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 THREE PLAYS: 
 
 WITH 
 
 9i preface, 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esq.
 
 THREE PLAYS: 
 
 WITH A 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 INCLUDING 
 
 Dramatic (i^ftsieilmtions. 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 LIEUTENANT-GENERAL BURGOYNE, 
 
 UY 
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esq. 
 
 CHICHESTER: 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM MASON', 
 FORT. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND, LONPCV. 
 
 ISU.
 
 
 TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HONORABLE 
 
 THE LORD HOLLAND, 
 
 CJ)is! 2:iolume, 
 
 IS 
 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 IN 
 
 C41lATErUL llEMEMBRANCE 
 
 OF A 
 
 VERY PLEASING LITERARY FAVOR 
 
 RECEIVED FROM 
 
 HIS LORDSHIP, 
 
 BY HIS 
 HIGHLY OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL SERVANT, 
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY. 
 
 863377
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Authors, who have had an intercourse of many 
 years with the pubhc, ought perhaps, before they 
 bid a final adieu to the press, to leave a few of such 
 admonitory hints to their successors, as their own 
 experience may particularly suggest. A waste of 
 much time and application to a fruitless study, in 
 the early part of life, may be productive of the most 
 serious evils : To a young man of a poetical and a 
 sanguine spirit there is hardly any pursuit so forcibly 
 alluring as dramatic composition ; yet none appears 
 so likely to involve him in disappointment. Such at 
 least is the remark, that I am induced to make by re- 
 flecting on the unexpected adventures, that befel 
 the eldest of my dramatic children, Eudora. 
 
 A narrative of those adventures may possibly 
 
 prove both amusing, and instructive to my reader, 
 
 a
 
 viii. PREFACE. 
 
 and suggest to him some of the reasons, why the 
 prcsoit group of theatrical productions have been re- 
 served to take a chance of finding favor from an in- 
 dulgent public inthe shape of a book. 
 
 The blessing of being cherished b}^ a most amia- 
 ble mother, who was fond of literature, and read 
 Shakespear with peculiar energy and grace, inspired 
 me iu my early youth with a vehement passion for 
 the drama. I will not expatiate on many singular 
 proofs of this passion, that appeared as the boy 
 ripened into man. Soon after that period I had corn- 
 pleated a Tragedy, from which, in all the ardor be- 
 longing to the vernal season of life, I expected the 
 most brilliant success. The fable of the play vva« 
 original, and founded only on the following fact re- 
 corded in a newspaper. A respectable father had 
 the misfortune to see his son condemned for a capital 
 crime, and committed to prison. In the distraction 
 of his grief he sent him poison, that he might escape 
 the ignominious horrors of a public execution; and 
 found too late^ that his life would have been pre- 
 served, had he not too eagerly received, and employed 
 the rash and fatal gift of his father. Upon this aw- 
 ful and instructive occurrence I formed a drama of
 
 pre:face. ix. 
 
 five acts ; and having a predilection for Spanish 
 characters, I laid the scene in Spain ; gave to my 
 chief personage the dignified name of Velasco, and 
 entitled the Tragedy " The Afflicted Father." With 
 the presumption of inexperience I flattered myself, 
 that I should confer a hi<ih oblis-ation on the moral 
 world by producing a drama, which, instead of being, 
 as too many tragedies have been, a sort of persuasive 
 invitation to suicide, might rather operate as an im- 
 pressive lesson to prevent the frequency of that de- 
 plorable crime. A little circle of confidential friends 
 highly applauded my production ; one of them, 
 who happened to be very intimate with Garrick, 
 most willingly undertook to introduce it to that 
 Prince of Actors and Managers, under such 
 conditions, as must be most agreeable to the modesty 
 of a young poet. These conditions were, that the 
 Manager should give the play a fair deliberate perusal, 
 and, if it did not please h'rm, return the manuscript 
 to the person, from whom he received it, writing on 
 the cover, s/?^'^ — nonsense — or any contemptuous word 
 that might intimate unqtiestionahle rejection : In that 
 case he would be no more troubled en the subject; 
 but. on the contrary, if he thought so vvell of the 
 
 a2
 
 X. PREFACl'. 
 
 drama, as to resolve on a trial of its effect in the 
 theatre, his tVieiid would then bring the unknown 
 author to breakfast with him on any morning, that 
 he might choose to appoint. This preliminary was 
 firmly agreed on, that the latent Author should not 
 be called forth, unless Garrick was deliberately de- 
 termined to represent the tragedy. 
 
 After a few weeks of anxious suspense, in 
 the year 17/0, a billet arrived from my friend 
 to name the morning, in which we were in- 
 vited to breakfast with the Manager in Southampton 
 Street. On our arrival at his house we were con- 
 ducted into a little private apartment, where Garrick 
 soon saluted me with a profusion of compliments : 
 '* I assure you, my dear Sir," he exclaimed, " that 
 I have not seen for many years any new play, of 
 which I conceived such very high expectations ; but 
 of this we will talk at more leisure, Mrs. Garrick has 
 ^ little circle of literary friends to breakfast with us 
 this morning, son^e of them have the honor o/knovv- 
 ing you, and speak of you with the greatest regard, 
 but I believe the tea is made — pray let me introduce 
 you to Mrs. Garrick, who is very eager for the plea- 
 sure of seeina; you."
 
 PREFACE. xi. 
 
 We proceeded to pay our com})liinents to the 
 tiucen of the house, who understood and pnictiscd 
 the art of saying- agreeable things to her visitors not 
 less than the theatrical moniirch hiniself. I'hecofn- 
 pany,we found assembled, consisted of persons, va ho 
 shone in conversation, and aft( r an hour or two of 
 sprightly general discourse, they w iUidrew, when my 
 friend began to enter on our ])articular business with 
 the Manao'cr. Garrick observed, that the morning: 
 had almost elapsed without his being aware how 
 late it was ; pleaded his pressing avocations, and 
 entreated us to breakfast with him again on the fol- 
 lowing Tuesday. This passed on a Saturday. We 
 most cheerfully accepted the cordial invitation, 
 and returned again to this sovereign of the 
 theatre, charmed with his affability, and full of the 
 most towering hopes inspired by the warm and 
 friendly interest, that he appeared to take in the 
 prospect of a young dramatic author's success. 
 
 Our second breakfast did not pass with all tho 
 ease and gaiety of the first ; and when it was over, 
 Garrick, with an embarrassed air.and along face, said 
 to my friend, " I have been considering more de- 
 liberately the tragedy, with which you have favored
 
 xii. PREFACE. 
 
 me — it is a most elegant composition, it is beautiful 
 in language, but I think it wants action ; and I 
 doubt if it will suit the stage." My friend began 
 to remonstrate — but Garrick interrupted him by say- 
 ing to me " We will certainly represent it, if you 
 
 desire it, but I am inclined to think " " O no 
 
 sir/' I exclaimed, " 1 would by no means wish it to 
 be played, if you have the least doubt of its success: 
 I shall instantly put it in my pocket, and am heart- 
 ily sorry, that it has given you this unnecessary 
 trouble.'* The manager looked ashamed, the poet 
 indignant. We parted however with many expres- 
 sions of civility, and mutual good wishes; not Avith- 
 out profuse offers of service on any future occasion 
 from the inimitable actor, whose talents were so fas- 
 cinating, that however he might offend, he was sure 
 of being forgiven by those, who had feelings to be 
 charmed by his theatrical excellence. 
 
 My friend, who had confided in the word of 
 Garrick as his old confidential companion, was much 
 hurt, that he treated us with such needless duplicity 
 and deception : but, in discussing all circumstances, 
 v.e agreed, that his apparent insincerity was not 
 originally intended. The fact probably was, that he
 
 PREFACE. xlii. 
 
 iiad really conceived all the high hopes of the phy, 
 that he expressed in our first conference ; but it had 
 several defects, and these were forcibly impressed on 
 his mind, by some of his privy counsellors, in the 
 interval between our first and second visit to his 
 house. We had reason to suspect an insidious 
 enemy in the business, but as the suspicion had not 
 the support of any absolute proof, I will not name 
 the per-son, who was supposed to have prejudiced 
 the mind of the Manager against a drama, of which 
 he had professed himself so fervent an admirer. 
 
 I was willing enougii to allow, that there were 
 considerable deficiences in the Tragedy ; but was 
 confident,that many pla3^s with much greater imper- 
 fections had succeeded on the stage ; and I was 
 deeply chagrined,, that I had suffered Garrick art- 
 fully to draw me forth from the privacy, which I 
 lov^ed ; and to make me the dupe of his adulation. 
 With these sentiments I was disposed to abjure all 
 intercourse with the despotic sovereigns of the 
 theatre; and glowing with an irresistible propensity 
 to poetical composition I soon began what I then 
 regarded as the chief desideratum in the literature 
 of my country, a national Epic Poem : But when I
 
 xiv. PREFACE. 
 
 had finished some cantos of it, I was rendered 
 unable to proceed in an enterprize so arduous by 
 the unseasonable death of an inestimable friend, the 
 early associate, confidant, and encourager of all my 
 studies, John Thornton, of Hertfordshire, whose ex- 
 emplary character I endeavoured to delineate in the 
 poem, that 1 inscribed to his memory soon after his 
 decease. He had taken a peculiar interest in the 
 commencement and progress of the larger work, in 
 which I had advanced ; but as one of my incentives 
 to proceed in it was the warm and friendly delight, 
 with which I knew he would contemplate its con-^ 
 elusion, in losing him I felt disqualified for resuming 
 an extensive composition, which reminded me too 
 painfully of the loss I had sustained. The dramatic 
 muse had been the goddess of my earliest poetical 
 idolatry; and to her, notwithstanding several theatric 
 cal disappointments, I have never ceased to devote 
 many of my studious hours, in composing a variety 
 of plays, though but a few of them have hitherto 
 ventured to solicit the favor of the public, b}^ appear- 
 ing in print. 
 
 1 confess that I have ever felt much parental 
 tenderness for my eldest dramatic offspring, and
 
 PRFFACE. XV. 
 
 perhaps tlie more irom the mortifying disfavor, 
 with which it was treated by Cjarrick. Many years 
 after that improsperous adventure, I was tempted to 
 revise the neglected tragedy, to change the scene 
 from Spain to vSicily, and to give it the new title of 
 Eudora, the name of its heroine. In this state, one 
 of my early friends recommended it to the notice of 
 that accomplished though unfortunate soldier, that 
 elegant and successful dramatic writer, the late 
 General Burgoyne. Let me here endeavour justly 
 and gratefully to commemorate the politeness, the 
 critical talents, and the rare benevolence of that 
 amiable departed veteran, by shewing the singular 
 pains he took to befriend a younger dramatist, whose 
 success in one line of authorship he kindly believed 
 not equal to his desert. I would rather be censured 
 for vanity in appearing too much elated by his praise, 
 than fail to shew in a full light his extreme candour 
 and critical goodnature. I was personally a stranger 
 to the General, when he kindly examined my un- 
 fortunate drama : he returned it with many sheets 
 of excellent remarks, and the following letter to a 
 gentleman, who was intimate with us both. 
 
 The person I allude to, is recently deceased ; he
 
 xvi. PREFACE. 
 
 was a scholar of the livehest intellectual powers, 
 united to a most friendly heart, which had prompted 
 him to introduce the tragedy in question to the 
 General. When I began this preface, 1 had some 
 hopes that the publication, might serve to interest 
 and amuse my suffering friend, under the confine'- 
 menl of long illness; but his decease, which hap- 
 pened while the plays were in the press, affords me 
 only the mournful gratification of mentioning his 
 name with that tenderness, which is due to an in- 
 variable friendship of almost half a century. 
 
 To DAVID STEVENSON, Esq. 
 
 Hertford Street, September \6, 17S7. 
 
 Ml/ dear Stevenson, 
 
 I have always admired the writings of your 
 friend, Mr. Hayley, hut I have read none of his productions 
 with so much pleasure as Eudora ; and the more I consider 
 it, the greater repugnance I find in coinmnnicating the 
 criticism I promised you ; I bring myself to do it upon the 
 presumption, that you ivill give both the text and tJie coyn-
 
 PREFACE. xvii. 
 
 ment due thought, and not let a word of mine pass further y 
 that has not the sanction of your judgment. 
 
 The order I mean to follow is fir d to state my ohserva- 
 tions upon separate parts, ivhkh I wish the Author to revise: 
 (hey are very few in comparison of the beauties, tvhich could 
 not be retouched even by his oivn hand without injury. 
 
 I shall in the next place consider the piece with a view to 
 representation, andthe present state of the English Theatre : 
 a?id shall venture to suggest the idea of a considerable 
 alteration in the plan, 
 
 I need not detain you by any farther preface from the 
 task I have enjoined you of becoming a sincere arbiter of 
 all I have advanced. 
 
 I am, my dear Sir, 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 J. BURGOYNE. 
 
 This letter was accompanied with four sheets of 
 observations upon particular passages, and three more 
 of general observations with a view to representation. 
 The latter may be regarded as a little dramatic essay 
 full of good sense, and good taste. It breathes so 
 evidently the pure spirit of a polite scholar, a gentle- 
 man, and a friend, that I hope I am paying a proper 
 and grateful tribute to the memory of the writer, by 
 introducing a great part of it into this preface.
 
 sviii. PREFACE. 
 
 General c^bsecbattons. 
 
 '^' Having ventured, though with great diffidence 
 and deference, to offer several remarks on separate 
 passages in the tragedy of Eudora, I proceed now to 
 consider it upon the whole as calculated for repre- 
 sentation. In this point of view I confess it par- 
 takes, in some scenes, of the character of Addison's 
 Cato, of Elfrida, and other dramatic poems, of which 
 too much cannot be said in regard to imagination, 
 expression, harmony, of numbers, and many other 
 beauties : We may go farther in this instance, and 
 add a just encomium upon the conduct and moral, 
 as conformable to the rules laid down by the Grecian 
 school, and the most esteemed commentators upon 
 it; and yet, a theatrical something may be wanting 
 for popular acceptation in this age and nation. 
 
 " I will endeavour to explain what the something 
 is, and how the want of it applies to Eudora in its 
 present state. 
 
 " Shakespeare, the glory of our country as the 
 most sublime and captivating poet, that ever wrote, 
 may be said, in one sense, to have hurt the English
 
 PREFACE. xii. 
 
 stage. His genius carried him above rules ; and suc- 
 ceeding writers, to whom nature had given no such 
 pretentions, were supported by the prejudice he had 
 created in imitating his licence. Hence the gross 
 violation of the unities of time and place, and the 
 load of dead, that deformed the last scene of almost 
 every tragedy, became subjects of censure and ridi- 
 cule. 
 
 " In the mean time the French carried the re- 
 formation of these faults to an excess equally ab- 
 surd : In many instances they polished away the 
 rery essence of tragedy, terror and pity, and es- 
 tablished delicacy upon the ruin of feeling. 
 
 " Among other evils resulting from this pedantic 
 purity, I would point out particularly to attention 
 that remarked by Mr. Addison, and I think men- 
 tioned by Dryden also somewhere in his prefaces, 
 of throwing the most important part of the catastrophe into 
 narration in place of jjroducing it in action. The elder 
 Corncille and Racine, whose genius for the sublime 
 no one will dispute, adopted this practice, and often 
 became lukewarm and lans;uid only from so doingr. 
 
 ^' Much respect is due to the decorum, and
 
 XX. PREFACE. 
 
 preservation of probability', on the Greek and Roman 
 stages ; but I am not 
 
 '' Sic fautor veterum" 
 as not to think, that much greater latitude in both 
 those points,than is to be found in any of their pieces, 
 that have come down to us, might be indulged 
 without any violence to the understanding. I al- 
 most persuade myself from some passages, I could 
 point out in ancient authors, that they themselves 
 admitted it, at least in a degree beyond what their 
 modern translators and commentators are willing to 
 allow. Horace, who thoroughly understood the sub- 
 ject, while he reprobates the introduction of the 
 murdering knife of Medea, in less shocking instances 
 is strongly for action in preference to narration : 
 
 '^ Segnius irritant aninios demlssa per aurem 
 Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta Rdelibus, et quae 
 Ipse sibi tradit spectator." 
 
 And is it positively certain, that he does not 
 countenance the magic of the poet even to the extent 
 that Shakespeare exercised ? 
 
 When " With imagined wing our swift scene flies 
 In motion of no less celerity 
 Than that of though.t — _ —
 
 PREFACE. xxi. 
 
 — — __ jumping o'er times. 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 Into an hour glass." 
 
 Such is the natural import of the words of Horace, 
 
 " Ut magus; et modo me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis.'* 
 
 I am perfectly aware that most interpreters un- 
 derstand this as applying to different pieces, and 
 not to change of place in the same piece. It will 
 be allowed me nevertheless that there is more magic 
 exemplified in one interpretation, than in the other. 
 
 *' But to have done with digressive conjectures 
 and to return to the modern stage. 
 
 " The taste in England has not yet arrived at 
 that true medium between the latitude of our former 
 school, and the restrictions of that supposed by the 
 French to be established upon the principles of the 
 ancients. In fact the approach towards a medium 
 has of late years been made by our neighbours ; 
 Voltaire in particular has done more towards restor- 
 ing the use the of dagger and the change of scenes, 
 than any of our writers, except mere translators, 
 have endeavoured to do towards the abolition of such
 
 xxii. PREFACE. 
 
 ■ liberties. A love of action^, and tiie sight of great 
 events grows out of our national temper; we leave 
 narration to the epic, its natural province, and call 
 out for the thing itself. 
 
 " 1 trust it will not be imagined from any thing 
 I have said in objection to narration in tragedy in 
 certain situations, that I wish to condemn it gener- 
 ally. Description is the soul of all poetry : and the 
 tragic, as every other poet, has the history and ima- 
 gery of nature open for his use. Narration, referring 
 to parts of the fable antecedent to the opening of 
 the action, is generally necessary ; often beautiful; 
 many instances will occur, where in delineating cha- 
 racter it has a great effect 
 
 " For once, upon a raw and gusty day 
 The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
 CcEsar said to me, dar'st thou, Cassius, now 
 Leap in witlimc into tliis angry flood. 
 And swim to yonder point ? Upon the word, 
 Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in, 
 And bade him follow :" &c. 
 
 " During the proceeding of the action many in- 
 cidents I admit, may be more properly related than 
 brought to view; the distinction I v/ould establish 
 is this : When material, momentous incidents, upon
 
 PREFACE. xxilU 
 
 which the great interest of the drama rests, are pro- 
 per for representation, they ought to be represented: 
 The best powers of language, when employed in nar- 
 rative, will fall very short in comparative effect. 
 
 " There are not I believe many exceptions to 
 the above position, when judged of by an English 
 audience. The only one that 1 recollect at present 
 is the relation of the massacre of Pyrrhus in the tra- 
 gedy of the Distrest Mother; but two circumstances 
 essential to my present purpose are to be remarked 
 
 in this example the one is, that the story is told 
 
 by Orestes, the person himself who has been the prin- 
 cipal actor in the scene; the other, that a new inci- 
 dent, and one productive of more emotion than any 
 in the whole play,arises immediately from the recital, 
 viz. that of Hermione disavowing her own ordei-s,and 
 driving the wretched Orestes to madness — ^the part 
 of the catastrophe related, instantly causes a represen- 
 tation of one more affecting to the passions. 
 
 *' I have endeavoured to fortify myself by this 
 long comparison between narration and action, as ap- 
 plicable to catastrophe, before 1 took the freedom of 
 commenting upon the last act ofEudora; and I intro- 
 duced the instance to which I have just now alluded, 
 
 b
 
 xxiv. PREFACE. 
 
 to mark, that the circumstances under which narra- 
 tion is justifiable and productive of great effect, are 
 ver}'^ different from those, to which I am about to 
 point. 
 
 " Camillo, unknown to the audience till the 
 very moment, and who I am afraid, will appear little 
 better than an episodical personage, is introduced for 
 the purpose of relating the end of the story. The 
 whole impression, that the unexpected catastro- 
 phe is to create, and to leave in the minds of the 
 audience, depends upon this narration. I venture 
 to contend that, in point of dramatic conduct, narra- 
 tion in this place would be objectionable, could it 
 even be put into the mouth of a chief character ; 
 but bow much will the objection be strengthened, 
 in point of danger, when it is considered, that in the 
 present state cf our theatre, from the want of 
 authority in the managers, and of condescension 
 in the performers to accept parts they think subor- 
 dinate, the part of poor Camillo would undoubtedly 
 fall to the share of some wretched underling", who 
 according to Shakespear's definition, m^ght "seem 
 to be made by Nature's journeymen, and not made 
 vv'ell, he imitated humanitv so abominably !"
 
 PREFACE. XXV. 
 
 " But the last circumstance of dissimilarity be- 
 tween the examples of "theDistrest Mother" and 
 Eudora, and the one that has the greatest weight 
 with me, is, that in the latter the event related is the 
 most desirable of the whole story for representation. 
 In the case of Pyrrhus, the sight of a magnanimous 
 and amiable prince butchered at the altar might be 
 inconsistent with the true rules of decorum ; but 
 the finely-imagined circumstances of a dying prince 
 forgiving his unknown murderer, and the stings of 
 conscience thereby excited in the breast of the 
 guilty, are strictly dramatic ; and in the hands of Mr. 
 Hayley would make one of the most affecting 
 scenes possible. This is the great object of alteration 
 I am intent to recommend — make what is now des- 
 cribed to have passed between the prince and the 
 confessor, the grand action of the last act. 
 
 "Should Mr. Hayley be induced to make a begin- 
 ning in this alteration of plan, I am sanguine in my be- 
 lief that he would find great pleasure in the work as 
 he advanced. The alteration would give the Author 
 fine opportunities to work up the character of Eudora 
 higher, preserving all its present tenderness, and 
 
 b 2
 
 xxvi. PREFACE. 
 
 much, very much of its language: I cannot speak 
 too highly of either. 
 
 " Here end the observations that have occurred 
 upon the subject of Eudora. 
 
 " The indispensable avocations in which General 
 Burgoyne has been sometime engaged may be ad- 
 mitted perhaps as some apology for keeping the 
 manuscript so long in his hands; but he is conscious 
 the crudeness of his remarks, as well as the freedom 
 of them, require a more sufficient excuse. He there- 
 fore repeats a request already made that it may be 
 kept in mind that all his comments were calculated 
 for the intermediate inspection and opinion of Mr. 
 Stevenson- Many things might be offered through 
 the medium, and under the sanction, of so intimate 
 a friend to Mr* Haylej^ that would appear presuming 
 in one who had only the ambition of becoming such, 
 
 " General Burgoyne has only to throw himself 
 upon the candour of Mr, Hay ley, assuring him at 
 the same time of the most sincere respect to his pen 
 iind his character." 
 
 I liave a pleasure in producing these friendly 
 observations because, although they display in the
 
 PREFACE. XXV li. 
 
 Strongest light the primary detect ofthe original play, 
 I feel that the criticism does honor both to the head 
 and heart of the writer. Indeed all the lananacrr, 
 and all the conduct of the General, in the various 
 trouble he took to serve me on this occasion, mav be 
 justly admired as an example of that politeness, sin- 
 cerity, and benevolence with which men of letters 
 should treat each other. I hope I was not unworthy 
 of his favor : assuredly I was willing to learn, and to 
 jcorrect the faults of my composition by the kind as- 
 sistance of a censor so intelligent, and so liberal. 
 
 In writing to thank my critical friend for the 
 honour of his remarks I said to him " Had I been 
 fortunate enough to receive such remarks eighteen 
 years ago, when the play was written, I have the 
 vanity to believe, I could have rendered it what you 
 wish in adopting your admirable hint for the im- 
 provement of the catastrophe. Whether many af- 
 flictions, and much ill health may have left me 
 spirit enough to compose so bold and forcible a con- 
 clusion, as you justly require, I cannot presume to 
 say; but I feel that your animating praise inspires 
 me with a wish to deserve it, and I will certainly 
 make an attempt, which I shall be happy to submit
 
 xxviii. PREFACE, 
 
 to your decision. I think I can accomplish your 
 plan for the last act without touching any of its pre- 
 decessors, in which there seenns to be no deficiency 
 of action/* 
 
 I soon returned the tragedy to my indulgent 
 critic with another fifth act ; he not only praised 
 the manner in which I had executed the striking im 
 provement he had suggested, but endeavoured with 
 the most friendly zeal to promote the immediate re- 
 presentation of the play on the stage of Drury Lane. 
 Prior engagements of the manager rendered this im- 
 practicable, but the dramas for a private theatre, 
 which 1 had published in the spring of 1/84, had 
 procured for me some degree of influence with the 
 manager of Covent Garden. It was a singular oc- 
 currence, that as soon as I printed the dramas not 
 intended for a public stage,the managers of different 
 theatres vied with each other in eagerness to repre- 
 sent them. The late Mr. Colman exhibited Lord 
 llussell in the Hay-Market ; and when Mr. Harris, 
 >vho had also requested leave to represent Marcella, 
 was preparing to exhibit that tragedy of three acts 
 in Coveiit Garden ; his rival of Drury Lane endea- 
 voured to get the start of him and produced Marcella
 
 PREFACE. xx;x. 
 
 ■so hastily and imperfectly gut vp, to use a technical 
 phrase of th€ theatre, that he was obliged to relinquish 
 the play. This incident was imparted to me in u 
 polite and friendly billet from Mr. Harris. 
 
 That gentleman had said to me in a letter of 
 October in the same year " I shall regard it as one 
 of the most fortunate events of my life, if I can fairly 
 bring you to a determination of being a dramatic 
 author, I mean for the stage, which certainly holds 
 out much greater rewards of tame, delight, and pro^ 
 fit, than any other species of composition." 
 
 These very liberal overtures of theatrical favor 
 induced me to present Eudora in her improved state 
 to Mr. Harris. He received her in a friendly man- 
 ner, and with the most lively hopes of success. The 
 play was rehearsed in January 1790, and at one of 
 the rehearsals a pleasant and sanguine friend said to 
 me " I would ensure the success of this tragedy for 
 a china orange." The play however did not suc- 
 ceed, and I gave at the time an account of its failure 
 in a letter to an intimate friend long since deceased, 
 and as that letter was restored to me, 1 will now 
 transcribe from it what appears to me a just and can- 
 did history of the unexpected event.
 
 xxjt. PREFACE. 
 
 February 1, 1790. 
 ** For my own part I can assure you with the utmost 
 sincepfy, that I am a philosopher on this occasion, and in 
 perfect charity with all the world. I think indeed that many 
 worse tragedies than mine have succeeded, but I am by no 
 means so partial to my oivn composition, as to believe it had 
 a clear title to absolute success. The part of my heroine 
 ivas admirably played by Mrs. Pope, and $ome of the male 
 characters ivere ayditably siistained: the four first acts 
 passed with great and general applause, but in the fifth I 
 had ventured, on the suggestion of a kind and excellent, 
 critic, to introduce a very hazardous scene; the body of a 
 poisoned prince on a litter, and a priest struck with remorse 
 on being keenly questioned by Eudora in the prese?ice of this 
 apparent corse. This sjjectacle produced an effect on the 
 audience very different from what we intended. The litter 
 made a grotesque, instead of a solemn appearance ; the im^ 
 portant part of the priest was not solemnly supported, and 
 the scene zvas ivofuUy hissed. I could have changed the off 
 femive passage veri/ rapidly by substituting the scene as if 
 was originally written, but this would only have left us a 
 smooth, and too tame a fifth act, for the alio'ation tho' un- 
 fortunate, zvas, in my own opinion, a great improvement of 
 the original play, and had it been happily exhibited it woulcl 
 J think have produced the proper, successful eff^ect.
 
 PREFACE. xxxi, 
 
 " As it was, I determined to withdraw the play rather 
 than expose the Manager, ivho had been very polite and 
 friendly to me, to the chance oj thin houses, and lam pleased 
 to find that most of my friends appi'ove my conduct in this 
 ptarticular, tho some of them were so kindly jtartial to the 
 production as to believe, it would have forced itself into 
 public favor, had it not been 2vit/idra2V7i" 
 
 The play indeed, though one scene had excited 
 vehement disapprobation, was by no means abso- 
 lutely condemned in the theatre : so far from it, that 
 when I entered the breakfast room of General Bur- 
 goyne early in the morning after the representation 
 of Eudora, he exclaimed, *' I give you joy of your 
 guccess." To which I replied, " do you call such 
 a reception success, General ? it will not satisfy me ; 
 as an author on the stage I must have full and un- 
 equivocal applause or none at all ; I have withdrawn 
 the tragedy.-' "Have you indeed — I do not think 
 that was necessary, for with a little improvement in 
 the decoration, and acting of the scene, it would 
 
 have produced its proper effect yet I applaud 
 
 your spirit." To these kind expressions of the 
 General, I rephed by quoting a passage from Ovid. 
 
 *^ Careat successibus op to 
 Quisquis ab eventu facta notanda putat.'*
 
 xxxli. PREFACE. 
 
 1 have given this long and frank history of my 
 earliest tragedy in the hope, that the occurrences re- 
 lating to it may prove a useful lesson to young in- 
 genuous dramatic writers, and put them on their 
 guard against the various perils of sanguine ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 To persons who have a propensity to theatrical 
 composition, to invent and write a play is one of the 
 most delightful exercises in which imagination can 
 engage. An exercise so alluring, that it may easily 
 divert the fervent mind of youth from more profita- 
 ble studies ; and the more easily, as it seems to pro- 
 mise most ample rewards both of honor and emolu- 
 ment. When I first began to write for the stage, 
 though lucre was far from being the object of my 
 ambition, I paid no great respect to such advice, as 
 represented that employment an idle and unprofitable 
 waste of time. On the contrary, as I felt that I had 
 sufficient stores in my mind to furnish abundance 
 of dramatic compositions, I presumed that 1 might, 
 in case of such exigence, very easily derive a decent 
 income from the theatre. Had I depended for sup- 
 port on that visionary Peru of young poets, — such 
 an illusion might have been ruinous indeed, for after
 
 PREFACE. xxxVn. 
 
 writing many dramas, and enjoying the pleasure of 
 hearing several of them applauded by accomplished 
 critics, and some even extolled by managers, 1 have 
 never derived from the stage the slightest emolument. 
 Of this however I am very far from complaining; on 
 the contrary I ascribe it rather to good, than to evil 
 fortune, that J was not tempted by early, and splen- 
 did prosperity in the theatre, to relinquish all kinds 
 of composition except the dramatic. In that case 
 it is probable I should never have found leisure, and 
 opportunities to produce those more extensive per- 
 formances, which, as the public has honored them 
 with much favor, 1 may be allowed to regard as 
 satisfactory memorials of my industry. Every credit- 
 able author, who takes a retrospect over his own 
 writings, through a series of years, will probably find, 
 that their reception from the public has been some- 
 times above, and sometimes below their desert. I 
 am inclined to think this may have been the case 
 with myself, although in my literary adventures of 
 many years, I have often gratefully acknowledged 
 the indulgence and liberality of my country. Of 
 all my productions I believe my imprinted plays 
 Jiave had the hardest lot, and I therefore consider it
 
 xxiv. PREFACE. 
 
 as a point of paternal justice to present a little group 
 of the least culpable of them to the notice of that 
 public, whose general kindness I am acknowledging. 
 
 I had once some thoughts of giving such a 
 history of the origin and the destiny of each drama 
 in this collection, as I have given of Eudora ; but, as 
 my preface might thus extend to an inordinate 
 length, I will content myself with saying, they are 
 so far original, that I am not conscious of having 
 borrowed a single scene or character from any dra- 
 matic author, domestic, or foreign, and, to quote the 
 words of the high-spirited Alfieri in reviewing his 
 
 own plays '' Conchiudo quanto alia invenzione 
 
 delle presenti tragedie ch'elle potranno esser forse 
 o parere mediocri ed anche, se si vuole, cattive, ma 
 che non potranno elle mai esser guidicate non mie." 
 
 Pope said in a preface to his poems, "In this 
 ofiice of collecting nfy pieces I am altogether un- 
 certain, whether to look upon myself as a man 
 building a monument, or burying the dead/' 
 
 The latter idea may seem more properly to be- 
 long to an author, who is publishing a group of 
 dramatic pieces, that have long been suffered 
 " to lie in cold obstructiono'' .
 
 PREFACE. xxxr. 
 
 But, whether a writer of tragedy is naturally 
 more sanguine in his hopes of applause, than other 
 poets, or whether my vanity is more presumptuous 
 than that of the poetical fraternity in general, I will 
 frankly confess, that I feel an enlivening, though 
 possibly an illusive persuasion, that when this se- 
 lection of dramas is printed,some adventurous mana- 
 ger may be inclined to give a fair trial to one or two 
 of them on the stage : and scenes that have excited 
 most cordial approbation from such judges of litera- 
 ture as Burgoyne and Gibbon, may yet be rescued 
 from oblivion by the generous plaudits of an English 
 theatre, patronizing characters and sentiments not 
 ill-suited, I trust, to the meridian of England. 
 
 The reader will find that in the group of the pre- 
 sent plays I have endeavoured to give a dramatic 
 existence to one of the Cambrian bards, who fell 
 martyrs to the barbarity of Edward the first. If my 
 powers to execute that design, were but happily pro- 
 portioned to what I feel on the capabilities of the 
 subject, the tragedy entitled " The Heroine of Cam- 
 bria" could hardly fail to be popular in this country. 
 Perhaps there can be but little chance of its beingso 
 highly favored, beforelhave quitted the stage of life.
 
 E U D O R A: 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 Tantumqiie nefas patrio excidit ore ? 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 B
 
 PLRSOXS OF THE DIUMJ. 
 
 TnK King of SficH.Y. 
 
 Majon e, his prime Jli/iificr. 
 Vehixo, an old Getieral. 
 IIavmom), hts S<m. 
 
 S:CARDl. 
 
 IJaERTO^ a Fi'ifsf. 
 
 Lei.io, an Attendant of Vtrlno. 
 
 OrFiCEH. 
 
 Sold IK RS; 
 
 SERVANTS. 
 
 EuDOBA, the n fj\- (if Ilai/inond, 
 SCENK-SICILY.
 
 E U D O R A. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.^THE PJLACE. 
 
 VERIKO. {Meeting mi Officer.) 
 
 Hast thou inform'd Eudora of our triumph, 
 And will she quickly follow to the palace 
 The happiest of fathers ? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Yes, my Lord ; 
 Your lovely daughter, in a grateful transport, 
 Charg'd me to thank you for the joyous summons^ 
 Which she is hastening to obey. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 'Tis well. 
 
 (Exit Officer, 
 These blest achievements of my son, impart 
 
 B2
 
 4 EUDORA. 
 
 New being to my soul. Yet this high joy 
 Seems incomplete, till I rejoice with her, 
 Whose beauty, and whose love, inspired his valor ; 
 Whose faithful purity, and fervent prayers, 
 Have won the watchful ministers of heaven 
 To turn all evil from her fearless hero 
 In danger's darkest hour — O ! love, and joy 
 Are light of foot, and lead her swiftly to me ! 
 
 SCENE II, 
 
 VERINO, EUDORA. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Rejoice, rejoice, sweet partner of our glory ! 
 ^oon thou shalt meet thy dear victorious lord, 
 The blessing of my age, the young preserver 
 Of wasted Sicily. — He comes to pay thee 
 With love, ennobled by successful courage, 
 For all thy pains of fond anxiety. 
 
 EUDORA. ^ 
 
 My proud heart pants to fold him to itself; 
 
 To question him on all his glorious share 
 
 In this brave enterprise ; and while he speaks 
 
 Of peril hardly 'scaped, with shuddering joy 
 
 Clasp my safe hero, and devoutly pour 
 
 Tears of extatic gratitude to Heaven ! 
 
 But when, my dear Lord, when shall we behold him? 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 The Prince and Raymond arc now hastening hither 
 Prom their triumphant Camp ; eager to taste 
 The fruits of victory, and meet th* applause
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Of a deliver'd nation. All Palermo 
 Stands on the watch of joyous expectation 
 To pour its welcome to those youthful victors, 
 Who have so nobly driven, I trust for ever, 
 The Moorish spoilers from our fruitful Isle. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 It is a blest exploit ! Reward it, Heaven, 
 With long, long years of happiness and fame ! 
 
 YERINO. 
 
 The wily Moors had, by a nightly march, 
 Surprised our ardent and incautious army, 
 And gain'd the prince's tent ; his sacred blood 
 In that dread hour had issued at the stroke 
 Of midnight murder, had not Raymond then 
 Like lightning, darting through the gloomy storm, 
 Kepell'd the black assassins, and restored 
 His prince to Life, to Victory, and Honor. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 A people's thanks, and everlasting praise 
 Shall crown the noble deed. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 The generous Prince 
 Has ovvn'd the mighty debt — -He bade the camp 
 Shew choicest honors to his brave deliverer, 
 And tells the world, that he regards my son 
 As bound in closest friendship to his soul. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O may that friendship, yes ! it must, endure 
 Uninjured, undiminish'd ! the corrupt. 
 The brittle ties, that vice and follv form,
 
 6 EUDORA. 
 
 Shrink at the power of accident and time ; 
 But friendship, founded on superior virtue, 
 Unshaken stands, and like its base, immortal. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 True ! thou dear eulogist! — but hark! our Sovereign— » 
 Wilt thou retire awhile ? 
 
 (Exit Endora, 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 THE KING, MAJONE, VERINO, OFFICERS. 
 VERINO. 
 
 Still may success 
 Unwearied wait upon our Royal Master !• 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Thanks ! roy old Soldier, who from earliest days 
 With unremitted ardor hast display' d 
 Thy gallant spirit in thy sovereign's cause ! 
 1 joy, that Raymond has so well pursued 
 The bright example of thy youth, and by 
 Transcendent valor proved himself thy son. 
 
 YERINO. 
 
 Thank Heaven! my boy has not disgraced our name ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 He has preserved the honor of my crown : 
 A nation's thanks shall to the world proclaim 
 How well he has deserv'd ; and in our love 
 Next to the prince our son, henceforth we hold him.
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 VERINO, 
 
 Make him, kind Heaven ! O make liim ever worthy 
 These praises of his king ! 
 
