Miscellaneous Plays/Constantine Paleologus Act 5

by Joanna Baillie

ACT V.

SCENE I. An open space near the walls of the city, with half ruin'd houses on each side, and a row of arched pillars thrown across the middle of the stage, as if it were the remains of some ruined public building; thro' which is seen, in the back-ground, a breach in the walls, and the confused fighting of the besieged, envelopped in clouds of smoke and dust. The noise of artillery, the battering of engines, and the cries of the combatants heard as the curtain draws up, and many people discovered on the front of the stage, running about in great hurry and confusion, and some mounted upon the roofs of the houses overlooking the battle.

VOICE (calling from the wall).

See! see! how, cluster'd on each other's backs,

They mount like swarming bees, or locusts link'd
In bolt'ring heaps! Pour fire upon their heads!

SECOND VOICE.

⁠Cast down huge beams upon them!

THIRD VOICE.

⁠Hurl down the loosen'd fragments of our wall!

FOURTH VOICE.

⁠Ho! more help here! more stones! more beams! more fire!

Weapons are useless now.

FIRST VOICE.

⁠See how that giant Turk, like an arch fiend,

Climbs on yon living mountain of curv'd backs!
He gains the wall! O hurl him headlong down!
He is hurl'd down! (A great shout from the besieged.)

SECOND VOICE.

⁠Send to the emperor or to Rodrigo:

They on their diff'rent stations hold it bravely;
This is the weakest point. Ho! send for aid!

(Exeunt several soldiers from the walls as if running for succour. The noise of artillery, &c. is heard as before, and afterwards a loud crash as of some building falling. Enter many people in great terror from the walls , running off by the front of the stage different ways, and enter at the same time, Constantine and some of his friends, who stop them.)

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Turn, turn! O turn, my friends! another push!

Let us still stop the breach, or fall like men.

(Enter Justiniani from the walls with a hasty and disordered step, pale and writhing with pain.)

Merciful heav'n! do mine eyes serve me truly?
Justiniani, with pale haggard face,
Retiring from his post!
Where are you going, chief? (Stopping him sternly.)

JUSTINIANI.

⁠Where nature, urg'd beyond the pith of nature,

Compels me. Midst yon streams of liquid fires,
And hurling ruins and overwhelming mass
Of things unknown, unseen, uncalculable,
All arms and occupation of a soldier
Are lost and turn'd to naught: man's strength is naught:
The fangs of hell are in my new-torn flesh;
I must on for a space and breathe fresh air.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Go to! this moment is the quiv'ring ridge

That stands between our success or our ruin:—
The sight of thy turn'd back from their screw'd pitch
Will turn more hearts than all the pressing foe:
Thou must not go.

JUSTINIANI.

⁠I am a mortal man:

The fangs of fiends are in my new torn flesh:
Nature compels me, and I must have succour.
⁠(Exit hastily, and writhing with pain.)

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Alas! God pity him! one luckless moment

Of weakness and of anguish brings to him
A wound that cannot be up-bound. Poor nature!
⁠(Enter many fugitives from the walls.)
Turn, turn, O soldiers! let not this shame be.
⁠(To the fugitives.)

(As he is endeavouring with his friends to rally them and push forward, a terrible shout is heard, and enter a great crowd of fugitives from the walls.)

What shout was that?

FUGITIVE.

⁠The Turks have gain'd the breach, and thro' it pour

Like an o'erboiling flood.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Then is the city lost—the dark hour come—

And as an emperor my task is clos'd.
God's will be done!⁠(Throwing away the imperial purple.)
Now is there left for me these sinew'd arms,
And this good sword, the wherewithal to earn
A noble soldier's death.
Come on with me who will, and share the fate
Of a brave comrade.

A FUGITIVE (joined by several others).

⁠Yes, we'll share thy fate,

Comrade or sov'reign, noble Constantine!

We will die by thy side. (Exit Constantine, followed by his friends and several of the fugitives, and passing through the pillars to the back-ground, rushes amidst the confusion of the fight. A terrible noise of arms, &c. and presently one of the pillars in the middle of the stage falling down, a wider view of the battle is opened, and the Turks are seen rushing through the breach, and bearing every thing before them.)

