorseless spirit, has preserved me ? 
 
 Ces. Of whom, in Heav'n's name, speakest thou, 
 
 my lord? 
 What seek, on every side, thy roving eyes ? 
 
 Aris. Didst thou nor see, nor hear it ? 
 
 Ces. Hear, see, what ? 
 My whole frame trembles at thy words. 
 
 Aris. And thou, 
 
172 AIUSTODBMUS ', OR, Act IV. 
 
 Who in compassion corn's! to my relief, 
 
 Who art thou ? If from heav'n thou dost descend, 
 
 A Deity, ah ! such proclaim thyself ; 
 
 And, prostrate at thy feet, I will adore thee. 
 
 Ces. Oh heav'n! what says t thou > know'st thou not 
 Cesira ? 
 
 Aris. Who is Cesira ? 
 
 Ces. He has lost, alas ! 
 All recollection ! Know'st thou not these features ? 
 
 Aris. I have them here, engraven on my heart. 
 Yes, my heart speaks, and now, the veil's with- 
 drawn. 
 
 My sweet consoler, who has brought thee back 
 To these fond arms ? Oh ! let me, ev'n with thine 
 Mingle my tears : my heart with grief will burst, 
 If tears relieve me not. 
 
 Ces. Pour all thy griefs 
 Into this faithful breast. Thou wilt not find 
 Another to receive them, more impress'd 
 With sorrow and compassion. Thou hast utter'd 
 Words, which have terrified me. Say, what is 
 This cruel phantom, which so persecutes thee ? 
 
 Aris. An innocent being, sent to persecute 
 A guilty wretch. 
 
 Ces. And who that guilty wretch ? 
 
 Aris. 'Tis I. 
 
 Ces. Thou ? Wherefore wouldst thou have me deem 
 
 thee 
 So criminal ? 
 
 Aris. Because, I kill'd her. 
 
Scene II. THE SPECTRE. 173 
 
 Ces. Say'st thou ? 
 Whom didst thou kill? 
 
 Aris. My daughter. 
 
 Ces. Oh, great Heav'n ! 
 
 He raves. Alas ! what madness urg'd him on 
 To enter there ? Ye pitying Gods ! If ye 
 Are pleas'd to be so term'd, by suffering mortals , 
 Restore to him, in mercy, his lost reason ! 
 Ah ! let soft pity wake your care ! My lord, 
 Thou tremblest $ say, what dost thou thus contemplate 
 So fixedly? 
 
 Aris. It comes again. Behold there ! 
 It is the self- same thing. Dost thou not see it ! 
 Ah ! hide defend me for sweet mercy's sake, 
 From its terrific sight ! 
 
 Ces. Thou'rt, surely, raving. 
 I can see nought, my lord, save yonder tomb. 
 
 Aris. Look at it, yet. Erect and fierce it stands 
 Ev'n on the open threshold. Look at it 1 
 On me its stern and angry eyes it fixes. 
 Oh, cruel one ! forbear ! If thou art truly 
 My daughter's shade, why takest thou a form 
 Like that tremendous ? Who to thee hath giv'ri 
 The right thy father to oppress, and nature ? 
 'Tis silent j it retreats, and fades away. 
 Alas ! how barb'rous is its persecution ! 
 
 Ces. I also, now, through every vein experience 
 The freezing thrill of fear. The apparition, 
 I have not seen, 'tis true ; but the faint moans 
 Methought I heard j and that mute horror, issuing 
 
174 ARISTODEMUS ; OR, Act IV. 
 
 Forth from the open sepulchre j thy words- 
 The paleness of thy cheek ; and, more than all, 
 The tumult which still agitates my soul, 
 Make me no longer doubt that, in yon tomb, 
 This dreadful spectre dwells. But tell me, wherefore, 
 So visibly, to thine eyes it appears, 
 While 'tis from mine concealed ? 
 
 Aris. Thou'rt innocent. 
 
 Thy mild eyes were not form'd to view the secrets 
 Which, in their wrath, th f avenging Deities 
 Discover to the guilty, to appal them. 
 Thou ne'er hast shed thy children's blood ; and thee 
 The cry of Nature's self does not condemn. 
 
 Ces. And can it be, indeed, that thou art guilty ? 
 