 THE KI!^r.. 
 
 Does not thy heart, Verino, 
 Pant with impatience for the wish'd retnrn 
 Of our brave sons, in whom with pride we see 
 The glorious scenes of our past youth renewed ? 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Would they were entering glad Palermo's Gates ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Ere noon they will be here : throughout the city 
 Triumphant songs, festivity and mirth, 
 Shall speak aloud their welcome, 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 
 THE KING, MAJONE, EUDORA, YERINO, OFFICERS. 
 
 ^lUDORA. 
 
 Health, and glory, 
 Still shed their blessin^^s on my gracious liege ! 
 A Courier from the prince is just arrived : 
 Farther 1 have not learnt. 
 
 THE KING, 
 
 Thanks for thy news, 
 My gentle Fair ! — 'Go bring him to our presence ! 
 
 (Exit Officer. 
 Thou soon, Eudora, shalt behold thy Raymond 
 Adorn'd with glory equal to thy charms ;
 
 8 ElJDORA. 
 
 And be it long ere we shall call again 
 
 His ardent spirit to the field of peril 
 
 To fill thy heart with terror ! well 1 know 
 
 How quick thy tender bosom takes alarm. 
 
 And trembles, anxious for a husband's safety. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 I must confess, my liege, a woman's weakness ; 
 But tho' my frame will shudder at the thought 
 Of dangers, that my gallant Lord derides, 
 I trust I still have courage to adopt 
 His own just estimate of human blessings, 
 And hold his honor dearer than his life ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Thy mind, still better than thy matchless beauty, 
 Deserves a soldier's heart. 
 
 SCENE r. 
 
 THE KING, MAJONE, VERINO, EUDORA, SICARDI, 
 THE KING. 
 
 What from the Prince ? 
 Thy looks already have forerun thy tongue, 
 And chill'd my blood with fear : all is not well: 
 But speak, and let us hear the worst ! 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Dread Sire! 
 The shades of death seem hovering o'er the Prince ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 O eay, where I may find the hapless youth,
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 And haste to throw a father's arms around him ? 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Upon the road from Mazara, and lodged 
 Within the castle of the Count Yerino 
 I left my royal Lord ; ere my departure 
 Relentless death had more than half subdued 
 Contending nature, and I fear ere this 
 Has to the realms of endless peace consign'd 
 The people's darling, and the soldier's pride ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Isf this the triumph, which my eager soul 
 Thirsted with fond impatience to behold ! 
 But let me hear each dreadful circumstance !— 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Ere yester sun was set, the prince then warm 
 With present joy, and thoughts of future fame, 
 By chosen friends attended reach'd the castle : 
 Lord Raymond, on the wings of duteous love, 
 Had sped before him, eager to prepare 
 For the reception of his royal guest : 
 Jn sweet society and genial mirth 
 The happy evening past. The pride of conquest 
 Glowed in each breast, and shone in every eye. 
 Little 'twas thought the morrow would reverse 
 Our fairest expectations: but, ere morn. 
 Severest tortures seized the unhappy prince, 
 Convulsive pangs so shook his laboring frame. 
 That scarce the semblance of himself remained. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 What ! all the vigor of his blooming youth ! 
 AU in a moment blasted— Ob my child !
 
 10 EUDORA. 
 
 SICARDI, 
 
 The quick disease still gather*d strength, and mocked 
 The weak attempts of art. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Insatiate death ! 
 In all the battle's rage didst thou withhold 
 Thy unrelenting shaft, to wound more deeply. 
 And strike the hero in his hour of triumph ? 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 yet my liege, indulge not this despair ! 
 Nature, assisted by the strength of youth, 
 Oft throws the burden of diseases from her, 
 And is again herself. 
 
 THE KIXG. 
 
 No, no, Majone, 
 Has he not said there is no room for hope ? 
 And see a second messenger of death ! 
 
 OFFICER, (entering hastily.) 
 
 Scarce have 1 power to tell my royal master, 
 That all our hope, our joy, is now no more. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Support me gracious Heaven ! — Lead me, Majone, 
 Lead to my chamber ! — Stay — yet would I know — 
 Speak thou, Sicardi, did the power of art 
 Find no immediate cause ?— Why dost thou turn ? 
 Why shrink, unwilling to resolve my question ? 
 
 1 charge thee speak ! 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Since you command my voice,
 
 EUDOllA. 11 
 
 1 must unfold, my liege, tlie painful truth : 
 
 Jt is coufest no commou cause, uo ill, 
 
 Of all the train, which haunt the life of man 
 
 And tendbv known degrees to dissohition, 
 
 Could thus have rack'd the sutiering frame with torture 
 
 And le 1 to speedy agonizing death : 
 
 Some baleful drug, some quick prevailing poison. — 
 
 THE KI^'G. 
 
 What ! poison saidst thou ? 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 No! it cannot be : 
 Whence could proceed attempts against a life. 
 Which all confess much dearer than their own ? 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 If there's a villain, whose pernicious soul 
 
 Could form a crime of this infernal hue, 
 
 Mark him, just Heaven for my signal vengeance ! 
 
 But utter ail particulars ! — I'll hear 
 
 Thy bare suspicions ! 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 At your sacred word 
 I must perforce constrain my tongue to speak 
 What in this presence, it would lain suppress : 
 The Prince's friends, in wildness of their grief, 
 Have thrown suspicion, where there least was cause. 
 And e'en accused Lord Raymond. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Ha ! sayst thou Raymond ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Uyar and slave I 'tis false — no voice but thine
 
 12 EUDORA. 
 
 >, Had dared to sully bis illustrious name: 
 1 know thou think'st my age. — ■ 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Peace ! Peace ! Verino ; 
 Grief and distraction have o'ervvhelm'd my senses, 
 Trust me, brave veteran, if thy son be wrong'd — 
 I would, but cannot speak to thee, till time 
 Aids my crush'd faculties to bear this anguish. 
 
 (Exit, leaning on Majone, with attendants. 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 SICARDI, VERINO, EUDORA. 
 VERIKO. 
 
 " Tf he be wrong'd !" — hast thou so soon forgot 
 The debt, thou once hadst virtue to acknowledge ? 
 But 'tis affliction's privilege to speak 
 What cool reflection will disclaim — for thee, 
 Thou villian slanderer. 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Indeed, my Lord, 
 1 spake no more than duty bade me utter. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Confusion mar the organs of thy speech 
 And sense forsake tliee for thy vile aspersion ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Revered Verino, let thy daughter's voice 
 Soothe the wild tuujult of thy troubled soul !
 
 EUDOIU. 1.-5 
 
 Soon shall we see my injured Lord return, 
 And clear bis honor to the admiring world ; 
 Then let not passion thus distract my tatlicr, 
 But let his heart be still ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Be still, my daughter ! 
 Thy voice, Eudora, would as soon persuade 
 Our Etna's bursting caverns to be still, 
 When, in its gulph the fiery tempest swells. 
 Thou little know'st the niceties ot" honor ; — 
 Honor ! the wealth, the being of a Soldier ! 
 If sharpest arrows pierce the tortured flesh, 
 'Tis in the power of art to soothe its anguish, 
 And make the shattered fibres join again : 
 But tenderer honor ! if that chance to suffer, 
 E'en lightly suffer, with malicious joy 
 Envy will fret the wound, that slander gave. 
 Increase its pangs, and force it ne'er to close ! 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 I hope, my Lord, and doubt not, but Lord Raymond 
 Will make the world confess these strange suspicions 
 Have done him greatest wrong. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Villain ! tis false ; 
 I know what hopes such beings as Sicardi 
 Have harbour'd of my son — But hence ! — be gone ! 
 Away ! — thy sight is painful to my eyes. 
 And my soul sickens but to hear thy voice : 
 Hence ! and expect my vengeance ! 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Know, my Lord, 
 I am not used to brook such insolence:
 
 14 EUDORA. 
 
 But a2:e and grief claim pity more than anger, 
 And make me pardon, what I else would punisli, 
 
 {Exit, 
 
 SCENE VIL 
 
 VERINO, EUDORA. 
 VERINO. 
 
 Talk'st thou to me of pardon ? gracious Heaven ! 
 
 Why have I lived to this ? O tell me why 
 
 You suffer thus to creep on earth a wretch, 
 
 Once great in arms, now doomed to stand exposed, 
 
 VV^eak, and unable to revenge the scorn, 
 
 Which every passing coward heaps upon him ! 
 
 Pteturn ! return ! sole succour of my age ! 
 
 Return, my Son ! in whom alone I live ! 
 
 Come thou to heal the sufferings of my soul, 
 
 To throw dishonor back upon our foes. 
 
 And crush the slaves, who dare insult thy father ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Yes ! he will come, with all-enlightening virtue, 
 Come, to confound the dark designs of falsehood. 
 And bid our troubled hearts revive a2,ain. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 I think he will, Eudora ! but alas ! 
 
 Now that the [iercevfit of rage has left me. 
 
 Distracting thoughts rush in upon my mind : 
 
 The Prince, wdiose loss [ feel with truest sorrow, 
 
 Dead on the sudden ! — under Raymond's roof! — > 
 
 O, if ambition — if the lust of power, 
 
 Could have so far — No ! no ! 1 will not think it ; — 
 
 Yet whence could this
 
 EUDORA. 15 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O my most honov'd Father, 
 Let not the trouble of your soul so tar 
 O'ervvhelm your reason, as to make you doubt 
 
 Of things impossible. 
 
 VERIZiO. 
 
 Impossible ! 
 Thou well, my child, mayst call impossible, 
 What to thy nature must appear most strange ; 
 Thou ne'er hast felt but gentle, fond desires; 
 Softness beyond thy sex, unclouded truth, 
 And sweet serenity of soul are thine : 
 Hence little knowst thou of the miind of man, 
 That wild, tempestuous, ever-shifting scene. 
 Where noblest faculties oft only serve 
 To minister to vice — where the fierce shock 
 Of lawless thoughts and turbulent desires 
 Will oft destroy the fairest plans of action, 
 By virtue form'd, and ratified by reason, 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Tho' little read in knowledge of mankind, 
 1 know the heart, the inmost soul of Raymond 
 Incapable of ill, and true to honor; 
 His passions swell not to a wild excess, 
 And combat only on the side of virtue. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 There, there, dear daughter, is my sole support; 
 Could I believe — .no ! thou hast rightly said ; 
 It is impossible: and I have injured 
 My generous boy in doubting but a moment. — • 
 Struck by the lustre of superior truth
 
 16 EUDORA. 
 
 The King shall own that they have basely wrong'd 
 
 him : 
 Our country too, if she can be deceived. 
 Shall soon repent the error, and behold, 
 With conscious pride, her young deliverer 
 Shine forth again with undiminished glory. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT.
 
 eudoha. 17 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 MAJONE, SICARDI. 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Thanks, thou excelling minister of vengeance ! 
 How was the happy fraud at first received ? 
 How did they credit him, who dared accuse 
 Their new raised idol, Raymond ? 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 O my Lord, 
 Our sanctified Uberto has the power 
 To work still greater wonders — as I live, 
 I think he holds the popular opinion 
 But as his puppet ; for unseen he guides it, 
 Ajid to his purpose gives it voice and action* 
 
 C
 
 18 EUDORA. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 He is a creature of most deep devices, 
 And exquisite hypocrisy : but wanting- 
 Thy heart, Sicardi, he excites my doubts : 
 I wish we could have spared his services, 
 Important as they are. 
 
 SICARDr. 
 
 Iiripossibk*, 
 My noble Lord — consider but his ofiice ! 
 He as the Prince's confessor must watch 
 His closing lite, and 
 
 MAJOXE. 
 
 1 know it — this assoc ate 
 Was needful to us — he is firmly ours; 
 And yet my heart forebodes some evil frc m him. 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Dismiss your fears, since all his hopes of fortune 
 Must rise and fall with your prosperity ! 
 Remember too, how far we stand indebted 
 To his rare chymic skill! his hand prepared 
 The drug of subtlest potency, that ended 
 Your enemy's existence. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 You beheld 
 
 Its forceful agency .' 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 My lord, I did ; 
 And finding its efTect most ra})id, flew 
 To bring you the great tidings, while Uberto 
 E^ierts his priestly arts to make the people
 
 EUDORA. 1.9 
 
 Believe the Prince's death the deed of Raymond. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 'Tis well Sicardi; hut we must not trust 
 That shifting- sand, the popular opinion ; 
 AVhile yet our story holds in wild amaze 
 The gaping vulgar, we must try, my friend, 
 To make suspicion wear the face of proof. 
 1 and Yerino have this morn exchanged 
 Mutual professions of sincerest friendship, 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Will not Verino, or his wary son 
 Suspect a rival's friendship? 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 'Tis the curse 
 Of fools to hold suspicion a dishonor. 
 1 will persuade him, that some unknown foe 
 Misguides the afflicted King, who threatens Raymond 
 With all, that vengeance can inflict upon him. 
 Yerino's pride will kindle at the thought. 
 And madly drive him to some desperate deed, 
 Which, having sunk them in theKing's esteem, 
 O'ervvhelms at once the father and the son. 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 iTour soul, my Lord, was surely form'd for empire, 
 And smiling fortune leads you to that grandeur, 
 Which nature seemed to claim for you, in framing 
 Your princely faculties, 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 At length, my friend 
 My happier genius has begun to triumph—' 
 
 C2
 
 20 EUDORA. 
 
 Now it exerts its power. There vras a time 
 When abject passion, when a foolish girl, 
 Encrross'd my every thought, and held my uiind 
 Knslaved, enervated. Thanks to her folly! 
 Eudora soon dipell'd the weak illusion. 
 My soul awaking from that idle dream. 
 Rose, with new vigor, to the warm pursuit 
 Of sovereign greatness. 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 The Sicilian sceptre, 
 Now sinking from the palsied hand of age, 
 Shall soon be given to thy superior guidance, 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Yes my Sicardi, by the prince's fall, 
 
 The paths of empire open to my view, 
 
 Clear of obstruction — but th^ sweets of yersjeance, 
 
 \ engeance alone demands our present care : 
 
 Thou shalt repent thee of thy simple choice, 
 
 Ill-judging girl! O how my heart will swell 
 
 With the proud triumph of revenge — to see thee 
 
 Weep o'er the fallen minion of thy wishes. 
 
 And curse thy abject fate ! but hence, Sicardi^ 
 
 I must with keen attendance watch the King, 
 
 Work to a storm his undecided passions 
 
 And teach the bursting tempest where to fall ! • 
 
 {Exit tSicanli. 
 
 Now fair deceit 
 Inspire my tongue, and let my clamorous sorrow 
 Assume the semblance of a generous zeal !
 
 EUDORA. 21 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 THE KING, MAJONE, 
 
 THE KIN G, (entering. ) 
 
 Where, where, Majone is a Prince secure, 
 If all the blooming- loveliness of youth 
 Crown'd with a mind benevolent as Heaven, 
 Can perish thus by treason ? — O had I 
 Been born the humble lord of some poor cottage, 
 1 had preserv'd my darling' child in peace. 
 Now I've no comfort. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 O my royal master 
 T luv'd the prince, e'en as a father lov'd him, 
 And feel the sharpness of a father's sorrow ; 
 Tis not within the power of art to make 
 Such woes seem light, or soothe the troubled mind 
 To calm oblivion of a loss like this ! 
 Yet there is vengeance; — vengeance can unbind. 
 The charm of grief, and o'er the fading cheek 
 Of cold affliction spread a smile of joy. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Could r with justice but revenge my son, 
 
 I think Majone, it would ease my soul 
 
 Of half the burden, that now weighs me down : 
 
 But ne'er, O ne'er let my misguided vengeance 
 
 Rashly condemn the innocent to bleed ! 
 
 MAJONE. . 
 
 Heaven sliicld the innocent ! but shall our pride
 
 22 EUDORA. 
 
 Onr empire's dear delight be ravish'd from us, — 
 Shall the brave youth, who fought his country's battles. 
 Untimely fall, by blackest treason fall, 
 And perish unreveng'd ? — O had the wretch. 
 Whose treacherous heart could plan so base a deed. 
 Been born my brother, had he long been bound 
 In closest ties of friendship to my soul. 
 This hellish act would cancel every bond. 
 And I would drag him to the stroke of justice. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 My kind Majone! well I know thy love 
 Is warm and zealous to revenge thy master : 
 Thou dost not think that Raymond can be guilty. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 I would not think it — but alas ! my liege, 
 
 The lust of empire in the youthful mind 
 
 Can burst the ties of gratitude and honor, 
 
 And dare, beyond what honest men can think; 
 
 I've heard but now, that two of Raymond's train 
 
 Have publicly disclosed the dreadful deed 
 
 And proved their master's guilt — this may be false. 
 
 So do I hope, and so believe it is ; 
 
 Yet while he stands accused, 'twere due respect 
 
 To that dear youth, whose memory I doat on. 
 
 To hold Lord Raymond prisoner, but so slightly^ 
 
 As least may hurt his freedom and his fame. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Thou counsel'st well, Majone, but alas 
 This bitter trial has o'erpowered thy master ! 
 My soul has lost its strength, and wearied life 
 Js hastening to its close: yet would 1 live 
 ^o see the hour of vengeance. — ^'Tis from thee.,
 
 EUDORA. 23 
 
 From thee, my good Majone, I expect it : 
 My power be thine, and whosoe'er he be, 
 Tho' all the ministers of darkness hide him. 
 Produce the villain with such damning proof 
 That justice cannot pause ! grant me but this, 
 And 1 will bow me to the will of Heaven, 
 Adore its mercies; and then die content. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 MAJONE, (alone.) 
 
 Thanks easy dotard ! thou dost well to yield 
 Thy felling sceptre to an abler hand ! 
 Majone prospers : — Be thyself my soul, 
 Nor let weak scruples mar thy towering thoughts! 
 The noble end gives sanction to the means. 
 And all, that leads to greatness, must be great; 
 Thou shalt be mine ; Thou ! that alone art worth 
 "The wishes of a man, unbounded power ! 
 Thou ! at whose nod the sons of earth submit, 
 Wisdom grows mute, and beauty yields her pride. 
 
 (Exif. 
 
 SCENE IF, 
 
 RAYMOND^ EUDORA. 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Alas ! Eudora, 'twas not thus I wish'd 
 
 To meet thv kind embraces ; 'twas not thus
 
 24 EUDORA. 
 
 I thought to pay thee for the restless hours 
 Of tedious absence. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Thou art still the same, 
 Still rich in virtue, and unrivall'd honor. 
 Dear to my soul, fnv dearer than when first 
 I fondly lisren'd to thy tender vows, 
 And holy marriage made me thine for ever, 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Will not thy heart, will not thy spotless soul. 
 
 So nobly great, and shrined in such a form, 
 
 Kings might be proud to share their empire with thee, 
 
 Will it not mourn its melancholy lot 
 
 Joined to a wretch, and wedded to dishonor ? 
 
 EC DORA. 
 
 Canst thou; my Raymond, so unkindly question ? 
 G had thy nature, (which it ne'er could be) 
 Had it been led from virtue's sacred paths. 
 Had some wild start of frenzy, or ambition 
 Plung'd thee, unthinking, in a crime so great, 
 Could I in misery, in guilt, forsake thee ? 
 No ! Raymond, no ! when thy repentant soul. 
 As soon it must, had seen its fatal error, 
 I should have echoed sigh to thee for sigh ; 
 I should have watched thee weeping, till our tears 
 With mingled streams had wash'd out the offence, 
 'Till Heaven with mercy had beheld our sorrows, 
 And healed thy wounded spirit with forgiveness. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 O thou most perfect ! best beloved of women \
 
 EUDORA. 25 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Yet, my dear Lord, I see thy troubled mind : 
 O let me soothe it ! let me pour the halm 
 Of love into the wound, teach thee secure 
 Jn conscious virtue, to deride the malice 
 Of rancorous envy, to despise its arts, 
 Nor feel oppressed by phantoms of dishonor ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 No ! I am blest in thee, thou purest joy 1 
 Thou richest treasure ; thou divinest good, 
 That gracious Heaven, in fulness of its l)ounty. 
 E'er deigned to shed upon the sons of men ! 
 Yet must our hearts lament the royal youth. 
 Whose hovering spirit calls aloud on me 
 To avenge his murder. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Has thy friendly zeal 
 Unmasked the close assassin ? 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Heaven forgive me. 
 If my surmises wrong? a troubled mind 
 As guiltless as my own — but 1 have seen 
 Those signs of hurry, fear, and purterbation 
 In the o'erbusy Priest, that 
 
 VERINO. (ivithin.) 
 
 Where is my Soldier, whose ungrateful country 
 Pays him for its security and fame 
 With all the indignities of vile suspicion ? 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Hark! mv father!
 
 26 EUDORA. 
 
 I strongly wish, yet almost dread to meet him. 
 
 Leave me, my life, but for a few short minutes, 
 
 To calm his trouble ; and I then will fly 
 
 To the soft bosom of my dear Eudora, 
 
 Whose love is honor, and whose words are peace ! 
 
 (Ea'U Eudora, 
 SCENE F, 
 
 RAYMOND, VERINO. 
 
 VERINO, (entering.) 
 
 O my brave son ! come to thy father's arms, 
 And pour thy spirit in this aged heart ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 ]My lord ! my father ! tis to yoii I owe 
 The little value, which your son can boast ; 
 To you, as to its judge, my grateful heart 
 Has ever bowed ; each action of my life 
 Has ta'en its color from your voice alone ; 
 Fame was imperfect, till confirmed by you : 
 And what is slander, which i/ou disbelieve ? 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Shame to the wretch, who can behold thee Raymond. 
 And think thou art a villain ; but my son, 
 What strange mysterious troubles hover o'er thee! 
 Whence are these wonders ? and what murd'rous hand 
 Has ta'en the prince's life, and aims at thine ?
 
 EUDORA. 27 
 
 Tell me, my son, how far thine eyes hav^ pierced 
 Into this scene of darkness ! 
 
 SCEN£; VI, 
 
 VERINO, RAYMOND, OFFICER WITH GUARDS- 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Pray my lord 
 
 Forgive the unwilling messenger of ill ! 
 
 I have strict orders to arrest Lord Raymond, 
 
 And bear him instantly to close confinement. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 By Heaven it shall not be : Old as I am, 
 I will not tamely see my child destroyed 
 By the base arts of deep designing villains. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 My noble father, moderate your rage ! 
 
 It is a soldier's glory to obey ; 
 
 Were each man injured, to indulge his wrath. 
 
 And madly dare to be his own avenger, 
 
 The beauteous chain of order would be brokea ; 
 
 And horrid anarchy o'erturn the world. 
 
 For me, I hold it cowardice to doubt 
 
 The justice of my king, and freely pardon 
 
 This harsh command to his afflicted age ! 
 
 Sir 1 obey. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 I am reproved, my Raymond, 
 Pfirdon, thou gallant youth, thy father's frenzy !
 
 2& EUDORA. 
 
 And be the weakness of my soul forgotten 
 In the bright blaze of thy superior virtue ! 
 
 SCENE rii. 
 
 MAJONE, VERINO, RAYMOND, OFFICER, &C. 
 
 MAJONE, (mtering hastily.) 
 
 I come, Verino, as your friend, I come, 
 
 In just compassion to your suffering age, 
 
 And that brave youth, whose fame is basely wronged, 
 
 To warn you of the dangers that await you : 
 
 Have you received the king's commands? a fate 
 
 More horribly severe attends your son : 
 
 But these are matters for your private ear, 
 
 And claim your deepest thought — we must retire, 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 My Lord, my orders were — 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Sir, I attend you : 
 Be comforted my Father, for thy son 
 Is armed for every exigence, 
 
 TERINO. 
 
 Farewell, 
 Best portion of my being ! 
 
 (Exit with Majane.
 
 EUDORA. 29 
 
 SCENE VJIL 
 
 RAYMOND, OFFICER AND GUARDS, 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Thou, firm power, 
 Thou, Innocence, bright guardian of the soul ! 
 Thou shalt support me still — thy chearing aid 
 Can make my dungeon luminous, or take 
 The stings of anguish from ignoble death ! 
 
 END OF THE gJgCOND ACT»
 
 30 EUDORA. 
 
 ACT IIL 
 
 SC£A^E I.~A PRISOX. 
 
 MAJONE, SICARDI. 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Most Ibrtunate prevention ! had Verino 
 Once gained admittance to the troubled King, 
 His grief, his age, and proofs of service past, 
 Might have destroyed our hopes, and cancelled all 
 The King's suspicions on the guilt of Raymond ! 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 It might Sicardi ; had not my precaution 
 Rendered such interview impossible. 
 O had you seen the proud old man repulsed 
 Grief, disappointment, anger, and despair 
 Convulsed his shattered frame. — Homeward at length 
 His servants bore him, overwhelm'd with ra2:e.
 
 EUDORA. 31 
 
 And wanting power to threaten, or com plain : 
 Soon as reviving nature gives him strength, 
 Hither I know he'll hasten to his son, 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Would you then meet him here ? 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 He shall not find me ; 
 I came to place — but be it now thy care ! 
 Find me some trusty soldier, who may watch 
 The son and father when they next shall meet, 
 And bring me instant tidings of their purpose. 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 I fly, my Lord, to execute your wish. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Stay, my Sicardil I would have a letter 
 Despatched to Raymond from a friend unknown, 
 To heighten still their fear, and further urge them 
 To deeds of desperation — 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 I, my Lord, 
 Live but to aid your great designs. 
 
 MAJONB. 
 
 My friend, 
 Prepare to reap, with me, the golden fruit! 
 Yet is our plan imperfect, till our arts 
 Can lead the King, by glaring marks of guilt. 
 To order Raymond to immediate death. 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 And sudden it must be; suspicion else
 
 S2 EUDORA. 
 
 May fire the troops, nho worship as their idols 
 Vcrino, and his son . 
 
 MAJOXE. 
 
 Thou sayst, Sicardi 
 Raymond oft quitted tiie expiring prince — 
 
 srCAUDI. 
 
 Yes, my dear Lord, unable to support 
 That scene ot" agony, and pressed, I think, 
 To leave the chamber, by the calm Uberto, 
 Who wished not such a witness of the scene. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 The priest did wisely — 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 Yet perchance, my Lord, 
 Raymond w-as present at the latest pang ; 
 For oft he would return, and oft retire 
 Unable to assist the shrieking youth, 
 Before whose final moment, my quick zeal 
 Had brought me to your lordship. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 'Tis no matter; 
 His frequent absence from the dying boy 
 Will answer my design: — Canst thou not forge 
 A scroll, short, incoherent, and confused? 
 Broken by pain, and dictated in death ? 
 Such from the Prince? — but haste, my good Sicardi, 
 Dispose our sentinel, and meet thy friend 
 Where more securely we may join our counsels; 
 And, like the unseen spirits of destruction, 
 From thickest clouds send forth our secret shafts, 
 Strike our blind foes, and triumph in their fall.
 
 EUDORA. 33 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 RAY3I0ND, (entering) 
 
 Amid the tumults of tempestuous life, 
 
 Tho' strange events confound the wond'ring mind, 
 
 Thou, virtue, art unmoved ! How should 1 joy 
 
 To quit this troubled serene, but that thy voice 
 
 Forbids the thought, and whispers to my soul 
 
 Its task is unperformed! O thou blest spirit! 
 
 Thou murdered friend, whose blood is charged on him 
 
 Who would have bought thy being with his own! 
 
 Support, inspire nie, and instruct thy Raymond 
 
 flow best to satisfy thy injured shade ! 
 
 (Raymond retires to the farther part of the Stage.) 
 
 SCENE IlL 
 
 tERINO. (entering) 
 
 Is this a mansion for Verino's son ? 
 
 And menaced with the rack ! — -hold, reason, hold ! 
 
 SCENE IK 
 
 YERINp, RAYMOND, 
 
 RAYMOND, (coming forward.) 
 
 My noble father, welcome to thy son ! 
 Still have I from my earliest years enjoyed
 
 34 EUDOUA. 
 
 Thy tenderest care, and still my grateful soul 
 Has souglit thy praise, and gloried in thy love. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Thou hast, my Raymond, thou excelling youth ! 
 
 Joy of thy old fond father! but, alas ! 
 
 I come not now, as in our happier days, 
 
 To pour a warrior's spirit in thy breast, 
 
 To fire thy soul, and point the way to fame : 
 
 1 come, my child, the messenger of horror ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 speak, ray Lord ! whatever fate be mine, 
 'Twill yet be pleasure to a mind oppressed 
 To learn that fate from you. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Couldst thou believe, 
 The King rejects me! — has refused to see 
 The loyal servant, who, with truth unshaken, 
 Thro' the long course of no inglorious life, 
 Has fought his battles, and upheld his power. 
 He has denied me, what a slave might challenge, 
 The privilege to speak, and dooms my child 
 To infamy and torture. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Then no more 
 Must Raymond hope to see his Prince revenged. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 1 still have friends, have honest valiant friends, 
 Who yet shall save us from that scene of horror : 
 The generous spirits, who at my command 
 Have rushed to conquest, will defend that virtue
 
 EUDORA, 35 
 
 W hich led them on to glory ! They will join 
 In brave resentment with an injured father. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 O ! let me die in agonies more fierce 
 Than nature e'er endured, rather than lead 
 My honored father to forget his duty ; 
 To stain the glories of a life welj spent, 
 And perish in rebellion ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Not preserve thee ! , 
 Not save thee from the rack ! am I a father ? 
 Can I be deaf to nature, when she bids me 
 Obey her strongest law, and haste to guard 
 My darling child from ignominious death ? 
 From that ungrateful, that unworthy King. — 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 He was a father too : and mourns a child, 
 
 Whose virtues charmed the world — ^perhaps already 
 
 He has condemned his own too easy faith, 
 
 Which wronged your son : ere now perhaps he seek^ 
 
 To sooth his sorrows with your faithful counsel. 
 
 And Calls for comfort on his friend Verino ! 
 
 Enter an OFFlCER» 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 I have engaged at hazard of my life, 
 
 To give this letter to Lord Raymond's hand \ 
 
 D2
 
 :u; KUDORA. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 What means, my Raymond, this mysterious paper? 
 
 RAYMOND reads 
 
 The King, misguided by thy bitterest foes, 
 i3eheves ihee guilty ; and resolves by torture 
 To force thee to confession : still they fear. 
 Lest the wronged army should demand its idol * 
 Hence 'tis decreed securely in thy prison, 
 This night to execute their horrid purpose. 
 If yet thou canst, regard this friendly warning. 
 And tly to join a numerous band, who wait thee 
 With anxious aidor, and a fixed resolve 
 To guard thy life, or perish in thy cause ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Wilt thou not listen to the noble call 
 
 Of generous friendship ? not attempt to fly 
 
 From deatli, from shanje, from torture ? 
 
 RAYxVIOND. 
 
 No ! my Father ; 
 If I must die ; I doubt not but hereafter, 
 Time, who ne'er fails, tljo' slow, to draw the veil 
 From truth's bright image, will inform the world, 
 And do full Justice to my injured honor. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 And shall these eyes, that have beheld thy triumphs, 
 That from thy childhood to this tntal hour 
 Have gazed with transport on thee, shall they see 
 Thy graceful form with agony distorted, 
 
 And lost in blood and horror ? 
 
 Perhaps, my Raymond, when convulsive anguish 
 Writhes thy torn limbs, and nature sinks beneath it,
 
 EUDORA. 37 
 
 Perhaps thy lips may speak — thou knowst not what — 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 If to ourselves our strength be known, my mind 
 
 Is proof *,2:ai list every pan*:^ : But thou, my father. 
 
 Thou shalt not suffer, not a moment suffer 
 
 A fear so deadly to a a heart like thine : 
 
 No ! take my dagger, and by one kind blow 
 
 Anticipate, elude the shameful sentence! 
 
 So thou shalt 'scape the horrid scene, whose image* 
 
 Thus harrows up thy soul ; so shall thy son, 
 
 Unlike a criminal, and worthy thee. 
 
 Yield his last breath with pleasure in thy sight, 
 
 And bless the hand, that saves him from disgrace. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 By Heaven *tis well : — thy spirit has awaked 
 
 New powers within my soul : Yes ! noble youth \ 
 
 Since cruel destiny alike denies thee 
 
 To live Avith honor, or with brave revenge 
 
 To fall, as suits a soldier, in the field, 
 
 I will defeat the malice of our foes ; 
 
 I will, tho' nature shudders at the thought, 
 
 I will preserve thee from 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Behold my breast. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 And can this arm, that in thy tender years 
 So oft, wjth exquisite delight has borne thee, 
 Proud of its little charge — ^can it forget, 
 That heaven ordained it to protect thy being, 
 Not shed thy blood ! — what would thy mother say, 
 Had death not saved her from this dreadful hour?
 
 38 EUDORA. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 she could never, never poorly wish 
 
 Her son should linger out a few sad moments 
 To die dishonoured. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 No ! thou shalt not be so — ; 
 Be firm my heart ! be firm ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Strike ! strike, my Father ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 *Tis but a blow, and thou art placed beyond 
 The grasp of power ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Complete thy generous purpose t 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 1 will, I will O Heaven ! and has the grave- 
 Stay, blessed spirit ! yet a moment stay !— » 
 Gone ! Vanished ! — O ! — • 
 
 RAYMONp. 
 
 What would my father ? speak '^ 
 VVlience is this wild amazement in thine eyes ! 
 This perturbation I — 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Sawst thou not thy mother ? 
 Her troubled spirit shot in anger by ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 ISolieve me, sir, 'tis idle mockery all !
 
 EUDORA. S9 
 
 The mere creation of a mind disordered ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 It may, it must be so : — but the sad image 
 Has withered all my little strength : — This hand, 
 This faltering hand, as soon could force a passage 
 To the dark centre of the earth — as wound 
 The bosom of my child. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Then let me aid 
 That failing arm, unequal to thy soul ; , 
 Give me the das:o:er ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Though my heart be frozen, 
 I will deliver thee. Not shed thy blood, 
 I cannot that — nor see my slaughtered boy 
 Expiring at my feet : yet I will free thee — • 
 A friendly poison — aye — without a pang ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 I will receive it as the dearest gift 
 Of a kind father's love. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Farewell ! farewell ! 
 No racks— no tortures — no disgraceful death 
 No— -our inhuman foes— they shall not triumph 
 Pride of my soul ! they shall not — no my child, 
 I fly to set thee fr#e — farewell for ever. 
 
 (Exit,
 
 40 EUDORA. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 RAYMOND, nlone. 
 
 Yes ! thou sure end of sorrow ! friendly refuge 
 From persecution, tyranny, and pain ! 
 I will embrace thee, death ! will eager rush 
 To thy protecting shade, since hope no more 
 Can give to fading life those flattering colours, 
 Which please, tho' false, and cheat us into joy. 
 My dreams are vanished, my delusive dreams 
 Of future years ! all pregnant with delight, 
 And sweet connubial love ! for I must leave thee, 
 Leave thee defenceless in this world of trouble, 
 Thou lovely partner of my faithful heart ! 
 Yet ere my lingering soul is severed from Ihee, 
 I fain would press thee with a dying hand, 
 Leave on thy lips one parting kiss, and yield 
 My latest breath in fervent prayers, that Heaven 
 May sooth the sufferings of my loved Eudora. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 RAYMOND, EUDORA. 
 
 EUDORA, entering. 
 
 My Lord ! my husband ! take me to thy arms, 
 And let us part no more ! but let me still 
 Thro' every fortune be thy dear companion ! 
 Now, as 1 entered here, I thought 1 heard. 
 Or love deceived me with a fancied sound, 
 Thy lips pronounce my name.
 
 EUDORA. 41 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Thou heardst ariglit, 
 Thou, ever present to my constant mind ! 
 Tho* deepest horrors, shame, and death, and anguish 
 Press me on every side, still is thy image 
 Fir<5t in my thoughts, and nearest to my soul. 
 I wish ic tell thee, — -but, by Heaven, 1 cannot — 
 How shall 1 ivfach my tongue to wound thine ear 
 With such a tale ? 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 What ! has infernal falsehood 
 Reached thy dear life ? 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Thy fears too well inform thee: 
 Yes ! I must die — if, ye almighty powers. 
 If ye regard the prayer, the righteous prayer 
 Of innocence oppressed, O hear me now ! 
 For every il^which you have heaped on me. 
 Pour down a blessing on this beauteous head, 
 Let not affliction — 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Think, yet think my Lord, 
 Canst thou not 'scape from these detested walls ? 
 Canst thou not fly unseen ? O 1 will follow thee 
 Thro* every peril, to the utmost verge 
 Of this wide earth ; to some far happier clime. 
 Unstained by falsehood, and to guilt unknown. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Vain is thy matchless tenderness and love : 
 O ! I must tell thee all — my open soul
 
 42 EUDORA. 
 
 Can never hide a single thought from thee, 
 ]}ut summon all thy fortitude, I pray thee, 
 And hear it like thyself! E'en now, my father 
 Distracted told me, that the king misled. 
 Dooms me to death— 'tis said, that in my prison 
 This night, the rack — 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O tyranny accurst ! 
 Distraction ! horror ! what thy limbs be torn ! 
 Thou, thou endure the torture ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Never, never ! 
 Banish the dreadful image from thy fancy. 
 We are prepared against it. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Tell me Raymond ! 
 
 A SERVANT, entering, 
 ^ly Lord Verino sends 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Enough ! my friend, 
 1 know thy nipssage : give me what thou bring'st, 
 And say in answer to my noble father, 
 I bless him for a thousand proofs of kindness, 
 But chiefly for the last. 
 
 (Exit Servant t 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O speak, my Raymond,
 
 EUDORA. 43 
 
 ]Explaiii these horrid mysteries, while yet 
 
 My reason holds, and I have sense to hear thee ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Compose this wild emotion of thy soul ! 
 
 Thou shalt not see me sunk to the condition 
 
 Of vilest criminals, and made a prey 
 
 To the stern ministers of blood and torture : 
 
 My father's love has armed me well against them ; 
 
 I wait, Eydora, but to take a long, 
 
 A last farewell of thee, and then my soul. 
 