Re-enter Constantine wounded, but still fighting bravely, though oppressed with numbers, and falls down near the front of the stage, the enemy passing on and leaving him.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Am I then left?

Oh, is there ne'er a Christian soldier near me
That will cut off my head? Ho! thou Turk there!
⁠(To a Turk who is going to pass him.)

TURK.

⁠Art thou not dead?

CONSTANTINE.

⁠No, one half of me, Turk, is living still,

⁠(Raising himself half up from the ground.)
And still a match for thee.

TURK.

⁠Ha! say'st thou so? we'll put it to the proof.

Yet thou'rt a brave man, tho' thou art a Greek,
I would far rather let thee die in peace.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠No, no! have at thee! (pushing at the Turk with his sword, who turning against him as he is half raised from the ground, thrusts him through the body.)

I thank thee, friendly foe-man, this will do:

Thou hast done me good service.

TURK.

⁠And thou art welcome to it. Fare thee well!

A good death to thee! for thou art no Greek.
⁠(Exit.

CONSTANTINE.

⁠Ay, this will do: this hath the true stern gripe

Of potent speedy death. My task is closed.
I now put off these weeds of flesh and blood,
And, thanks be unto him who cloth'd me in them
Untarnish'd with disgrace. What cometh after
Full surely cometh well. 'Tis a dark pass.——

(Catching at a dropt garment that has been left by some of the fugitives on the ground near him.)

Here is a ready shrowd to wrap my head:

This death deals shrewdly with me. (Covers his face and dies, after a considerable struggle )

Enter Rodrigo, Othus, and Marthon, with two or three of their followers, fighting bravely with a party of Turks, whom they beat off the stage.

OTHUS.

⁠Now for a space those ruffians stand aloof:

This is a pause that calls upon the mind:
What shall we do?

RODRIGO.

⁠What do men do, when they together stand

On the last perch of the swift-sinking wreck?
Do they not bravely give their parting cheer,
And make their last voice loud and boldly sound
Amidst the hollow roarings of the storm?
Ev'n so will we: we'll bear our manhood up
To the last push.

OTHUS.

⁠Thou speakest well, brave seaman: thou dost speak

What the heart owns: we will do even so.
But Oh that our brave leader now were near us,
Living or dead! Doth no one know his fate?
I thought by him t' have died.

FIRST FOLLOWER.

⁠What corpse is this so cover'd? on its sandal

It wears th'imperial bird in fretted gold.

OTHUS.

⁠Then it is he! (Tearing off the covering eagerly from the head of Constantine.)

O thou brave heart! thou hast got to thy rest

With honour: heav'n be praised that thou hast!
Here round thee our last gathering point shall be:
Here will we fight, nor shall thy honour'd body
Suffer, whilst one of us has strength to fight,
The slightest insult.

RODRIGO.

⁠Ay, they shall hack us into raven's meat,

Ere on his gallant corpse there be impress'd

One touch of impious hands! (A loud noise of shrieking and terror heard without.)

OTHUS.

⁠Hear those wild cries of terror and despair,

Mix'd with the din of carnage! Now those cowards,
Who let this brave man sink for lack of aid,
Are suff'ring that which, in his fellest pinch,
The valiant never suffers.
But see, the enemy again returns
With doubled fury!

RODRIGO.

⁠Come they? then we are ready for them. Yonder

Stands a small walled dome, within whose portal
We for a time may face ten thousand foes:

There will we take our stand, and there will we
Do our last deeds of men. Come on, brave mates!
Take up our honour'd treasure; and, so burden'd,
He that doth grapple with us had as lief
Pull from the lion's hug his bosom'd whelp.

(The followers take up the body, and Othus and Rodrigo retire, defending it bravely from a party of Turks, who enter and fall upon them as they are bearing it off.)

SCENE II. An apartment in one of the towers of the palace.

Enter Valeria in great alarm, followed by Lucia and Attendants.

VALERIA.