 Aris. I've so confess'd myself. But, I beseech thee, 
 Henceforth, no more interrogate me. Fly me ; 
 Abandon me. 
 
 Ces. Abandon thee ? Ah ! no : 
 Thine exculpation, whatsoe'er thy crime, 
 Is on my heart inscrib'd. 
 
 Aris. My condemnation 
 In yonder heaven, also, is inscrib'd ; 
 And there the blood, the guiltless blood, Cesira, 
 Of unoffending innocence inscrib'd it. 
 
 Ces. How ? are the dead implacable, my lord ? 
 
 Aris. Beyond the tomb, all right of exculpation 
 The Gods have to themselves, alone, reserv'd. 
 But, if thou hadst, thyself, my daughter been ; 
 And I, with impious views, had murder'd thee, 
 Ah ! say, wouldst thou, a mild and lenient shade, 
 
Scene II. THE SPECTRE. 175 
 
 Thy stern assassin pardon ? Say, Cesira, 
 Wouldst thou, in such case, pardon ? 
 
 Ces. Ah! forbear. 
 
 Aris. And granting that thou wouldst, dost thou 
 
 believe, 
 That Heav'n itself would sanction thy forgiveness ? 
 
 Ces. But yet, does Heav'n permit the souls of 
 
 children 
 
 Such long-protracted ire ; such cruel vengeance 
 Against their parents ? 
 
 Aris. The decrees on high 
 Are still severe, inscrutable, mysterious. 
 Neither, to mortal eye, is it permitted 
 To pierce their darkness. Heav'n, perhaps, ordain'd 
 My punishment a warning to mankind -, 
 That ev'ry parent, thence, might learn to fear, 
 And to respect, the kindly laws of Nature. 
 Believe me, Nature is, when we insult her, 
 Fierce and vindictive in th' extreme. The name 
 Of father, is not lightly borne ; and soon 
 Or late, he mourns repentant, who has fail'd 
 Its duties to fulfil. 
 
 Ces. Thou too, hast mdurn'd. 
 The time at length is, sure, arriv'd, to dry 
 Thy tears, and from the adverse Gods implore 
 The fruits of thy long penitence. My lord, 
 Take courage. No crime is inexpiable. 
 Endeavour to appease yon angry shade, 
 By choicest victims, and devout oblations. 
 
176 ARISTODEMUSj OR, Act IV. 
 
 Aris. (After a pause.} 'Tis well j I will do so. Al- 
 ready, too, 
 The victim is prepar'd. 
 
 Ces. Permit me, then, 
 To share the holy work. 
 
 Aris. Cesira, no ! 
 I would not have thee seek to witness it. 
 
 Ces. Nay, rather with fair flow'rs, myself will crown 
 The victim, while I offer pray'rs to Heav'n 
 That thy sad fate be chang'd. 
 
 Aris. It will be chang'd j 
 I trust it will, ere long. 
 
 Ces. Oh ! do not doubt itrl 
 
 Evils have still their limits. Heav'n's compassion 
 Is often slow, but never known to fail. 
 And sure, to thee, it least will fail, who all, 
 By thy repentance hast He hears me not ! 
 Fix'd are his eyes on earth ; nor does he wink 
 Their lids: he stands like one to stone transform M ! 
 What can he be revolving in his mind ? 
 
 Aris. No more : 'tis ev'n the way. It shall be so. 
 One instant, and 'tis sleep I've now decided. 
 
 Ces. Hast thou decided? What? Oh! tell me 
 what? 
 
 Aris. Nothing j but mine own peace. 
 
 Ces. And speak' st thou this, 
 With so much strong emotion ? 
 
 Aris. No j I'm calm. 
 Dost thou not see it ? I'm completely calm. 
 
Scene II. THE SPECTRE. 177 
 
 Ces. Ah ! more this calmness fills me with alarm, 
 Than thy late phrensy. Oh ! for pity's sake 
 He gives me no attention. What, ah ! what 
 Is he, beneath his mantle, searching still ? 
 There's not a fibre in my frame, but trembles. 
 
 Aris. Another may be found. Whate'er it be, 
 'Twill serve my purpose. {Going. 
 