 Enfranchised by this friendly drug, shall soar 
 
 ^peyond oppression, and elude its power. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Must thou destroy thyself? think what it is 
 To die unbidden ! to throw off obedience. 
 And in defiance of divine command, 
 Rush to the presence of offended Heaven ! 
 Thus humbly on my knees let me entreat thee 
 To weigh the rash design I 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Can my Eudora 
 Be thus unmindful of her husband's honor ? 
 Can she, with tears, entreat him to preserve 
 A few sad moments of precarious life 
 To die disgraced, in agony and shame ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O witness, Heaven ! that I have ever prized 
 Thy honor as thy life ! — they both may yet 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Thy pTicf, my love, o'erwhelms thy troubled reason :
 
 44 fiUDORA. 
 
 Life stands no longer in thy husband's choice: 
 I die to shun dishonorable death ; 
 Tije rack's prepared — no power — - 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Yes, Raymond, yes I 
 There is a power: that all-protecting hand, 
 Which oft has saved thee in the rage of battle. 
 And turned the uplifted falchion from thy head, 
 May still preserve thee. I conjure thee, do not 
 Resign that hope ! do not, by blindly yielding 
 To fierce despair, distract thy wretched wife, 
 Forsake thy children ; and distrust thy God ! 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 1 must not hear thee, for thy pleasing voice 
 Has known so long the passage to my soul, 
 That it may steal on my unguarded reason. 
 And lead me to forget the call of honor, 
 The expectations of a generous father. 
 He saw me doomed to infamy and torture, 
 And sends me freedom ; shall he hear that I, 
 In weak compliance with a woman's tears. 
 Dare not embrace the remedy he gives } 
 Shall he despise me for an abject coward ? 
 Despise the son, whom yet he fondly thinks 
 Firm like himself, and resolutely brave ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O Raymond, say ! what is it to be brave ? 
 'Tis, to maintain the glorious cause of truth ; 
 To fear not man ; but, strong in conscious virtue, 
 And the protection of approving Heaven, 
 To stand unshaken in the sternest hour 
 That puts to proof the temper of his souL
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Vyy Heaven, thy words have changed my every sense. 
 
 And thou appearst to my enlightened eyes 
 
 A guardian angel, speaking with a voice 
 
 Of eloquence divine ; inspired by thee. 
 
 And surely thou art virtue's self, my soul 
 
 Shall quit its hasty purpose — -Thou hast armed mq 
 
 With nobler courage — 1 can now despise. 
 
 And calmly meet the terrors of my fate. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O blessed change ! illusion now has left 
 Thy noble mind ; thou art thyself again : 
 ?5ome Heavenly spirit checks my rising fears. 
 And whispers to me, we shall yet be happy : 
 \^(iX let me haste, nor lose these precious moments; 
 Til force admittance to our royal master, 
 Will set thy innocence, thy worth before him, 
 And visit thee again with lite and honor ! 
 
 £xit JEludora. 
 
 EN© OF TH£ TtiXBD Atl'V
 
 46 EUDORA* 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE L—THE PALACE. 
 
 'MA J ONE, (alone.) 
 
 The King will soon regard this awful paper, 
 (Thanks to the cunning of Sicardi's hand !) 
 As the last prayer of his expiring son, 
 And Raymond dies ; my hated rival, dies. 
 And falling, leaves my path to sovereign power 
 Free from its worst impediment. 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 MAJONE, SICARDI. 
 
 5ICARDI, (entering hastily.) 
 
 My Lond ! 
 J bring you tidings, that surpass the reach
 
 EUDORA. 47 
 
 Of warmest expectation. Blind Verino, 
 Wild with despair, and dread of public shame, 
 To save his son from a disgraceful death, 
 Has given him poison. 
 
 MAJOXE. 
 
 • By our hopes 'tis great : 
 
 Fate seems to labor to fulfil my wishes, 
 And when in thought 1 seal my rival's death, 
 To aid my great designs, obedient nature 
 Cancels her strongest law, and arms for me 
 A father's hasty hand to kill his child ; 
 On him then be the blood ! But say ! did Raymond 
 Yield such exact obedience to Verino 
 As not to hesitate ? 
 
 SlCARDl. 
 
 That is, my Lord, 
 What I am yet to learn : the trusty spy. 
 Whom I had stationed to observe their purpose. 
 Heard Ions: discourse, but soon as he informed me 
 Of this its desperate issue, 1 in haste 
 Flew to apprise you of this great event, 
 Kre you could shew that paper to the King, 
 Which now 'tis better to conceal. 
 
 MA J ONE. 
 
 'Tis true : 
 Ere Raymond's death be known, I will appear, 
 His warmest advocate ; so shall I keep 
 The secret motions of my heart disguised. 
 And 'scape that vengeance, which I else might fear 
 From those, who may lament him. 
 
 8ICARDI. 
 
 ^iark I my Lor4^
 
 43 EUDORA. 
 
 A sound of tumtiltl 
 
 GUARDS, (behind the scene) 
 No ! you must not pass. 
 
 EUDORA, (behind the scene*) 
 
 Do not ibrbid aftliction to appear 
 Where justice dwells ! 
 
 maj6ne. 
 
 It is Eudora's voice : 
 She comes, unknowing of her husband*s fate, 
 To supplicate the King : I could not wish 
 A better witness of the zeal I meari 
 To shew for Raymond's life: retire my friend. 
 And keep a w-atchful eye upon Verino. 
 
 (Exit Sicardi, 
 SCENE III. 
 
 MAJONE, EUDORA entering with l.'£.\.\0, and OXHZ^y. 
 
 ATTENDANTS. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 ilow hard the heart of that unfeeling wretch, 
 Who strives to banish from the ear of power 
 The plaintive cries of innocence oppressed \ 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Tia not in cruelty itself to baf
 
 EUDORA. 49 
 
 Eudora's passive : Beauty of such lustre 
 Shining thro' tears, and k)vely in atiliction. 
 Might force o')edience fro^n a ruthless savage. 
 The King, whose presence [ am here expecting, 
 Will surely yield to yoiir resistless prayers, 
 And clear the honor of your injured Lord, 
 But see! our Sovereign comes ! 
 
 SC£:]VE IF. 
 
 T^E KING, MAJONE, EUDORA, LELIO, and OTHER 
 ATTENDANTS. 
 
 THE KING, (entering.) 
 Eudora here ! 
 
 ECJDORA. 
 
 do not turn, my gracious liege, from her 
 Who once was happy in your royal favor ! 
 
 1 come, an humble suppliant, to implore 
 The blessed spirit of impartial justice, 
 Whose throne is in the bosom of my King, 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 I grieve to find my sorrows must receive 
 Increase from thine ; full well Eudora knows 
 That I have looked on her as on my daughter ; 
 That 1 was fondly pleased to see her wedded 
 To an aspiring youth, whom once I thought 
 Surpassing all in loyalty and honor. 
 
 Jlm.
 
 so EUDORA. 
 
 KUDORA. 
 
 O think so still ! believe me, while 1 swear 
 
 By Heaven's all-seeing power, that not a thought 
 
 Of base ingratitude, or blind anilfition. 
 
 Has stained the virtues, which you once admired : 
 
 That Raymond bears, thus injured as he is, 
 
 A mind as spotless, and a heart as loyah 
 
 As Sicily can boast. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 I am persuaded 
 Thou think'st soof him, and I would to Heavew 
 That thou wert not deceived ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Am I deceived ? 
 Do I not know myself? for O my liege, 
 Our souls are one, and not a thought eev rose 
 In Raymond's mind, which was not known to me, 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Thou dost not know the frenzy of ambition. 
 
 EL' DORA. 
 
 O ! if my King suspects, that thirst of empire 
 Can taint a mind, which never sought distinction. 
 Save what arises from superior virtue, 
 Banish my Raymond ! let us fly together 
 To some lone spot, some unfrequented wild] 
 There, like the first inhabitants of earth. 
 We may securely live, in that sweet peace, 
 Which ever dwells with innocence and truth. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 My mournful soul, tho* loaded with affliction.^
 
 EUDORA. 51 
 
 Felt every pang recloubled, when I heard 
 That two, who followed Raymond, have confirmed 
 The charge against him, and proclaim their lord 
 The murderer oi' my son ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Can there be wretches 
 So deeply tainted with ungrateful falsehood ? 
 
 Monsters of perfidy ! as worthy credence 
 
 As the base atheist, who denies his maker ! 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 These slaves may be suborned by envious malice. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Can the bold falsehood of unblushing traitors. 
 Can oaths, like theirs, confound tlie voice of truth. 
 And in the bosom of a King outweigh 
 The nobler witness of a soul well tried, 
 Untainted honor, and a life of glory ? 
 O hapless virtue ! where art thou secure. 
 When man is partial to each foe of thine. 
 And quick to credit every monstrous tale, 
 Which art can frame, and villany suggest ? 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Thou wrongest me much : but I forgive, and love 
 Thy generous warmth : yet know me tor thy friend S 
 By Heaven I swear, that wretched as I am, 
 'Twould i^'we me truest joy, to see thy Raymond 
 Clear every doubt, and rise again to lame. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Eternal blessings on the noble mind, 
 
 Which forms that virtuous wish ! — Beware my liege '
 
 52 EUDOllA. 
 
 Beware of treacherous art ! nor think I plead 
 
 For RayiDoud's life alone ! 1 plead lor you : 
 
 Por think! O think what agonies ol'soul 
 
 Must ren i your bosom, if, by fraud misled, 
 
 You doom my Lord to death, and liiid too late, 
 
 That you have slaughtered, as your son's assassin, 
 
 The gallant soldier, who preserved that son, 
 
 The man who honored, and the friend who loved him! 
 
 () think of this ! and grant me one request I 
 
 That on the cunning semblances oi" guilt, 
 
 Which frontless perjury may cast on Raymond, 
 
 You will not hastily decide, but swear, 
 
 For the small space of only three short months, 
 
 To hold his hfe as sacred ! 
 
 MA.) ONE. 
 
 Let i\Ii!Jone 
 Join in this just request ! 1 dare ailirm, 
 At hazard of my life, that Raymond beais 
 A heart too noble, and too hrm a spirit 
 To wrons: his soverei<;n bv a timorous fliirht. 
 
 EC DOR A. 
 
 Generous Majone ! may that power reward thee. 
 Who pours his blessings on the sons of pity 1 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Yes ! my Eudora, thy request is granted: 
 
 But, till the time, thou pray'st for, is expired. 
 
 See me no more ! I would be kit to dwell 
 
 In silent sorrow on the loved idea 
 
 Of my unhappy child. 1 must retire, 
 
 And try to reconcile my tortured mind 
 
 To Heaven's most dreadful sentence ; oh farewell !
 
 EUDORA, 53 
 
 And be tliy virtuous wishes crowned with peace ! 
 
 (Exii the King. 
 
 SCENE r. 
 
 MAJONE, EUDORA, LELIO, and ATTENDANTS, 
 EUDORa, 
 
 Good Angels visitthee with Heavenly comtbrt ! 
 Thou faithful Lelio ! seek my Lord \'erino ! 
 Raise him to happier thoughts, and bid him haste 
 To shed the tears of joy on Raymond's breast, 
 In thankful adoration of that power, 
 Which has preserved us from impending horror; 
 
 (Exit LeUu. 
 
 Which gives us now to think, our youthful hero 
 Will rise superior to the wounds of slander. 
 And run with sjlorv, the full course of life ! 
 
 (Exit 7vith Iter atfendantft. 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 MAJOXE, (alone.) 
 
 Hence ! and indulge, deluded as thou art. 
 Thy momentary triumph ! on thy steps
 
 54 EUDORA. 
 
 The powerful p^enins of Majone waits, 
 To pay me amply for thy transient pleasure, 
 And tor the lively boauis of flattering hope. 
 To pour the darkness of despair upon thee ! 
 
 SCENE TIL 
 
 To MAJONE, e7iter SICARDI, 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Whence, my Sicardij this disoi*dered haste ? 
 
 SICARDI, 
 
 Alas ! my lord, our better plans are blasted : 
 Raymond still lives : Eudora's piety. 
 With fond entreaties, and prevailing tears. 
 Awaked him from despair; taught him to scorn 
 The desperate remedy of self-destruction. 
 And trust his being to the power who gave it. 
 
 MAJONE* 
 
 Curse on her saintly pride ! it ever springs 
 
 To thwart my great designs : but 'twill not be; 
 
 The glorious aim of spirits like to mine 
 
 Is not defeated by a doleful prayer — 
 
 Til s paper still shall urge the troubled King 
 
 To break his promise, and the very suit. 
 
 In which I lent my voice, to aid Eudora, 
 
 Shall, as my instrument of vengeance, serve 
 
 To hasten iiaymond's death. — But say my friend, 
 
 What learn you of Verino ?
 
 EUDORA. Sf> 
 
 SICARDl, 
 
 Now retired. 
 He broods in silence o'er his violent deed, 
 As yet unknowing that Eudora's tears 
 Prevailed on Raymond to neglect his present, 
 He thinks him poisoned. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Let him think so still ? 
 It shall be now my first, my greatest care 
 To keep him thus deceived — hence may arise 
 Most glorious mischief, and ot this at least 
 We shall be sure, that while Verino thus 
 Laments the fancied murder of his son. 
 He cannot mar the arts, 1 now must use 
 To ruin Raymond with the King. — But time 
 Calls us my friend to seize the golden minute. 
 Which hastes to crown us with our great reward! 
 
 (Exezmt. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 AN APARTMENT IN VEItlNO'S HOUSE, 
 
 VERINO, alone. 
 
 What art thou now, my child ? thy gentle spirit- 
 Is fled ah whither iled ? 
 
 Mysterious, unknown terrors croud upon me — 
 This trembling withered body would impart
 
 56 EUDORA. 
 
 Its weakness to my soul ; but thou support me ! 
 '1Ih>u ! who, dehvered from this treacherous world, 
 Art nee to rany;e with spirits like thyseh ! 
 IS'ovv, thou blest being ! now assist thy father, 
 Who tondly conscious of thy spotless virtue, 
 E^acked his own heart, and strained the powers of 
 
 nature 
 To save that virtue from accurst oppression ! 
 Teach me to find thee thro' those dreary paths, 
 That mock th- searches of inquiring man ! 
 Look down, my Raymond while 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 VERINO, enter LELio. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Ah ! what art thou, 
 Who dar*st, in scorn'of my express command, 
 To break upon my privacy ? Begone ! 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 My pracious Lord, the tidings that I bear 
 W jll plead Hi my excuse. 
 
 VERI>'0. 
 
 * 
 
 Ah ! thou art come 
 But to repeat a melancholy tale, 
 1 know too well : yet say ! didst thou behold
 
 EUDORA. sr 
 
 That injured spirit take its joyful flight 
 From this accursed earth ? 
 
 Amaze and terrify.- 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 Your words my Lord 
 
 VERIXO. 
 
 Dost thou not hring 
 A last farewell from my expiring son 
 To his fond father ? Speaii ! 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 My gracious Tord, 
 I have not seen Lord Raymond ; but I come. 
 With joy to tell you, tliai your dear Eudora 
 Has taught our royal master to respect 
 His injured virtue, and ahnost restore him 
 To full possession of suspended honor; 
 Then fear not for his life ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Slave ! vvouldst thou mock me ? 
 But T perceive thee villain ! thou art sent 
 By some insidious foe to rack my brain, 
 And torture me to madness ! 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 Can my Lord 
 Suspect that faith, he has so oft acknowledged ? 
 By many years of duty well approved. 
 By the loved virtues of your son 1 swear, 
 1 heard, and heard with joy unspeakable, 
 Our generous sovereign pledge his royal word
 
 ^ EUDORA. 
 
 To yoTir dear daughter, that he yet would hold 
 Lord Raymond's lite as sacred as his own. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Then am I curst beyond the reach of Heaven. 
 My son ! my innocent, my murdered son ! 
 Oh ! 1 have plun<jjed into a gultof horror, 
 Whence not the mercy of a pitying God 
 Could snatch my sinking soul ! O Raymond ! Ray- 
 mond ! 
 
 (Fails into the arms of Lelio, 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 What means this dreadful agony, which thus 
 Shakes his enfeebled age ? i fear the shock 
 Of his son's late dishonor has o*erwhelmed 
 His troubled reason. But reviving strength 
 Dawns in his face. How fares my worthy lord ? 
 
 VERINO, (recovering) 
 
 My faithful Leiio ! ah ! 
 
 LELIO, 
 
 Let me support 
 Your falteraig steps, and guide them to your son, 
 Who free from danger, and restored to fame, 
 Wants but your presence to complete his triumph. 
 
 VERIXO. 
 
 1 have no son : wh}''. Heaven ? why had I ever I 
 Haste, haste to fly me, nor disgrace thyself 
 By shameful kindness to a wretch, whose pride 
 Has hurst the bonds of n^iture, and destroyed
 
 EUDOllA. 5.9 
 
 The worthie«;t son, that ever blest a father ! 
 I, I have murdered Raymond ! 
 
 JLELIO. 
 
 Heaven forbid ! 
 
 YERIKO. 
 
 Yet he may live — some blessed chance may j'et 
 Keep my infernal present from his lips: 
 
 Ah no, false flattering hope ! lie never knew 
 
 His father form a wish, how wild soever, 
 But with the fervor of a fond obedience 
 He hasted to fulfil it : and that father. 
 That honored, much-loved iiather in return 
 Has murdered him ! 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 If there is room to doubt. 
 Still think the watchful and o'er-ruling power. 
 Which guards the virtuous, has preserved your son ; 
 Still hope my igrd ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Oh blessed heavenly sound ! 
 Yes I will hope: — But let us fly to clear 
 The dreadful doubt ! — now mercy ! mercy Heaven ] 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 MAJONE, VERINO, LEHO. 
 
 VERINO, as he is gohig out, meets Majoiie, 
 O say, my friend, canst thou inform me aught
 
 60 EUDORA. 
 
 Concerning Raymond ? 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Would to Heaven I had not 
 So sad a tale of misery to teil ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 ! lost again ! beyond recovery lost! 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Ill fated youth! now when thy King resolved 
 lo shield thy valor irom the shafts of envy ! 
 How hard to perish by a base assasshi ! 
 Curse ou the envious wretch, the hellish fiend, 
 Who robbed the world of thy unequalled virtue. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Curse on for ever ! search thro' earth and hell 
 
 For curses never merited till now ! 
 
 And pour them all on this devoted head ! 
 
 1 am that wretch ■ I am that hellish fiend! 
 1 murdered Raymond, 1 destroyed my son ■ 
 
 MAJONE, aside. 
 
 Blind credulous fool ! I leave thee to thy frenz}'. 
 Since 1 have nothing now to dread from thee, 
 1 haste secure to end the mighty work 
 Of vensreance and ambition ! 
 
 'o 
 
 (Exit Majone,
 
 EUDORA. 61 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 VERIXO, LELIO. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Earth gape wide \ 
 And instant hide me — — 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 O ! my wretched Lord ,! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 To kill a child so loving, and so loved- 
 
 Nor earth, nor nir, nor the dark sea contain, 
 A monster so abhorred. — 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 O grant him patience ! 
 VERINO. (distracted) 
 
 Hark ! hark ! a voice • it is my Raymond speaks ! 
 See ! to a synod of enquiring angels 
 He tells the dreadful tale : — they stand aghast : 
 They call for vengeance equal to the crime: 
 But see ! he pleads, my generous child '• for me : 
 He pleads for mercy on the hand, that slew him. 
 The murderin"- father ! 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 My good lord retire !
 
 62 EUDORA. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 No I no » it must not be — Vengeance divine 
 Denies the suit — Hark ! how she calls Verino ! 
 See I see 1 she beckons — let her victim go ! 
 1 own her justice ; and 1 haste to meet it. 
 
 KSB OF THE FOURTW Af*.
 
 EUDORA. €3 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE L—THE PALACE, 
 
 ^THE KING, MAJONE, OFFICERS, &:C. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 *Tis unexampled treachery ; beyond 
 
 The reach oi" thought! my foolish easy nature 
 
 ^Vith false compassion pleaded for his life; 
 
 Joined in Eudora's suit ; nor would believe 
 
 Strong proofs of guilt : but these heart-piercing words, 
 
 These sacred orders of my dying prince 
 
 Strike full conviction on my soul ! 1 fly 
 
 To see his murderer pay blood for blood 
 With ample retribution.
 
 Ct ETJDORA. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Yes • let him expire 
 In tortures c(|Udl to his ^uilt ! but thou ! 
 Stay thou, my good M.none! to support 
 The taiuting- spirits of tliy aged master ! 
 Tho* ail my prayer was to revenge my son, 
 A thousand thoughts embitter my revenge, 
 And ni »ke the justice, which I U:)nged to do 
 Most grievous to my soul : the mild Eudora, 
 And old Verino cannot share his falsehood : 
 Worn out with battles nobly fought for me, 
 He could not enter into hellish leagues. 
 Against his master, and his friend : Inform me, 
 Where is Verino ? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Passing to the palace 
 But now my liege, I heard the unhappy chief 
 Rave in wild frenzy to the pitying croud, 
 VV^lio pressed to gaze upon him : now in scorn 
 He curst his foes : and now with bitter groans, 
 That pierced the heart, he cried, '* my murdered Ray 
 
 mond !" 
 And ever as he spoke that much loved name, 
 Rent the white locks in anguish from his head. 
 And drenched them in his tears. 
 Anon, a sudden swell of frantic joy 
 Appeared to drown remembrance of his grief, 
 And lift his soul to [leaven ; but sunk as sudden, 
 And plunged him deeper in the gulf of horror. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 What! my companion 1 my old faithful soldier 
 Could he distracted wander in our streets, 
 Without a friend to lead him to his home ?
 
 EUDORA. C5 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Many, my liege, with kindest art have tried 
 To guide him to a place of rest ; but still 
 He slighted all. — And some of warmer zeal 
 With gentle force endeavoured to compel him : 
 Then raged he more, and instantly a number 
 Of angry veterans interfered, who oft 
 Had fought beneath him in the fields of glory, 
 In pity mingled with religious awe 
 They gazed upon him, swore he should not sufTe 
 Constraint so painful, and thus forced his friends 
 To give his madness way — but see ! my liege, 
 See! where with frantic and triumphant gesture 
 He rushes on toward you ! 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 THE KING, MAJONE, OFFICERS, &C. 
 
 Enter verino. (distracted) 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Poor Verino ! 
 
 vErino. 
 
 Hang up fresh garlands on the palace gates \ 
 Let the young virgins scatter flowers before him- 
 And swell their voices to the victor's praise ! 
 
 Let their sweet songs to listening Heaven proclaim. 
 That valiant Raymond, old Verino's son, 
 
 F
 
 CG EUDORA. 
 
 Returns triamphant from the vanquished Moors — 
 
 See ! see ! he comes 
 
 Tvvelv ' Moorish Princes drag his golden car, 
 And crouch beneath his frown ! 
 But see ! behold a hellish fiend, whose breath 
 Would blast the brightness of the mid-day sua 
 Has seized him in his course : ah me ! she tears 
 His laurel crown, and in its place inscribes 
 Infernal characters ; see ! round his brow, 
 Whence beamed the radiance of a God, she spreads 
 A hideous gloom, and brooding in the midst 
 Sits ha^iiard Shame : — avaunt detested slander ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Alas ! the fate of his unworthy son 
 
 O'erwhelms his mind, and drowns in deepest horror 
 
 His nobler faculties. 
 
 V E [I I X . 
 
 Will you believe it ? 
 Will you, ungratefid, credit such a tale ? 
 Is that a countenance of "uilt? that face 
 Where honor sits enthroned ! where from the dawn 
 Of earliest youth each opening virtue bloomed 1 
 Ah me I they hear me not — Ingratitude 
 Has steeled their hearts ; they have forgotten all 
 My boy's exploits, the glories of his youth: 
 Slander has cancelled all, and see they send 
 Their brave deliverer to a dungeon's gloom, 
 To die disgraced, to perish like a robber ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 This piteous spectacle will rend my heart : 
 
 I cannot bear his wretchedness : Majone, 
 
 Try thou to sooth him— and with mild persuasion
 
 EUDORA. e; 
 
 To lead him hence ! 
 
 MAJOXE, to VERIXO. 
 
 Com6 my good lord, be comforted ! 
 Compose your spirits — all will yet be well ! 
 Let me attend you to 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 No ! Raymond, no ! 
 Thou shall not to the rack ! should we endure it, 
 Oh should I suffer thee, my son, to finish 
 Thy days of glory, by a death so vile. 
 The gallant soldiers, our great ancestors, 
 E'en in their very graves would shake with horror: 
 And their pure spirits in the realms of bliss. 
 Would scorn to join in fellowship with ours, 
 Nor own us for their line — it shall not be ! 
 I will preserve thee yet — still in my bosom 
 I wear a faithful guard against dishonor: 
 'ris but a blow— 'I've struck it — thou art free ! 
 
 (IFoundi Majone and exit. 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 THE KING, MAJONE. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 O fatal deed ! the blindness of his frenzy 
 Has murdered good Majone : 
 
 F2
 
 68 EUDORA. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 No ! my liege I 
 Than as to my better stars ! 1 yet am sate : 
 The s^uardiau swiftness of my ready hand 
 Turnino- his dagger's point, has made its wound 
 
 Movt trivial. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Blessed chance ! 
 
 MAJONE, 
 
 My gracious master I 
 I tremble still to think your sacred life 
 .Stood in hi^ irenzy's reach. Our love and duty 
 To you, and to the state enjoins us all 
 To press for Raymond's death, and the confinement 
 Of this old maniac, whose distempered mind 
 May spread sedition. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Thou say'st true Majone, 
 See him safe lo 'eed under some gentle guard, 
 And swiftly bid the stroke of justice fall 
 "Upon his guilty son ! I shall not rest 
 Till thou return'st with tidings, that his blood 
 Has flowed in just atonement to thy prince, 
 
 (Exit with Oncers, Sfc^ 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 MAJONE, (alone.) 
 My proudest hopes are realized, and sovereignty
 
 EUDORA. ^9 
 
 Appears already mine : 
 
 To MAJONE, e-W^«' SICARDI. 
 
 What now Sicardi ? 
 
 SICARDI. 
 
 My prosperous lord our provident Uberto 
 Anxious to aid us with the giddy rabble, 
 And hurry Raymond's fate, has reached the city. 
 Before a litter with the prince's body. 
 Bare-headed, and denouncing heavenly vengeance 
 On all we hate, he fires the gathering croud. 
 And guides the maddening tumult to our wishes. 
 
 MAJONE. 
 
 Excellent priest ! His presence will prevent 
 What most 1 feared, the rescue of our foe ; 
 Haste, and direct his holy voice to pour 
 Its potent thunders round the important spot. 
 Where Raymond at this moment is led forth 
 To public death. Expect me in that scene ! 
 There the rich banquet of revenge awaits us ! 
 
 (Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE K 
 
 RAYMOND and EUDORA, WITH GUARDS, &C. 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Take this last kiss! — yet once more let me bless thee i
 
 70 EUDORA. 
 
 And now farewell ! O haste my love to leave me ! 
 And hide thy killing softness from my sight ! 
 * lis there 1 feel the anguish of my fate. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 No ! no 1 thou dear supporter of my being, 
 I cannot, must not leavq thee. 
 
 HAYMOND. 
 
 Spare thine eyes 
 This horrid scene of blood • 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 'Tis not in absence 
 To save me from the sight — these wretched eyes 
 Will see thee ever — till they close in death 
 Still must they have thy mangled form before them. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 My lord 3'ou must prepare. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Bind'- bind these arms ! 
 If he is guilty I am guilty too ; 
 And beg to perish with him. 
 
 RAYMOND, / 
 
 O '■ my love ! 
 Collect thy nol/le fortitude '• and raise 
 Tliy drooping soul to better thoughts ! remember 
 Thy virtue taught my mind a due submission 
 To Heaven's high will, and saved my hands from guilt 
 Thou my angelic monitor prepared'st 
 My soul for future bliss, and O if ever 
 Departed beings may to earth repair,
 
 EUDORA. 71 
 
 Still as thy guardian will 1 hover round thee : 
 And here my latest breath shall beg of Heaven 
 To give thee peace, and heal thy wounded spirit. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Pray not to Heaven to punish me with life 
 When thou art severed from me ! 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Good my lord, 
 Excuse me ! but fresh orders are arrived, 
 That claim my prompt obedience. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Friend, forgive me ! 
 I will but fold her once more to my heart : 
 To quit this bosom is indeed to burst 
 My strings of life : The rest is but a form, 
 That will be briefly past — nor feared, nor felt. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Judge of the world ! desert not innocence ! 
 Yet save him — yet preserve 
 
 A loud Shout is heard, 
 
 AND A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES EXCLAIMS 
 
 He shall not die. 
 The blood of Raymond shall not stain our city. 
 
 The Shouts are redoKhlcd.
 
 /2 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Transporting sounds ! ye just, ye generous people t 
 Ye will restore him yet to lite and glory ! 
 
 77ie tumultuous clamour e7icreases, 
 
 ANOTHER VOICE BEHIND THE SCENE EXCLAIMS 
 
 Let Raymond die ! 'tis Heaven demands his blood ! 
 Perish the base assassin of his prince ! 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 RAYMOND, EUDORA, GX^ARDS, &C. 
 
 Vherto enters before the litter, ivith the bodij of the Prince^ 
 
 Your pceans change to plaintive cries. 
 
 Mingled with sorrow's silent shower ! 
 
 In death's dark shade the hero lies, 
 Hy treason slain in glory s hour ! 
 
 Re-echoed thro* the troubled air 
 
 From victory's voice the dirge shall flow 
 
 And transport turning to despair. 
 
 Shall deeply sound a nation's woe !
 
 EUDORA. 73 
 
 Dear murder' d victor ! at thy doom 
 
 Valour must pour a^iction'sjioody 
 ^nd justice mourning o'er thy tomb, 
 
 Appease thy shade with tears of blood ! 
 
 UBERTO. 
 
 Why sleeps the sword of justice ? Heaven has sent me 
 
 Loudly to call it into instant action. 
 
 In me Sicilians, in my faithful voice 
 
 You hear your murdered prince . This sacred corse 
 
 Speaks thro' my organs and demands revenge. 
 
 JHE GUARDS SEIZE RAYMOND. 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Hold yet a moment in the name of Heaven ! 
 
 I feel inspired, for Truth and Equity 
 
 Two seraphs on my side sustain my soul 
 
 And with their searching spirit, bid me question 
 
 This recreant man of God, whose treacherous tongue 
 
 Turned agent to the fiend of murderous slander. 
 
 UBERTO, (aside.) 
 
 Curse on this penetrating woman's voice ! 
 It pierces thro' my heart ; she must be silenced 
 Or we are lost indeed. Good citizens ! 
 Who pity female wretchedness, convey. 
 This lady, frantic from her husband's crimes. 
 Safe to some quiet scene. 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Arch hypocrite !
 
 74 EUDORA. 
 
 *Tis not a frantic woman, whom thou hear*st ; 
 It is thy warning genius speaks in me, 
 And bids thee not in thy career of guilt, 
 Pass on, beyond those barriers of perdition, 
 AVhich, if they close on thy encumbered soul, 
 The arm of heavenly mercy may not open. 
 
 UEERTO. 
 
 Away with her ! my friends ! away with her ! 
 Some heavenly visitation would lay waste 
 Your populous city, could Palermo suffer 
 The church's holy sons to be insulted, 
 By the wild ravings of a troubled woman : 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Unhand me villains ! if the living lose 
 
 All sense of right, the dead may be my friend ; 
 
 O that in thee thou precious sacred corse ! 
 
 The honest blood (they say such things have been) 
 
 Might at the touch of the concealed assassin, 
 
 Gush, and proclaim the real man of guilt. 
 
 This may not be — Yet will I fondly clasp 
 
 Thy clay cold hand, and gaze upon thy features, 
 
 Whence comfort used to beam on all the afflicted 
 
 (Uncovers the face of the Prince, 
 
 Benignant still in death ! 
 
 UBETtTO, (aside) 
 
 Wretch that I'am, 
 This pallid form appals me. 
 
 EUJDOr.A. 
 
 1 implore 
 The spirit from Its seat of heavenly radiance, 
 'i'o <\\rt one, beam of doubt-disDellins: li'^ht,
 
 EUDORA. 75 
 
 And in this dreadful crisis here d- cide 
 
 'Twixt truth and falsehood caihng both on thee. 
 
 But is thy spirit fled ■ 
 
 UBERTO. 
 
 O could I here discover 
 The slightest symptom of suspended life, 
 Thou wert indeed an angei oi redemption ! 
 
 No ! there is none ! 
 
 Heaven prompts thee not to cancel, but to punish 
 Repented guilt. Thy words are brands ot" fire 
 Hell is already in the murderer's breast — 
 
 These torments tell thee 1 i-m he— xMajone 
 
 Majone's curst ambition was the tempter 
 
 Release Lord Raymond, from his guiltless blood, 
 Still let me save my over-burdened soul ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O blessed moment ! merciful detection ! 
 My heaven-protected lord ! 
 
 RAYMOND, 
 
 My guardian angel ! 
 
 UBERTO. 
 
 Seize me, ye ready ministers of justice! 
 Nothing can slake the flames around my soul, 
 But bathing in my own detested blood ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Unhappy man be calm. 
 
 UBERTO. 
 
 Thou blest inquisitor, whom heaven inspires, 
 Flv, and reveal to the deluded king
 
 76 EUDORA. 
 
 Thy Raymond's innocence, Majone's crimes, 
 And my remorse, my anguish, my despair 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 I go, and will entreat him to suspend 
 
 The doom, thou call'st for, and allow thee time, 
 
 To make, if possible, thy peace with heaven ! 
 
 (Ej^it 
 
 SCENE VIJ, 
 
 RAYMOND, UBERTO, GUARDS, &C, 
 
 RAYMOND, (advancing to the lifter.) 
 
 Friend of my heart, how does thy gentle nature 
 Reign in thy visage, still unmarred by death 1 
 
 UBERTO. 
 
 were there aught of life — 
 
 No, 'tis too late ! — He's in the grasp of death, 
 And 1 in torture — bear him to the palace ! 
 Thither, ye men of justice, follow me, 
 
 1 am your willing', your determined victim ! 
 
 {Exeunt.
 
 EUDORA. 77 
 
 SCENE VIIL 
 
 The Scene changes. 
 
 Enter verino, attended hy LELIO. 
 
 VERINO, 
 
 Old foolish eyes! will you not cease to pour? 
 These unavailing streams ! not all the tears 
 That penitence has shed, since crimes began, 
 Can make atonement for such guilt, or wash 
 .My child's blood, from my hand. 
 
 LELIO. 
 
 Be comforted ! 
 
 VERIXO. 
 
 Talk not of comfort ! hence and teach the world 
 To hate my name, and tremble at my crimes, 
 .I'or it shall feel their weight ! my monstrous deed 
 Will fright domestic happiness from earth. 
 With filial love — The son no more shall live 
 In sweet dependance on a father's care, 
 But fear to meet a dagger from that arm 
 
 Whose every sinew should be strained to Hark ! 
 
 What cries of vengeance! 'Tis the righteous people 
 They come to tear me piece-meal : — bid them plung**; 
 In some infuriate whirlpool of the deep 
 This savage heart, not worthy to find rest. 
 In earth's parental bosom.
 
 78 EUDORA. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 VEllINO, LELIO, OFFICER. 
 
 OFFICER {entering ivith a draivn sivord.j 
 
 Noble veteran ! 
 The wretches, who have toil'd to crush thy house. 
 Have hurried qui ck perdition on themselves ; 
 The generous people, raging for thy wrongs. 
 And now apprized of all Majone's crimes, 
 With a precipitate justice have destroyed 
 Him, and his creature, the corrupt Sicardi ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 There's comfort yet — the hero's slanderers 
 
 Can stab his fame no more — lend me thy weapon ! 
 
 When his assassin, whom thou knovv'st not, soldier 
 
 Has at the stroke of retribution yielded 
 
 His forfeit life to this thy honest sword — 
 
 We still in happier worlds — 
 
 EUDORA, {Entering behind him and 
 snatching the sword as he 
 attempts to destroyJdmseif 
 
 Forbear ! forbear ! 
 Thou tender father ! blest be heaven ! 1 save thee ! 
 For O ! I come to banish thy deep anguish, 
 And raise thee up to joy ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 My daughter • O !
 
 EUDORA. :i 
 
 Speak not of joy, Eudora to a wretch, 
 
 Weiohcd down with sfuilt! nor wear that kind con- 
 
 corn ! 
 No ! no ! my daughter ! take a different form ! 
 Come like the angel ot" eternal wrath, 
 Arrayed in terrors from avenging heaven! 
 And with a voice, whose horror-striking sound 
 May penetrate the earth, demand thy husband ! 
 Thy murder'd Raymond ! bid the guilty father 
 Restore the son he slew ! 
 
 EUDORA, 
 
 Alas ! my Lord \ 
 A fatal error clouds your troubled sense 
 My Raymond lives — ■ 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 My poor deluded daughter ! 
 He might have lived ; long 3^ears with glory lived ; 
 Kor envy, fraud, nor slander could oppress 
 Jlis stronger innocence, but O Eudora! 
 There is, there is, my child, a curst assassin, 
 Whose base unnatural heart — • 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 Soon undeceived, 
 Again my ftither shall embrace his Raymond : 
 Me comes to say how providence has saved 
 The son so worthy of his glorious sire ; 
 See, my dear Lord, he comes !
 
 so EUDORA. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 VERINO, EUDOKA, LELIO, RAYMOND, &C. 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 It is good heaven' 
 It is his form : O mock me not ! 
 
 RAYMOND, (entering) 
 My father — ■ 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 He speaks! he lives ! I have not killed my^child. 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 My honored father ! yes • thy son yet lives. 
 To heal thy wounded heart and bless thy age 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Witness ye spirits'- friends to human kind! 
 Witness the father has not slain his son ! 
 What miracle preserved thy precious life 
 From my despair, my guilt ? 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Behold my Lord: 
 Behold the dear preserver of your son ! 
 'Tvvas this celestial monitor, inspired 
 By pitying heaven, who taught me to defy 
 Impending torture with superior courage.
 