⁠Louder and louder still the dreadful sound

Of battle swells. Is it not nearer us?
This lofty tower the widest view commands;

Open that lattice quickly. (Pointing to a window which Lucia opens, and then, rushing on eagerly to look, shrinks back again.)

I pray thee look thyself, mine eyes are dark,

And I see nothing. Oh, what see'st thou?
Tell me whate'er it be.

LUCIA (looking out).

⁠Nothing but clouds of smoke and eddying dust:

A dun and grumly darkness spreads o'er all,
From which arise those horrid sounds, but naught
Distinctive of the fight can I discern.

VALERIA (after pacing backward and forward with an unequal, restless, agitated step).

⁠Oh, will this state of tossing agony

No termination have! Send out, I pray thee,
Another messenger.

LUCIA.

⁠Indeed I have in little space of time

Sent many forth, but none return again.

VALERIA.

⁠In little space! Oh it hath been a term

Of horrible length! such as rack'd fiends do reckon
Upon their tolling beds of surgy flames,
Told by the lashes of each burning tide
That o'er them breaks.—Hark! the quick step of one
With tidings fraught! Dost thou not hear it?

LUCIA.

⁠No;

I hear it not.

VALERIA.

⁠Still is it the false coinage of my fears?

Ah! hearing, sight, and every sense is now
False and deceitful grown.—I'll sit me down,
And think no more but let the black hour pass

In still and fixed stupor o'er my head. (Sits down upon a low seat, and supports her bended head upon both her hands.)

LUCIA (listening).

⁠Now I do hear the sound of real feet

In haste approaching.

VALERIA (starting up).

⁠Some one brings us tidings.

What may they be? Quick steps should bring us good.

Enter Messenger.

Say all thou hast to say, and say it quickly.
If it be good hold up thy blessed hand,
And I will bless the token.—No, thou dost not!
'Tis evil then.—How is it with my lord?
What dangers still encompass him?

MESSENGER.

⁠No dangers.

VALERIA.

⁠And dost thou say so with that terrible look?

Is he alive? Have all deserted him?

MESSENGER.

⁠No, round his body still some brave men fight,

And will not quit him till they be as he is.

(Valeria, uttering a loud shriek, falls back into the arms of her attendants, and is carried off, followed by Lucia and the Messenger.)

SCENE III. A hall in the palace.

Enter a Crowd of frightened Women, and seem hurrying on to some place of greater security.

FIRST WOMAN (stopping).

⁠No, we are wrong; we'll to the eastern tower,

That is the most retir'd; that last of all
Will tempt their search.

SECOND WOMAN.

⁠In the deep vaulted caverns of the palace,

Might we not for a while conceal'd remain,
Till heav'n shall send us means?

OMNES.

⁠Ay, thou art right; that is the best of all:

We'll to the vaults. (As they are all turning and hurrying back again, enter a domestic Officer of the palace, and stops them.)

OFFICER.

⁠Where do you run with such wild looks of fear?

Think ye the Turks are passing thro' the city,
Like the short visit of a summer's storm,
That you in holes and rocks may safely hide
Until it be o'erblown?

FIRST WOMAN.

⁠Oh, no! we know that they are come for ever!

Yet for a little while we fain would save us
From fearful things.

OFFICER.

⁠I come to tell you that by Mah'met's orders

The cruel Turks have stopp'd their bloody work,
And peace again is in our walls.

FIRST WOMAN.

⁠Say'st thou?

And art thou sure of this? and hast thou seen it?

OFFICER.

⁠Yes, I have seen it. Like a sudden gleam

Of fierce returning light at the storm's close,
Glancing on horrid sights of waste and sorrow,
Came the swift word of peace, and to the eye
Gave consciousness of that which the wild uproar
And dire confusion of the carnage hid.

FIRST WOMAN.

⁠Alas! be there such sights within our walls?

OFFICER.

⁠Yes, maid, such sights of blood! such sights of nature!