 Ces. Stay ; I pray thee, stay. 
 
 Nay, do not go. Ev'n thus I beg it of thee, [Kneeling. 
 Thus prostrate at thy feet. Oh ! listen to me ! 
 And lay thy horrible intent aside ! 
 
 Aris. Why, what intent art thou imagining ? 
 
 Ces. Spare me, I pray, the horror of its utt' ranee. 
 Too plainly I perceive it : terror-struck, 
 I shudder at the thought ! 
 
 Aris. Fear nought disastrous 
 Betiding me. Let this smile reassure thee. 
 
 Ces. Wild is that smile, and horrible to sight, 
 More than thou deem'st j and even that appals me. 
 No, thine intentions are not innocent. 
 Forego, my lord, forego them, I beseech thee ! 
 Avoid me not : look at me, I, who thus 
 Entreat thee, am Oh, HeaVn ! he does not hear me. 
 His reason is estrang'd, his senses gone ! 
 Ah ! I am lost ! stay, hear, I'll follow thee 
 
 [Exit ARISTODEMUS, sternly signing to her 
 not to pursue him. 
 
178 ARISTODEMUS; OR, Act IV. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 CESIRA, GONIPPUS. 
 
 Ces. Alas ! does he forbid it to me thus ? 
 That signal and that frown have terrified me, 
 Ah ! Heav'n be prais'd ! Some deity, Gonippus, 
 Hath sent thee hither ; for Aristodemus 
 Is to distraction driv'n. Run then ; fly to him, 
 And save him from the madness that transports him ! 
 
 [Exit GONIPPUS. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Manet CES IRA. 
 
 Aid him, kind Gods ! Oh ! what dire tumults here, 
 
 Of strange sensations, rise ! I know, no longer, 
 
 Where 'tis I breathe, or move, An unknown power 
 
 Incites my tears ; yet I in vain essay 
 
 To shed them ; while a voice awakes, within 
 
 The deep recesses of my soul, commotions 
 
 Mysterious, wild, and of unknown portent $ 
 
 Nor know I what to hope, nor what to fear. 
 
 Ill sit awhile. My heart is so oppress'd, 
 
 That my feet fail beneath me. [Sits. 
 
Scene V. THE SPECTRE. 1^9 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 EUM./EUS, CESIRA in the distance. 
 
 Eum. In Messenia, 
 
 Behold, at length., Eumseus, thou'rt arriv'd. 
 Oh ! how, from Sparta have I journied hither, 
 Exhausted and fatigued ! But yet, in fine, 
 I am arriv'd. Kind Gods ! I thank your goodness, 
 That ye from Spartan slavery have freed me - t 
 Thus, breaking fetters, which have nearly wasted 
 My whole of life away. How sweet is, now, 
 My dear, recover'd freedom ! I behold, 
 Again, my country j and these walls, so long, 
 And vainly sigh'd-for, while my glad heart leaps 
 With a confus'd delight. For thee, alone, 
 For thee, Aristodemus, do I grieve. 
 I come to bring fresh sorrows to thy heart. 
 Eumaeus thou wilt see, but not, again, 
 Behold thy daughter. Heav'n forbade, that I 
 Should save thy lov'd Argia. Otherwise, 
 It hath dispos'd events. Now, who will guide me 
 Into the royal presence? 'No one, here, 
 I find, who knows me ; and the palace, all 
 Around, seems desolate. I'll e'en advance 
 This way 
 
 Ces. (Rising.) Who comes ? Your pardon, good old 
 
 man; 
 What is 't you seek ? 
 
 Eum. I, of the king, would fain 
 
 N 2 
 
ISO ARISTODEMUSj OR, Act IV. 
 
 Have audience, noble damsel. I am one 
 Whom he would gladly see. 
 
 Ces. Alas ! thou'st chosen 
 A time most inauspicious. By deep grief 
 Oppressed, the king from every eye retires ; 
 And speaking with him, were impossible. 
 But, if not too presuming my enquiry, 
 Tell me, who art thou ? 
 
 Bum. If Eumaeus' name 
 Have ever met thine ear, behold, in me, 
 Eumaeus' self. 
 