 EUDORA. 8i 
 
 VEIUNO. 
 
 AngeJ of safety, let me fold thee close, 
 Close to my panting heart ! O 1 will sit, 
 Whole days to hear of thy amazing worth, 
 And bless thee o'er and o'er ! but say my son 
 Has Heaven revealed the murderers of the prince ? 
 
 RAYMOND. 
 
 Revealed and punished — but the King expects us, 
 His noble heart fnids generous consolation 
 Under the bitter loss, which justly claims 
 Our deepest sympathy, in blessing Heaven 
 That saved him from the horror of destroying 
 The prince's bosom friend, for his assassin ! 
 
 VERINO. 
 
 Away then to the palace ! the old fathers 
 Shall mingle tears of blended grief and joy ; 
 Nor will we e'er forget, thou lovely angel ' 
 All that we owe to thee ; thy fortitude 
 Shall be our daily theme ! 
 
 EUDORA. 
 
 O ! may the mercy 
 So signalized on us, when hope seemed lost, 
 Restrain the wild precipitance of man 
 In hours of misery, and through the world 
 Teach patient virtue, to confide in Heaven ! 
 
 6
 
 THE VICEROY: 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 Eiirijiides — Medea 627- 
 
 G 2
 
 PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. 
 
 Juan de Castro, Viceroy of the Indies. 
 
 Garcia, his Friend. 
 
 Sylveyra, the Son of Constantia. 
 
 Molina. 
 
 Carasco. 
 
 Persod, ati aged Bramin. 
 
 Constantia de Sylveyra, Mother of the Young 
 
 Officer who bears that name. 
 Velora, the JBratnin's Daughter. 
 Paneba, an Indian attendant. 
 
 Portugueze Guards, S;c. 
 
 SCENE— THE CITY OF GOA.
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Discovered in an Indian dress and a pensive attitude^ with 
 a book: after a short jiause. 
 
 Thou mild divinity ! persuasive power ! 
 
 Thou guide and glory of our Christian rulers ! 
 
 Protect thy secret votary ! I read 
 
 Thy clear unquestioned truth, thy matchless mercy 
 
 In all my fate, and in the heavenly mind 
 
 Of my brave guardian, my beloved Sylveyra: 
 
 Yet pardon me, thou pure, indulgent power ! 
 
 That still to India's unenlightened worship 
 
 I pay a forced observance ! O forgive 
 
 This filial heart, whose only fallacy 
 
 Aims to ensure an aged father's peace.
 
 35 THE VICEROY, 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 CONSTANTIA, VELORA, 
 
 CONSTANTIA, (entering.) 
 
 Still at thy orisons ! my dear Velora ; 
 
 Good angels waft thy every vow to Heaven, 
 
 And plead lor purity so like their own ! 
 
 VELORA 
 
 Then will they teach me to repay your kindness. 
 And all the bounty of your generous son, 
 Whicli soothed my woes, and makes captivity, 
 Beneath your provident parental care, 
 More sweet than freedom. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 In thy glowing heart, 
 My lovely Indian, like thy genial clime. 
 Rich nature reigiis ; thy gratitude o'er-rates 
 Compassion's casual services. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Your pardon ! 
 To rate them justly is my reason's pride : 
 Hence memory paints them in her strongest colours 
 I see the furious sons of Portugal, 
 Roused to fierce anger on Cambaya's shore 
 By Moorish fraud, and our perfidious king; 
 I see them, bursting like a flood of fire
 
 THE VICEROY. 87 
 
 Athwart our peaceful grove, where fixt we listened 
 
 To the mild precepts of our aged sire : 
 
 The ruffian soldiers in his hoary locks 
 
 Twist their fell hands; and with uplifted falchions 
 
 Demand his hidden treasure. 
 
 CONSTANT! A. 
 
 What a scene 
 For thy soft filial heart ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 The holy Bramin 
 Pleads only for his child: — the furious robbers 
 Tear from my neck the strings of precious pearl, 
 Threatening worse violence : — but swift to save us 
 The blest Sylveyra comes. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 'Twas Heaven, that sent him 
 In pity to thy virtues. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Flis bright eye 
 Flashes rebuke; and at his awful mandate 
 Keen avarice and murder shrink abashed, 
 As from the presence of an angry God. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Thy flattering picture charms a mother's heart. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 O ! had you heard with what angelic sweetness 
 He banished terror from our troubled minds ! 
 Music is harsh to that consolino- voice :
 
 S8 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Tie raised us from despair : lie kindly promised 
 To i)lace my father, and his helpless child 
 In the protecting walls ot" distant Goa. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Tho' difficidtthe task, he has achieved it, 
 And thy full gratitude exceeds his bounty. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 No ! dear Constantia ! why is Heaven adored, 
 But for such blessings, as 1 owe to him ? 
 Is he not all maternal love can wish ? 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Yes ! my Velora, with a conscious pride 
 
 1 watched his youth, have seen the richest bloom 
 
 Of honor, glowing on his ripened spirit : 
 
 1 how unlike his sex ! those hypocrites. 
 Who humbly bend to innocence and beauty, 
 l]ut cover falsehood with devotion's mask ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 V¥hat injuries excite thy gentle nature 
 To these severer thoughts ?■ 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 In some fit hour 
 
 1 will unfold to thee a wretched story. 
 Touching the cruel father of Sylveyra, 
 That will amaze thy tenderness, and make 
 E*en the warm current of thy glowing veins 
 Run cold with horror: but thy present danger 
 Claims, dear Velora, our immediate care: 
 Thou'rt still a captive ; stiU a Bramin*s daughter.
 
 THE VICEROY- 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 ! do not think that even love can tempt 
 Velora to forget her fihal duties, 
 
 And wound the bosom of an aged father, 
 Who watched unceasing o'er her early youth, 
 Nor asked existence, but to guard his child ! 
 
 1 know how firmly his pure heart is wedded 
 To all our ancient rites ; and that his spirit 
 Would rather give me to the tomb, much rather. 
 Than yield his" daughter to a foreign hand ; 
 That worst pollution to the race of Brama ! 
 
 CONSTANTFi\. 
 
 When first my generous son, beneath my care 
 Placed thee, a lovely captive, 1 observed 
 His growing passion with a mother's fears: 
 But charmed, Velora, by thy winning sweetness, 
 1 own 1 gazed upon your chaste affections 
 With such pure joy, as the good angels felt. 
 When first o*erEden*s infant bowers they hovered^ 
 And fondly viewed the new created pair. 
 While innocence and love were all their portion : 
 Yet still there's danger, lest ye should imbitter 
 The virtuous Bramin's closing eve of life : 
 Canst thou believe thy love will long ekide 
 The quick observance of an anxious father ? 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Alas ! too soon will that unhappy father. 
 Worn out with age, the martyr of affliction. 
 Be severed from the idol of his care : 
 One dying wish he formed, and thy dearsott 
 Has nobly promised to restore his captives 
 Safe to their native seat : 'tis there mv father
 
 m> THE VICEROY. 
 
 Yet hopes to purify his parting soul : 
 There will 1 tend his short remains of life. 
 Calm all his fears, and sooth his latest pang. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 ! thou dear paragon of filial duty ! 
 Blest be thy every purpose ! but my child, 
 
 1 have yet heavier fears ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Whate'er they are, 
 O ! yet awhile suppress them ! for behold 
 My father bends his feeble steps towards us. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 CONSTANTIA, VELORA, PERSOD, 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 May mighty Brama, and his purest spirits 
 
 Watch o'er our gentle friend, whose pitying eyes 
 
 Have looked so kindly on an old man's sorrows, 
 
 And this sole treasure of his trembling age ! 
 
 Has aught yet reached thee from our dear protector, 
 
 Thy gallant son ? 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 No ! venerable sire. 
 He's yet engaged upon the neigbouring shore
 
 THE VICEROY. 9i 
 
 To treat with fiercest foes, with whom, f fear, 
 His sword must arbitrate : protect him Heaven ! 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 Such prayers are mine : nor can thy bosom feel 
 A dearer interest in his precious life. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Still let us cherish hope ! nor yield our hearts 
 To false suggestions of ill-grounded fear ! 
 ]f the mild works of peace demand his presence, 
 Does not persuasion, dwelling in his voice, 
 Assure us of success ? if cruel war 
 Call him reluctant to the fields of blood, 
 Where'er he turns, does not resistless valour 
 Guide the keen lightning of his conquering sword, 
 And victory guard him, with her golden wings ? 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 Alas ! my child, a more immediate terror 
 
 Has seized my trembling heart: thou know'st, the 
 
 Viceroy 
 Saw thee attendant on my helpless age : 
 He dwelt upon thy beauties with an eye 
 Of fierce desire. 
 
 COKSTANTIA, (aside.) 
 
 Good Heaven ! it was my fear. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 0! my kind father, from thy fondness sprinos 
 This vain surmise ; for is not mighty Castro"^ 
 Most noble, generous, merciful, and just ? 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 The purest virtue melts in passion's flame.
 
 92 THE VICEROY. 
 
 When boundless power appears a ready pandeF 
 To every wild desire : where is our refuge. 
 
 Defenceless as we are ? 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Unhappy father ? 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 Wilt thou assure my trembling heart, that when 
 These dim eyes close in death, thou wilt protect 
 My child, nor yield her to his guilty passion ! 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Hear me thou good old man ! before the throne 
 Of Heaven's great father kneeling, thus I swear, 
 By all the sorrows, 1 have known myself, 
 And by the recompense, my soul expects 
 Tor all its sufferings, in a purer world, 
 1 will protect thy daughter as my own. 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 Enough ! enough ! O ! let me wound no more 
 Thy tender bosom, with an old man's terrors ! 
 1 will retire ; and pray the gracious Brama, 
 To aid the virtuous purpose of thy soul. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Let thy Velora on thy steps attend ! 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 No ! my sweet child ! rest with thy gentle friend ! 
 I go to bend before the lord of life. 
 The one, that ever was, and to implore him, 
 That in what form soe'er he deigns to clothe 
 My parting spirit, it may still be near thee^
 
 THE VICEROY. 93 
 
 And in these dangers, that my fondness dreads. 
 Still hover round thee, and preserve my child. 
 
 (£:vii. 
 
 SCJ^NE IV. 
 
 CONSTANT! A, VELORA. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 O thou unfortunate ! if Castro love thee, 
 Farewell to all our peace, for in his love 
 Lies misery and ruin ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Is he not 
 The noble character, that fame reports him }' 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Yes! my Velora, when his manly spirit 
 
 Appears unsullied by the mists of passion, 
 
 It is the very mirror, that presents 
 
 The perfect form of honor. — Yet beware ! 
 
 If ever Castro speak to thee of love, 
 
 Drop not a word, from which he may collect 
 
 Thy fond attachment to Sylveyra's virtues. 
 
 For if thy beauties have inflamed the Viceroy, 
 
 (1 know his nature) 'twill be jealous passion. 
 
 And frantic as the tyger o'er his prey, 
 
 Whose fierce suspicion, and whose fell revenge.
 
 V4 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Would drink the life-blood of his fellow savage, 
 For daring- but to look on't — trust my care ! 
 And keep this counsel treasured in thy heart ! 
 
 SCENE F. 
 
 VELORA, THE VICEROY. 
 
 THE VICEROY, (entering) 
 
 Alone by all my wishes ! her soft bosom 1 . , 
 By pensive solitude prepared for love! J 
 Can we not teach the beautiful Velora 
 To lose the memory of Cambaya's shore 
 In the gay pleasures of our sumptuous city ? 
 Will young Sylveyra rob us of those charms, 
 And to her desolated country bear 
 His lovely charge ? 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 My lord, his word is past. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Who, that from ocean's dangerous depths had 
 
 brought 
 A pearl of such pure lustre, would throw back 
 The peerless gem ? 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 That pity, which alone 
 Inspired the brave Sylveyra to protect,
 
 THE VICEROY. 95 
 
 And lead us to this realm, will prompt him still 
 To crown the just hopes of an aged exile. 
 My heart, my lord, can form no dearer wish, 
 Than to attend my father's injured age : 
 This sacred duty calls me, and must plead 
 My pardon with your highness. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Stay, Velora ! ^ 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 My lord ! my lord ! release me ! nor oppress 
 A helpless captive ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 By my life I worship 
 Thy wonderous charms : It is my heart's ambition 
 To court the kindness of thy gentle bosom : 
 If thou wilt meet the passion of my soul. 
 My proud affection will delight to throw 
 The richest splendors of dominion round thee, 
 And make thy station, like thy matchless beauty, 
 The gaze and envy of this Eastern world ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Reflect, my lord, that filial cares alone 
 Claim, and possess Velora's every thought ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 No more, thou lovely coy one ! force no more 
 From those soft lips such ill-agreeing sounds. 
 While every beauty in thy blushing form. 
 With all the energy of warm expression 
 Tells nobler truths, more consonant to nature ; 
 While these enchanting eyes inflame my soul,
 
 96 THE VICEROY. 
 
 And sparkle promises of bliss too high 
 For human voice to utter. In my arms 
 Come let me clasp thee ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 O ! forbear, my lord ! 
 Nor force me to alarm an aged father ! 
 I mnst "etlre : and may the God you serve, 
 Instruct your cooler reason to renounce 
 These fatal thoughts ! 
 
 (Exit. 
 
 THE VICEROY, (aloYie.) 
 
 O ! thou luxuriant beauty ! 
 Thou must be mine, for all thy weak resistance 
 Is like the failing mound, that art Mrould raise 
 To stop the rising billow^s. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 THE VICEROY, GARCIA. 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 What would Garcia ? 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 My Lord, 1 bring great news : our foes are scattered, 
 The brave Sylveyra has dislodged the Moors,
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Now blest be Portugal's protect! ii;j: saint ! 
 The young Sylveyra gallantly pursues 
 The example of his race. 
 
 G A R c I A . 
 
 Yet, noble Castro, 
 We see thee tempted from the paths of fame 
 By love's illusive fire: — .tho' tliy great soul 
 Should, like the Eagle, keep its native height, 
 And scorn to gaze but on the beams of glory. 
 
 THE VJCEROY. 
 
 O Garcia, I regard with envious wonder 
 The steady virtues of thy happier mind : 
 No rebel passions can dethrone thy reason ; 
 Mine is the slave of appetite : I feel 
 My blind attachment to this lovely Indian 
 Death to my peace, and poison to my fame. 
 Yet doat on my perdition : ne'er did passion 
 Reign so despotic in my subject heart, 
 Since our young days, when my disastrous love 
 Deprived the injured Isabel of life. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Tho' all her sorrows have so long been buried, 
 Her fate still touches me, and to this hour 
 I curse her cruel father ; whose proud soul 
 Crushed the fair hopes of your appointed nuptials, 
 And sunk his wounded daus-hter to the grave : 
 Tho' rumour whispers that her death was feigned. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 O ! couldst thou bring that martyred saint to life, 
 Then might I worship thee : No ! Garcia, no ! 
 
 H
 
 VS THE VICEROY. 
 
 ' Twas not her father; 'twas my fury killed her, 
 
 The jealous fury of a mind distracted. 
 
 In some convenient season, I will tell thee 
 
 All the past crimes, and frenzy of my life. 
 
 For thou wilt turn them to my preservation ; 
 
 Thy generous counsel will oft set before me 
 
 My madness past ; by friendship's guardian power 
 
 Wean my weak spirit from its present passion, 
 
 And save me from myself: — but see Molina. 
 
 SCEjYE vti. 
 
 THE VICEROY, GARCIA, MOLINA, 
 
 THE VICEROY, 
 
 |sow, Garcia, haste, and summon to our presence 
 The wretched parent of this gallant victor ! 
 i'or years sedluded in domestic sorrow : 
 ] have not seen her, but we now have tidings. 
 That will instruct e'en s:rief itself to smile. 
 
 {Exit Garcia. 
 
 Say ! is this brilliant victory dearly bought 
 
 By our brave soldiers' blood ? — whom have we lost'* 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Never did Portugal's prevailing bands 
 Obtain such vantage at a cheaper rate.
 
 THE VICEROY. ?>i) 
 
 SCENE vin. 
 
 T HE VICEROY, IM O L I N A ; G A R C I A entering icif/f 
 CONSTANTIA, and \F.LORA, in veils. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Still, gentle lad_y, in the veil of sorrow ! 
 
 Thy son's exploits shall turn these mourning weeds 
 
 To robes of triumph : — now, iMohna, speak 
 
 The deeds of this young conqueror ! 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Our foes, 
 Who on the neighbouring hills encamped apart, 
 Disclaimed all treaty ; threatening e'en the siege 
 Of this imperial city : with this aim 
 The artful Renegado had-assemhied 
 All the confederate princes in a fort 
 On the adjacent shore, whose chosen guard 
 Trebled our scanty number : by surprise 
 The brave Sylveyra made a fierce attack ; 
 Twice to the earth he struck the base Coutino, 
 And slew the author of this dangerous league. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 By Heaven this action binds him to my heart. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Great God of battles ! to thy throne I bend 
 And thank thee with my tears. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE VICEROY. 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Beside that traitor, 
 The Moorish Chieftain fell : instant dismay 
 Seized all their host; and infinite had been 
 The general slaiiohter, but the just Sylveyra 
 Proclaimed free pardon to the native Indians. 
 
 YE LOR A. 
 
 Reward him for it, all ye host of heaven, 
 Who teach him still to emulate your nature, 
 And be the suardian of a fallen race 1 
 
 c 
 
 yi O L I N A . 
 
 This well-timed mercy ratified our conquest ; 
 And, the preat business of his mission ended, 
 Ei'o now Sylveyra is embarked for Goa. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 lie shall have noble welcome. Gentle mourner ! 
 Let ev^er}^ trace of your past grief be lost, 
 In the gay triumph of your gallant son ! 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Your generous kindness to a mother claims 
 
 J [cr praise, but my full heart can only thank you 
 
 'V\ ith silence, and with tears. 
 
 (Ejcit with Felora, 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Molina haste ! 
 •Vnd bid our Citizens with festive triumph 
 Meet this vouno- Yictor I 
 
 J o 
 
 f'E.nt Molina^
 
 THE VICEROY. 101 
 
 Garcia, though Hove him. 
 As if he were my son, for ho inherits 
 The noble virtues of our vauletl friend. 
 Yet my heart tells me, his return portends 
 I know not what of ill. — Didst thou observe 
 With what a fond idolatry of praise 
 The warm ^ elora magnified his mercy ? 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 O ! my dear lord ! remember, that we stand 
 Upon enchanted ground ! hence, let us fl}" ! 
 Then may 1 clear your heart, that field of honor, 
 From weeds of love and jealousy, whose growth 
 Would choke the harvest of your rich renown. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Yes ! honest Garcia, thou shalt freely use 
 A right inherent in a soul like thine ; 
 Search, and correct, my foibles, till thy friend 
 Shall bless thee as the guardian of his glory. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 CONSTANTIA, (entering alone.) 
 
 At length he's gone ; and my o'erburdened heart 
 May vent its perturbation : cruel Castro ! 
 How has thy presence wakened all my wrongs. 
 Yet with them all my love! O ! did not memory 
 Still haunt me with thy base neglect and scorn, 
 How would mv heart again embrace delusion.
 
 \0'j THE VICEROY. 
 
 And idolize thy nobleness of nature ! 
 
 Shall 1, as if ascending from the grave, 
 
 ikirst like a spectre on thy aching sight. 
 
 And while thou'rt lost in horror and amazement. 
 
 Speak transport to thee in soul-piercing sounds. 
 
 And fondly cry, Sylveyra is thy son ? 
 
 Perhaps the hardened heart, that could endure 
 To leave his infant innocence an outcast, 
 IMight still disclaim the offspring, it deserted ; 
 And shall I court thy pride to own thy child ? 
 Save me from such abasement ! my proud soul 
 Its secret shall retain : — in my last hour 
 1 will amaze thee with a wondrous tale. 
 And teach the libertine, the cruel father. 
 To melt, and to revere the sacred force 
 Of female virtue, and maternal love! 
 
 tND OF THE FIRST ACT.
 
 THE VICEROY. 103 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 THE PALACE OF THE VICEROY, 
 
 THE VICEROY, SYLVEYRA. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Yes I thou bright mirror of our martial youth, 
 
 In thy brave deeds, which make the veteran's cheek 
 
 Turn pale with envy, my exulting heart 
 
 Feels a paternal joy : — But O ! Sylveyra, 
 
 I draw thee now from festive admiration 
 
 To speak of doubts, that prey upon my peace, 
 
 And ask thy private aid. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 I hold my life 
 Of value, oiily as it may repay 
 Your generous bounty to my orphan youth.
 
 101 THE VICEROY. 
 
 THE VICF.UOY. 
 
 Thy much loved guardian lives again in thee. 
 Thou art the perfect image of his valour ; 
 And O ! thou gallant youth, I hope to find 
 Tlie very spirit of his friendship in thee; 
 Warm, active, generous ; proud to sacrifice 
 His own most eager purpose, to promote 
 The dearer interest of the man he loved : 
 Have 1 a right, Sylveyra, to expect 
 Such services from thee ? 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Wrong not, my lord. 
 This grateful breast by so unkind a question ! 
 If there is aught, that now may prove my zeal. 
 Name it most quickly ! and may glorious danger 
 Endear the business to my eager heart ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Then answer frankly one important question ! 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Falsehood, my lord, has never stained my lips ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Say, on a soldier's faith, is it your purpose 
 To yield V elora to her distant home ^ 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 My lord, humanity first made the promise. 
 And honor binds me to its strict performance. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Blest be thy words ! their animating power 
 *Dispels my only fear ! thy spirit thea
 
 THE VICEROY. 105 
 
 Has 'scaped the magic of this fair enchantress. 
 
 Now, my Sylveyra, now, without disguise, 
 
 f will unfold to thee my secret hopes ; 
 
 And thou wilt aid the wishes of thy friend. 
 
 Know then, 1 doat upon thy lovely charge 
 
 With all the fierce excess of fondest passion ! 
 
 Thou must engage the excellent Constantia 
 
 To be my advocate : — nay ! do not start ! 
 
 Think not, ingenuous youth, I would employ 
 
 Thy virtuous parent in a task of shame, 
 
 Too gross for utterance ! no ! my thoughts are bent 
 
 On pure designs of honorable love : 
 
 I mean to bind Velora to my heart 
 
 By all the sanctity of marriage vows, 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 My lord, it is impossible. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 What dost thou mean ? 
 Why falters thy faint voice ? Ha ! tell me wherefore 
 Across thy changing visage does there fiy 
 That sickly cloud ? — By Heaven it is the cast 
 Of rival terror : — Thou dost love Velora : 
 Thou hast deceived me ; all tliv coward frame 
 Declares the fraud, and trembles at detection. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Indeed, my lord, you're blinded by excess 
 Of vehement passion : — 'tis amazement chains 
 My failing voice: O 1 what will Lisbon say? 
 Lisbon, who loudly talks of Castro's fame ! 
 How will she credit this degrading love, 
 That makes the noblest of her heroes, stoop 
 From his proud height, to wed an Indian captive >
 
 lOG THE VICEROY. 
 
 How can tliis wondrous purpose he achieved ? 
 Is not W^lora of the Bramin race, 
 Whose hiws condemn such union as a crime, 
 Which een their sacred, purifying stream, 
 Tiie mighty Ganges, c*aunot wash away ? 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 And are thy fears awakened by my fame > 
 Are they the fears of frieiidship, not of love ? 
 1 fain would think so : if they are, perchance 
 1 may relieve thy kind concern by trustnig 
 My brightest hopes to thy congenial heart. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Your bounty has o'erwhelmed me : witness Heaven, 
 That 1 esteem your happiness and glory 
 Still dearer than my own ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 My dear Sylveyra, 
 My spirit tells me, that the hand of Heaven, 
 "Whose secret agency so oft amazes 
 The blinded eye of human apprehension. 
 Has given this wondrous impulse to my soul. 
 Which passes the weak power of vulgar passion, 
 And bears the signet of divine controul. 
 Thou know'st what wrongs this mild and gentle race 
 Have felt for ages from the fierce Arabian ; 
 And thou hast heard what injuries they suffered. 
 From those, whose avarice abused the power 
 Of this our great vicegerency. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Thank Heaven, 
 The gracious tenor of your mild dominion
 
 THE VICEROY. lo; 
 
 RedeemB the glory of the Christian name ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Perhaps my union with the clear Velora 
 May lead to revolutiorts of such wonder, 
 As will astonish the unthinking earth : 
 Perhaps, Sylveyra 'tis reserved for us 
 To pass the fame of Europe's proudest boast ; 
 To pluck the crescent from this Eastern sphere, 
 And from the Moors redeem this richer world, 
 Too long the prc}^ of Mahomet ! 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Yet how, 
 How is it possible, my lord, to move 
 The mighty bar of disagreeing faith. 
 That must obstruct the marriage you design ? 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 There, my Sjdveyra, thou must aid my wishes : 
 The kind Constantia, whose engaging virtues 
 I fully know, tho' accident has kept me 
 A stranger to the graces of hef person ; 
 She must exert those virtues to o'ercome 
 The idle scruples of her Indian guests : 
 Haste, and inform her, how thy friend entreats, 
 That to their gentle minds she will display 
 The bright advantage of so blest a union ! 
 The dear Velora shall frona hence be deemed 
 The guardian goddess of the Indian world: 
 
 haste 1 and swift to my impatient heart 
 Jleturn, with flattering presage Of success ! 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 1 fain would execute your liighness' pleasure :
 
 lOS THE VICEROY. 
 
 But, conversant witli Brama's rigid laws 
 I know they cannot bend to your desire : 
 But ere 1 go, your highness will allow me 
 To grant a moment to my brave associates, 
 Who by their gallant services obtained 
 My promise to present them to your favor. 
 
 (Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 THE VICEROY, (alone.) 
 
 I like not the expression of his features : 
 
 No warmth of zeal, no eagerness of friendship 
 
 Shines in his downcast eye : — his brow is darkened 
 
 With deep distress, and jealous apprehension. 
 
 That tempt me still to think, he is my rival : 
 
 I must be satisfied : 1 will remark 
 
 His looks more closely in Velora's presence : 
 
 My keen observance will detect his eye 
 
 In the first flashes of his treacherous love; 
 
 And if I see their melting glances meet 
 
 O ! the curst image sets my brain on fire. 
 
 (He walks disturbed toward the end of the stage f
 
 THE VICEROY, 109 
 
 SCENE in: 
 
 S Y L V E Y R A , entering with moia n a a7id C A r a SCO 
 
 Brave friends, behold our A^iceroy is alone. 
 And waits to thank you for your gallant deeds. 
 Of which I made to him most true report ! 
 Some secret orders, that command me hence. 
 Allow me not a minute of delay. 
 
 (Exit. 
 
 SCENE IK 
 
 v^OLiNA, carasco, jhe VICEROY ccmiug fonvard. 
 
 My resolution's fixt I'll follow him 
 
 Confusion ! I am stopt Where is Sylveyra ? 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 My lord, this very instant he departed, 
 With hasty zeal, on your immediate service. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Insidious speed ! — new evidence of passion !
 
 110 THE VICEROY. 
 
 'Tis plain, 'tis fully proved : (aside.) Most brave 
 Molina, 
 
 Forgive me ! I am slow to thank thy valor ! 
 
 Thou hast done bravely; — Lisbon shall re-echo 
 Tliy great exploits, and thence thou shalt receivf; 
 The worthier thanks of a much nobler master ! 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Your highness overpays my poor deserts. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Wretch i while I pause, he gains the happy minut^« 
 
 Of festive joy to seize her melting softness, 
 
 Mock my fond hopes, and triumph in his falsehood. 
 
 (aside.) 
 
 Your pardon ! worthy friends ! gallant CarascQ, 
 It grieves me, that 1 want the leisure now 
 To dwell, as oft with pleasure I have done, 
 On thy bold services ; but cares of moment 
 Perplex, and call me hence :-^yet rest assured, 
 Your merits shall not perish in my mind. 
 
 SCENE F. 
 
 MOLINA, CAR A SOU. 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 .'Vmazemciit! in my iitb I never saw 
 
 Hi? thoughts »n iionbkid. and his steady soul
 
 THE VICEROY. ill 
 
 So shaken from its balance. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 This is nothing : 
 Your sapient governor, your moral Viceroy, 
 The saint, whom you liave canonized so long. 
 Will rave, as I am told, from morn to midnight 
 In praise of poor Sylveyra's Indian girl. 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Peace ! thou art splenetic : — 1 know, Carasco, 
 Thou iov'st him not : but, as 1 am a soldier, 
 I do not think, our country, or the world, 
 Has e'er produced a man more richly graced 
 With manly virtues, valor, truth andjustice. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Curse on his justice ! for it robbed me once 
 Of the most luscious beauty, that e'er blest 
 A soldier's fortune in the chance of war. 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Peace ! peace ! thy very accusation crowns him 
 With purest praise. 
 
 'Tis hypocritical- 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Plague on his purity 
 
 MOLINA* 
 
 Farewell, Carasco, 
 Thou'rtin the raging tit of envious spleen. 
 The pest of social pleasure : but if soon 
 Thou gain'stthy more companionable humoui.
 
 112 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Thou' It find me on the walls. 
 
 CAKASco, (alone.) 
 
 (Exit. 
 
 If I forgive him, may I ne'er again 
 
 Seize the rich plunder of submissive beauty ! 
 
 I know he is accustomed in disguise 
 
 To take his midnight walk of observation, 
 
 To pry into the manners of his people ; 
 
 Perhaps indulging his own secret lust. 
 
 My sword is tinged with subtle Indian poison, 
 
 Whose slightest touch is mortal, and by Heaven 
 
 I will repay him for my wrongs, if e*er 
 
 He chance to thwart me in a nightly brawl. 
 
 (Extt. 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 The Scene changes, and discovers 
 
 VELORA. rmrf SYLVEYRA. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 It is tlie utmost height of human joy 
 To meet thee thus : — to see my guardian liero 
 Restored from danger, and with glory crowned, 
 Blest bo the Clofl. who hearing all our vows.
 
 THE VICEROY. liS 
 
 YV^atched o'er thy precious life, thro* every peril ; 
 And now, in pity to an orphan's prayers, 
 Places once more the desolate Velora 
 In the dear circle of thy saving arms ! 
 
 SYLVEYIIA. 
 
 Come to my heart ! and live for ever there ! 
 There shalt thou reign : — it is thy own dominion : 
 Not all the princes of the earth should tear 
 Thy sacred form from this unshaken throne. 
 
 YE LOR A. 
 
 O ! my Sylveyra, in the Hood of joy 
 
 My fears were drowned ; too soon alas its swell 
 
 Subsiding, shews the hideous form of danger. 
 
 Already thou hast heard, I know thou hast. 
 
 Of Castro's love, for in thy looks I read 
 
 An anxious terror struggling with delight. 
 
 How canst thou shield me from his base designs ? 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 No ! my Velora no ! I will not wrong him : 
 There dwells no baseness in his noble nature ; 
 His love, like all the conduct of his life, 
 Is open, artless, manly, generous ; 
 Not thinking that the Christian light has dawned 
 On thy unclouded soul, he has conjured me 
 To aid his ardent wish : — To vanquish for him 
 Each obstacle, that Indian laws may raise, 
 To bar his hopes of marriage with Velora. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 What couldst thou answer to such cruel language ? 
 Didst thou reveal the secret of our loves ?
 
 114 THE VICEROY. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 He knows it not : amazement, p;rief and pity 
 
 Ilobbed me of utterance : yes ! by Heaven 1 pity 
 
 The agonies of mind, he must endure : 
 
 He loves thee with a fond excess of passion ; 
 
 His liberal heart would grace thy charms with all 
 
 The treasures of the East; and make thy beauty 
 
 The worthy partner of imperial power : 
 
 And what can I ? a needy child of fortune I 
 
 Almost a poor dependant on his bounty ! 
 
 May I, Velora, from a prince seclude 
 
 A precious jewel, and in secret wear it, 
 
 Bound to my heart ? while he would nobly give it 
 
 The place, that its unrivalled lustre claims 
 
 To charm the admiring world ? 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Canst thou suspect 
 That pomp, that splendor, that the wealth of worlds^ 
 Could for a moment, in V'elora's mind, 
 I'retend to competition with thy love ? 
 And couldst thou, tell me, couldst thou,e*en in thought, 
 KesiLrn \ elora to a rival's hand ? 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 My faithful love ! by thy dear self 1 swear, 
 I ne'er could see thee in another's arms, 
 
 And hold my reason : madness must ensue 
 
 Should angels call thee to their purer world, 
 My frantic mind would murmur at its loss. 
 Unknowing how to yield thee to my God. 
 
 ->^ VELORA. 
 
 Here then, thou second worship of my soul 1
 
 THE VICEROY. ii 
 
 I plight to tbee my everlasting vow, 
 To have no law, no lot, no will but thine ; 
 To be the faithful partner of thy fortunes. 
 Thro' all the chances of this chequered world ; 
 For O ! Sylveyra, death will soon dissolve 
 Those dear, and sacred ties of filial duty, 
 That only could divide my heart with thee. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Good angels guard thy father's closing life 
 From every pang ! and make his latest sigh 
 Soft as an infant's slumber ! dear Velora, 
 Thou must not sink too deeply in thy sorrow ; 
 No ! I will raise thee up, thou drooping flower, 
 Beat to the earth by the injurious tempest ! 
 My love shall watch o'er thy reviving bloom, 
 And fondly shield it from each future storm. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Alas ! Sylveyra, terror joins with grief 
 To rend my troubled heart : think of the Viceroy ! 
 Think how to ward the dangers, that may rise 
 E'en to thy precious life, my sole protector, 
 From all the frenzy of his fatal passion ! 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Fear not ! my love, for Castro still is noble ! 
 He still regards me with parental kindness. 
 In some convenient, and propitious hour 
 I will, with gentlest arts of preparation, 
 And candid truth, unfold to him 
 
 VELQRA. 
 
 O ! no ! 
 No ! I conjure tbee I drop that daDgerous thought ! 
 
 I 2
 
 11'; lilE VICEROY. . 
 
 Who shall defend thee in the sudden storm 
 or jealous lury, armed with boundless power ? 
 My all our mutual vows let nie entreat thee 
 To yield that o(iice to Constantia's care ! 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Thou lovely monitor ! I yield my heart 
 'Vo thy kind counsels. 
 
 YELOKA. 
 
 1 will fly to summon 
 The dear Constantia to consult thy safety : 
 Then to my father ! in his close of life 
 I feel his claims yet stronger on my heart ; 
 Farewell ! 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Yet stay ! thou dear angelic softness I 
 Stay yet a moment ! let me kiss away 
 This heavenly dew of filial tenderness, 
 That glistens on the roses of thy cheek ! 
 Tarewell I 
 
 (Exit Velora, 
 SCENE VIL 
 
 SYLVEYRA, THE VICEROY". 
 
 THE VICEROY (entering as V E LO r A goes out.) 
 
 Distraction ! death ! thou treacherous boy ! 
 So young, and so accomplished in deceit I
 
 TflE VICEROY. h; 
 
 Thou viper! tluit I cherisli in my bosom 
 To sting me into madness ! have I caiij^ht thee ? 
 Surprised thy guilty secrets, and beheld thee 
 Staining the briJHant ruby of her lip 
 With thy false breath ? 
 
 SVLVEYRA. 
 
 Just, and noble Castro ! 
 Recover but the firmness of thy soul. 
 And thou shalt own, that I have ne'er deceived thee! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Oh ! insolence of falsehood ! not deceived me ! 
 E'en now thy base confusion proves thee false ; 
 And coward oruilt denies thv faltering" tongue 
 The power to frame an artful subterfuge, 
 To give thee e'en the varnish of a villain. 
 
 SYLVEYUA, 
 
 My lord ! I scorn the unmanly accusation ; 
 I grieve indeed that you have seen our loves, 
 But my pure lips have never breathed a falsehood 
 To hide them from your sight : I will avow 
 It was my wish to keep them still concealed ; 
 Not with a coward's treachery and fear : 
 No! from a nobler cause, from generous pity. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Thou insolent ! — thy pity ! — patience, Heaven 1 
 
 Patience ! is Castro then debased so far, 
 
 To be the pity of a slave like this ? 
 
 What ! while my generous soul was idly drcamiri" 
 
 Of virtuous love, and purest admiration, 
 
 Thou, like a secret sacrilegious thief.
 
 lis THE VICEROY. 
 
 Ilast basely robbed the shrine of sacred beauty. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 My lord ! my father ! grant me patient hearing, 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Hear thee ! thou traitor to that generous friendship, 
 Which called thee forth from darkness into glory ! 
 Hear thee 1 for what ? thou canst no longer make me 
 The easy dupe of tb.y detested falsehood : 
 And wouldst thou boast, it has been thine to riot 
 In the rich plunder of her prostrate beauty, 
 And teach thy willing wanton to deride 
 Her nobler claims to a superior station ? 
 
 SYLVEYRA 
 
 My lord ! my lord ! power has no privilege 
 To sanctify the infamy of slander ; 
 And thou dost slander innocence itself, 
 A soul as spotless, as the hand of Heaven 
 Has e'er inshrined in woman's angel form : 
 This purity is placed beneath my guard, 
 And when I want the spirit to defend it» 
 May I be branded by the public voice !— - 
 For your past bounties to my orphan youth, 
 I spoke them many and magnificent ; 
 But thus insulted, my indignant honor 
 Disclaims the debt, these injuries have cancelled, 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Thou wretch ! who mak'st ingratitude thy glory, 
 Soon shalt thou feel the power, thou hast provoked : 
 Velora was thy prisoner, only held 
 In just depcndance on our sovereign pleasure^
 
 THE VICEROY. ' Ju; 
 
 I shall resume a grant, so ill deserved, 
 And made so rashly by deluded bounty. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Resume thy grant ! Velora*s free as air ; 
 The voice of justice, and thy own award 
 Pronounced her free ; and 1 will p;uard that freedom 
 E*fin with my life, ag^dnst the uplifted arm 
 Of majesty itself. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Presumptuous upstart ! 
 What ! canst thou threaten too ? — by Heaven 'tis 
 
 well : 
 1 thank thee : thy presumption has restored 
 My condescending spirit to itself; 
 It will forget its dignity no more 
 To join in altercation with thv baseness: 
 No ! I will teach thee, false ungrateful boy ! 
 How poor, how low, how lost a thing thou art, 
 Stript of that favor, which thy fraud abused. 
 