In expectation of their horrid fate,
Widows, and childless parents, and 'lorn dames,
Sat by their unwept dead with fixed gaze,
In horrible stillness.
But when the voice of grace was heard aloud,
So strongly stirr'd within their roused souls
The love of life, that, even amidst those horrors

A joy was seen—joy hateful and unlovely.
I saw an aged man rise from an heap
Of grizly dead, whereon, new murder'd, lay
His sons and grandsons, yea, the very babe
Whose cradle he had rock'd with palsied hands,
And shake his grey locks at the sound of life
With animation wild and horrible.
I saw a mother with her murder'd infant
Still in her arms fast lock'd, spring from the ground—
No, no! I saw it not! I saw it not!
It was a hideous fancy of my mind:
I have not seen it.
But I forget my chiefest errand here.

FIRST WOMAN.

⁠And what is that?

OFFICER.

⁠It is to bid you tell your royal mistress,

It may, perhaps, somewhat assuage her grief,
That Othus and Rodrigo, with some followers,
The last remains of the imperial band,
Fighting, in all the strength of desperation,
Around the body of their fallen chief,
Have mov'd to gen'rous thoughts the sultan's breast
Who has their valour honour'd with full leave,
In blessed ground, with military pomp,
Becoming his high state and valiant worth,
To lay his dear remains. This with their lives
On honourable terms he freely grants.

FIRST WOMAN.

⁠And do those brave men live?

OFFICER.

⁠They do; but Othus soon I fear will be

With him he mourns.—Delay no more, I pray:
Inform the empress speedily of this.

FIRST WOMAN.

⁠Alas! she is not in a state to hear it:

The phrenzy of her grief repels all comfort.—
But softly!—hush!—methinks I hear her voice.
She's coming hither in the restless wand'rings
Of her untamed mind.—Stand we aside,
And speak not to her yet.

Enter Valeria with her hair dishevelled, and in all the wild disorder of violent sorrow, followed by Ella and Lucia, who seem endeavouring to soothe her.

VALERIA.

⁠Forbear all words; and follow me no more.

I now am free to wander where I list;
To howl i' the desert with the midnight winds,
And fearless be amidst all fearful things.
The storm has been with me, and I am left
Torn and uprooted, and laid in the dust
With those whom after-blasts rend not again.
I am in the dark gulf where no light is.
I am on the deep bed of sunken floods,

Whose swoln and welt'ring billows rise no more
To bear the tossed wreck back to the strand.

LUCIA.

⁠Oh, say not so! heav'n doth in its good time

Send consolation to the sharpest woe.
It still in kindness sends to the tried soul
Its keenest suff'rings. So say holy men;
And therein good men trust.

VALERIA.

⁠I hear, I hear thee! in mine ear thy voice

Sounds like the feeble night-fly's humming noise
To him, who in the warfare of vex'd sleep,
Strives with the phantoms of his inward world.
Yes, there be comfort when the sun is dark,
And time hath run his course, and the still'd sleepers
Lift up their heads at the tremendous crash
Of breaking worlds.—I know all this.—But here,
Upon this living earth, what is there found?
It is a place of groans and hopeless woe.
Let me then tear my hair and wring my hands,
And raise my voice of anguish and despair,
This is my portion now, all else is gone.

LUCIA.

⁠Nay, think not virtuous innocence forsaken:

Put in high heav'n thy trust, it will sustain thee.

VALERIA.

⁠Ah! I did think when virtue bravely stood,

Fronting its valiant breast to the fierce onset
Of worthless power, that it full surely stood:
That ev'ry spiritual and righteous power
Was on its side: and in this faith, oftimes,
Methought I could into the furnace mouth
Have thrust my hand, and grasp'd the molten flames.
Yet it fell on his head: that noble head,
Upon whose manly gracefulness was fix'd
The gaze of ev'ry eye.
Oh! on his lib'ral front there beam'd a look,
Unto the which all good and gen'rous hearts
Answer return'd.—It was a gentle head,
Bending in pleasant kindliness to all;
So that the timid, who approach'd him trembling,
With cheer'd and vaunting steps retir'd again.
It was a crowned head, yet was it left
Expos'd and fenceless in the hour of danger:
What should have been his safety was his bane.
Away, poor mock'ry of a wretched state!