 Ces. Eumseus ! Pow'rful Gods ! 
 And who knows not Eumaeus ? Who is ignorant 
 That, thee, Aristodemus had dispatch'd 
 To Argos, thither to convey in safety, 
 His infant child Argia ? Yet, a rumour 
 Ran, here, that thou, near Ladon's mouth, wert slain, 
 And with thee at the time, the ill-starr'd babe, 
 By a fierce troop of Spartan soldiers. This, 
 The king himself has ev*n believ'd j and thenceforth, 
 Has wept, and still deplores, his daughter's death. 
 
 Eum. Whether the hapless infant lives j or where, 
 Or by what means, I cannot ascertain ; 
 But, since the enemy my life has spar'd, 
 I well believe they, also, will have sav'd 
 That of the young Argia ; and the rather, 
 If they its value and importance knew. 
 
 Ces. And thou, how hast thou, since, preserv'd thy 
 
 life? 
 How compass'd thy return ? 
 
Scene V. THE SPECTRE. 1-8 1 
 
 Eum. Long time, within 
 A dungeon deep, I was immur'd j and they, 
 They best can tell, Barbarians ! to what end, 
 They so prolong' d my miserable life. 
 Each flattering hope I had already lost 5 
 And ev'n of freedom the desire itself; 
 Save, of my heart, one secret, strong emotion, 
 Which ever caus'd me to recall to mind 
 My dear, my native plains, and the blest shores 
 Of my belov'd Pamisus ; breathing, oft, 
 A sigh, o'er their sweet, mournful recollections. 
 Hence did I hope, that pitying death, at length, 
 Would, from my tedious sufferings release me. 
 When, suddenly, I saw my prison-doors 
 Thrown widely open ; and was told, that peace 
 Between ourselves and Sparta, soon would end 
 Our martial quarrels, and long-cherish'd hate ; 
 And that, meanwhile, a chief of the Laconians, 
 (Of the sad changes of my fate informed,) 
 In pity to my long-protracted ills, 
 My freedom had procur'd before the time. 
 To him, without delay I, therefore, hasten'd, 
 Since gratitude is chiefest of our duties. 
 An aged man, of venerable aspect, 
 I found j who lay, then, at the point of death. 
 Up-raising from his couch, his frame infirm, 
 He came to meet me, and embrac'd me, weeping. 
 Then said : " Seek not to learn the cause, Eumaeus, 
 ce Which has induc'd me to unloose thy chains. 
 " It will- be known to thee, when, in Messenia 
 
182 ARISTODEMUS ; OR, Act IV 
 
 " Thou shall arrive. There shalt thou seek, with 
 
 speed, 
 " A damsel nam'd Cesira." 
 
 Ces. Heav'ns ! Cesira ? 
 
 Eum. The same precisely. " Give her this," he 
 
 added j 
 
 And drawing forth a scroll, with trembling hand, 
 To me consign'd it. 
 
 Ces. Ah ! I pray thee, tell me 
 His name. 
 
 Eum. Talthybius. 
 
 Ces. Oh, ye Pow'rs ! Talthybius ? 
 What is 't thou say'st ? Was it, indeed, Talthybius ? 
 
 Eum. Was he, then, known to thee ? 
 
 Ces. He is my father ; 
 I, that Cesira, whom he bade thee seek. 
 
 Eum. 'Tis well ; if thou art she, behold the paper 
 Talthybius gave me. [Gives a scroll. 
 
 Ces. Give it me. I feel 
 My heart all trembling agitation. 
 
 [Opens, and reads the scroll. 
 
 " When thou this scroll shalt read, Cesira, death 
 " Already will have cut my vital thread. 
 ff Before I die, this I reveal to thee, 
 " This secret of importance. I, thy father 
 <c Have only been, by ties of fond affection. 
 ' f Who was thy real father, none can tell thee, 
 * ' Except Lysander. Well his name he knows ; 
 ' ( And if he hide it, 'tis alone, because 
 <c He secretly detests him, and betrays thee. 
 
Scene VI. THE SPECTRE. 183 
 
 " Farewell. An oath forbids me to say more ; 
 " But what Talthybius here asserts, is true." 
 Where am I ? What strange tale is this I*ve read ? 
 