 •SCENE FIIL 
 
 SYLVEYRA (alone. j 
 
 He*s gone in the dark storm of jealous anger, 
 And sullen vengeance — my indignant spirit 
 O'erstepped its native bound of moderation- 
 But *tis the cause of innocence and virtue '
 
 l-'a THE VICEROY. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 SYLVEYRA, CONSTANTIA, VELORA, 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Alone ! my son ! did we not hear this moment 
 Ihe voice of Castro, terrible in anger ? 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 O ! let me banish fromi your gentle bosoms 
 This fond excess of fear ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 My loved Sylveyra ! 
 You hide the fatal truth ! — his frantic passion 
 Has dared to threaten, your most precious life : 
 i know it has. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Believe me, dear Velora — 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 fffhis weak beauty can produce such horror, 
 May Heaven resume its gift, and I will call 
 Deformity a blessing! 
 
 To calm H»is cruel agony of terror ! 
 
 SYLV KYRA. 
 
 Teach me, Heaven
 
 » THE VICEROY. 121 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Reflect, dear daughter, that I keep conce;iled 
 A mystery of such important nature, 
 As may preserve us in severer perils ! 
 
 SYLVF,YRA. 
 
 Name it ! and save her from these killing fears \ 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Alas ! my son, 1 have a tale to tell thee 
 Of such high moment to thy peace and honor. 
 That it requires long hours of coolest leisure 
 To unfold it as I ouaht. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 SYLVEYRA, CONStANTI A, VELORA ; rJZ^er OFFICER 
 with GUARDS. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Gallant Sylveyra, 
 Obedient to the Viceroy's hard command, 
 I come, constrained, to bear thee to confinement. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Has jealousy so drowned thy sense of honor, 
 Unhappy Castro ? by my life I pity 
 This frenzy of thy soul : Sir, I obey.
 
 122 THE VICEROY. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Yet stay ! 'tis agony to lose thee thus 
 
 CONSTANTIA, (to the Officer.) 
 
 ihou generous servant of a cruel master, 
 Canst thou, in pity to a mother's tears, 
 Canst thou allow me one short hour's delay ? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Believe me, lady, on a soldier's truth. 
 It grieves me sorely to refuse thy prayer ; 
 But if my pity granted thy request, 
 It would be at the hazard of my life. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Sir, I attend you ministers of mercy, 
 
 Descend to soothe these dear unhappy mourncFs 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Stay ! vny Sylveyra, take me to thy prison ! 
 Am 1 not sworn thy partner to the grave ? 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 My faithful love ! O ! melt not my firm soul 
 
 With these fond tears ! no ! by our hopes I beg thee 
 
 To call forth all thy latent powers, that arm 
 
 Thy own great mind, and aid our dear Constantia, 
 
 Absorbed in grief, and petrified with terrors. 
 
 Farf^well ' farewell ! 
 
 ( Esit tvith Officer and Guards.
 
 THE VIC^RJJI^. UZ 
 
 ^CJSiVJS XL 
 
 CONSTANTIA, VELORA. 
 VELORA. 
 
 Preserve him, righteous llcaveu ! 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Yes ! I will fly, and fall before his father ; 
 That, that must save him. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Dear Constantia ! speak ! 
 She hears me not : — alas ! unhappy mother ! 
 There is a wildness in her looks and language, 
 That pierces to my heart. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 And yet 'tis dangerous : 
 I know the fierceness of his cruel father. 
 O ! I am plunged again in doubt's dark sea. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Guard her, ye angels ! for excess of sorrovr 
 Has robbed her tortured spirit of its reason. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 No ! my sweet child, I am not yet so lost : 
 But there's a secret conflict in my soul, 
 To which thou art a stranger 1 will fly,
 
 12 i THE VICEROY. 
 
 And kneel tor entrance at his prison door 
 For thou, my son, tliou only canst decide 
 This agonizing doubt : thy voice alone 
 Must guide me in this crisis of our fate. 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 CONSTANTIA, VELORA, MOLINA, CARASCO- 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 ! good Molina lead me to my son ! 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 We come to calm your fears ; this sudden mandate 
 Is but a momentary start of anger; 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Now T conjure thee gain me instant entrance 
 Into Sylveyra's prison ! 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Gentle friend. 
 As yet it is impossible : but soon 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 All ! talk not of delay ! thou canst not know it. 
 
 IJut I a secret must impart to him, 
 
 Of power; to make e'en frantic murder pause, 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 1 will attend you to the citadel
 
 THE VICEROY. 125 
 
 CONSTANT I A. 
 
 Come, let us haste, my generous friend ! and thou 
 Noble Carasco, be Velora's guard ! 
 
 (Exit with Molina. 
 
 SCENE XIII . 
 
 VELORA, CARASCO. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Vain is their hope : but if Velora's courage 
 Is equal to the task, 1 will instruct her 
 To baffle this base Viceroy, and preserve 
 The injured youth, who claims her fondest care. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Then speak ! and trust me, that no forms of danger 
 Shall shake the firmness of Velora's soul. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Blest be thy spirit, for it merits ail 
 
 The fond profusion of Sylveyra's love ! 
 
 I know your mutual hopes : — now let my friendship 
 
 Accelerate your marriage, raaiiied by Heaven 
 
 The happiness of both, and, in this crisis. 
 
 Your sole protection from the crimes of Castro ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 How mav this be }
 
 12^; THE VICEROY. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 By night 1 will secure 
 A laithfiil priest, who, in disguise shall lead you 
 Into Sylveyra's prison, and unite 
 
 Your willing hands — still from your father's vveaknessi 
 Conceal the secret ! — To the baffled Viceroy 
 Let your blest lord, with joyous pride, proclaim 
 That holy vows have made you his for ever ! 
 The foiled oppressor will no more pursue 
 Your hallowed beauties, but renounce a treasure 
 Thus guarded from his grasp, nor to be purchased 
 But by the price of complicated crimes. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 I yield me to thy friendly guidance — hark ! 
 It was my father's voice : attend me to him, 
 And still support me with thy generous counsel ! 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Yet keep this project secret in thy breast, 
 E*en from Constantia, for her fond affection 
 Would hesitate, and tell us of thy danger ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 We'll not alarm the kindness of her nature. 
 
 And for myself, come danger as it may, 
 
 I have no fears : — Carasco, you beheld 
 
 The young Orissa perish in the bloom 
 
 Of widowed beauty : you beheld her march, 
 
 Fondly observant of our Indian rites, 
 
 Nor moved by the dissuasive cries of friendship. 
 
 Thrice round the pile, which held the hallowed corse 
 
 Of her departed lord ; then far within 
 
 The leafy bower, whose arches crowned the pile. 
 
 Take her firm seat as on a throne of glory.
 
 THE VICEROY. 127 
 
 With dignity undaunted, while her hand 
 Unshaken, kindled the consuming fire. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 It was a sight, that memory cannot lose. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 You saw her with a smile of triumph, mock 
 The mounting blaze, which thro* her wasted frame 
 Shot thrilling agony, yet failed to force 
 One plaintive sigh from her superior soul : 
 Think of this scene, the subject of your wonder, 
 And know Velora's willing heart would bear 
 Those tortures twentyfold to save Sylveyra \ 
 But to my father ! 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Noble, fearless girl, 
 I worship thy warm heart ; and by my sword 
 Will freely stake my safety for thy service. 
 
 jtND OF THE SECOND ACT.
 
 12H THE VICEROY 
 
 ACT nr. 
 
 SCENE L—THE PALACE, 
 
 THE VICEROY, CrARCIA. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Garcia no more ! thy intercession's vain : 
 Honor forbids us to recall this mandate 
 Of just correction. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Think on whom it falls ! 
 On one whom your fond bounty long has cherished 
 E'en as your child : the trust of a brave friend. 
 Who dying left you this rich legacy, 
 This sacred pledge of confidence and honor 
 Still to be worn with pride upon the heart.
 
 THE VICEROY. l'2<) 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Away ! for all you plead in his defence 
 Turns to the aggravation of his gnilt. 
 And sanctifies my sentence. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Think, my lord, 
 This is no trifling business ! it demands 
 Most deep discussion ; for on this award 
 Hangs all the glory of your life to come. 
 Nay all your honors past ; if these are dear, 
 You must revoke this wrong, unguarded sentence ; 
 You must, by Heaven, you must. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Garcia, beware;! 
 Relying on our ancient amity. 
 Thou dost presume too far upon my patience. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Let fawning flattery be struck dumb with fear, 
 
 When her proud idol frowns I 'tis friendship's glory 
 
 In spite of quick resentment's random fire. 
 
 To persevere in her most noble duty, 
 
 And counter-work the mines of treacherous passion. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 And thou art come, most sapient monitor, 
 To teach us wisdom, honesty and virtue. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Yes ! 1 will hold a faithful mirror to thee, 
 And shew thy troubled mind its own distortion ; 
 Will hold it, tho' insulted with thy scorn, 
 
 K
 
 130 THE VICEROY. 
 
 E'en till that mind resume its native features, 
 And thank me for the service. Noble tViend, 
 1 know, thou dost believe thy sentence just : 
 But dive into thy heart, and thou wilt fnid 
 A'elora's beauty, is Sylveyra's guilt . 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Leave us, presumptuous counsellor! thou canst not 
 Make firm authority revoke his mandate 
 By the vain preaching of thy pedant pride. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 No' Castro, no I I cannot, dare not yield thee 
 To the dominion of this tyrant passion, 
 Which may 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 O ! patience Heaven ! shall I forever 
 
 Be rated thus by insolent dependants ? 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Unhappy Castro ! like a drowning wretch, 
 Ii! a blind struggle, thou dost beat away 
 The very arm extended for thy safety ; 
 Y( s ! I will leave thee on thy proud dismission ; 
 May mightier visitation from above 
 irradiate thy dark mind ! may Isabel, 
 That blessed saint, that martyr of thy love. 
 Descend to watch o'er thy disordered spirit ! 
 And dispossess thee of this jealous fiend, 
 Ere his blind fury gain increasing force. 
 And hurry tliee to deeds of deepest horror \ 
 Farewell ! great injured mind, i'arewell ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Yet stay !
 
 ITiE VICEROY. 131 
 
 My Garcia, stay ! — tliou liast pronounced a nauu', 
 Whose very sound's a sacred charm, of jjower 
 To melt the obdurate pride of fiercest auger. 
 Oh Isabel ! thy wrongs are all revenged. 
 In the wild horrors of this troubled lieart : 
 Garcia, I think, I know, thou art my friend ; 
 But there's a rigor in thy steady soul, 
 That will not give thee even power to guess 
 The agonies of weaker minds : — by Heaven 
 I hate my o^m infirmity of nature ; 
 And by my life I am ashamed to tell thee. 
 How this fierce love has preyed upon my soul. 
 Absorbing- every faculty. 
 
 GARCIA, (aside.) 
 
 Now, friendship, 
 Aid me to make e'en passion's self the means 
 To work his preservation ! 
 
 J-HE VICEROY. 
 
 This sweet Indian 
 Haunts my wild fancy still : — .in every change 
 
 Of day, of night, of place, of occupation 
 
 1 see her in the vacancies of air : 
 I hear her magic voice in midniiiht silence : 
 And find the spirit of my life consumed 
 ■In this encreasing flame of fierce desire. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Now Castro ! I perceive a glimpse of hope, 
 That thy fond wish may yet succeed. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Say how ! 
 K2
 
 132 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Dear Garcia, say ! O give ine all thy meaning ! 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Release Sylveyra ! — shew the soft Velora 
 You scorn the advantage of tyrannic power, 
 And with a generous rivalship submit 
 To court her kindness ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 I approve thy counsel : 
 'Tis just, 'tis manly, 'tis like Garcia's soul 
 Untainted with a shadow of dishonor : 
 Yes ! thou shall see this frail, this feverish heart 
 Still not unworthy of a friend like thee. 
 Come ! follow me ! we'll hasten to Sylveyra, 
 Declare him free, and let him know how deeply 
 We both are debtors to thy signal virtue. 
 
 AN ATTENDANT, (entering.) 
 
 My lord, this paper will explain my office, 
 
 And plead my pardon, while 1 beg your highness 
 
 To grant me private audience. 
 
 THE VICEROY, to GARCIA. 
 
 Wait, my friend, 
 In my apartment ! I will join thee there ! 
 
 {Exit Garcia,
 
 THE VICEROY. 133 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 THE VICEROY, and ATTENDANT. 
 
 THE VICE ROY, (examining the letter.) 
 
 Confusion ! bound by secret, solemn oaths 
 To marry them in prison, and to-night ! 
 Treacherous Velora ! death ! what in the moment, 
 When my fond soul with a forgiving frankness 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 My lord ! the holy friar has enjoin'd me 
 To say, his life depends upon your silence. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Go ! let him banish fear ! tell the good monk 
 His services are treasured in my heart. 
 
 (Exit Attendant- 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 THE VICEROY, (alone.) 
 
 To-night appointed for your treacherous union ! 
 Never shall night that consummation see. 
 These hours are mine, nor will I lose them — hence 
 Ye dainty scruples, of deluded honor !
 
 IM THE VICEROY. 
 
 Ve made iiie pause too long. — Love, manly love, 
 Nature's St roH'i, heir, not custom's puny cliild, 
 Points my fair prey, and like the hunter's cry 
 Leads my keen spirit to the chase of joy. 
 
 (EicU. 
 .SCENE IF. 
 
 I'ERSOD discovered sleeping on a conchy mtd VELORA 
 sMing hy him. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 \e ministers of peace, O ! kindly visit 
 
 His troubled slumbers ! let not frishtened nature 
 
 Thus lose the balmy hifluence of rest. 
 
 PERSOD, (still sleeping.) 
 
 Beware my child beware—— this cruel Viceroy ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Unhappy father ! how it grieves my soul 
 To see thee shaken by these painfid terrors. 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 No! tyrant, no ! away! away! thou shalt not 
 Tear her from these weak arms — 1 clasp her still. 
 
 (waking.) 
 
 Good Heaven ! where am I ? O my child ! my child 
 Do I indeed embrace thee still, my daughter ?
 
 THE VICEROY. l;J5 
 
 Is there no ruffian near ? 
 
 X YELOTl.A. 
 
 i)e not alarmed. 
 My gentle father ! — 'twas a vision only ; 
 Mere is no being but thy own Velora. 
 
 PER SOD. 
 
 Alas ! my child, these terrifying phantoms 
 
 Tear my weak frame : they shake me still with 
 
 horror. 
 Methoup;ht X saw thee in the savage grasp 
 
 Of the fierce V^iceroy : hence distracting image !, 
 
 It haunts me still. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Let thy beloved Yelora 
 Calm these wild fears, and talk them into peace ! 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 Still ! my sweet child, assure my trembling heart. 
 That when thy old weak guard is severed from thee, 
 As soon he must be, strong in native virtue, 
 Thou wilt resist the Viceroy's cruel aims. 
 That no rich offers of insidious love, 
 No terrors of the tyrant, shall betray 
 Thy yielding beauty to his impious arms ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 No ! by thy tender love, thy hallowed age, 
 
 By all the virtues of thy heart, I swear 
 
 No powers shall force me to that shameful fate. 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 Thanks ! my dear child, thy animating words
 
 136 THE VICEROY. 
 
 IJrcatlic thro' my chilly breast a cheering glow. 
 And warm me with new life — methinks 1 gain 
 A new supply of strength ; and I will use it 
 To taste the freshness of the evening air. 
 Bless thee, my kind attendant. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Still let my arm 
 Assist your steps ! 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 No! sweet support, I thank thee, 
 I will but venture to yon shady palm, 
 To soothe my troubled thoughts, and recollect 
 The thousand tender things, paternal love 
 Has yet to utter, ere our last adieu : 
 Remain thou here ! and 1 will soon return. 
 
 (Exit. 
 SCENE V. 
 
 VELORA, (alone.) 
 
 Spare, gracious Heaven '• the weakness of his age 
 
 From farther misery ! whatever ills 
 
 Thy dreadful pleasure may design to pour 
 
 Upon our hapless race, O ! keep them all 
 
 For my devoted head '- nor more afflict 
 
 This mild, indulgent, helpless, fond old man ! 
 
 Good Heaven ! what voice ! — it is our evil genius : 
 
 It is the Viceroy—
 
 THE VICEROY. 137 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 THE VICEROY, VELORA. 
 
 THE VICEROY, (entering) 
 
 Guards attend without. 
 Thanks be to love : 1 hold thee once again. 
 Bewitching beauty 1 and I know thee now : 
 Yes ! under this soft veil of artless youth 
 Lies all the finished artifice of woman : 
 Thou canst forget thy Indian laws, and yield 
 This sacred treasure to an alien's arms : 
 With a refining spirit of delight, 
 Thou canst convert a dungeon to a scene 
 Of midnight bliss. 
 
 VELORA, (aside.) 
 
 Our purpose is betrayed ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Yet have thy charms the fascinating power 
 
 To melt the fiercest wrath ; I will forget 
 
 The cruel pangs thy treachery inspires, 
 
 If cancelling the offence, thou yet wilt grant me, 
 
 The dear rich recompense, for which my soul 
 
 So keenly pants with agony of passion. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Never 1 never ! 
 
 /
 
 IMi THE VICEROY. 
 
 THE VICLROY. 
 
 Perverse, fantastic girl '• 
 Canst thou ytill doat upon an abject slave. 
 When royalty's extended arms would press 
 Thy beauty into rapture ? 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Yes ! proud tyrant, 
 This constant heart will idolize for ever 
 That hero, whom thy crimes have made a prisoner : 
 V^elora's firm and faithful soul, would rather 
 Embrace his bondage, than partake thy power. 
 E'en had thy pride the privilege of Heaven 
 To make its reign immortal. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Rash Velora! 
 Thou dost provoke my wild insulted love 
 To sieze this golden minute, and repay 
 My tortured senses with a sweet revenge. 
 Come ! thou shalt bless me. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Help ! O ! help me Heaven I 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 THE VICEROY, VELORA; PERSOD, (entering and 
 
 throwing himself before the Viceroy.) 
 
 Turn \ thou base tyrant ! hear a father's voice I 
 Behold his weakness prostrate at thy feet J
 
 THE VICEROY. 13^ 
 
 Release ! release my child ! nor by this outrage 
 Wound sacred nature in a parent's soul ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Distracting interruption ! By my life 
 
 His reverend form, and his white hairs have struck 
 
 Blank awe thro' all my veins 
 
 My trembling sinews have not power to take her 
 
 From his weak hold and yet by Heaven she must 
 
 not 
 Compleat the triumph of her treacherous love. 
 Guards there without t 
 
 E7}ter GUARDS* 
 PERSOD. 
 
 O mercy ! mighty Castro, 
 Thou wilt not force my innocent child away, 
 While these paternal arms are stretched to save her. 
 
 THE VICEROY, to the Guards, 
 
 Reasons of state compel me to divide 
 These faithless captives : Soldiers ! on your duty 
 1 charge ye, part them with the gentlest violence, 
 And lead Veiora to the western tower ! 
 
 SCENJE FIJI. 
 
 VELORA, PERSOD, GUARDS. 
 VELORA. 
 
 Most cruel mandate \ most inhuman Castro !
 
 HO THE VICEROY. 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 No I ye vile slaves ye shall not tear her from me : 
 No ! I will hang upon lier darling form, 
 E'en 'till my heart strings break, 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Old man, forbear 
 Thy sorrows grieve us — but we must obey— 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 Curse my weak age ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 My father 1 O ! my father 1 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 As the Guards force o^velora, constantia enters 
 tvith an Attendant, speaking as she enters. 
 
 Mercy 1 they sieze '• they tear V^elora from us — 
 Unhappy father ! whence this horrid outrage ? 
 
 PERSOD. 
 
 Now, mighty Sieb ! great avenging spirit '• 
 Now, now exert thy power ! it is thy servant ; 
 It is a father calls, a father robbed. 
 Most basely robbed, in his enfeebled age, 
 Of his dear daughter, of his darling child. 
 Blast this fell ravisherl — with hghtning's speed 
 Let death's lierge summons seize his haggard soul •
 
 THE VICEROY. HI 
 
 And if he has a child, O ! make him feel 
 What tortures mercy heaven '• I faint- 
 
 (He falls. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 O ! save him '. 
 Alas his feeble strings of life are broken 
 By this inhuman violence. — He breathes — 
 Now bear him gently hence ! — ^in pity's name 
 Watch him with tenderest care till my return ; 
 For I must hasten to preserve his child ! 
 
 (they bear off" Per sod. 
 
 Now, Castro it is time thou shouldst behold 
 
 Thy Isabel yet lives ; for thou art tost 
 
 On a tempestuous flood, and little know'st 
 
 What hidden rocks of horror thou art near : 
 
 My voice must point them to thy blinded spirit, 
 
 Ere thy wild passions plunge us in a gulf 
 
 Of deepest ruin, misery, and guilt. 
 
 END OF THB THIRD ACT.
 
 142 THE VICEROY. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 S^ENE I.—THE WESTERN TOWER, 
 
 VELORA, PANEEA. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Faithful Paneea ! thy afflictive tidings 
 
 Have pierced my heart: alas 1 unhappy father. 
 
 Robbed of thy ^^child, whose fondness should have 
 
 watched 
 Thy parting spirit in its latest struggle, 
 And closed those eyes, that never, never cast 
 A look upon me, but of tenderest love ! 
 
 PANEEA. 
 
 My gentle mistress, yield not to thy grief.
 
 THE VICEROY. 1 13 
 
 Think it was happy for his helpless age 
 To lay the burden of its misery down ; 
 
 VEI-ORA. 
 
 Yet have I reason for severest sorrow : 
 The wretched daughter, bound by dearest duty 
 To smooth the bed of death, there planted thorns 
 To pierce her dying father — 'twas my zeal 
 To save Sylveyra's life; it was thy child, 
 Thou injured parent, whose misguided aim 
 So blindly sharpened thy expiring pangs. 
 O ! were they not most terrible to look on ? 
 
 PANEEA. 
 
 Let not such visionary fears alarm 
 Your troubled heart 1 in a short agony 
 Your injured father begged of Heaven to blast 
 The Viceroy's base designs : opprest he fainted ; 
 But soon recovering, with more tranquil thought 
 Commended to his God your innocence ; 
 Then death, as if in pity of his woes. 
 Approaching in the form of softest slumber 
 Released his spirit from this tainted sphere, 
 To gain the happier heights of purer being. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 My good Paneea, thou dost vainly try 
 
 To soothe my anguish ; e'en the happier child, 
 
 Who, blest with peace, yields, in her native land 
 
 An aged parent to the hand of Heaven, 
 
 By nature's dictates sheds the frequent tear 
 
 Of unrestrained affliction : what must I, 
 
 A captive orphan, robbed of that fond father, 
 
 AVhose love, whose virtues were my kind support ?
 
 Hi THE VICEROY. 
 
 PANEEA. 
 
 May lenient time relieve thy wounded bosom \ 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Long will my filial heart lament his loss, 
 And conscious of its treasure torn away. 
 Ache at this cruel void. — But go, I pray thee, 
 Frejoare the hallowed bale-tree to receive 
 His dear remains, and let thy faithful hand 
 Pour richest incense on the blazing pile, 
 Since bondage keeps me from that sacred duty ! 
 
 PANEEA. 
 
 I will obey thee, dear, and gentle mistress, 
 Farewell ! and all pure spirits be thy guard. 
 
 (Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 YE LOR A, (alone.) 
 
 O • my Sylveyra, thou alone on earth 
 
 Art now the guardian of forlorn Velora; 
 
 And thou art doomed to bonds : perchance to fall 
 
 in the dark dungeon by the secret stab 
 
 Of base assassination : what is left 
 
 For me, disconsolate and wretched captive, 
 
 But in this solitude to sit and weep 
 
 My unexampled wrongs, and fatal love ?
 
 THE VICEROY. I4'j 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Jfhile V E LO R A rema ins in a pensive attitude, THE viceroy 
 enters imperceived. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 She sees me not, absorbed in pensive sorrow ; 
 Anxiety is painted in her eye ; 
 And fear sits panting on her lovely bosom. 
 Like agitation on the aspin leaf 
 Trembling at every breeze : I dare not speak- 
 How may I find a favorable minute 
 To soothe her angry grief, and melt its rage 
 To pity and forgiveness ? 
 
 V E LOR A , (starting up.) 
 
 Mercy, Heaven ! 
 Thou base assassin ! has thy soul the power 
 To look on the sad orphan, thou hast made ? 
 Dar'st thou approach me ? can thy heart so soon 
 Insult the sanctity of filial sorrow ? 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Hear me, thou injured fair! by Heaven 1 vow 
 My heart is guiltless of thy father's death ! 
 I would not have deprived his honored age 
 Of one short hour, one moment of existence. 
 To make my days immortal. Could my blood 
 Redeem his life, and i»ive him to thv pravers,
 
 146 THE VICEROY. 
 
 1 now would pour it freely at thy feet. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Vain penitence ! did not thy cruel hand 
 Tear from his bleeding heart his darling child ? 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 'Twas the wild fear of seeing thee enrich 
 A rival's arms, 'twas that distracting image, 
 That drove my maddening soul to cruel force, 
 Unconscious of the horrors, that have followed : 
 I feel them now — joined to thy just reproach, 
 They make me execrate my own existence. 
 Thou injured orphan ! in this wretched bosom 
 Plunge thy avenging dagger! it will end 
 Variety of pangs, more keen than all. 
 
 My fatal passion has e'er heaped on thee 
 
 Remorse and anguish harrow up my mind ; 
 Yet, while 1 gaze upon thee, fiercer love 
 Burns in my frantic heart; all milder thoughts, 
 Which penitence and pity can suggest, 
 He drowns; and leaves triumphant in my soul 
 The mighty madness of his raging fire. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Canst thou pretend to sorrow, to remorse, 
 And still insult me with licentious passion 
 In this afflictive hour? 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 O i my Velora, 
 There is a tempest in my soul, that robs 
 My tongue of language, and my thoughts of reason ; 
 But *tis excess, 'tis agony of love, 
 Which claims thy pardon, which dcser^'^es thy pity.
 
 THE VICEROY. 147 
 
 GARCIA, (behind the scenes.) 
 
 Where is the Viceroy ? — slave ! — he must be found, 
 And I will pass thee 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Ha ! whose fury dares 
 Insult our guard ? 
 
 SCENE IK 
 
 THE VICEROY, VELORA ; GARCIA enters With (in 
 Officer. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 O ! Garcia, what inspires 
 This bold contempt ? 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Thy danger, with a sense 
 Of honor, and attachment still remaining 
 To one, who little has deserved my friendship ; 
 Whose fatal passions have at length produced 
 The dire effects proportioned to their guilt 
 But 'tis no time to parley ; thro' the city 
 AH is confusion, anger, and revenge : 
 The swarming Indians, with religious fury, 
 Call on their murdered Bramin : all our troops. 
 With spirits ripe for mutiny, demand 
 Sylveyra's freedom. O ! unhappy Castro, 
 If justice, glory, and our country's welfare 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Are names yet dear to lliee, appear ! come forth ! 
 
 Haste ! re-assuine thy better seU", iind rush 
 
 To (jucll these tumults, ere they rise to crush thee. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 IJy liell's dark powers the tidings, thou hast brought. 
 
 Suit the wikl tempest in my tortured brain : 
 
 Lead to the fiercest terrors of the storm ! 
 
 I'll gladly meet them ; for ray souTs prepared 
 
 To rush upon the lightning's keenest Hash, 
 
 And bless the thunders, that are launched against me. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Come ! my brave friend, let me but soothe thy spirit, 
 And lead thy virtue to a just atonement, 
 We yet may stop the ruin, that impends. 
 
 THE VICEROY turning hack, a.s he and GARCIA are 
 qtdtting the stage. 
 
 But my Velora ! — mark me Officer ! 
 
 Let her be treated with most humble duty ! 
 
 Nor be her steps confined, except within 
 
 The utmost limits of our castle wall ! 
 
 But place a double guard at every gate ! 
 
 Farewell ! thou matchless, dear, destructive beauty ! 
 
 {E.vit with Gaixia. 
 
 VELORA. (alone. 
 
 Ye generous men ! who strive to terminate 
 The base enthralment of our dear Sylveyra, 
 Still may the sense of all his bright perfections. 
 His great achievements, and his galling wrongs 
 Feed the just anger of your noble minds !
 
 THE VICEROY. Hi; 
 
 SCEXE V. 
 
 VELORA, CARASCO. 
 
 c A R s A c o, (entering /taalili/.) 
 
 Come dear Velora, I at length have gained 
 The moment for thy freedom ; haste we now 
 To seize it, while this din of arms engages 
 The watchful goaler of thy captive beauty ! 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Away ! away! thy fatal schemes have plunged 
 My soul in anguish, and destroyed my father — 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Oh ! blame me not ! it was the treacherous priest — 
 
 Curse on his abject, avaricious soul ! 
 
 Whose sordid hopes betrayed us to the Viceroy ; 
 
 But let us lose all thought of evils past 
 
 In haste to seize this golden, glorious minute, 
 
 That calls thee now from bondage : I have bribed 
 
 Sylveyra's guard ; will lead you to his prison, 
 
 And shew ve both a subterraneous door : 
 
 By this we gain the City ; sure protection 
 
 Awaits us there : Sylveyra's ready friends 
 
 Will rise in arms, the moment they behold him. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Thou generous friend ! I will embrace thy kindness, 
 . And bless thee for it : lead me to my lord ! 
 To save Sylveyra*s precious life is now
 
 150 THE VICEROY. 
 
 My only hope, my only end of being. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Come on ! my lovely vvard ! now, Castro, mourn 
 Thy baffled fondness ! T have foiled thee now ; 
 And my past wrongs are happily repaid. 
 While with triumphant joy, 1 bear away 
 This beauteous treasure from thy tyrant grasp. 
 
 {Exevnt. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 GUARDS, (hehind the scene.) 
 
 You must not pass us ; 'tis the Viceroy's order. 
 
 CONSTANTIA, (behind the sce7ie.) 
 
 Ye cruel guards ! ye shall not force me back : 
 Affliction has a sacred claim to enter 
 The residence of power. 
 
 Entering with an Officer, 
 
 Thanks ! gallant soldier ! 
 Who hast compassion for a woman's woes ! 
 Now guide me to the Viceroy ! 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Lovfly mourn ei 
 Believe me, he is absent from the castle !
 
 THE VICEROY. 151 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Then by thy duty, wheresoe'er he is, 
 Conduct me to him ! I have things to utter 
 Of higher moment than his Hfe itself. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Necessity constrains me to refuse 
 Thy eager prayer : the Viceroy is engaged 
 In scenes of tumult, which thy tender frame 
 Would tremble to encounter. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 ? 
 
 Prove my spirit 
 I have a heart, that in the embattled field 
 Would cross the thunder of the bursting cannon 
 To reach the Viceroy : I conjure thee guide me ! 
 I have an awful mystery to tell. 
 That yet may save him from impending crimes. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Thy words amaze me, and enforce my service, 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Lead on ! and fear not ! for the saints of Heaven 
 Will clear our way, and with their sacred power 
 Assist the parent to preserve her child.
 
 152 THE VICEROY. 
 
 SCENE VII.— THE CITY, 
 
 A TUMULT OF INDIANS. 
 
 FIIIST INDIAN. 
 
 Heveiige ! revenge, for Drama's sacred blood 1 
 For age and wisdom, murdered by the hand 
 Of impious tyranny ! 
 
 SECOND INDIAN. 
 
 Let's to the castle ! 
 And from that den of sacrilegious lust 
 Drag this proud Viceroy, while his angry guards 
 Yield him our easy prey. 
 
 SCENE VII I. 
 
 THE VlCEllOV, GARCIA and INDIANS. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Spare your vain search. 
 Ye madding croud ! behold that V^iceroy here, 
 Whose power ye question, and whose blood ye thirst 
 
 for ! 
 Ungratel'ul people ! can ye thus forget
 
 THE VICEROY. 153 
 
 From what dark depths of ruinous abasement 
 
 1 raised your plundered race ? there was a time, 
 
 When cruel rapine, with unbridled rage, 
 
 Preyed on your wasted wealth ; when every voice. 
 
 That rose from India to unpitying Heaven, 
 
 Poured wild complaint, and bitter execration, 
 
 Against the insatiate sons of sordid Europe : 
 
 Those scenes of wretchedness our cares have changed 
 
 To the mild blessings of protected commerce. 
 
 And equal justice ; yet your mutinous spirits 
 
 Insult the power, that saves you from perdition. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Behold, my lord, how their misguided fury, 
 With just contrition, sinks to silent shame ! 
 
 AS AGED INDIAN. 
 
 Hear ! mighty Castro, hear the suppliant voice 
 Of age ! forgive, and soothe thy troubled people ! 
 They own thy mild dominion ; they revere 
 Thy princely virtues : yet in wildest terror 
 Dread, lest insidious passion should betray thee 
 To trample on those laws, in whose defence 
 Thy steady virtue has so long upheld 
 The sword of justice, and the shield of mercy. 
 O ! be their guardian still! in generous pity 
 Give, to the humblest prayers of duty, give 
 The captive child of that unhappy Bramin, 
 Whose terrors for his daughter torn away, 
 Piercing his soul, abridged his virtuous days ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Thou good old man ! thy mildness has more power 
 To move the heart of Castro, than the threats 
 Of fiercest war, when, in his wildest fury,
 
 154 THE VICEROY, 
 
 His loud voice sounds defiance and destruction. 
 My troubled subjects ! just and gentle spirits ! 
 I have obtained an empire in your hearts ; 
 
 ^Twas my ambition : 'tis my noblest pride; 
 
 Nor shall base passions tempt me now to forfeit 
 This best dominion : let the coward tyrant 
 Enshroud in falsehood's veil his crimes, his fears ! 
 My heart shall own its errors, and retrieve them. 
 
 INDIAN. 
 
 Ye sons of India, hear your gracious lord 
 He has no thought of impious violation. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 My fatal passion 1 retain it still 
 
 But deeply conscious, this altlictive love. 
 
 This cruel source of horrors unforeseen, 
 
 Must wound your dearest rights: those hallowed laws 
 
 Which I am bound to cherish, not invade. 
 
 Know that my soul has vowed to see no more 
 
 That lovely maid ! whose fascinating charms 
 
 Tempt justice from its throne : ye now have heard 
 
 Our serious purpose ; to confirm it farther 
 
 To you, my people ! that unshaken honor 
 
 May be the guard of feebler continence, 
 
 I give this vSacred pledge, your Sovereign's truth : 
 
 ]f now ye think us worthy of your trust. 
 
 Dismiss your every fear, disperse, and leave us ? 
 
 INDIANS. 
 
 May Heaven long guard the just, the generous Castro! 
 He may command our treasures, and our blood. 
 
 THE VICEROY and CARCIA come forward, and the Sccm 
 ilof^'s heldnd them.
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 THE VICEROY, GARCIA. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Blest be thy virtues ! 1 regain my friend : 
 My heart coyld ahuost worship thee for this, 
 For well 1 know how dearly it has cost 
 Thy feeling soul ; but honor shall repay thee, 
 And fame immortal be thy rich reward. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Garcia my word is past : I mean to keep it 
 
 JVly heart was formed to merit, and engage 
 The blessings of my people, not their curse : 
 But thou must be my feeble virtue's guard ; 
 For should I look on that enchanting form, 
 The very firmest of these bright resolves 
 Would prove a lucid bubble, lost in air 
 The moment it is blown. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Release your captives, 
 And time will make thro' every hour of life 
 This best of triumphs dearer to your heart I 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Go thou, dear Garcia, to the western tower! 
 I will not hazard e'en the slightest chance 
 To meet the eyes of that bewitching beauty :
 
 136 IIHE VICEROY. 
 
 Go, send her to Constantia ! then my friend 
 Haste to rejoin me in Sylveyra's prison ! 
 He is again the child of my adoption ; 
 It shall be now my constant aim to banish 
 All trace of passion, and the name of rival. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Blest be thy words ! they give my age new life ; 
 And i shall meet thee with the speed of youth. 
 
 (Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.—A PRISON, 
 
 CAR A SCO, mtcring ivith VELORA. 
 
 Curse on that busy and officious fool. 
 
 Who thus detained our steps ! — we've lost an age : 
 
 Sylveyra should be here : what ho ! my friend ! 
 
 VKLORA. 
 
 Good Heaven ! he hears us not — -they have destroyed 
 him. 
 
 s Y L V E Y R A , (mtering.) 
 
 It was an angel, or Velora's voice : 
 
 What joy ! 'tis she herselt^ my life ! my love I 
 
 What blessed chance 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 We have no time for words ; 
 Each moment's of inestimable price : 
 I come to save ye both ! — follow my steps,
 
 THE VICEROY. 157 
 
 And I will guide ye thro' a path unknown ! 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 My true Carasco ! faithful, generous friend 1 
 Watch o'er this dearer portion of my life, 
 And iiaste to guide my loved Yelora hence 1 
 13ut foiMuyself, a Soldier's tender fame 
 Forbids this secret flight : it wears too much 
 The cast of conscious guilt, and coward fear. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 These ill-timed scruples of mistaken honor 
 Are ruin to our hopes 
 
 VEl.ORA. 
 