(Tearing the regal ornaments from her neck, and scattering them about.)

Be ye strew'd to the winds! But for this let

We had been blest; for he as truly loved,
In simplest tenderness, as the poor hind,
Who takes his humble house-mate by the hand,
And says, "this is my all."—Off, cursed band!
Which round our happiness hath been entwin'd
Like to a strangling cord: upon the earth

Be thou defac'd and trampled! (Tearing the tiara from her head and stamping upon it, then pacing up and down distractedly.)

LUCIA.

⁠Alas! my royal mistress, be intreated!

This furious grief will but enhance its pain:
Oh bear yourself as more becomes your state!

VALERIA.

⁠Yes, I will bear me as becomes my state.

I am a thing of wretchedness and ruin.
That upon which my pride and being grew
Lies in the dust, and be the dust my bed.

(Throwing herself upon the ground, and pushing away Lucia and her other Attendants, who endeavour to raise her up again.)

Forbear! forbear! and let me on the ground

Spread out my wretched hands. It pleases me
To think that in its breast there is a rest—
Yea, there lie they, unheeded and forgotten,
To whom all tongues give praise, all hearts give blessing.
Oh, ev'ry heart did bless him tho' he fell,
And ne'er a saving hand was found—Oh! oh!

(Bursting into an agony of grief, and laying her head upon the ground, covered with both her hands.)

ELLA (to Lucia and Attendants).

⁠Do not surround her thus! I'll sit and watch her.

I will not speak, but sit and weep by her;
And she shall feel, ev'n thro' her heavy woe,
That sympathy and kindness are beside her.

VALERIA (raising her head).

⁠There spoke a gentle voice: is Ella near me?

ELLA.

⁠Yes, I am near, and shall be ever near you.

VALERIA.

⁠Wilt thou? I do believe, sweet maid, thou wilt.

Lay thy soft hand on mine,—Yes, it feels kindly.
Had he, thy valiant love, been near his lord—
Ay, they did love each other with that love
Which brave men know—Oh, ev'ry noble stranger,
In admiration of his noble worth,
Did call him lord; whilst they, his native subjects,
They who had seen him grow within their walls,—
Alas! where lightly tripp'd his infant steps;
Where in gay sports his stripling's strength was tried;
Where tower'd in graceful pride his manly bloom;
Even there a lifeless, ghastly form he lies.

Enter another Domestic Officer, and seeing Valeria on the ground steps back.

LUCIA (to the Officer).

⁠What would'st thou here?

OFFICER.

⁠I must, perforce, speak my unwelcome tidings.

The sultan is already in the palace,
And follows hard my steps with a fix'd purpose
To see the empress.

VALERIA (raising herself half from the ground).

⁠What fearful words are these? in my soul's anguish

Comes this so quickly on me? Be it so!
I cleave to th' earth! what have I now to do?
I am a stilled thing, abas'd and crush'd;
What boots it now who gazes on my woe?

Enter Mahomet with Osmir and his Train.

MAHOMET (to Osmir, after looking at Valeria steadfastly).

⁠She stirs not, Osmir, ev'n at my approach.

She sits upon the ground, unmov'd and still.
Thou sorrow-clouded beauty, not less lovely
⁠(Going up to her.)
For this thy mournful state!—She heeds me not.
Empress and sov'reign dame, unto those titles
Which thou shalt ever wear, vouchsafe regard.
Still she regards me not.⁠ (To Osmir.)
Widow of Constantine;⁠(After a pause.)

VALERIA (rousing herself quickly).

⁠Ay, now thou callest on me by a name

Which I do hear. There is strength in the sound

To do all possible things!⁠Rising quickly from the ground, and accosting Mahomet with an air of high assumed state.)

What would'st thou say to her who proudly wears

That honour'd title?

MAHOMET.