 Eum. Lady, I now the cause can comprehend, 
 Wherefore Talthybius, at his death, exclaim'd, 
 While tears roll'd down his cheeks : (f Would I had 
 
 " ne'er 
 e ' Deceiv'd an innocent maid ! " 
 
 Ces. (Reading.} (t His name he knows j 
 " And, if he hide it, 'tis alone, because 
 <f He secretly detests him, and betrays thee." 
 Does he, indeed, betray me ? Ah ! vile traitor ! 
 But let me haste to seek this barb'rous man. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 LTSANDER, PALAMEDES, EUM.EUS, and CESIRA. 
 
 Ces. (To LYSANDER.) Thou seasonably com'st. 
 Read this. [Gives the scroll. 
 
 Eum. Methinks, 
 
 I've, elsewhere, seen that face, assuredly. 
 Assist me, memory ! to recall its owner. 
 
 Lys. (Returning the scroll.) This paper's false ; and 
 
 old Talthybius doted. 
 
 Ces. Talthybius doted ? False, perfidious man ! 
 This is no raving of a dotard's brain. 
 
 Eum. No 5 I mistake not : 'tis ev'n he. Just 
 Heav'n! 
 
184 AIUSTODKMUSj OR, Act IV. 
 
 Oh! let me, let me speak! (To LYSANDER.) Fix, 
 
 here, thine eyes. 
 Know'st thou this countenance ? 
 
 Lys. To my remembrance 
 It seems not new, yet I recall it not. 
 
 Eum. Forgett'st thou, then, the mouth of Ladon's 
 
 flood, 
 The little stolen child ? 
 
 Lys. I know it, now. 
 But how alive, and here ? 
 
 Eum. In me, behold 
 The man, from whom thou stol'st the hapless babe. 
 
 Ces. Of whom, Eumaeus, dost thou speak ? 
 
 Eum. I speak 
 
 Of young Argia. This, in truth, is he 
 Who took her from me forcibly. 
 
 Pal. Now speak, 
 My friend ; or I myself will all reveal. 
 
 Eum. Make answer : tell th' unhappy infants fate ? 
 
 Lys. Dissembling, now, were vain. No more. The 
 
 maid 
 
 Thou seek'st, of whom I robb'd thee, the long-lost 
 Argia lives, and lives in thee, Cesira. [To CESIRA. 
 
 Eum. I well foresaw it. 
 
 Ces. How ? What said Lysander ? 
 Who am I ? 
 
 Eum. Thou'rt the long-deplor'd Argia ; 
 Thou art the daughter of Aristodemus. 
 Oh ! my heart told me this ! 
 
 Ces. And am I, then, 
 
Scene VII. THE SPECTRE. 185 
 
 Aristodemus' daughter ? Thou, barbarian ! 
 
 [To LYBANDER. 
 
 Thou knew'st me such, and hadst the heart, so long 
 To hide the truth ? Oh ! base, ignoble spirit ! 
 More vile, more worthless, than the dust we trample ; 
 I comprehend thy views j but Heaven, in justice 
 Has thwarted them. Away ! I cannot bear 
 The horror of thy sight. What stays me here ? 
 Oh ! let me to my father fly, and change 
 In his fond arms, his sorrows into joy ! 
 
 [Exit hastily, followed by 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Manent LYSANDER, and PALAMEDES. 
 
 Lys. Heard'st thou her mortifying words ? 
 
 Pal I did. 
 
 Lys. Let us go hence 5 and let me, elsewhere, bear 
 My deep chagrin and shame. 
 
 Pal. Yes j we will hence. 
 I, now, go willingly ; since with my friend, 
 I've not by breaking faith, my honour stain'd ; 
 Nor bear I hence away with me, remorse 
 For having, long maintain'd an unjust silence. 
 
 END OF ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
186 ARISTODEMUS; OR, Act V. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 GONIPPUS, then ARGIA. 
 
 Gon. Ah ! where can he have, thus, conceal'd him- 
 self? 
 
 I, with a trembling heart, am seeking him, 
 Yet scarcely for an instant hath he left me ! 
 Wherefore did he deceive me ? Why affect 
 To court repose, and disappear so swiftly ? - 
 Argia here ? 
 
 Arg. Gonippus - 
 
 Gon. Hast thou found him ? 
 