 My own Sylveyra, 
 Thou seest Velora fatherless before thee, 
 Enabled only to sustain her being 
 By her fond hopes in thy protecting love; 
 Thou art her sole supporter, can thy heart 
 Desert so dear a duty, to obey 
 The fancied dictates of delusive honor? 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Never ! no never ! all this heart is thine : 
 The tender accents of thy plaintive voice 
 Wake every fond emotion in my soul. 
 And teach me 'tis the glory of my life 
 To guard thy innocence thro' every peril- 
 
 Away ! I will attend you: yet my friend 
 
 A moment's pause ! to shield us from pursuit 
 
 I'll bar yon avenue do thou, Carasco, 
 
 Watch at the other grate, lest any noise 
 Awake suspicion in the court below !
 
 i58 THE VICEROY. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Be swift delay's inevitable death 
 
 &YLYEYR A, withdraivs at the end of the stage, and CARASCO 
 remains attentive on the opposite side^ 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 How slow, how awful are these trying minutes 
 Of doubtful fate, that on their shadowy wings 
 In dread concealment bear the uncertain form 
 Of safety or perdition ? flear me Heaven !— — 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 SYLVEYRA, and CARASCO o7i opposite sides of the stage^ 
 while VELORA is absorbed in devotion. 
 
 THE VICEROY', (entering.) 
 
 This resolution ne'er to see her more 
 
 Is medicine to my mind ha ! what art thou, 
 
 Bewitching form ? art lliou a mere illusion, 
 Or the fair sorceress herself, whose power 
 Seeks my perdition ? let me clasp, and prove thee \ 
 Thou dear delicious poison ! O ! thy touch 
 Drives hot delirium thro' my every vein. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Help me ! Carasco, help !
 
 THE VICEROY. ns 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Turn, tyrant ! turn 
 Hase ravisher ! and meet thy punishment ' 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Audacious villain ! it is mine to punish ; 
 And thus I prove my power. 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 1 spurn it thus — ■ 
 Thank my kind stars I touch thee — 'tis enouglu 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Vile traitor ! I despise thy nerveless arm. 
 And thus repay thy feeble wound with death. 
 
 (IVhiie they are engaged Y Ehon A Jlies. J 
 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Curse thy strong arm ! it has — it has destroyed me. 
 
 s Y L V E Y R A , (rushing towards them.) 
 \ am too late ! he falls ! unhappy friend !
 
 1«0 ' THE VICEROY. 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 THE VICEROY, SYLVEYRA, CARASCO, GARCIA, 
 and GUARDS. 
 
 In the moment carasco is falling, garcia enters with 
 GUARDS, and seizes the sword of sy'lveyra. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 What treachery is here ? Castro, thou'rt wounded ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 My hurt is trifling : I have killed this traitor : 
 Guards bear Sylveyra to more close confinement ! 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Off! I will take a soldier's last farewell 
 
 Of this brave man, who dying thus pours forth 
 
 His generous blood in friendship's fatal cause. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Away ! they shall not interchange a word— — 
 
 GUARDS /orceo^ SYLVEYRA. 
 CARASCO. 
 
 Insulting tyrant 1 thou mayst triumph now. 
 Thy triumph will be short. — It joys me yet
 
 THE VICEROY. ICl 
 
 To see tlie lion circled in my toils, 
 Unconscious of his danger. — Sudden fate, 
 Invisible to thee, han^s o'er thy head : 
 This prospect of revenge, enough for me, 
 Gilds all the horrors of impending death, 
 E'en in these moments, while 1 feel his hand 
 Pressing most heavy — O ! my life is past — 
 But thine, thine cannot last beyond — -0 Heaven ! 
 
 (Dies. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 What mean these vile mysterious threats ? I fear 
 
 Some dark, and deep conspiracy is formed 
 
 By those, who murmured at Sylveyra's fate : 
 
 My honored friend ! haste ! to thy bleeding wound 
 
 Get timely succour ! %vhile I search ifanght 
 
 Of secret treason lurk within the walls. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 No, my kind Garcia, I will first go forth, 
 
 And make provision for the public safety. 
 
 Come then, my generous friend, dismiss thy fears ! 
 
 Luxuriant ease, and beauty arc alone 
 
 The bane of Castro : in the hour of danger 
 
 Thy piercing eye shall never find his soul 
 
 False to the hopes of animated friendship, 
 
 And idly distant from the goal of honor. 
 
 END OF THE FOURTH ACT. 
 
 M
 
 U;2 rilE VICEROY. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 ^CENE L— BEFORE THE CASTLE GATE. 
 
 C0NSTA^'TIA, and a sentinel. 
 
 SENTINEL. 
 
 Hast thou not heard, thou canst not be admitted } 
 Then trouble us no more with fruitless clamour ! 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Unfeeling slave ! — O ! I am faint to death : 
 Yet hear me ! yet admit me to the \ iceroy ! 
 And wretched as I seem, most rich reward 
 Shall make thee bless thy pity. 
 
 SENTINEL. 
 
 I have told thee, 
 I dare not on my life , the Viceroy's wounded 
 Even to death ; and none must pass our gate 
 Without immediate order from the council.
 
 THE VICEROY. 163 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Good Heaven ! my Castro in the pangs of death ! 
 Slave ! I will pass. 
 
 SENTINEL. 
 
 Presumptuous woman ! hence ! 
 Or wait without, and wholesome solitude 
 Shall teach thee to be patient. 
 
 (Enters and shuts the Gate. 
 SCENE II, 
 
 CONSTANTIA, (alone.) 
 
 O ! my husband ! 
 Aly dying Castro ! could thy closing eyes 
 Behold thy Isabel, that once loved name, 
 Thus by a scornful slave, forbid to pour 
 Her fond forgiveness on thy parting soul ! 
 Mercy ! what means this image of distraction ? 
 'Tis my Velora, whose disordered features 
 Too strongly speak her frantic agony 
 Of terror and surprise. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 CONSTANTIA, VELORA. 
 
 V E LOR A , (entering hastily) 
 
 Now save thy son ! 
 If pitying Heaven vet give thee time to save him ! 
 
 M2
 
 iGi THE VICEROY. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Haste ! guide me to him ! tell me what the danger ! 
 Where is Sylveyra ? what must I attempt ? 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Alas ! I know^ not ; all is doubt and horror : 
 
 I lelt the tyrant in Sylveyra's prison 
 
 Fiercely encountering the brave Carasco ; 
 
 And may that faithful friend with noble vengeance 
 
 llepay our various wrongs. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Where was Sylveyra? 
 Was his arm raised against the life of Castro ? 
 Can it be possible that Heaven permitted 
 So horrible a conflict ! can my son, 
 Have drowned his honors in a father's blood ! 
 
 SCENE IP\ 
 
 COSSTAXTIA, VELORA, MOLINA. 
 
 ai o L I X A , (entering haslili/.) 
 
 Away ! my gentle friends, and let me guide ye 
 To some securer refuge, at these gates 
 Dire scenes of fierce contention may ensue ! 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Explain thy friendly fears !
 
 THE VICEROY. I'i 
 
 MOi.TXA. 
 
 Carasco's slain. 
 But in base conflict, with a poisoned sword 
 ilas wounded Castro : our unhappy \ iceroy, 
 In keenest torture, hardly now sustains 
 A Hte expected every hour to closn, 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Mercy ! I char^■e tiiee to that bed of death 
 Conduct uiy steps ! — -a sacrcti duty calls mc — 
 
 MOLINA, 
 
 That canijot be : T arn myself commanded 
 To quit the castle ; all Sylveyra's friends 
 Are kept aloof with a suspicious i'enr : 
 Alas! unhappy parent' i must tell tliee 
 Tidings yet more aiflictive ; at this moment 
 The council, jealous of endangered power, 
 And eager to revenge the Viceroy's fate 
 Is met to search, how far Sylveyra's wrongs 
 Made him the accomplice of this dark assassin : 
 13ut we acq;!ainted with his noble nature 
 
 VEl.ORA. 
 
 Shame on the base ingratitude, that wounds 
 His spotless virtue with its vile suspicion 1 
 
 CONSTAXTIA. 
 
 O horror ! horror ! this unhappy father 
 Will in the blind, convulsive pangs of death 
 Assassinate his child! imd call it justice: 
 Thou good Molina! think not that affliction 
 Has driven all sense from this disordered brain. 
 While I inform thee, that in me thou seest 
 The wife, the innocent, the injured wife
 
 166 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Of thy deluded, dear, expiring master, 
 Who thinks his poor deserted Isabel 
 Now mould'ring in her grave, nor yet suspects 
 That brave Sylveyra is the son he lost. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 The son of Castro ! thou his injured wife! 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Amazement 1 art thou that lamented victim 
 Of cruel jealousy ? 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Stay not to question 
 My wondrous fate ! a moment's pause is worse 
 Than death's worst pang : it may destroy a life 
 Far dearer than my own : my slandered son ! 
 Fly ! fly to save him ! 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Would I had heard 
 This tale, before the terrors of the council 
 Shut me from out these walls ! — 'tis now too late. 
 
 VELORA. 
 
 Too late • O mercy has their coward fear 
 Condemned his virtue ? has the cruel Viceroy 
 Forced them — — 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Distraction '• he has killed his child! 
 I see the fluher stained with filial blood ! 
 O unexampled crime ! 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Maternal lov»j
 
 THE VICEROY. W 
 
 Too keenly sensible, destroys thy reason : 
 But calm its frantic fears — thy son yet lives : 
 Yet interposing- Heaven 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 May 1 believe thee ? 
 Save me from madness '• swear they have not killed 
 him ! 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 Be comforted, fond parent ! by my life 
 
 He lives — yet friendship trembles at his danger : 
 
 The timid council, who well know thy son 
 
 The army's idol, jealous and alarmed. 
 
 By every caution to prevent his rescue. 
 
 Exclude us from the castle ; if we plead 
 
 Thy story for admission, they will call it 
 
 A sudden artifice to save thy son 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 O ! for a voice of thunder to proclaim 
 
 The sacred truth ! but let us force our passage 
 
 Thro' these inhuman guards ! what can they more 
 
 Than wound this wretched frame ? and let them bathe 
 
 Their sabres in my blood, if they but leave 
 
 My mangled limbs the power to crawl towards him. 
 
 Shrieks of maternal terror shall detain 
 
 The parting soul of this unconscious father, 
 
 And bid him save his unotfending child. 
 
 MOLINA. 
 
 One chance remains : — to sue for entrance here 
 Would be to waste inestimable minutes ; 
 But at the gate, by which 1 left the castle, 
 Some sentinels are placed, much bound to me 
 By various services ; perchance their spirit
 
 IGS THE VICEROY. 
 
 Will bravely venture on this breach of orders : 
 Haste we to prove it ! 
 
 VELORjV. 
 
 Come ! our suppliant tears 
 Shall melt the steriicst 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Now, relenti eg Heaven '• 
 Now shew thy mercy to an injured mother ! 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 SCENE V, 
 
 d AR CI A , idth a Council o/ OFFICERS. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 My valiant friends ! the blazing sun is set, 
 
 Whose vital energy gave life and splendor 
 
 To Lusitanian glory : — mighty Castro, 
 
 With pain exhausted, sinks in heavy slumber, 
 
 That much, 'tis feared, must terminate in death 
 
 Our grief and duty to as brave a leader 
 
 As ever soldier followed to the field. 
 
 The voice of justice, and the public safety. 
 
 All loudly call for signal, speedy vengeance 
 
 On the surviving traitor, deeply joined 
 
 In guilty compact with the base Carasco. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Behold the victim vou demand !
 
 THE VICEROY. 1C9 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 GARCIA and cou^•CIL; sylveyra, (guarded.) 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 My duty 
 To our lamented chief, my murdered iViend, 
 Bids me pronounce a painful accusation : 
 That done, I leave it to the council's wisdom 
 To judge his answer, and decide his fate. 
 Unhappy youth ! it is with grief 1 charge thee 
 With having stained thy honors, nobly won, 
 By dark conspiracy, by meanly joining 
 In basest vengeance Vvitii a vile assassin. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 ! Garcia, wrong not hy so base a name 
 A gallantp generous, and departed soldier. 
 Lavish of life iii friendship's sacred cause ! 
 V/ould I alone had met the oppressive arm 
 
 Of this proud ravisher ! what ! tho' I owed him 
 Obedience as a subject ! nobler duties 
 More loudly called me as a man to guard 
 That injured innocence, and plaintive beauty, 
 AVhich his fierce ra^e had seized for violation. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Thou lost young man ! whose fairer dawn of life 
 Gave the false promise of progressive virtue, 
 
 1 quit the little hope, my heart had formed 
 To find thee guiltless, while I hear thee thus,
 
 170 THE VICEROY. 
 
 With the bold insolence of vice, defend 
 
 The villain, who destroyed his sovereign's lit(& 
 
 By the base wound of an envenomed sword. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 By an envenomed sword! can this be true ? 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 The dying ruffian, with mysterious triumph, 
 Joyed in his crime. 
 
 SY'LVEYRA. 
 
 Could friendship be the mask 
 
 Of blackest vengeance ? 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 When I seized thy sword 
 In the confusion of that fatal conflict 
 It seemed, in aid of the accurst assassin, 
 To point its murd'rous aim at Castro's heart. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Think not an abject love of life can lead me 
 To clear my innocence ! — 1 know too well 
 The tyrant's jealousy, which e'en in death 
 Will rage, to rob me of the only treasure. 
 That makes life lovely in Sylveyra's eyes. 
 But just attention to my wounded honor 
 Bids me proclaim, my sword was only drawn 
 To interrupt their conflict. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Couldst thou prove 
 That generous purpose, thy untainted honor 
 Would, with the force of the meridian beam.
 
 THE VICEROY. l7l 
 
 Start from this passing clotul : but, hapless youth ! 
 The only wiiness tliat perchance might clear 
 Thy sullied fame, is that departing hero, 
 Whose pale lips, now we strongly fear, have closed 
 To speak no more ; and for myself, I grieve, 
 While painful truth impels me to repeat. 
 That if my eye deceived me not, thy sword 
 Was basely levelled at his sacred life. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Now Garcia, thou has paid thy debt to friendship ; 
 Our duty points to justice. 
 
 A MESSENGER, (entering.) 
 
 Suspend your resolution, valiant chiefs ! 
 
 It is the Viceroy's will: — he haply gains 
 
 Some little portion of reviving strength, 
 
 And has commanded his attendant train 
 
 To bear him to the council, that his sentence 
 
 But see ! his mighty mind, tho' worn with torture, 
 
 Anticipates my message 
 
 SCENE VII, 
 
 GARCIA rmd COUNCIL, SYLYEYRA, THE VICEROY. 
 
 THE VICEROY, (hrOKght in.) 
 
 Gently ! friends, 
 All motion throws a sickly langour o'er me, 
 And robs my spirit of collected thought — • 
 Dear Garcia, 1 am faint — whene'er I die,
 
 172 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Thou art my successor : I would not wish 
 To place dominion in a nobler hand. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 That faithful hand shall resolutely guide 
 The sword of justice to avenge — 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Ah ! no! 
 I charge thee no ! I heard thy dangerous error ; 
 Thou hast believed the innocent S^iveyra 
 Tiie accomplice of a ruffian : but 1 come, 
 With pain collecting all the shattered powers 
 Of my dissolving frame, to prove his truth ; 
 To witness, that his sfenerous arm was raised 
 Not to destroy, but guard the ungrateful master, 
 Who basely wronged him. 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Blest be thy firm soub 
 Thou dear lamented friend, which timely clears 
 My dread mistake, and saves blind zeal from stainin"" 
 The svy'ord of eager justice, with the blood 
 Of slandered virtue. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Gallant, injured youth ! 
 Come near me I for the friendly hand of death 
 Has rent asunder that dark veil of passion, 
 Which hid thy virtues from my blinded heart ! 
 Give me thy hand ? before my fatal frenzy 
 1 loved th'.^e as my son : 'twas I who first 
 Broke that dear bond. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Thou kind, exalted spirit ♦
 
 THE VICEROY. 173 
 
 Still mayst thou live, and be again my father ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 No ! generous youth ! my feverish dream of Hfe 
 Is hastening to its close: but O ! my friends, 
 Be it related to our royal master. 
 That Castro owned, with his expiring lips, 
 How deepl) he had wronged the brave Sylveyra ; 
 And dying, begged, it might be told his king. 
 That in his seivice he will never find 
 A valiant youth of fairer expectation. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 O unexampled nobleness of nature ! 
 
 It rends m}- heart : — 'O ! that my worthless life — 
 
 SCENE Fill. 
 
 THE VICEROY, GARCIA, S YLVE YR A , CONST ANTI A, rjV. 
 
 CONSTANTIA, 
 
 (throiving herself before the Viceroy.) 
 
 Save him ! O save him, Castro ! 'tis thy son ! 
 The son of Isabel ! thy injured wife! 
 Behold her proud heart prostrate at thy feet ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Good Heaven ! thy piercing accents have convulsed 
 All my weak springs of life—look up ! O shew me 
 Thy features, thou ! that hast assumed a name,
 
 i;i THE VICEROY. 
 
 \Those very sound is torture to my soul ^ 
 Thou blessed form ! my Isabel herself! 
 My innocent, my living Isabel ! 
 Enough — ye powers of mercy ! 'tis enough — 
 1 fain would bless thee — but — 
 
 (Faints. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Alas ! he dies •— » 
 Wretch that I am ! my blind precipitate haste 
 Has cruelly abridged the few short minutes 
 Of his lost life. — Thou dear, unhappy Castro ! 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Despairnot, gentle lady ! this surprise 
 O'erpowers enfeebled nature ; but I see 
 Returning life — it flushes on his cheek — 
 
 (To the Council.) 
 
 My honored friends, your presence may distress 
 His wounded spirit ; then avvhile retire ! 
 And when he gains some slight return of strength, 
 1 will myself inform you of his wishes — 
 
 (the Oncers withdraw. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Where art thou, blessed spirit 1 tell me where ! 
 
 1 thought my Isabel i-nformed my soul, 
 
 She was not murder'd by the cruel Castro — ■ 
 
 Now my lost love ! I hold thee once again : 
 
 Speak to me ! let thy soft angelic voice, 
 
 If thou indeed art Isabel, disperse 
 
 This darkness of my soul, that makes me fear 
 
 A blessing, so beyond the reach of hope.
 
 THE VICEROY. 175 
 
 Is but the mockery of mere delirium. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Thy Isabel yet lives : O ! could her love 
 Yet save thy dearer life ! 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Kind angel ! spare, 
 Spare that vain thoughtl the hand of righteous Heavea 
 Has marked my hour of death — 1 feel it near ; 
 But thus to know, that I have not destroyed 
 Thy innocence ; to fold thee thus. 
 And fondly resting my repentant spirit 
 On the kind softness of thy tender bosom ; 
 To breathe my last in thy forgiving arms 
 Is worth long centuries of guilty Ijfe 
 But haste to tell me all thy wondrous fate, 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 If, in these moments of reviving love, 
 
 1 must again resign thee, yet my Castro ! 
 
 Yet in thy parting soul let me awaken 
 
 The blest emotions of paternal joy. 
 
 Let Isabel to thy embraces give 
 
 A son most worthy of thy honored name 1 
 
 This injured youth, this brave accomplished hero. 
 
 Formed by thy care, and child of thy adoption. 
 
 Thy loved Sylveyra, is thy real son. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Amazement ! transport '• Heaven my son restored ! 
 Come let me press thee with my d\'ing hand ! 
 And pouring penitent tears into thy bosom 
 Thus from thy pure heart wash the painful record 
 Of all thy father's cruelty and guilt.
 
 17G THE VICEROY. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 Ills wovtli, his kindness live for ever there 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Dear Garcia, seek that injured excellence 
 
 The sweet Velora — 1 have learnt the story 
 
 Of their cliaste loves, and her concealed attachment 
 
 To our pure faith : it is by her ak^ne, 
 
 That I can make atonement to their virtues. 
 
 (Exit Garcia. 
 
 Tell me, my Isabel, and haste to tell me, 
 How gracious providence has been thy shield '• 
 
 COXSTANTIA. 
 
 Thou know'st that far from Lisbon, and my father. 
 Within my sister's castle, 'twas my hope 
 To hide the offspring of our secret marriage ; 
 There first I learnt, that frantic jealousy 
 Impelled thee to desert thy injured wife — • 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 That cruel jealousy was raised to madness 
 By the curst arts of a defeated rival. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 The power of innocence, and pride of virtue, 
 
 With the pure spirit of maternal love, 
 
 Sustained my wounded heart : my generous sister 
 
 Contrived the arthil tale which haply led 
 
 My friends, mv father, and e'en thee to think mc 
 
 Sunk in the wished asylum of the lornb : 
 
 So I was free to watch, with ceaseless care. 
 
 The precious huit of thy ill-tated love —
 
 THE VICEROY. 177 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 Thou miracle of pure maternal virtue '- 
 
 let me thank thee with these bursti nor tears 
 Of fondest admiration ! 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 When the mind 
 Of my sweet boy first glowed with young ambition. 
 It chanced thy valour raised thee to this sphere : 
 
 1 then resolved beneath a borrowed name, 
 To visit India, with a hope to see 
 
 Thy unsuspected son by youthful merit 
 
 Attract thy notice : this, my dearest aim, 
 
 To brave Sylveyra, thy departed friend, 
 
 I first unfolded — 'as his widowed sister, 
 
 He sheltered me with well- devised concealment : 
 
 That virtuous hero aided all my views 
 
 With noblest zeal, and to thy wakened love 
 
 Meant to restore us, when the afflictive chance 
 
 Of battle robbed us of his kind support. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 My generous friend ! I well remember all 
 
 His care to fix in my unconscious heart 
 
 The virtues of my child— Oh ! Isabel, 
 
 To what long years of suffering has my frenzy 
 
 Reduced thy spotless heart ! and canst thou pardon- 
 
 N
 
 178 THE VICEROY. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 THE VICEROY, CONSTANTIA, SYLVEYRA, GARCIA, 
 YE LOR A. 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 And see another innocent, whom Castro 
 Has basely tortured by injurious passion '• 
 O ! Heaven, the sense otall your wrongs united 
 O'erwhelms my fainting spirit. 
 
 CONSTANTIA. 
 
 Gracious Heaver, 
 Relieve this anguish of his wounded soul. 
 
 THE VICEROY, 
 
 My lovely daughter, to this noble youth 
 Now let me, as a gilt of expiation. 
 Present thy purity 1 no ! no I my children ! 
 Ye must not kneel : to me alone belongs 
 Humiliation ; and my prostrate soul 
 Bends to that innocence, which I have wronged. 
 And may your generous hearts forget how deeply, 
 Nor let your hate attend me to the grave. 
 
 SYLVEYRA. 
 
 My honored father, could our love preserve thee I 
 
 THE VICEROY. 
 
 ^Tis death alone can expiate my offences. 
 
 And his dark shades are gathering fast around me,
 
 THE VICEROY. 179 
 
 I yet, my son, in these affecting moments. 
 Feel a fond pride in thy superior virtue : 
 And may that virtue, may thy chaste affections 
 Make thy pure days as full of peace and joy, 
 As mine have been of turbulence and horror! 
 Console thy peerless mother! let thy kindness 
 Repay, if possible, my cruelty ! 
 And O ! forever make this best of friends 
 The model of thy life ! my faithful Garcia ! 
 Thy friendship is the noblest legacy, 
 That I can leave these most beloved of beings ! 
 My Isabel ! where art thou ? my dim eyes 
 Have lost thee, and are strained in vain to find 
 The dearest object of their failing sight' — • 
 M^ith my last breath I bless thee — O farewell ! 
 Nor think too hardly of a heart, which still 
 Doats on thy excellence ! O ! mercy Heaven ! 
 
 (Dies, 
 
 GARCIA. 
 
 Farewell, great spirit! formed to giace the earth 
 With all the brightest qualities of man 1 
 0*er life's rough ocean 'twas thy wish to steer 
 The course of steady virtue ; but the storms 
 Of passion drove thee from thy destined way : 
 May all thy gallant deeds, and they were many, 
 Be justly blazoned in the tints of glory ! 
 And be thy frailties buried in the grave 1 
 Or but remembered with a kind concern, 
 To teach misguided man, that misery 
 Haunts all the hasty steps of lawless passion ; 
 While gentler, just affections only bring 
 Unclouded peace, and purity of joy ! 
 
 N"?
 
 THE 
 
 HEROINE OF CAMBRIA 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 Hicfuroi'f hie ralies, hie sunt tua cnmi/fa, C^sar, 
 — — — ckidis iameu /mjua ftahemus 
 Vindictam. 
 
 LucAN : Ltb : vii.
 
 PERSONS OF THE DRAMA, 
 
 King Edward the First. 
 Clyfford, Nepheiv to the King. 
 Mortimer. 
 Llandorvin, the Bard. 
 
 Queen Eleanor. 
 
 GwENDYLEN, the Daughter of Llandorvin. 
 
 SCENE— WALES. 
 
 A Castle at the foot of Snowdon, and different spod 
 on the Mountain.
 
 THE 
 
 HEROINE OF CAMBRIA : 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A HALL IN AN ANCIENT CASTLE. 
 
 KING EDWARD, and ATTENDANTS. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Tell me no more our conquest is complete.! 
 All we have gained is but a trembling trophy. 
 Which oft as Snowdon, from its secret caves, 
 Pours forth these vagrants of rebellious song, 
 Shakes at the echo of a minstrel's voice. 
 Our victories yet want the bloody seal, 
 That gives stability to power. I wait 
 In anxious indignation, till I hear, 
 That these prime sources of seditious fury. 
 These scoffers at our sway, — the captive bards, 
 Are silenced all by death.
 
 184 THE HEROINE 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 KiNG EDWARD, CLYFFQRD, and ATTENDANT^ 
 
 ^IND EDWARD. 
 
 Well I my young soldier. 
 Hast thou, 35 I enjoined thee, seen these miscreants, 
 Who to their harps breathed anarchy and carnage. 
 Resign their forfeit lives ? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Yes ! my dread liege, 
 I have indeed beheld -shield, shield me, Heaven, 
 t'rom such another spectacle ! 
 
 ^CING EDWARD. 
 
 Weak boy ! 
 What, choaked with tears! art thou the martial youth, 
 W horn, for thy father's sake, tho* marriage failed 
 To give the stamp of honor to th}' birth, 
 1 fondly fostered as a future hero ? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 If I offend, whom I would die to serve, 
 Pray you, my liege, assign me any torture, 
 Rather than your reproach ! 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Then be corr€cted ! 
 Thy too indulgent $ire, the gentle Edmund
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 1R5 
 
 Would lead thee, by his homilies on peace, 
 To bean anchorite ; — thy king, my Clytibrd, 
 Must steel thy sinews to the sterner duties 
 Of discord-queUin^^ power. — But to thy story ! 
 What! did these fierce otlenders die so bravely. 
 Thou couldijt have wished tlieir pardon ? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 From my soul — • 
 
 royal Edward ! think me not ungrateful 
 For all thy lavish bounty to my yoiith. 
 
 If when I saw these victims of thy w rath 
 Ferish, amid tlie groans of suffering thousands, 
 
 1 wished thy mercy— 
 
 KING EDWARD, 
 
 Poor, deluded stripling! 
 These wild enthusiasts have ensnared thy fancy ; 
 And foolish pity for the expiring traitors 
 Has; made thee half a rebel. 
 
 CLVrFORD. 
 
 No ! my liege, 
 I pitied not the dying: their demeanour 
 Might waken envy, but not weak compassion : 
 They died as freedom's martyrs — and they said 
 The benedictions of their bleeding country 
 Would waft to Heaven tlieir unrepining spirits. 
 It was the anguish of their mourning kindred 
 
 That pierced my soul it seemed, that in their death 
 
 The vital spirit of their nation perished. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 There, Clyfford, thy unconscious lips applaud 
 The wisdom of severity. The arm,
 
 186 THE HEROINE 
 
 That strikes against us in the field of war. 
 
 Is not so much an object of our fear, 
 
 As that more potent voice, which, in the scene 
 
 Of festive tumult, arrogantly spreads 
 
 Contagious enmity against our rule, 
 
 And mutinous defiance. These wild tribes 
 
 Of hardy mountaineers will soon become 
 
 The docile vassals of our sovereign pleasure, 
 
 When their presumptuous rhapsodists no more 
 
 Exist, to fire the fascinated people 
 
 To frantic insurrection. Quiet now 
 
 May guard and fertilize our new domain, 
 
 Since these rebellious, these strife-kindling bards 
 
 Are all extirpated. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Not all my liege. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 What ! are we disobeyed ? is not our sentence 
 Justly fulfilled on all the traitorous tribe ? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Of the devoted band, one hoary chief^ 
 
 l*re-eminent in genius and renown. 
 
 The famed Llandorvin, by a pious fraud. 
 
 That nature framed to save him, has eluded 
 
 His watchfiil guard, and 'scaped the general doom, 
 
 Which sunk to day in everlasting silence 
 
 All the lost brothers of his art. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Escaped ! 
 
 Ho shall not foil my power by Salem's cross 
 
 Not all the deep recesses of their mountains
 
 OF CAMBRIA. ' iS7 
 
 Shall screen this fugitive, and whosoe'er 
 Has stolen tiie victim from insulted justice, 
 Shall in atonement share his future death. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Recal that oath ! — -O nohle minded Edward ! 
 For it involves a cruelty, thy nature 
 Could never execute. Our glorious sovereign, 
 The pride of Christendom ! bears not a sword 
 To strike at female youth, and filial duty. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 What canst thou mean ? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 The culprit is a daughter; 
 Of radiant beauty ; and, as fame reports, 
 Endowed with all the mental energy, 
 That made her sire the darling of his nation. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Bribed she our guard ? — Perdition on the traitors ! 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 No ! on my life my liege the men are faithful. 
 This damsel with prevailing supplication 
 (A savage must have granted her request) 
 Begged but to pass within her father's prison 
 The night preceding his appointed death. 
 How she effected his escape, we know not ; 
 But when the morning came, and all the victims 
 Were summoned to their fate, the fearless maiden 
 Boasted, her sire was free; and nobly added 
 To seal his freedom, if her blood might seal it, 
 She would exult to meet th' impending doom.
 
 188 THE HEROINE 
 
 From which she had redeemed him. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Mark ! thou novice 
 In the high task to govern wayward rebels, 
 Mark ! how these fierce enthusiasts of the harp 
 Subvert all power ! How with outrageous fury 
 They spurn authority, and smile at death. 
 This artful traitress may have severed from us 
 The hearts of half our soldiery. Inform me 
 How they received this daring subterfuge ! 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 As men, my liege, who tho' inured to scenes, 
 Where lawless war oft leads to wildest outrage, 
 Yet feel the force of beauty, and of nature. 
 They praised the noble girl, exclaimed " God bless 
 
 her. 
 And would have sent her crowned with garlands home, 
 But that stern Mortimer, whose rigid spirit 
 Can ne*er forgive her countrymen the havoc, 
 They spread so frequent o'er his neighbouring lands. 
 Seized on the maid, and resolutely vowed 
 He would conduct her to your royal presence, 
 As hostage for her father's peaceful conduct. 
 
 KING EDAVARD. 
 
 He judges better than thy simple youth ; 
 And knows the caution, that our state requires.
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 189 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 TkIXG EDWARD, CLYFFORD, MORTIM ER,GVVENDYLEK. 
 
 MORTIMER. 
 
 Behold, my liego — but from your gallant kinsman 
 You are apprizetl of all, I would relate, 
 Touching this fair delinquent, whom my duty 
 Brings to attend the order of your highness. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 My faithful Mortimer ! we ever find thee 
 
 Intelligent and active in our service. 
 
 Fair stranger ! thy offence has nature's plea : 
 
 ^Ve shiill not therefore, as our state might warrant, 
 
 Weigh it, as treason to our sovereignty. 
 
 Think us thy friend ! and know we mean to place thee 
 
 In the protection of our gentle queen. 
 
 Whose fair retinue, and well ordered court. 
 
 Form an asylum for thy youth and beauty. 
 
 There wilt thou learn, what thv distracted country 
 
 Ought to have learnt, a grateful just obedience , 
 
 Nor rashly mingling in rebellious broils 
 
 Partake thv father's crimes. 
 
 V 
 
 CiWENDYLEX. 
 
 My father's crimes i 
 O royal Edward, do not let the pride 
 Of recent conquest make thee arrogate 
 What God denies himself; the power to alter
 
 130 THE HEROINE 
 
 Th* eternal sacred bounds of good and evil. 
 My father's life may be, as once it seemed, 
 Tiiy vi':tim : but his virtue, and his fame 
 Are far beyond the reach of thy attaint ; 
 And, like liis firm unspotted soul, immortal. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 So young ! and so presumptuous ! thy apt childhood 
 Has caught the ravings of licentious freedom : 
 But softer studies, and stibmissive manners 
 More suit thy sex and age. 
 
 GVVENDYLEX. 
 
 Your pardon, sir ! 
 My brief, and artless life has only been" 
 One plain continued lesson in the school. 
 The heart-improving school of true submission. 
 Where quick obedience is the happy oiispring 
 Of love, and veneration. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Has thy father, 
 Plunged in the storm of dark hostility. 
 That drowns domestic joy, has he found leisurfe 
 To tutor thy fond infancy ; and grow 
 By the alhiring powers of mild instruction 
 The idol of his child ? 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 If 1, my lord, 
 As partial friends have said, if I appear 
 Of spirit riper, than my youth might promise, 
 I owe it to his rare paternal bounty ; 
 Who from my cradle, with incessant fondness 
 Watched o'er the dawn of reason in my soul.
 
 OF CAMBRIA. lf)l 
 
 And to my young enchanted mind displayed 
 The lustre of his own. — O mighty Edward ! 
 Couldst thou but feel a moment, what my heart 
 
 Has felt for years the pure benignant splendor 
 
 Of that rich mind, where fancy's fervid powers 
 Blaze, but as solar fire, to guide the world, . 
 Thou wouldst not wonder, that 1 thus exult 
 To draw my being from so bright a source. 
 And vindicate the glory of my father. 
 
 KING EDWARD« 
 
 My young, and fair enthusiast, I esteem 
 Thy filial pride, good children make good subjects. 
 Thy spirit pleases, and perchance may lead me 
 To be thy father's friend : but we must teach him 
 To court our mercy, not insult our power. 
 Wait till the queen, youth's patroness ! appears 
 To take thee to her charge. Come, Mortimer, 
 Receive our private orders ! 
 
 (Exit with Mortimer, 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 GWENDYLEN, CLYFFORD. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Lovely, sequestered fair ! whose native s^racos 
 Surpass, what I have seen, of finished beauty I 
 I gaze upon thee with delight, and anguish : 
 The admiration, that thy charms inspire.
 
 1.72 THE HEROINE 
 
 Is turned to torture by the fears I feel 
 
 Of ills, that threaten thee, which yet thou know*st Boi 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Have they surprised my father ? Noble youth t 
 If thou indeed hast pity for our wrongs, 
 Rack not my soul with ignorance and terror! 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 No lovely Gwendylen ! thy father yet 
 Retains the liberty, thy virtue gave him. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Blest be the voice, which gives me that assurance ! 
 
 It has disolved the icy bonds, that seemed 
 
 To rob ray heart of motion. In his safety 
 
 I live again ; and feeling but for him. 
 
 Smile at adversity, whose baffled force 
 
 Falls on myself alone. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Thou sweet perfection ! 
 That Heaven should form thee for a fate so cruel ! 
 E'en now thou seem'st to my afflicted sense 
 Like a lost infant, seeing not its peril, 
 Wandering with sightless eyes in active slumber 
 Upon a turret's roof: — another step 
 Is sure destruction. How ! how shall I save thee? 
 
 GWKXDYLEX. 
 
 What means thy kind inquietude ? Is Edward 
 So ruthless, as to thirst for blood like mine ? 
 Nay, if he is, lament not, generous Clyfford ! 
 I have not passed my days with such a father, 
 Untaught in life's great lesson, liow to die !
 
 OF CAMBRIA, 1^3 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 No ! not thy blood ! O thou enchanting fair one \ 
 Tliy beauty, and thy perils will distract 
 My troubled brain, and turn nme to a traitor 
 Against tli' imperial patron of my youth. 
 I\Iy heart recoils, when I attempt to speak 
 Against the bounteous Edward, but his rage 
 To crush all opposition to his sway 
 In this devoted country, may induce him — • 
 No ! no ! I am to blame — his noble nature — 
 I will not shew thee that detested image, 
 Which my o'er-anxious fancy had created, 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 My young ingenuous friend 1 I see, and honor 
 The struggle in thy soul between just pity 
 To the surtk victims of abhorred oppression, 
 And fond attachment to an artful tyrant, 
 Allied to thee in blood, but not in virtue. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 If thus thou think'st of Edward, I may banish 
 My groundless dread, lest his imperial offers 
 Of splendid favour might induce thy candor 
 To call thy wand' ring father to our court ; 
 And then behold him in some fatal season, 
 When stern necessity of state might prompt 
 
 To faithless rigor but the King returns : 
 
 Treasure my caution in thy tender bosom ! 
 
 And know me for thy friend in fote's worst hour.
 
 rr)i THE HEROINE 
 
 SCEME r. 
 
 GVVENDYLEN, CLYFFORD,KING EDWARD, 310RTIMER, 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Come, my fair ward ; to shew you, that we honor 
 
 A daughter's courage, we return in person 
 
 To lead you to our Queen. To all your race 
 
 Our purposes are kind : we freely grant 
 
 Your father's forfeit lite. Make him our friend. 
 
 We mean to place you in our realm of England, 
 
 Where hoth shall flourish in our royal favor. 
 
 GWENDYLEX. 
 
 My lord, in childhood, 1 was taught a fable, 
 Touching the lion's court. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Now, on my soul, 
 This girl is passing shrewd ; but hear me, damsel \ 
 Wake not the lion's wrath \ you know my power 
 Can sweep this hoary fugitive from eartli : 
 Would you provoke )ny rigor ? be advised ! 
 Embrace my proffered bounty, and confide 
 His safety to your King ! 
 
 CWENDVLEN. 
 
 1 will confide it 
 But to the King, whose word was never broken 
 The King of Kings ! If it is Heaven's decree,
 
 dF CAMBRIA. 195 
 
 That he must perish, never shall his daughter 
 Be lured by false ambition to betray him. 
 
 KING EDWARD, 
 
 Betray him ! say'st thou ? is it to betray 
 An outcast, larking in wild woods and caverns, 
 To call him from despair ? perhaps from death. 
 To the bright refuge of a monarch's favor ? 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Insidious tyrant ! talk not of thy favor ! 
 