⁠Widow of Constantine; I come not here

In the stern spirit of a conqu'ror.
The slaughter of your people, by my order,
Is stopp'd; and to your bravely fallen lord
I have decreed such fun'ral obsequies
As suits a valiant warrior and a king.
Othus, and brave Rodrigo, and those men
Who to the last their master's corpse defended,
I have with honour grac'd.—Lacks there aught still
That, from the dark cloud which so deeply shades
That awful beauty, one approving ray
Might softly draw? Speak, and it shall be done.

VALERIA.

⁠Ask aught from thee!

MAHOMET.

⁠Yes, whatsoe'er thou wilt:

For now too well I feel I have no power
That can oppose thy will.

VALERIA.

⁠I give you thanks: I have a thing to ask.

MAHOMET.

⁠Name it, and it is granted.

VALERIA.

⁠A place in the quiet tomb with my fall'n lord,

Therein to rest my head. This is my boon.

MAHOMET.

⁠Well, and it shall be granted, fair Valeria,

When that fair form is fitted for such rest.

But whilst—⁠(Approaching her with an air of freer admiration.)

VALERIA (putting him at a distance haughtily).

⁠No more:—I do not ask it sooner.

Yet that it he a sealed deed between us,
Permit me here to put into your hands
A mark'd memorial. Some few paces off
It is deposited; I will return

And give it to you instantly. (Exit, attended by Lucia, Ella, &c.)

MAHOMET (to Osmir, looking after her as she goes out).

⁠See, with what awful loveliness she moves!

Did all our bower'd prisons e'r contain
Aught like to that?

OSMIR.

⁠It does, indeed, a wond'rous mixture seem

Of woman's loveliness with manly state;
And yet, methinks, I feel as tho' it were

Strange, and perplexing, and unsuitable.
'Tis not in nature.

MAHOMET.

⁠Think'll thou so, good vizir?

Thou'rt right, belike, but it is wond'rous graceful.
⁠(A loud shriek of women heard without.)

What shrieks are these? Run thou and learn the cause. (Osmir going, is prevented by Valeria, who re-enters with her robe wrapped across her breast, and supported by Lucia, and Ella, and her other Attendants, who seem in great affliction round her.)

VALERIA (speaking as she enters).

⁠Mourn not; the thing is past that was to be.

Conduct me to the sultan: I have still
Strength to fulfil my task.

MAHOMET.

⁠Great Prophet! what is this? What hast thou done?

⁠(To Valeria.)

VALERIA.

⁠Brought thee the mark'd memorial of my right.

⁠(Shewing a dagger.)
And that I now am fitted for that rest,
The honour'd rest which you have granted me,
Being the fix'd condition of your promise,

Here is the witness.⁠(Opening her robe, and shewing the wound in her breast.)

MAHOMET.

⁠Oh sad and cruel sight! Is there no aid?

Oh live, thou wond'rous creature, and be aught
Thy soul desires to be!

VALERIA (after sinking back into a seat, supported by her Attendants).

⁠I now am what my soul desires to be,

And what one happy moment of wound strength
Beyond the pitch of shrinking nature makes me;
Widow of Constantine, without reproach,
And worthy to partake the honour'd rest
Of the brave lord whose living love I shar'd,
As shares the noble wife a brave man's love.

MAHOMET.

⁠Prophet of God, be there such ties as these!

Enter Rodrigo, and Othus wounded and supporting himself feebly upon his sheathed sword.

VALERIA.

⁠And here come, in good time, my living friends:

I shall once more those gen'rous men behold,
The sad remains of those who lov'd their lord.
⁠(Holding out a hand to each of them.)
You know, brave brothers, how it is with me;
For such you were to him, and such to me
My heart now truly owns you.

OTHUS.

⁠Yes, we have heard: they told us as we enter'd.

Most noble woman, worthy of thy lord!

(Endeavouring feebly to kneel and kiss her hand, whilst Rodrigo does so on the other side of her.)

VALERIA.

⁠This day's rough tempest's o'er, my good Rodrigo,

And thou still liv'st to strive in other storms:
Heaven's high blessing and my dying thanks
Rest on thy gen'rous worth!—I would say more,
But now I feel I may not.
Where art thou, Ella?⁠(Putting Ella's hand in his.)
⁠Here do I return
The trust thou gavest me; and if the sultan
Will yet to me one last request vouchsafe,
He will confirm this gift.