 Arg. Nay, hast thou seen him ? 
 
 Gon. My research is vain. 
 
 Arg. Alas ! unhappy me ! 
 
 Gon. Be not disturbed. 
 Thy father hath no weapon. From his side, 
 The poniard, which he held, I took away. 
 
 Arg. Hast thou that poniard still ? 
 
 Gon. (Producing the dagger.} Behold it here. 
 
 Arg. Yet, should he find another? Oh ! for Heav'n's 
 
 sake, 
 Let us, again, throughout the palace, seek him ! 
 
 Gon. What if, meanwhile, he hither turn ? 
 
Scene HI. fHB SPECTRE. 187 
 
 Arg* I, then, 
 
 Will here remain. But go run thou with speed 
 Be not a moment lost ! 
 
 SCENE It. 
 
 Manet ARGIA. 
 
 Alas! what dire 
 
 Forebodings of disaster overwhelm me ! 
 Father Aiistodemus oh ! my father ! 
 Dost thou not hear me ? All, alas ! is mute ; 
 And nothing seems to answer, save the echo 
 From yonder tomb. Oh ! holy Gods ! what if 
 He were within it hidden ? Yes, too surely, 
 Awhile ago he was so : doubtless, then, 
 Fresh mental wand'rings have, again, misled him. 
 I'll seek him, there, myself. But if the spectre ? 
 Ah ! when a father's valued life 's in danger, 
 Shall I, by fear of spectres, be deterr'd ? 
 I'll enter : yes, though all Avernus open'd 
 On my shock'd gaze, I'd meet it unappall'd ! 
 
 ' [Enters the tomb. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 ARISTODEMUS. 
 
 Arts. Behold the tomb, the altar, which my blood 
 Must bathe. This steel, at length, I've found. Its 
 point 
 
188 ARISTODEMUSj OR, Act V. 
 
 Is sharp -, then let me strike. How ? tremblest thou, 
 
 Inhuman father? Thou shouldst then, have trembled, 
 
 When thou the bosom of thy sleeping child, 
 
 Didst pierce remorseless. Ill it, now, befits thee 
 
 To hesitate : 'tis thine to die : and thou, 
 
 Come forth j thou horrible spectre ! 'Tis thy time. 
 
 Come ; and behold thy vengeance all f ulfilTd ! 
 
 Direct, thyself, the blow. It hears my words, 
 
 It hastens hither. Hark ! I know the sound ! 
 
 Lo! the tomb shakes! 'Tis here. Come; welcome 
 
 shade ! 
 Thou hast demanded blood ; and this is blood. 
 
 [Stabs himself. 
 
 SCENE THE LAST. 
 
 the tomb, ARISTODEMUS, GONIPPUS, and 
 
 Arg. Oh hold ! Alas ! what hath thy rash handdone? 
 What fury hath transported thee ? 
 
 Gon. Eumseus, 
 
 Run thou, support him on that side ; and here, 
 We'll gently lay him. [They bear him to a couch. 
 
 Aris. Trouble me no more, 
 Officious friends: too late, and vain, your cares. 
 Leave, leave me ! 
 
 Arg. Oh ! for pity, curb this phrensy ! 
 Know that I am Tears interrupt my speech. 
 
 Aris. Imprudent girl, Cesira, wherefore here ? 
 
Scene IV. THE SPECTRE. 1 89 
 
 Content, more satisfied, I should have died, 
 Without beholding thee. Who brought thee here . 
 In cruelty ? And who art thou, beside me, 
 Compassionate old man, who, weeping 1 still, 
 Dost hide thy features ? I would fain behold thee. 
 What face is that ? 
 
 Eum. Ah ! Sire, in me behold, 
 And recognise thy faithful, tried 
 
 Aris. Eumseus? 
 
 Eum. Yes, 'tis ev'n he. Thy daughter, too, is safe- ~ 
 
 Arts. Argia? 
 
 Eum. Whom to me thou didst entrust, 
 And hast deplor'd as lost 
 
 Aris. Proceed. 
 
 Eum. Already, 
 She stands before thine eyes : look there, 'tis she ! 
 
 Aris. How ? Is Cesira, then, my daughter ? 
 