 *Tvvas this ensnared the princes of our land, 
 
 And made the tair face of our bleeding country 
 
 A scene of ruin, horrible to think of. 
 
 And to behold, distracting. While my thoughts 
 
 Exulted in the rescue of my fluher, 
 
 My nation's woes seemed banished from my mind : 
 
 But now, that I survey thy angry visage. 
 
 My country's evil genius glares upon me: 
 
 Thy cruelty, thy crimes, in all their horror, 
 
 Remorseless Edward ! rush upon my brain, 
 
 And all my father's virtues fire my soul 
 
 With just and brave contempt of barb'rous power, 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Art thou so frantic in thy enmity, 
 
 That grace and clemency are lost upon thee ? . 
 
 Thou female abstract of thy nation's fury ! 
 
 Then salutary rigor must instruct thee 
 
 Not to insult our bounty. Mortimer ! 
 
 Take thou the charge of this intractable ! 
 
 Tame the young zealot with the due correction 
 
 Of strict imprisonment, and solitude. 
 
 To teach her better thoughts ; v>hile we, my Clyfford, 
 
 1
 
 19r> THE HP:R01NE 
 
 InForai the Queen, that her intended cliarge 
 Is found unworthy of her kind arceptance. 
 
 (Exit vAth Cli/lfoviL 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 GWENDYLEN, MORTIMER. 
 
 MORTIMER. 
 
 Come ! my fair captive, tho' you were to blame 
 To irritate the King, who meant you kindness, 
 While I confine, 1 yet must pity you. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 J'f thou, our most inveterate foe ! hast pity, 
 
 Bestow it on th' oppressor ! not th' opprest ! 
 
 The one, has men, and demons for his vassals ; 
 
 The other, angels for her friends. Just Heaven ! 
 
 If, as I now most fondly would surmise. 
 
 By noble sufferance 1 may avert 
 
 Evil impending o'er my father's head, 
 
 I will not shrink, howe'er stern fate may tr}^ me ; 
 
 But with that filial love, which still has been 
 
 The ruling passion of my ardent soul. 
 
 Exult to suffer for so dear a purpose. 
 
 JEND OF T»E FIRST ACT,
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 1^)7 
 
 ACT ]I. 
 
 SCENE L 
 
 A ruined Ablet/ ^ hi/ Jloonlight icith a suit err aneou.s Passage 
 to a sepulchral vault. 
 
 LLANDORVIN, (rising from the sepulchre.) 
 
 The bloodhounds, that liave tracked me to this ruin, 
 Are foiled, and have rushed forward : Blest be you, 
 Ye sainted t^'nants of these sepulchres! 
 Who grant my injured age that kind protection, 
 The living dare not give ; since my oppressors 
 Proclaim it death to screen their flying victim. 
 O my lost friends ! dear brothers of my art ! 
 You dying have ennobled basest death : 
 Arm me with courage for my harder task, 
 To bear the wretchedness ot outcast life
 
 i98 THE HEROINE 
 
 III scenes, that wake regret at every step ! 
 O Gwendylen ! my dear angelic daughter I 
 How paipt'ul is the proof of love I give thee 
 To live at thy entreaty ! yet sweet angel 
 Thy dictates are divine. I feel, as thou dost, 
 It is Llandorvin's duty still to cherish 
 Existence, tho' debased, while he can hope 
 His lips may breathe into the fainting frame 
 Of our racked country, that suspended spirit 
 Of manly freedom, which the ruthless Edward 
 Dreams, in his pride, to have suppressed forever. 
 But hark ! the friendly stillness of the night. 
 Enabling me to hear a foot approaching, 
 Bids me again within my sacred covert 
 Elude my keen pursuers. 
 
 (He descends into the sepulchre^ 
 
 .SCENE IL 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 1 have misled the saguinary troop, 
 
 That with a sportive rancour, hunt as prey 
 
 An injured, brave old man ; and if this ruin, 
 
 As I surmise, conceals him — Ha ! what form 
 
 Glides, like a shadowy phantom of the night 
 
 Beneath yon open grove, seeming, with steps 
 
 Quick and irregular to fear, and shun mei^ 
 
 But that I know her obstinately held 
 
 In such severe captivity, that love 
 
 And pity could not force her prison door.
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 19D 
 
 I should believe, sweet Gvvendylen herself 
 
 Mad braved the perils of the night, to aid 
 
 Her wand'ring sire. Perhaps some kindred fair one 
 
 Assumes that angel's oltice. Hallowed shades ! 
 
 Make me invisible ! and let me learn 
 
 Why, at a time to freeze the female heart, 
 
 A woman wanders round these niouhrring tombs ! 
 
 (Clyff'ord conceah himself. 
 
 SCENE III, 
 
 After a short pause,GW ES DY len enters with circumspection, 
 
 'Twas but the dark illusion of my fears : 
 
 cfuilt 1 what terror and dismay must haunt 
 Each step of thine, if 1, sustained and guided 
 By filial piety, yet start at shadows. 
 
 And halt in my good purpose ! but at last 
 I've reached the sacred sepulclye, that if 
 My bold and kind informer may be trusted, 
 Shall at my voice unfold its doors of darkness, 
 And give my living father to my arms. 
 Here is the subterraneous pass, by which 
 
 1 am directed to descend : its gloom. 
 
 And icy dampness chill my trembling bosom : 
 
 Base terrors hence ! 1 will descend! not all 
 
 The powers of darkness should by terror tempt me 
 
 To leave a father, so revered and loved. 
 
 To die unsuccoured in these dreary charnels. 
 
 Dear duty, be my guide !
 
 200 THE HEROINE 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 
 GWENDYLEX, CLYFFQRD. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Stay ! Gwendylen, 
 A moment stay! thou noblest, loveliest being, 
 That Heaven e'er i'ormed, in the benignant purpose 
 To shew how pow'rful are the blended charms 
 Of peerless beauty, and consummate virtue. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Courage ! my soul ! that surely is the voice 
 
 Of gentle Clyfford ! he will not betray 
 
 The wretched, whom his virtue wished to save. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Betray thee 1 rather to a thousand perils 
 "Would I expose my baser life, than bring 
 The least increase of danger upon thee, 
 Or the dear object of thy duteous care ; 
 Whom at this secret hour, as 1 believed thee 
 Kept from him by vile bonds, I sought to comfort 
 With aid unlooked for from an English hand. 
 
 'a' 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 My heart would say, how much it is thy debtor, 
 But feels itsoliiigations far outweigh 
 iSl y little store of words. Let me then lead thee. 
 To where with nobler voice, just gratitude
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 2.01 
 
 May duly thank thee in my lather's turra. 
 
 CLVFFOi; D. 
 
 Yet stay, dear Gvvendylon ! [ pray thee tell me 
 What power celestial l)iirst thy prison doors, 
 Where 1 in vain have sued to gain admittance, 
 Enabling thee in this lieait-trying service 
 To prove thy matchless fortitude and love. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 I will not shun thy converse, when 1 know 
 
 My father is secure, ikit till 1 gain 
 
 Assurance of his safety, every pause 
 
 That keeps me from him, puts my soul to torture. 
 
 If he yet lives, this passage will conduct r.s 
 
 Within his earthy refuge. Follow me! 
 
 CLYrrORD. 
 
 Dear heroine of tenderness ! 'tis mine 
 
 To be t!iy leader here. In these damp caverns, 
 
 These mould'ring passes to forgotten dust ; 
 
 Some ravenous beast, that preys upon tne dead, 
 
 Or poisonous reptile in its dark recess, 
 
 May lurk to wound thy foot ; by whose pure touch 
 
 The consecrated earth would feel more hallowed, 
 
 Had it my awful sense of thy perfections. 
 
 I'll first explore the darkness, and return 
 
 To be thv E^uide. 
 
 GWENDYLEX. 
 
 No ! I have no such fears. 
 Thy King's barbarity has made us suffer 
 To such excess, that to a Cambrian mind 
 All other pests of earth have lost their terror. 
 I'orgive me generous Clytford ! that I cannot
 
 202 THE HEROINE 
 
 Forget the cruel spirit of thy sovereign ! 
 Come, English as thou art ! my father's soul 
 Has oft exulted with magnanimous praise 
 To celebrate the virtues of a foe, 
 And turn base enmity to noble friendship. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 I am no son of England, if to be so 
 
 Must make me hateful in his sight, or yours : 
 
 But leading such a daughter to his bosom 
 
 My proud heart tells me, I may share his blessing. 
 
 The vault is utter darkness : 1 conjure you 
 
 Lean on my arm. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 *0 ! if this hallowed shelter 
 Gives my safe father to my longing arms ; 
 This will indeed be passing thro* the grave. 
 To reach the blessed light of heavenly joy. 
 
 (They descend. 
 
 SCENE F. 
 
 THE INSIDE OF AN ANCIENT SEPULCHRE, 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 (reelmi/ig against ahrohai Momimcni with a lamji.J 
 
 When the soul sickens at the bloody scenes 
 Of barbarous outrage, thnt deform the world.
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 203 
 
 How sweetly peaceful is the silent toir.h ! 
 Yet such is the base i'liry ot" our toes. 
 That senseless havoc even \\e\'e has raged 
 Ao'ainst the honourerl dead. Ye siiattered forihs 
 Of warriors, who of old for freedom fought, 
 How gladly would my injured age becoiiie 
 Insensible as you to savage wrongs, 
 But that my darling child — again my fancy 
 Would mock me with the sound of her approach. 
 
 It is the hour ! but she perchance Again 
 
 The crumbling earth tells me some foot is near. 
 
 How fondly eager are my lips to had 
 
 The expected daughter ; and yet dare not call her 
 
 Till I can catch her voice. O righteous Heaven ! 
 
 Delude not my fond senses, that persuade me 
 
 I may distinguish in some distant sounds 
 
 The utterance of my child. 
 
 G W E N D Y L E N , (behiiid the scene.) 
 
 Have I a father ? 
 ?Tis Gwendylen who calls. 
 
 LLAXDOIIVIX. 
 
 My child ! my child! 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 J.LAND0RVIN, GWENDYLEN, CLYFFOnD. 
 GWENPVLEN. 
 
 pe lives 1 he lives to bless me for his life !
 
 204 THE HEROINE. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 The exulting angel, who shall call to glorv 
 The spirits of the just, can never prove 
 A visitant more dear to raptured saints. 
 Awakened from the slumber of the grave, 
 Than thou art to thy father. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Thou blest sire, 
 Allow a stranger, whose unhardened heart 
 Bled for thy wrongs, to share at this dear moment 
 Thy tears of hallowed extacy ! 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Thy accent, 
 Ingenuous youth, informs me thou art English : 
 A name to wake hostility, and hate 
 In every Cambrian heart ! but gracious nature 
 On thy fair brow has written characters. 
 That lead to confidence, if not to friendship. 
 If, as my mind conjectures, generous pity 
 Has prompted thee to guard this damsel, passing 
 Thro' nightly perils to relieve her father, 
 Thou wilt not deem that father's benediction, 
 (All his base foes have left him to bestow) 
 A worthless recompense of care so noble. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 My heart will prize it as a richer treasure. 
 Than royalty can give. But, my kind father, 
 () let me ever hail by that dear name, 
 I'he man I venerate with filial ardour ! 
 Tiio* I confess I covet thy esteem 
 r><>yond the praise of princes, let me not 
 \feanly aiternpt to win it by a semblance
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 205 
 
 Of merit, not my own I 1 came not hither 
 Guarding- your lovely daughter: to herself, 
 To the firm virtues of her tender heart 
 Solely you owe this interview of transport. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Tell me, my child ! 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 O graceful modesty ! 
 How sweet thou shevvest in a princely patron, 
 Who, giving all, believes he nothing gives! 
 But for the caution of this noble youth, 
 Thy Gwendylen, my father, might again 
 Have put thy rescued life within the power 
 Of the remorseless Edward. 
 
 CLYFFOKD. 
 
 Hate me not, 
 Thon injured veteran of purest glory ! 
 In hearini::, I am bound bv strono^est ties 
 To thy detested foe, the mighty Edward ! 
 Trained by his bounty, partial to his virtues. 
 Yet by the radiance of his power unblinded, 
 I wish that hiijh imperial spirit tempered 
 VV^ith all the mildness of my gentle sire, 
 His more pacific brother. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! 
 Art thou, eno•a^•ing youth, art thou the son 
 Of that loved prince, that real king uncrowned, 
 Who, scorning the vile vassalage of fear, 
 lleions by beneficence o'er orateful hearts.
 
 20S THE heroine:. 
 
 CLYIFORD. 
 
 Had not the proffer of Sicilians sceptre 
 Detained him far from this devoted land, 
 In his hnmanity we should have found 
 The strongest earthly advocate against 
 The hasty rigor of th' offended King. 
 But the invisible angelic host 
 Are surely your protectors ; could 1 else 
 Behold this fair one, whom I left a captive 
 In hopeless bondage, freely here fulfilling 
 This arduous duty of undaunted love ? 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 A simple incident I have to tell 
 
 Will clear that mystery : it was my chance, 
 
 (So Heaven ordained to bless an anxious daughter) 
 
 To see the humble guard, w^ho watched my prison, 
 
 Nursing his sickly infant : by the pity 
 
 1 shewed his child, I led the honest soldier 
 
 To sympathize in all my filial sufferings, 
 
 Till, at the peril of his life, he gave me 
 
 The power to pay my nightly visit here : 
 
 But on my plighted word, that by the dawn 
 
 I will return his voluntary prisoner. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Blest be his generous pity ! if I live, 
 
 Such brave compassion shall be well rewarded, 
 
 LLANDORVIX. 
 
 Excellent youth ! thou almost mak'st my heart 
 Enamoured of adversity : for that, 
 That only gives, what I this moment feel. 
 Exquisite joy in such consummate friendship, 
 As wanting not progressive aid from time,
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 207 
 
 Springs, like creation, perfect from the breath 
 Of pure beneficence. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 To prove thy friend. 
 And change the colour of thy destiny. 
 Shall be the darling study of my soul. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 I know it will : but O beware, dear youth. 
 Lest on thyself thou draw the perilous wrath 
 Of thy inexorable sovereign ! fate 
 Could curse me with no misery more bitter. 
 Than to behold thy blooming life become 
 The victim of thy zeal to snatch from death 
 An old man weary of embittered age. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 My honored father ! Nature has exempted 
 
 Thy generous bosom from all selfish terror; 
 
 But thy kind heart is quick, as woman's fancy, 
 
 To catch an anxious fond inquietude 
 
 For every object of thy just atiection. 
 
 Be not alarmed for this our noble friend ! 
 
 Should he incense the King, by now promoting 
 
 Thy absolute escape, he will not suffer : 
 
 A lovely pow'rful angel of protection. 
 
 The gentle Eleanor ! will be his guard. 
 
 And save the princely youth, whom she has fostered. 
 
 From her offended lord. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 O ! she has virtues. 
 More than the warm impassioned eloquence 
 Of gratitude could speak : and she, I doubt not. 
 She will, in time, win, from the softened Edward^
 
 208 THE heroine!. 
 
 All the atonement to your injured age, 
 That power can make for past indignities : 
 But, in this season of his recent anger, 
 You must not trust his mercy. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Haste, my father I 
 O haste to profit of the friendly night ! 
 And speed in darkness to some distant refuge, 
 Less desolate than this ! 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Dear Gwendylen ! 
 Forgive me, that I thwart your eager prayer ! 
 But at this time of peril, when our soldiers, 
 Lured by that watchful demon, avarice, 
 Are prowling for their prey, I wish your father 
 To rest, some days, in this dark sanctuary, 
 That death appears to consecrate, forbidding 
 The superstitious vulgar to approach. 
 Myself, as constant as the night returns, 
 Will visit him with sustenance and comfort. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Brave youth ! I like thy counsel : this calm mansion 
 
 Tempers my troubled spirit: here my mind 
 
 Catches an hallowed energy, superior 
 
 To what the glittering scenes of life can give 
 
 To proud prosperity. Friend of distress! 
 
 My confidence in thee is my support ; 
 
 For 1 confide to thee a charge, dear Clyflford ! 
 
 More precious to my heart, than life or freedom, 
 
 The honor of my child ! whate'er my fate. 
 
 Be thou her guardian ! yes ! 1 know thou wilt ; 
 
 For in thv features I distinctlv read
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 209 
 
 Truth incorruptible, and virtuous friendship. 
 
 But come, my children, honor bids us part : 
 
 The night's half wasted : come ! Ill lead you forth 
 
 By paths more intricate : I have discovered 
 
 A winding cavity, that leads to light : 
 
 Take each of you my arm ! — This way affords 
 
 A better chance of passing unobserved. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Dear father, ever vigilant for others ! 
 Be careful of thy safety ! and remember, 
 The life of Gwendylen depends on thine ! 
 
 (Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE ni. 
 
 A rubied Ahhey with the front of the sepulchral vaults 
 
 A PARTY OF SOLDIERS. 
 
 FIRST SOLDIER. 
 
 Would we could light upon this lurking rebel ! 
 Courage, my friends 1 he'll prove a golden prize. 
 And pay the toil of our pursuit. You, Neville, 
 You, and your comrade pass yon mouldering wall, 
 Search thro* each ruined cell of this old abbey, 
 While we remain in front, prepared to seize 
 The traitor, started from his secret haunt. 
 
 (Exeunt two Soldiers.
 
 210 THE HEROINE. 
 
 SECOND SOLDI ERo 
 
 Heard you no noise ? 
 
 FIRST SOLDIER. 
 
 No, nothing but their steps. 
 
 SECOND SOLDIER. 
 
 Hark ! they have just descried some nightly rovers 
 
 SOLDIER, (beimid the scene.) 
 
 Come forth ! base runnagate ! nay, if thou dost not. 
 We shaii pursue, and drag thee from thy den. 
 
 FIRST SOLDIER. 
 
 My life on't he is found : stand firm, brave commdes, 
 If he is armed, fear not to strike him down ! 
 Dead, or alive, our prize will be the same. 
 
 (TJie door of the Sepulchre opois, and Llandorvin 
 ruslies forth with a Sword.) 
 
 FIRST SOLDIER. 
 
 Yield, rebel, or thou diest. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 No ! ye poor slaves ! 
 Enfeebled as I am, with age and vvo, 
 Yet vay f^ood sword can make for me a passage 
 Thro' twice your opposition ; 1 have seen 
 Your tyrant, in my day, glad to retreat 
 From the keen lightning of this radiant blade. 
 I pray ye, force me not to stain iti lustre 
 With your ignoble blood !
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 211 
 
 FIRST SOLDIER. 
 
 Proud Cambrian, die I 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Nay ! then thou draw*st perdition on thyself; 
 
 (Llandorvin strikes, hut after hisjirst hloiv, the 
 two Soldiers who j)ursned him, issue from the 
 Sepulchre and seize him.) 
 
 Fate is against me ! but exult in silence, 
 Ye prosperous servants of oppressive power! 
 And, while ye haste to claim the gold, ye covet, 
 Still reverence your captive ! still my soul 
 Gives me to exercise the nobler courage, 
 To triumph over wrongs by brave endurance. 
 
 F.ND OF THB SECOND ACT. 
 
 P2
 
 212 THE HEROINE 
 
 ACT IIL 
 
 SCENE L'-'A PRISON. 
 
 GWENDYLEN, <md a SOLDIER. 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Fair prisoner, thou art free. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Transponing sounds ! 
 Our princely advocate has then prevailed ; 
 And Gvvendylen, restored to all the sweets 
 Of dear domestic duty, shall in peace 
 Cherish the parent, whom her love preserved. 
 My honest friend ! for these thy blissful tidings 
 And all thy pity past, may every saint, 
 Who smiles upon the merciful, protect 
 Thee, and thy children ! Why dost thou receive
 
 OF CAMBRIA. ^13 
 
 My benediction with an air of sadness? 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 To think thy virtuous joy must turn to anguish. 
 When thou art told, as soon, alas '• thou must be, 
 Thou only art released, because thy father 
 Is fallen again into captivity. 
 
 GWENDYLEX. 
 
 O ! do not say so ! rather let me hear 
 
 Eternal bondage is ordained my portion, 
 
 So he may 'scape with freedom 1 art thou sure ? 
 
 My foolish heart, that vainly would attempt 
 
 To disbelieve thy tidings, now receives 
 
 The fatal full conviction. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 GWE^^DYLEN, LLANDORVIN, Z^ror^g-^^ t« Jy GUARDS, 
 
 GWENDYLEN, 
 
 My dear father ! 
 To meet thee, never was a grief till now : 
 What cruel chance, or what base treachery 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 'Tis rigid destiny, my child, that thwarts 
 
 Thy pious aim. Thus far 1 have indulged 
 
 Thy fond entreaty, by an abject care 
 
 To lengthen worthless life : now, since the Heavens
 
 314 THE HEROINE. 
 
 Frown on thy filial wish, I charge thee try 
 To reconcile thy mind to my dark fate ! 
 It must be now my only thought to die. 
 As the dear brothers of my art have died. 
 Smiling contempt on proud Iniquity. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 We are not yet so lost, nor shall thy daughter 
 E'er quit a virtuous purpose of her heart, 
 For that the sudden bolt of accident 
 Shakes her imperfect work. No 1 to the last 
 My soul shall labour with increasing ardour, 
 To prove its fondness, and preserve my father. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Dear child t no more delude thyself with hopes. 
 That are but raised to fall ; and in their ruin 
 O'erwhelm thy tender heart with tenfold anguish. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Heaven yet inspires, and gives me blest occasion 
 To act in thy dear service : our oppressor. 
 Mixing some mildness with barbarity, 
 Now terminates my bondage : and my freedom, 
 That 1 should hate, if not employed for thee. 
 May work thy preservation. I will now 
 With Clyfford supplicate the Queen to make 
 Thy life, once rescued by thy daughter's love, 
 Th' immediate care of her angelic mind, 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 ^T were better tiiysweefc. child, renouncing hope, 
 To strengthen thy fond spirit, by embracing 
 The tranquil resolution of despair.
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 215 
 
 GWliNDYI. i:,\'. 
 
 No, best of fathei's • our disastrovis lot 
 Has changed the cast, and colour of our duties. 
 Mild suff'rance now, that, woman's part is thine. 
 And to thy daughter, Heaven itself enjoins 
 Every exertion anxious love can prompt. 
 Should 1 still tail, thou yet shall see, my father. 
 Thy undegenerate child possesses courage 
 To suffer;, and to share thy darkest fate. 
 
 (EsriL 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 LLANDORVIX, and the SOLDIER 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Great giver, and supporter of our being ! 
 
 Hovve'er thy deep, inscrutable decree 
 
 Dispose of my poor residue of life. 
 
 Be l3ounteous to my child '• when she has lost me, 
 
 As soon she must, by violence, or nature. 
 
 Let not her youth in desolation want 
 
 Objects of care, that may endear existence ! 
 
 Still may she find in life friendship and love, 
 
 Sweet as her charms, and perfect as her virtue. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Forgive me, brave old man ! but *tis my ordjer 
 To bear thee hence to more secure confinement, 
 Within the castle, where the King resides.
 
 216 THE HEROINE 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Good friend! *tisl should pardon ask of thee. 
 
 That I am slow to thank thee, as I ought, 
 
 For a most signal act of generous pity 
 
 And kindness to my child : Give n^e thy hand ! 
 
 Humanity, that shines in rigor's oftbe^, 
 
 Has double grace, and wins redoubled love. 
 
 Come ! teach me how to shew thee 1 am grateful '• 
 
 If fate allows me nothing more to give, 
 
 My dying benediction rest upon thee ! 
 
 (Exeunt, 
 
 $CENE IV.—THE CASTLE. 
 
 QUEEN, CLYFFORD. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 My royal patroness, in whose indulgence ^^f 
 
 My youth has found, what destiny denied me, -\ 
 
 A mother, and a sister's soothing kindness ! 
 
 By all the purer glory thou hast won 
 
 In deeds of love, and mercy to thy people. 
 
 Who bless thy gentle sway, and worship thee 
 
 As sent to them by Heaven ; ordained to temper 
 
 Thy lord's austerity ! assist a daughter, 
 
 Who merits not to lose the bliss of saving 
 
 An honored sire from ignominious death. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 CJyfford I thou knowst, how gladly I would »ofrcn
 
 f 
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 217 
 
 The anger of the King : but here I doubt 
 
 My influence can profit thee but little ; 
 
 For never have 1 seen his indignation 
 
 So vehement against this land. 1 ))ray tliee, 
 
 He cautious not to wuke his dread displeasure. 
 
 By seeming partial to his enensics ! 
 
 Perhaps thy young, and artless mind is blinded 
 
 By perilous passion, to thyself unknown ; 
 
 A daughter's charms may varnish to thy sight 
 
 Th' offences of her sire, do not mistake 
 
 Ill-omened love for honorable pity. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Kindest of beings ! my ingenuous spirit 
 
 Has not a trouble, it would hide from thee. 
 
 The charms of Gvvendylen, 1 own, have sunk 
 
 So deeply in my bosom, death alone, 
 
 Or frenz}' could efface them from my heart. 
 
 But shame on him, who could allow his mind 
 
 To rove at love's suggestion, while the cries 
 
 Of suffering humanity demand 
 
 His better thoughts ! altho' the damsel's beauty 
 
 Enchants me, and is dearer to my sight 
 
 Than wealth to avarice, or fame to valor, 
 
 I would pass life in exile from her clxarms, 
 
 If that alone could end her filial fears, 
 
 And ratify the safety of her father. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Fond youth ! I know, and love the generous ardor 
 
 Of all thy strong attachments : yet I tremble 
 
 Sometimes in thinking to what keen excess 
 
 Thy sensibility is apt to feel. 
 
 Thy nature, Clyfford ! has in it the seeds 
 
 Pf loftiest virtue, or most daring guilt.
 
 2I8S THE HEROINE. 
 
 Heaven keep thy spirit in blest ignorance 
 or warring passions, and discordant duties ! 
 If I can serve the object of thy pity. 
 By intercession with the King, 1 will : 
 And if, from dire necessities of state. 
 This death- devoted sire must die, I yet 
 Will take this hapless orphan to my care. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Blest be the voice, that to my lightened heart 
 Utters so dear a promise I but conducted 
 By innocence and gratitude, she comes 
 To pay her instant homage to your goodness. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 QUEEN, CLYFIORD, GWEXDYLEX. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Rejoice, sweet paragon of anxious duty ! 
 That Heaven has raised thee an angelic friend, 
 Worthy to be its delegate, in shielding 
 Virtue like thine from undeserved distress ! 
 Our bounteous Queen anticipates thy prayer, 
 And with the fond alacrity of pity, 
 Alarmed for innocence, will lend her aid 
 To siive thy honored father. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 My full heart
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 219 
 
 "Would thnnk thee, gracious lady ! as it ought; 
 
 Hut finds thai gratitude, in souls made tejider 
 
 By wrongs, is far more powerful than fear, 
 
 And drowns that voice, which terror could not stifle. 
 
 QUEKX. 
 
 Fair stranger ! there's attraction in thy youth. 
 Thy artless charms, and filtal piety. 
 That binds thee to my bosom : and I feel 
 An anxious impulse, with maternal care. 
 To guard thy opening life from all that's evil. 
 Allow me then a parent's privilege 
 To be thy monitor ! 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Thou gentle sovereign ! 
 Our foes, no doubt, who long have injured us 
 Beyond endurance, tell thee we are savage ; 
 It is not so : the children of wild nature 
 Have hearts like a rich soil, where kind affections 
 Rise to the noblest height, and lavishly 
 Reward the liberal care, that bids them flourish. 
 
 QUEEX. 
 
 Unguarded warmth, pure virtue's quick companion, 
 Is oft her secret foe : I would inform you 
 How you incensed, and how you best may soften 
 The offended King. But he approaches : go ! 
 Leave me my hiends, that I without restraint 
 May plead your cause, and win him to forgiveness ! 
 
 (Exeunt Cli/fford and Gtvc?idj/lcn.
 
 220 THE HEROINE 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 KIKG EDWARD, QUEEN, OFFICERS, &;c. 
 
 KING EDWARD, 
 (speaking to an OJficer as he enters.) 
 
 Tell our unwary guards, that if their prisoner 
 Now ordered to this castle's safer keep, 
 Escape a second time, 'twill be their doom 
 To peri&h in his place. 
 
 (Exit Officer. 
 
 O Eleanor ! 
 My weary soul, sick of its fruitless toil. 
 To tranquillise this stubborn, stormy nation, 
 Tm-ns with delight to thee, in whom well pleased 
 1 ever find the tenderness of duty. 
 And ready, sweet, intelligent obedience. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Reflect, my generous lord, in praising me, 
 To wiiom thy praise is transport ; O ! reflect, 
 A\niy I possess the qualities, that please thee ! 
 ' Tis thy kind favor makes me, what 1 am : 
 Submissive gratitude's the smiling child 
 Of bountiful protection. Gracious Edward ! 
 Be but as mild a guardian to this land. 
 As thou hast been to me, and its glad people 
 Will bless, as I do, thy indulgent sway.
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 221 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 No ! my good Eleanor, thou little knovvst 
 What iron rule this savage realm requires. 
 
 QUEEN, 
 
 Your pardon 1 I have recently been speaking 
 
 To a young Cambrian. Dear, considerate Edward 1 
 
 So kindly sensible of weakest merit 
 
 In thy obedient wife 1 wilt thou not feel 
 
 The higher claims of an heroic daughter ! 
 
 And grant to Gwendylen her father's life ? 
 
 I know thou wilt : I ask it on my knees. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Arise, thou dearest of petitioners ! 
 
 1 mean to have a speedy conference 
 
 With this retaken fugitive, and if 
 
 His conduct merits mercy, he shall find it 
 
 (To one of the Guard,) 
 
 Haste to the captive minstrel, and conduct him 
 Strait to our presence ? — Haste ! 
 
 {^Exit one of the Guard* 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Believe me, Edward \ 
 I have a woman's heart, fondly ambitious. 
 And proud to triumph in a husband's glory ! 
 But sated with thy military fame, 
 I long to see the enterprising warrior 
 Nobly eclipsed by the pacific king. 
 Effulorent valour well becomes thy crown ;
 
 222 THE HEROINE 
 
 But gems of milder radiance, peace and mercy, 
 Will give thy diadem its dearest charm. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Pare minds, untutored by calamity. 
 
 Can rightly judge of peace; not so the savage : 
 
 They with harsh lessons from instructive rigor 
 
 Must toil, thro* pain and blood, to know her value. 
 
 There is a hot intemperance of spirit 
 
 In these wild mountaineers, that almost foils 
 
 The soundest discipline. Authority, 
 
 And benefits, alike have failed to bend 
 The stubbornness of these tumultuous tribes, 
 Rude as their mountains, where rebellion sits. 
 Like a maimed vulture, waiting only time 
 To heal her wings, that ache with eagerness 
 To spurn confinement, and renew her ravage. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 No ! happy Victor, thy resistless arms 
 
 Have made this country thine : and soon, I hope 
 
 To hear thee in the best of triumphs own, 
 
 The bliss to humanise, surpasses far 
 
 The joy of conquering : but thy captive comes.i 
 
 I will not with solicitude too curious 
 
 Intrude upon your converse : yet remember, 
 
 Thy Eleanor commends him to thy mercy 1
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 223 
 
 SCENE VIL 
 
 SLING EDWARD, LLANDORVIK, GUARDS. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Stranger ! the fondness of thy daughter saved 
 Thy forfeit Hfe ; and still inspires our Queen, 
 Whose mildness is affliction's sanctuary. 
 With wishes for thy freedom : this we grant thee. 
 If thy discretion merits her regard, 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 That the rare virtues of my child endear her 
 To minds so quahfied to judge of virtue 
 As far-famed Eleanor, still to my heart, 
 Chilled as it is with age, and patriot anguish. 
 Gives the quick ardour of parental pride: 
 For had I not, in all their fond excess, 
 The feelings of a father, trust me, Edward ! 
 I could not now endure the life, thou offer'st: 
 To languish, as 1 must, in dark existence : 
 My spirit troubled with distressful visions 
 Of noblest friends, calamitously lost ! 
 Or worse, the slavery of my native land ! 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Thou shalt forget this land, in wisely pa;3sing 
 To happier scenes, my bounty shall provide thee 
 An English settlement.
 
 221 THE HEROLVE 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 1 know thou'rt mighty: 
 The fav'rite of prosperity, and power ! 
 But trust me, Edward ! 'tis beyond thy empire 
 To mould anew the habits of the heart ; 
 And thro' the breast of injured age diffuse 
 Tlie native energ;y of young attachment. 
 If 'tis thy purpose to befriend two beings. 
 Who in domestic tenderness alone 
 May find a balm, to soothe their public sorrow, 
 Leave us in peace upon the rocks, that reared us ! 
 
 KING EDWA.IID. 
 
 But wilt thou rest m peace ? should I assign thee 
 A portion of this land, thy darling seat ! 
 Wouldst thou engrasfe, never to sound aafain 
 Notes of sedition, on thy daring harp ? 
 But in a wiser strain, instruct the people 
 To look up to our salutary sway 
 \Yith tranquil reverence ? 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 No • not for half 
 Thy richer kingdom, added to this realm, 
 Would I debase a voice, that long has uttered 
 The purest dictates of impassioned freedom. 
 Imagination, under virtue's guidance, 
 1 deem the rarest, richest gift of heaven. 
 And shall I stain the little I possess 
 By teaching injured slaves to bless their bondage. 
 And worship their oppressor ? 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Dost thou brave me,, 
 Audacious Ilhapsodist ? — now, in beholding
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 22^ 
 
 Rebellious fire illiiminate thy visage, 
 
 My memory claims acquaintance with thy features. 
 
 Wiiere have 1 seen thee? 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Spare, insulting tyrant ! 
 Spare to thyself a bitter recullection ! 
 Yes ! thou hast seen me, in my happier life, 
 Ere age and sorrow made it weak, and worthless ; 
 When by Llewellyn's side, our patriot prince ! 
 1 fought for liberty : when thou, then young. 
 And tho' thy father's delegate, a novice 
 in the curst art to weaken and oppress, 
 Wert glad to make percipitate retreat 
 Before us, and the lightning of our swords 
 Flashed on the flying 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Insolent enthusiast ! 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 I knew the scene, thou bad'st me recollect. 
 Would gall thee, Edward ! 'twas the early source 
 Of all thy ruthless rancor to my country. 
 Thou never couldst forgive the brave Llewellyn 
 For that bright triumph : hence thy enmity, 
 Disgracing manhood, kept his lovely bride 
 For years thy captive ; lured by abject arts 
 A brother to desert him ; and at last. 
 By the mean vantage of unequal power, 
 Spoiled him of hfe. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 He was a faithless vassal ; 
 And justly suffered for repeated failures 
 
 Q
 
 fJ6 THE HEROINE 
 
 Of his allegiance. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 O belie liim not ! 
 Tho' thou hast stript him of his crown and life! 
 Fate cannot blast his fame : he was a prince 
 Munificent as nature, just as Heaven ! 
 Fall'n as he is, his unsuspected praise 
 Shall live for ever in our grateful songs. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 It shall not live in thine, presumptuous minstrel t 
 Away with him to death ! 
 
 LLANDORYIN. 
 
 Thou fierce destroyer*! 
 Death is the only gift from thee, that 1 
 Would wiihngly embrace ; and ibr that gift. 
 Take thou this lesson fron^i my parting spirit 1 
 Thou saw'st, in Palestine, a curious Arab 
 Imprison water, in an orb of gold, 
 Till, by compression urged, the forceful fluid 
 Amazed thine eye In starting thro' the metal. 
 So genius, prest by tyranny, exerts 
 An energy, beyond the common laws 
 Of cjuiet nature. Here them wouldst extinguish 
 Freedom and poetry : they mock thy wishes ; 
 For thev are woven in our frame of bein"' : 
 And cannot perish but with human life. 
 My frail existence is thy easy victim ; 
 IJut d\'^mg 1 shall triumph — e'en in thy kingdom. 
 Where thou art worshipped now by fear and int'rest, 
 A day shall rise, when the enlightened people 
 Shall hail the art, which thou wouldst crush for ever. 
 As the bright guardian of immortal virtue :
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 227 
 
 When kindred genius, in a lyric strain 
 
 Of rapturous excellence, shall teach the world 
 
 To mourn my fall, and execrate thy cringes, 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Away ! vain prophet, to thy speedy death ! 
 No ! it shall be suspended : but till time 
 Allows us lo bestow on thy presumption 
 Pre-eminence of punishment. Thy fate 
 Shall be no common spectacle ; but, high 
 On Snowdon's rocks, in death thou shalt exhibit 
 An awful lesson to rebellious pride. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 I am prepared to die r^— o'er ruling Heaven 
 Is righteous still ; since it assigns us now 
 The different lot, our different souls deserve; 
 For know, proud monarch ! by your own award 
 You haste to infamy, and I to glory. 
 
 END OF THS THIRD ACT, 
 
 Q2
 
 228 THE HEROl^JE. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE L 
 A PRIVATE APARTMENT IN THE CASTLE. 
 
 GWENDYLEN, CLYFFORD. 
 GWENDYLEK. 
 
 Remorseless homicide ! is this his mercy ? 
 Insulting whom he murders ! strike him, Heaven \ 
 Strike and remove from earth this curse of nature, 
 This base deformer of her dearest scenes, 
 Who calls his outrage justice ! 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Gwendylen I 
 Hear me, dear Gwendylen ! 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 I had a brother ?
 
 OF CAMBRIA. i:^ 
 
 That he were living now ! or that I rould 
 Unsex me, and become the mati !ie vvab ! 
 
 CLY FIORD. 
 
 Thou hast a brother still ! O thou hast more. 
 Dear Gwendyleu iu me ; tor all my soul, 
 lis hopes, its tears, its faculties are thine. 
 