 Arg. Yes; 
 
 But oh ! dear father, if I, now, must lose thee, 
 How shall it profit me ? 
 
 Aris. Do I then, thus 
 
 Regain thee ? thus ? The vengeance, now, of Heaven 
 I see completed : now, of death I feel 
 The torturing rack. Oh ! fatal, late disclosure ! 
 Child, in my heart an impious phrensy burns, 
 Which, ev'n perforce, will have me curse the hour 
 In which I know, and lose thee! 
 
 Arg. Pitying Gods ! 
 Restore to me my father, or with him, 
 Here, let me die ! 
 
ARISTODEMUS; OR, Act V> 
 
 Aris. Unthinking girl ! What pity 
 Expect'st thou from the Gods ? That they exist, 
 I do, indeed, believe ; and my misfortunes 
 To my confusion, prove it ; but, they're cruel : 
 Their rigour, child, hath forc'd me to this step. 
 
 Arg. Oh ! hear me, Heaven ! and behold my tears ! 
 Pardon his rash, insensate words ! My father ! 
 Add not a crime to thy calamities 
 The greatest of all crimes, the blasphemies 
 Of desperate men ! 
 
 Aris. 'Tis the sole privilege 
 Which hath remain'd to me. Shall I expect 
 In this state, clemency ? How can I ask it ? 
 Or know, ev'n, if I wish it ? 
 
 Arg. Banish yet 
 
 This horrible fear : compose thy troubled mind, 
 And raise thine eyes to Heav'n. 
 
 Gon. He casts them downwards ; 
 And inly murm'ring, changes countenance. 
 
 Aris. Ah ! whither are ye dragging me ? Where 
 
 am I? 
 
 What desert wild and dark is this ? Drive hence 
 Yon pallid ghosts ! Oh ! say, for whom prepar'd 
 Yon red-hot scourges > 
 
 Arg. Oh ! my heart dies in me ! 
 
 Eum. Unhappy king ! 
 
 Gon. The agonies of death 
 Bring on delirium. Sire, Aristodemus 
 Dost thou yet know me ? Tis Gonippus speaks : 
 This is thy daughter. 
 
Scene IV. THE SPECTRE. 191 
 
 Aris. Well, what would my daughter ? 
 Grant that I slew her j I have also mourn'd 
 Her fate untimely. Is that insufficient 
 T' avenge her cause ? Then, let her come before me : 
 I'll speak to her, myself. Oh! look at her ! 
 Her tresses are compos'd of shaggy thorns, 
 And viewless sockets in her forehead stand ! 
 Who put her eyes out ? Wherefore gushes forth 
 Blood, from her wounded nostrils ? Draw, I pray you, 
 Draw o'er the rest, a veil. Here, with the skirt 
 Of this my royal mantle, cover her ! 
 Destroy that worthless crown, stain'd with her blood $ 
 Bearing off, and throwing away his crown. 
 Then, scatter its remains, its dust, o'er all 
 The thrones on earth -, and tell their kings, that, still, 
 A crown, by crimes obtain'd, is bought too dearly 5 
 And that I died [Dies. 
 
 Gon. How dread a death ! 'Tis o'er. 
 Aristodemus, in that groan, expir'd ! 
 
 THJB CURTAIN DROPS, 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 T. DAVISON, LOMBARD-STREET WHITEFRIARS, LONDON, 
 
ALBEMARLE-STREET, LONDON, 
 APRIL, 1819. 
 
 MR. MURRAY 
 
 HAS JUST PUBLISHED THE FOLLOWING WORKS. 
 
 A CHRONOLOGICAL HISTORY of VOYAGES into the 
 POLAR REGIONS; undertaken chiefly for the purpose of dis- 
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 for the purpose of exploring Baffin's Bay, and of inquiring into 
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 ACCOUNT of the MISSION from CAPE COAST CASTLE 
 to the KINGDOM of ASHANTEE, with a Statistical Account 
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 INTERIOR of AFRICA. By THOMAS EDWARD BOWDICH, Conductor 
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 LETTERS from the NORTH of ITALY, addressed to Henry 
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 JOURNEY from MOSCOW to CONSTANTINOPLE. With 
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 NARRATIVE of the EXPEDITION to ALGIERS, in the 
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