 GWENDYLEN 
 
 No ! no ! thy arm is fettered by thy station : 
 Else, generfuis youth ! \ could indeed believe 
 That thou hast pity to feel all our wrongs. 
 And courage to avenge them. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Lovely victim ! 
 My sense of what thou sufferest is so keen, 
 Thy honored father seems to me my own. 
 Intlamed by Edward^s cruelty towards him, 
 jVIy alienated heart at times forgets 
 The love and duty, that 1 owe my king. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Thou matchless friend of misery ! how my heart 
 Reveres thee for thy sympathy I 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Believe me, 
 Never did man more feel another's wrongs, 
 (To noble minds more piercing than their own) 
 Than my indignant spirit feels thy father's. 
 If nought remained to save his injured virtue, 
 Perchance my hand — but hence ! detested image ! 
 Still, lovely Gwendylen, with better thoughts 
 I caa revive thy hope.
 
 230 THE HEROINE. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Kind comforter ! 
 Inform me, now the charm of thy compassion 
 Has given my troubled soul a transient calm. 
 To hear thee as 1 ought. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 The sudden order, 
 To fix conspicuous on the mountain's brow 
 Thy father's barbarous doom, is known abroad ; 
 And as blind cruelty exasperates 
 Those, it intends to awe, a gallant band 
 Of new insurgents, at this very moment, 
 Form a brave ambuscade, in hopes to rescue 
 The victim, idolised by dauntless friendship. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Our Cambrian valour is not yet extinguished : 
 Ye powers of liberty, and justice prosper 
 These generous men ! O spirit of my brother, 
 Thou wilt forsake thy Heaven for this dear purpose, 
 And hover with a shield angelical 
 O'er the heroic band, who aim to rescue 
 Our virtuous parent from imperial murder. 
 These are blest tidings : yet 1 wish to learn, 
 My kind consoler, how they flew to thee. 
 
 CLYFTORD. 
 
 A countryman of thine, to whom my power 
 
 Had rendered service, and who knows how keenly 
 
 My soul is anxious for thy father's satety, 
 
 Gave me quick notice, with an added prayer 
 
 That I—but see, the Queen ! — 'Thou best of daughter; 
 
 Console thy father in his gloomy prison.
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 231 
 
 ^^hiic I, witli ccusolcss importr.uity, 
 Solicit her pure mind i»gain to aid m'\ 
 
 SCE^^E JL 
 
 CLYFFORD, QUEEN. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 What loitering here ! O shame to soldiership ! 
 Never till now was ardent C'lyiiord seen 
 lleckless of arms, when his heroic king 
 Had issued for the field. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Can it be so ? 
 JIas new commotion caded his vigilant spirit 
 Forth on the sudden } 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Yes ! with eyes that flashed 
 Indignant fire, prepared for fierce assault. 
 With that dread weapon, which his powerful arcft 
 Alone can wield, he sallied to chastise 
 Such opposition, as I trust will fly, 
 F/en at the distant gleam of his high crest. 
 His anger kindled at the fresh report, 
 That a wild troop is lurking in the mountain 
 To intercept Llandorvin. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Hapless father \
 
 232 THE HEROINE 
 
 Then Heaven forsakes thee. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 what! is thy young heart. 
 Once the warm seat of gratitude and duty, 
 Now touched with pity only for the foes 
 Of thy kind sovereign ? at tlie very time, 
 When he, who fondly trained thy youth to arms. 
 Ought to behold thee anxious at his side, 
 To ward off peril from his sacred person ? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Noblest, and justly most adored of women ! 
 Adored by me in every character, 
 That can excite the fondest veneration ! 
 A charge of base ingratitude from thee 
 Strikes me, as would a seraph's }vcen rebuke. 
 Freely to thee, as to the power who made it, 
 I shew my tortured heart, and all its feelings. 
 That 1 have loved the king, as much as child 
 E'er loved a parent, my past life has proved ; 
 But while he thus oppresses virtuous age. 
 With unrelenting, useless 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 ClyfTord ! Clyilord ! 
 Beware of this blind passion, which deludes thee ! 
 It is not ours to judge the king's decree. 
 
 CLYFFORP. 
 
 Fair excellence ! forgive me, if I ^ay 
 
 The blindness is your own : but it becomes you. 
 
 In your soft sex *tis virtue, 'tis perfection 
 
 Not to behold the failings of a lord. 
 
 In wedded love so peerless as your Edward.
 
 OF CAMBRLV. 233 
 
 I am of rou2:her mold : unvicldins: man : 
 Man, the proud owner ofimperial reason I 
 Were 1 the king's true son, as 1 have been 
 The child of his protection ; 1 should ;lien, 
 Feel that his cruelty, on my just heart 
 Implanted hate, eradicating nature. 
 Yet hating his barbarity, — believe me, 
 I love his virtues with such gratitude, 
 Nothing in life could so delight my soul 
 As to die nobly on some bright occasion. 
 Where mv brave service might promote his glory;, 
 And to each royal heart endear my name. 
 
 QUEEN, 
 
 Clyfford, thou feelst too keenly ; but thy truth, 
 And thy frank nature have endeared thee to us ; 
 Haste, 1 entreat thee, with unclouded duty 
 Arm, and attend thy sovereign '• As I trust 
 He will return triumphant without conflict; 
 In that best season for my mild entreaties, 
 I yet may gently lead his generous natun^ 
 Preely to grant, what force could not extort. 
 Yet may I save our venerable prisoner, 
 Whonfi in thy absence I will kindl}^ visit. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Angel of life ! thou giv'st me new existence 
 In that blest promise. iSIonarchs of the world ! 
 Learn from this model of imperial goodness, 
 That pure beneficence alone possesses 
 . Perfect dominion ! Learn of Eleanor 
 To rule enlightened minds, nor fear to lose 
 An empire founded upon fond esteem ! 
 
 (Eicunt,
 
 234 THE HEROINE 
 
 SCENE IIL—A DUNGEON. 
 
 The sound of a Harp is heard from a concealed recess 
 in the prison. 
 
 GW E N D Y L E N , (entering.) 
 
 What sounds of melancholy charm arrest me ? 
 It is my father: let me not intrude 
 On this most hallowed harmony ! for thus 
 Enraptured he prepares his soul for Heaven, 
 By this most solemn spirit-soothing air. 
 Which, in his dying hour, an ancient bard 
 Gave to his wondering audience, death-inspired ? 
 Again it sounds. — Here let me fondly pause 
 In reverential silence, till his hand 
 Relinquish the loved harp, that may so soon 
 LosCj and confirm his loss in mute dejection ! 
 
 (Here a celebrated Air is played on the Harp beliind 
 the Scenes, from Jones's relic/cs of t/te IFelsIt 
 Bards. — page 59. J 
 
 SCENE IF, 
 
 GWENDYLEN, LLANDORVIN. 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 What r my sweet child ! art thou within my prisoB-,
 
 OF CAiMBllIA. 235 
 
 And couldst thou siifTor me to rest unconscioiis 
 Of tliy dear presence ? 
 
 GWEXDYLEN. 
 
 Pardon me ! I felt 
 Afv step suspended, and niy soul absorbed 
 in those pathetic tones, that spoke of d(.*ath. 
 Yet, my dear father, I am now elated 
 ^'v'ith the blest hope of your approaching freedom : 
 Freedom, not clouded with a base alloy, 
 As the precarious gift of lawless power, 
 But the bright present of endearing courage, 
 To fate superior in the cause of friendship ! 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 What visionary hope has fond affection 
 Raised in tlu' sanguine fancy ? 
 
 CiWENDYLEN. 
 
 ' Tis no vision : 
 But a momentous mystery; and now 
 Just whispered to me ; yet by such a voice. 
 As gives a sanction to credulity. 
 O justly honored by thy grateful country ! 
 There are brave Cambrians busy now, my father, 
 In nobly planning for that signal spot. 
 Which cruelty has fixt to close thy life, 
 A glorious scene of rescue, and of triumph. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Generous, but fruitless, and intemperate valour ! 
 Haste ! 1 conjure thee, my dear child, prevent 
 Their fatal purpose! fatal it must be, 
 If but suspected : haste ! give them to know- 
 It is my fervent wish, they would preserve
 
 ^e THE HEROINE 
 
 Their valued lives for hours of happier prospect ; 
 And not embitter death to me, by making 
 My settled fate a prelude to their own ! 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Yes f I will haste, vyhere haply I may learn 
 Yet more of this bold project : not prevent it ; 
 Then only be thou disobeyed, my father. 
 When thou enjoinest, what our hearts abjure, 
 A fearful shrinking from thy dearest service ! 
 Know, should our firm compatriots fail, thy wrongs 
 Would yet inspire a generous English hand 
 To pierce the tyrant's heart, ere his false breath 
 Could terminate thy being ! O I pray thee. 
 Banish thy cruel thoughts of calm despair. 
 And in the friendship of the brave confide. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 LLANDORVIN, (alo/lC.) 
 
 Til is sudden spring-tide of returning hope 
 
 Amazes me : and more her dark suggestion : 
 
 " A generous I'^nglish hand," she j)oints to Clyfford 
 
 The horrible surmise, with dread conviction, 
 
 W akes my worst I'ears : such horrors must not be. 
 
 Hut liow may I, in bondage, yet restrain 
 
 The fervent spirit of precipitate youth, 
 
 Hurried to guilt by virtuous indignation ? 
 
 Could 1 converse a moment with the Queen * 
 
 She is intelligent, and has^a soul
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 237 
 
 That may be trusted for so pure a purpose 
 With dire imaginings. — What ho ! attend me 
 Kind guardian of my prison ! 
 
 SCENE VI, 
 
 LLANDORVIN, and the SOLDIER- 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Canst thou, friend, 
 Convey a prayer to thy angelic Queen ? 
 Haste and inform her, that an aged captive. 
 Not basely anxious for his worthless life. 
 But wishing to impart to her alone 
 Things of high moment to her heart, implores 
 Jl minute's audience. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Her attentive goodness 
 Anticipates your wish — behold the Queen ! 
 
 SCENE VIL 
 
 LLANDORVIN, QUEEN. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Brave, aged stranger I thy engaging daughter
 
 25S THE HEROINE 
 
 Has taught my heart to take deep interest 
 In what concerns thee ; and 1 come, with hopes 
 To lead thy manly mind to such mild conduct. 
 As may appease the king. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 O sovereign lady ! 
 To whose acknowledged virtue m}^ proud spirit 
 Pays willing homage, *twas my arde[)t wish 
 To hold with thee important conference; 
 Not from a mean solicitude to save 
 The slighted remnant of my days ; a care 
 Of keener influence absorbs my thoughts. 
 And tortures me with unexampled terror, 
 That I could utter to no ear but thine. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Speak all thy fears, for I am much thy friend ! 
 
 Ll-ANDOIIVIN. 
 
 Did I not think thee, gracious Queen, endowed 
 With all the rarest qualities, that render 
 Friendship of high, and sacred estimation, 
 1 could not to thy gentle bosom trust 
 What I would say : it will require from thee 
 Steady exertion of what purest friendship 
 Inspires, indulgence, courage, secrecy. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Thy words amaze me, and this preparation 
 Fills me with all the dread of blind conjecture* 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 I trespass on thy gentleness ; perchance 
 My apprehension is a vague surmise : 
 A gloomy vision of distempered age !
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 239 
 
 Should it have more foundation, still thou mayst 
 By the mild influence of guardian virtue 
 Annihilate the apprehended evil. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Trust me, thy daughter 
 
 LLANDOllVIN. 
 
 No ! my present fear 
 Points to an object that demands from thee 
 Much higher care. 
 
 QUEEN, 
 
 O Heaven ! thou art apprised 
 Of some dark peril menacing the King ; 
 Yet if — I am bewildered ; for alas ! 
 His life endangered might to thee suggest 
 Matter of hope, and joy, but not of terror. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 I scorn hypocrisy ; and thou fair Queen, 
 
 Thou kiiovvst, I must deem the death of Edward 
 
 A blessing to my country, yet believe me 
 
 I from his cruelty would undergo 
 
 An age of torture, rather than permit 
 
 A virtuous youth, long fostered by his bounty, 
 
 In a dark moment of distracted love, 
 
 With murderous frenzy 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Ah ! my boding heart! 
 Thou spcak'st of Clyfford : tell me, 1 conjure th«e<?. 
 How far the passions of this fiery youth 
 •iJcH-e lead him to forget 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Be comforted !
 
 240 THE HEROINE. 
 
 His quick, ai)(i ardent mind, thougli strongly troubled 
 
 Is not as yet estranged from filial duty, 
 
 That binds him to you both : tliou gentle sovereign, 
 
 Watch I conjure thee all his starts of passion ! 
 
 And with thy speedy salutary counsel, 
 
 With the fond privacy, which mothers use, 
 
 To screen the errors of a darling- son, 
 
 Fix his bright soul within the sphere of truth, 
 
 Lest wand'ring nows like an eccentric star, 
 
 Its bursting fury scatter hideous death ! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Noblest of foes ! I read thy heart aright ; 
 And gratefully revere thee for thy caution : 
 This generous efTort 
 
 LLANDORVIX. 
 
 O ! it merits not 
 Your heart-affecting praise : 1 but obey 
 The native impulse of humanity. 
 When genuine nature guides the feeling soul, 
 'Tis the prime pleasure of experienced age 
 To watch o'er ardent youth, and fondly snatch it 
 From tliose attractive gulls of splendid guilt, 
 Where a bright syren, under virtue's mask. 
 Lures the brave mind to unperceived dishonor. 
 
 QUE EN. 
 
 Farewell ! kind stranger ! thy exalted conduct 
 Endears thee to my soul : Heaven grant me powers. 
 Soon with glad steps revisiting thy dungeon. 
 To bring thee life, and liberty, and honor ! 
 
 END OF TIJE FOURTH ACT.
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 241 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A vietv of Snowdon with (ents at a distance. 
 
 QUEEN, «nd MORTIMER, meeting. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 I joy to meet thee, Mortimer ! Thy spirit 
 Will not, in weak compassion to a woman. 
 Lull me with false reports : Say ! I conjure thee, 
 Is the King wounded ? 
 
 MORTIMER. 
 
 No ! on my life, not wounded ! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Why then, forgetting his accustomed care 
 To quiet my quick fears, why came he not 
 
 R
 
 --M3 THE HEROINE 
 
 Back to my anxious arms, when victory 
 Restored him from this hot tumultuous conflict ? 
 Where, as his hasty messenger avowed. 
 Danger, in many a new and hideous shape. 
 Made e'en the sternest soldiers stand aghast, 
 And deem their sovereign lost. 
 
 MORTIMER. 
 
 My royal mistress f 
 Who reignest o'er the hearts of youth and age. 
 Trust a rough veteran's word ! my voice, unpractised 
 In uttering falsehood, should I wish to speak it, 
 Still to thy piercing spirit must betray 
 The evil it would hide. 
 
 QUEEN. • 
 
 Dost thou assure me 
 Not one of all those vengeful mountaineers. 
 Whose rage was pointed at my Edward's life. 
 Had power to wound the too impetuous hero ? 
 
 MORTIMER. 
 
 No ! for he bears an amulet, whose power 
 Turns peril to security : that courage. 
 Which on the pressure of occasion, springs- 
 To such exertion, as to common souls 
 Appeared impossible. Excess of toil 
 Has tempted him to rest on Snowdon's brow : 
 As he retired, exhausted to his tent, 
 He issued orders, that the captive bard 
 Should to the mountain's open front be led, 
 And by our archers suffer speedy death. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Good Heaven ! the mandate is not yet fuililled ?
 
 OF CAMBRIA, 243 
 
 MORTIMER. 
 
 Not yet ! but guards are passing, to conduct 
 
 The hoary traitor to the lofty spot, 
 
 Chosen to give his doom conspicuous terror, 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Mortimer ! this order was the dictate 
 
 Of an o*er-heated mind : When cooled by slumber^ 
 The generous temper of the King will surely 
 Incline to pardon ; canst thou not suspend 
 
 MORTIMER. 
 
 Forgive me, gentle sovereign, if I own 
 
 1 have no power, nor will, I must avow, 
 
 To stop the rebel's death : and I must haste. 
 According to the King's most anxious bidding. 
 To watch impassioned Clyfford, lest that youth. 
 Entangled in the snares of Cambrian beauty, 
 Should madden at the sufferings of the fair one, 
 And in his frenzy strive to snatch once more. 
 Her guilty father, from the stroke of justice. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 I, on my knees, will creep to Edward's couch, 
 And in the name of that protecting Heaven, 
 Who has delivered him from signal hazard, 
 Wake, and inspire his spirit to exert 
 Its best prerogative, the power to save I 
 
 (ExeunU 
 
 t.t
 
 244 THE HEROINE 
 
 SCENE II.— A ROYAL TENT. 
 
 KISG EDWARD, 
 
 (Sleeping on a Couch ivith his armour hy the side of it.) 
 
 CLYFFORD, (entering.) 
 
 Why shakes my frame, in this tempestuous conflict 
 
 Of warring thoughts ? The minute past I seemed 
 
 Led hither by an angel's hand, to rescue 
 
 Virtue from wrongs, and nature from oppression. 
 
 Now, clouds of horror blot my heavenly vision , 
 
 And I feel dragged by demons to this spot, 
 
 To execute the task of hell. — .\ vaunt ! 
 
 Ye tempters of my soul ! ye shall not force me 
 
 To stab the royal patron of my youth: 
 
 No ! I will kneel, beside his quiet pillow. 
 
 Invoking Heaven to quicken, in his mind, 
 
 The only virtue, his high spirit wants, 
 
 Heart-winning clemency 1 sleep on, secure ! 
 
 Majestic, glorious Edward! only wake 
 
 To mercy, and munificence ! 
 
 KING EDWARD, (in troubled sleep starting.) 
 
 Away ! 
 And lead him to his death ! 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Inhuman sounds !
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 24 S 
 
 Im})lacable oppressor ! Cruelty 
 
 Infects thy dreams : tliy sanguinary soul 
 
 Glares thro' the trembling veil ofriillled sleep. 
 
 Betraying thy resolves ! — Barbarity 
 
 So absolute must cancel every bond : 
 
 Humanity inspires me : injured nature 
 
 Bids me destroy the merciless destroyer. 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 KING EDWARD, CLYFFORD, QUEEN. 
 
 (TniUe Cbjfford raises his dagger, the Queen enters and 
 seizes his arm. J 
 
 QL'EEN. 
 
 Hold ! frantic Clyfford ! hold ! can mad affection 
 Urge thy young heart to worse than parricide ? 
 Has not the bounteous King cherished thy youth. 
 With care surpassing e'en a father's fondness ? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 He has, angelic Eleanor ! and I 
 Prepared to stab him sleeping : but these tears. 
 That burst perforce from my o'er-burthened heart. 
 Tell thee, I feel how curst a wretch I am.
 
 24a THE HEROINE, 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Be comforted ! for timely penitence 
 Makes solid virtue of ideal guilt. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Guide of my life ! and guardian of my soul ! 
 Thou art too good : 1 have not merited, 
 Thus on thy pure and heavenly form to rest 
 A hrain, that burns with complicated anguish. 
 
 KING EDWARD, (starting up.) 
 
 Give me my battle-axe ! I will pursue 
 
 Those trait' rous fugitives : 'twas but a dream. 
 
 Ha ! my sweet love ! art thou within my tent ? 
 
 Say ! what mischance has given our youthful Clyfford 
 
 That pallid air of anguish, and dismay ? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 O my too fearless Edward ! who that- live. 
 As we do in thy life, could be informed 
 Of thy undaunted eagerness to court 
 Extremes of danger, with thy dread escape 
 From toils so full of terror, and retain 
 The native quiet of untroubled features? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 No ! thou benignant angel, think not thus 
 With tenderness unmerited, to hide 
 The wild atrocity of one, whose heart 
 Was never formed for guilt, or for disguise. 
 Ingratitude, hypocrisy are fiends, 
 That, frantic as I am, I still abjure. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Thy looks, and language ^equally exceed
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 24? 
 
 The reach of my conjecture. 
 
 CLYFIORD. 
 
 Royal Edward ! 
 Relentless as thou art, thy soul is noble ; 
 Thou never wilt surmise, thy fostered Clyfford 
 Could lift against thee an assassin's dagger ; 
 But to a heart like mine the worst of tortures 
 Would be concealment of intended crimes. 
 Had not this lovely seraph been thy guard, 
 I had destroyed my King, my friend, my father ! 
 My guilt is manifest: my misery 
 Beyond endurance : I conjure thee, now 
 Let both thy justice, and thy pity grant me 
 The death 1 have deserved ! 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Unhappy youth ! 
 Thy hasty passion for the Cambrian fair, 
 Whose stubborn father scorned our terms of pardon. 
 Has harrassed thee to madness. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Let his sufferings, 
 His duty, his remorse, and my fond prayers 
 Now plead for each offender ! 
 
 (A Dead Marcli is heard,) 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! 
 What mean these notes of death ? 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Those sounds announce. 
 What even thy entreaty, best beloved !
 
 248 THE HEROINE. 
 
 Must not avert ; the bard's approaching fate ! 
 See ! the guards lead him from the vale below. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Inhuman ministers of death ! suspend 
 Your fatal march, for ye mistake your victim. 
 Glory and life should be Llandorvin's portion ; 
 Disgrace and death belong to me alone ; 
 I fly to save him by the just exchange. 
 
 (Rushes madly out, 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Stay ! thou rash youth ! — His madness -will not hear 
 me. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Lord of my heart ! — If, by a life of duty, 
 I yet may plead against thy settled purpose' 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 No ! Eleanor, *tis fixt : I must not cancel 
 The firm decree of policy and justice, 
 To soothe the amorous frenzy of a boy, 
 Tho' dear to me, as if he were my child. 
 But let me lead thee to yon neighbouring tent, 
 To save thee better from this mournful scene, 
 And seek an active guardian, who may watch 
 O'er the wild steps of this distracted stripling ! 
 
 {Eixeimt,
 
 OF CAiMBRlA. 2^c 
 
 SCENE IF. 
 
 Another 'part of the Mountain with a dhtani prospect of a 
 more elevated spot, on which may he discovered an at- 
 tendant croud, and preparations for execution: 
 
 LLANDORVIN, GUARDS. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Uahappy agents of injurious power ! 
 
 1 pardon your base taunts: alas ! ye know n^t 
 
 To what depravity you sink your nature, 
 
 When you insult a guiltless, wronged old man, 
 
 Who unrcluctant hastes to join the spirits 
 
 Of dear companions lost, bards ! warriors ! princes ! 
 
 Whose fortitude and genius could not save 
 
 This dear devoted land from desolation, 
 
 Or shield their bright existence from the stroke 
 
 Of tyrannous extinction. 
 
 GUARD. 
 
 You forget, 
 Loquacious traitor ! we have yet to mount 
 The steepest of these craggs. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Rude monitor ?
 
 250 THE HEROINE 
 
 I am not now to learn, that your stern King, 
 
 I thank his unmeant kindness, has appointed 
 
 jNIy death on yonder heights : I could not wish 
 
 A nobler scene, to shew how willingly 
 
 I seal, with blood, the bond of my attachment 
 
 To wounded freedom, and my ruined country. 
 
 Martyrs of liberty, like those of faith, 
 
 By public sufferings, with a soul unshaken, 
 
 Become the source of blessings infinite 
 
 To unborn ages, and my soi\ring spirit 
 
 Pierces thro' distant time to hail those blessings. 
 
 A father's feelings still, to this dread instant, 
 
 Recal my heart, and on this spot I pause, — 
 
 But to bestow, what tyranny itself 
 
 Must grant a parent, leave to give his child, 
 
 A dvin2; benediction ! 
 
 GUARD. 
 
 Then in vain 
 You halt; for see ! where wiser friends are busy 
 To draw the damsel hence. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Tormenting slaves ! 
 tV'ound me not there ! O glorious Gwendylen ! 
 Lo ! her indignant spirit has eluded 
 Their vile constraint : like an impassive seraph, 
 That mortal limitation cannot stop, 
 !^ic flies, Heaven-warranted ! to give her father 
 All he demands on earth.
 
 QF CAMBRIA. 
 
 SCENE F, 
 
 GWENDYLEX, 
 
 rushes into the arms of her Father. 
 
 LLANDORVIX. 
 
 Child of my heart ! 
 One only wish disturbed my parting soul ; 
 And thou, most perfect in all filial virtues! 
 The loveliest daughter, that e'er blest a parent ! 
 With tenderness unwearied, thou art come 
 To hear my latest counsel : thou wilt make it 
 The treasure of thy fond, thy faithful bosom, 
 And I shall die, exulting to have saved thee 
 Frpm perils, worse than ignominous death. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Here, thou dear source and glory of my life- 
 
 Here would I grow : and be but as a leaf 
 
 Upon its parent tree, that severed thence, 
 
 Must quickly perish : for since Heaven denies me. 
 
 The bliss I hoped, to have preserved thy being, 
 
 My sole ambition is to share thy doom. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 No ! my brave child ! I have a task to give thee 
 Much harder than to die. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Chaste to name it I
 
 2S2 THE HEROINE 
 
 And be the task more arduous, than ever 
 Mortal received, that 1 may shew the world 
 With vvhaO; impassioned truth 1 love my father. 
 
 LLANDOPsVlX. 
 
 Exquisite girl • see 1 our good angels send 
 The onl}^ friend now left me upon earth, 
 To whom, as to thyself, my dying counsel 
 Deeply imports. 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 LLANDORVIN, GWENDYLEN, CLYFFORD, GUARDS. 
 
 CLYFFOUD, (enferiug wildly.) 
 
 Thou honoured sire! whom genius, virtue, age 
 Have sanctified : I come, a guilty youth, 
 To die, as I have merited, for thee, 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 What means my generous friend ? 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Full of thy wrongs, 
 And madd'ning at thy lovely daughter's anguish. 
 My soul forgot how much I owed my King ; 
 And as a murderer— 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 Ah ! my prophetic fears \
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 25: 
 
 Thou hast not killed the patron of thy youth ? 
 
 CLYFFDUD. 
 
 No ! his angehc Eleanor defeated 
 My frantic aim. 
 
 LI.ANDORVIX. 
 
 Then hear me, noble Clyflord, 
 And since her beauties, and my injured age 
 Infliune thy heart to such a fond excess, 
 Hear and obey a dying friend's injuuction ! 
 Dear youth ! to thy most perilous age, and temper 
 Crimes, and enormities of deepest die. 
 From the false light of passion, catch the semblance 
 Of splendid enterprise. Thou lov'st my daughter, 
 And she is worthy of a prince's heart : 
 But never shiUl the wrongs, I suffer, tempt me 
 To make the illusive ardor of thy love 
 My instrument of vengeance, as I might. 
 Against my deadliest foe. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Thou godlike sufferer ! 
 Canst thou, thus dying by a stern oppressor. 
 Spare, and forgive the tyrant, who destroys thee ? 
 
 LLANDORVIX. 
 
 There was a time, brave ClylTord ! when my blood 
 Grew hot like thine, at thoughts of tyrannv ; 
 When my impassioned harp was ever ready 
 To vibrate, at the sound of Edward's name, 
 With notes of execration, and defiance : 
 The hallowed quiet of approaching death 
 (jives me serener force, and purer courage ; 
 The oppressor I abhorred, I now can pity :
 
 254 THE HEROINE 
 
 And with a mind unheated own the good, 
 
 Mixed with his dire defects: from this wronged country 
 
 He merits detestation ; but from thee. 
 
 Trained as thou art by his domestic kindness, 
 
 He justly claims the obedience of a child : 
 
 Atone then for one start of guilty passion 
 
 By future duty ! and, I charge thee, never 
 
 Wake his paternal wrath by a rash union 
 
 With this poor orphan, lovely as she is ! 
 
 CLYFFORt). 
 
 I am a wretch not meriting such bliss : 
 And only would redeem my darkened spirit 
 From self-abhorrence by most freely giving 
 My life for yours. 
 
 LLANDORVIN. 
 
 No ! dear ingenuous youth, 
 Live ! and protect, I charge thee, from all outrage 
 This dear, and friendless darling of my heart ! 
 I have but thee, to whom I can bequeath her, 
 But that your pure attachment may be free 
 From guilt and misery (*tis my dying counsel :) 
 Unless my death should soften your stern king, 
 Protect her only w^th fraternal love ! 
 I pause too long : my children ! one embrace ! 
 And we must part : may all the wrongs, 1 suffer. 
 Be recompensed in blessings upon you ! 
 That fond idea gilds the gloom of death. 
 Endearing all its pangs ! farewell for ever! 
 
 (ExH tvith Guards^
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 254 
 
 SCENE VIL 
 
 GWBNDYLEN, CLYFFORD. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 I lose him, and the world's a stony desert. 
 That seems to petrify my heart within me. 
 O that kind Heaven woidd, in the very moment, 
 When his freed spirit Hies liom this base earth. 
 Release me from a life, that now affords me 
 No hope to form, no duty to fulfill. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 Dear victim of barbarity, my soul 
 Still in fond unison with thine, partakes 
 Thy filial wish, regarding life with scorn. 
 
 GW^ENDYLEN. 
 
 O generous Clyfford, grant me one request ; 
 While yet my father breathes, O grant me still 
 To gaze upon him ; and forbid, 1 pray thee. 
 Forbid officious care to force my weakness 
 From the attractive scene of death ! I hear, 
 Surely I hear a pitying angel's voice, 
 That kindly tells my sympathetic heart 
 That, in beholding, I may share his fate. 
 
 CLYFFORD. 
 
 An heavenly impulse seems against my reason
 
 256 THE HEROINE. 
 
 To force me to obey thee. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Haste, my friend ! 
 
 CLYFFORD, 
 
 I will conceal me in a peasant's garb ; 
 
 And thou shalt choose the spot, where we will stand. 
 
 In mutual awe and agony to catch 
 
 The latest accents of thy sacred sire ! 
 
 (Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE niL'-THE KING'S TENT. 
 
 KING EDWARD, QUEEN, 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Yet, my dear lord, by all your perils past, 
 By all your ardent hopes of future honor, 
 "Yet, while the pressing minutes urge my voice 
 To most important prayer, while time allows 
 My fearless conqueror to make sweet mercy 
 The blest confirmer of his perfect glory, 
 Yet, yet recall from death this brave old man ! 
 O save like Heaven, in the distressful moment, 
 When safety's vanished from the eyes of hope. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Dearest of supphcants ! it pains me ever
 
 OF CAMBRIA, 2'J^ 
 
 To thwart the wishes of thy gentle spirit ; 
 But it is royalty's severest duty. 
 To keep the sword of punishment unbiassed 
 By the quick outcries of too tender pit v. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Ko ! my mistaken lord ! it is not pity 
 
 For those, who suffer by thy fatal wrath, 
 
 Tho' 1 acknowledge my heart bleeds for them , 
 
 'Tis love for thee : *tis passion for thy glory. 
 
 That gives thy Eleanor the strength to plead 
 
 Against this stern decree : O gracious Edward I 
 
 I wish thy noble nature prized and loved 
 
 By every subject, as it is by me : 
 
 I know, in seeming cruel to this land, 
 
 It is thy aim, by sage austerity. 
 
 To fill the savage mind with useful terror : 
 
 But has not gentleness the blessed power 
 
 To rule the willing heart, while overstrained rigor 
 
 Gains but the fearful semblance of dominion 
 
 O'er the forced acts of alienated souls ? 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Sweet advocate of mercy ! were all hearts 
 Pure as thy own, thy pleading should prevail. 
 But for the government of baser beings, 
 Obedience must be founded upon fear. 
 
 QUEEN, 
 
 Fear leads to hate : and hate to strife, and frenzy : 
 Think of young Clyfford ! O ! if he, who felt 
 Thy fostering care, and idolized thy virtues, 
 If he was driven to momentary madness 
 By one harsh mandate of the King he loved, 
 What may thy people, who ne'er view like him, 
 
 S
 
 258 THE HEROINE 
 
 Thy private scene, that blissful sanctuary 
 
 Of true domestic tenderness ! O Edward ! 
 
 Pride of my soul ! I plead for thy renown : 
 
 Dearer to me than empire ! while thou canst. 
 
 Save 1 conjure thee, save this aged bard ! 
 
 To let him perish would obscure thy glory 
 
 With the base sin of black ingratitude ; 
 
 For he with pure disinterested spirit. 
 
 Professing enmity to thy dominion, 
 
 Yet wished to shield thy life from hideous peril. 
 
 He with a father's gentleness tome 
 
 Spoke all his just surmises, and suggested 
 
 Means to restore to reason and to duty 
 
 The fascinated mind of frantic Clyfford. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 I can no more withstand, dear Eleanor, 
 Thy tender eloquence : thy prayer is granted : 
 One of the guard shall bring the rescued victim 
 To bless thee for that life, for which thy sweetness 
 Pleads irresistibly. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Let me, let me, 
 
 My gracious lord, the happiest of thy servants 1 
 O let me fly the herald of thy grace ! 
 Mercy will lead me her auspicious wings ; 
 And joy inspire me with his piercing voice, 
 To spread from rock to rock my welcome tidings 
 
 -THE FAaDOis OF LLANDORVIN."
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 259 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 KING EDWARD, QUEEN, GWENDYLEN. 
 
 GWENDYLEN, 
 
 (enloing, tmd almost expiring.) 
 
 'Tis in vain, 
 Too lovely consort of a crowned assassin ! 
 In vain thy active tenderness attempts 
 To cancel his barbarity : My father, 
 With firm triumphant fortitude, has past 
 To those blest realms, whence not the voice of Kings, 
 Nor the more sacred breath of spotless virtue, 
 Can now recal his earth-contemning spirit. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Unhappy daughter! hast thou seen him perish ! 
 Where then was ClytFord, whose impetuous pity 
 Flew hence unwarranted to save thy sire. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 Relentless Edward ! hear his fate, and feel 
 How cruelty, in its blind rage, recoils, 
 And like a madd'ning serpent, stings itself ! 
 That generous youth, whom I shall soon rejoin. 
 Suffers no longer in a world, which thou. 
 Inhuman monster ! by thy savage sway. 
 Hast made a residence, unfit for beings, 
 Who with a heart like his embrace the injured.
 
 26-0 THE HEROINE 
 
 Hark : I am called : their free, ascending spirits 
 Wait yet for me : I come : The generous Clyffbrd 
 At my request conducted me to view 
 The horrid scene, that my prophetic soul 
 Felt by anticipation a release 
 
 From all ihy tyranny- yes, I beheld 
 
 Thy murdei'ous archers pierce niy father's breast 
 
 That shaft to me was like the friendly lightning. 
 
 That makes convulsive anguish sink to peace. 
 
 Lifeless I fell, and, as I since have learnt, 
 
 Kind Clyfford deemed me dead, and nobly flew 
 
 To bless my dying father, and to tell him 
 
 That death's kind angel had conveyed his daughter 
 
 To wait for him in Heaven ! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 What fatal chance 
 Destroyed m^^ Clyfford ? 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 In a peasant's garb 
 He rushed upon the weapons of the soldiers 
 That sought to bar him from my sire's embrace' 
 They did not know their prince, till his life-blood 
 
 Stained their accursed steel He spurned their aid 
 
 Embraced my sire then dying, and retired 
 To die near her, whom he had left as dead. 
 His honored voice recalled my parting soul 
 Only to bless him in his death, and bring 
 His benediction to his heart's pure queen 
 
 His guardian Eleanor this duty done 
 
 To my loved Clyfford, to that glorious youth, 
 Who gave me proof how pleasing *tis to die, 
 Kind nature now is rapidly dissolving 
 The mortal ties, that yet withhold my spirit
 
 OF CAMBRIA. 261 
 
 From him, and from my sire : now earth receive 
 This poor incumbrance, that my wiUing soul 
 Exults to quit 
 
 (She falls.) 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 O yet abjure not life, 
 Dear Gwendylen ! thou shalt be as my child, 
 And join with me to grace thy Clyfford's grave. 
 
 GWENDYLEN. 
 
 No ! thou mild angel, wedded to a fiend ! 
 
 Rather would I, to recompense thy goodness, 
 
 Share with thee a blest death, that terminates 
 
 Unmerited affliction : but thy doom 
 
 Is to live long, and live a wounded witness 
 
 Of mad ambition, which thou canst not temper. 
 
 My parting soul, rapt in prophetic vision, 
 
 Sees all the future reign of thy fierce Edward; 
 
 Another realm, like injured Cambria, waits 
 
 To crouch beneath his desolating sway. 
 
 And curse the proud invader : His stern soul, 
 
 Unsoftened by thy tenderness, shall lose thee ; 
 
 But thou, sweet Eleanor ! Thou shalt be mourned^ 
 
 With honors, such as never Queen before thee 
 
 Won from imperial sorrow. 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 Pray ! be silent, 
 Thou poor distracted girl, and let us try 
 If salutary care may still 
 
 GWENDYLEX. 
 
 Stand off, rash tyrant ! yet respect the dying ! 
 And hear thy destiny ! Thy joy is conquest,
 
 262 THE HEROINE &c. 
 
 And conquest shall be thine : iniquity 
 Draws, as its curse from fortune, all it wishes. 
 Power shall not sate thee, nor affliction soften : 
 E'en death itself, whose visible approach 
 Can bend ambition to new thoughts of peace, 
 Shall fail from thy infuriate soul to banish 
 Thy savage thirst of empire and of carnage. 
 Thy dying voice shall bid thy very bones 
 Be borne to battle in thy army's front, 
 Tho' dead still proving the accurst oppressor ! 
 But mark the fruit of all thy victories ! 
 Thy child, so basely made the lord of Cambria, 
 Shall die the vilest death : hurled from a throne 
 Stained by thy guilt, and his ignobler vices ! 
 Ages shall rise, when thy enlightened country. 
 No longer dazzled by thy martial triumph, 
 Shall see thy crimes, as my just father saw them, 
 And English bards shall execrate thy name. 
 I faint : ye friendly spirits hovering round me, 
 Receive me to your fellowship 1 — My father ! 
 
 (Dies, 
 
 KING EDWARD. 
 
 O Eleanor ! the ravings of this damsel 
 Have struck an icy tremor thro' my breast. 
 Ne'er felt before ! See thou her corse be honored, 
 And laid with our lost Clyfford as his bride ! 
 Had I, thou mild remembrancer of mercy ! (*^ 
 
 Had 1 but listened to the first entreaty, 4^^ 
 
 Of thy benignant heart, we had escaped ^^ ^ 
 This hour of vain regret, and deep remorse. 
 
 FINIS
 
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