MAHOMET.

⁠It is confirm'd.

VALERIA.

⁠I thank you, gracious victor.

Heaven bless you both! (To Ella and Rodrigo, who both kneel and kiss her hands.)

Othus, the dead go to their silent rest,

⁠(To Othus, looking fixedly at him.)
And are no more remember'd: but thy lord—
He whom thou lovedst—he whom all hearts lov'd—

He who so noble and so gentle was—
Well skill'd art thou to paint the deeds of men—
Thou wilt not suffer him to be forgotten?
What means that woeful motion of thy head?
Mine eyes wax dim, or do I truly see thee?
Thy visage has a strange and ghastly look:
How is it with thee?

OTHUS.

⁠As one who standeth at the city's gate,

Thro' which his earlier friends have past, and waits
Impatiently, girt in his traveller's robe,
To hear the welcome creaking of its bars.

VALERIA.

⁠Ah! art thou wounded then? Alas! alas!

Art thou too of our company? sad trav'llers
Unto a world unknown.

OTHUS.

⁠Nay, say not sad, tho' to a world unknown.

The foster'd nursling, at th' appointed season,
Who leaves his narrow crib and cottage-home
For the fair mansion of his lordly sire,
Goes to a world unknown.

VALERIA.

⁠Ay, thou would'st cheer me, and I will be cheer'd.

There reigns above who casts his dark shade o'er us,
Mantling us on our way to glorious light.
I have offended, and I should be fearful,

But there is sent in mercy to my heart,
For which I humbly give——O no, I may not!
Death is upon me now.——Ella and Lucia:
Stand closer to me: let me firmly grasp

Something that I have lov'd. (Catching hold of them with a convulstve grasp.)

It will soon cease:

Farewel unto ye all!⁠ (Dies.)

(A solemn pause, all standing round and gazing upon the body.)

OTHUS.

⁠And this is the last form that we do wear,

Unto the sad and solemn gaze of those
Who have beheld us in our days of joy.
Honour and deepest rev'rence be to thee,
Thou honour'd dead!⁠(Bowing respectfully to the body.)

MAHOMET.

⁠Great God of heav'n! was this a woman's spirit

That took its flight?

RODRIGO.

⁠Let ev'ry proudest worship be upon her,

For she is number'd with the gallant dead.
Not in the trophied field, nor sculptur'd dome;
No, nor beneath the dark and billowy deep
Is there one laid, o'er whom the valiant living
With truer zeal would their high banners wave,
Or bid the deep-mouth'd cannon nobly tell
How brave men mourn the brave.

How is it, Othus? something in thine eye
Of joyous sadness looks upon me wistfully.

(To Othus, who takes him tenderly by the hand.)

OTHUS.

⁠Dost thou not guess?—But I would speak to thee

Of a brave soldier, who, in one short moment
Of nature's weakness, has a wound receiv'd
That will unto his life as fatal prove
As fellest foeman's thrust: who in his rest
Will not be mourn'd as brave men mourn the brave.
Justiniani in his cave of shame——

RODRIGO.

⁠And therein let him perish!

He hath disgrac'd a soldier's honest fame:
He hath disgrac'd the country of his birth:
He hath——It makes me stamp upon the ground
To think that one, who grasp'd with brother's hand
The noble Constantine, should basely turn.
Name not his cursed name!

OTHUS.

⁠Art thou so stern? In a lone cave he groans,

On the damp earth, in deepest agony
Of the soul's shrewdest sufferings. I have
By an old soldier been advis'd of this,
And I would go to him, but that I feel

I needs must go where a more powerful call
Doth summon me.

RODRIGO (softened).

⁠Ah! must thou then so soon, my gen'rous Othus!

Must thou so soon? Well, ask whatever thou wilt:
I give my chafed passion to the winds.
Ah! goest thou? Do I the last remain
Of those who lov'd the noble Constantine?
The last of a brave band? Alas! alas!
⁠(Embracing Othus tenderly.)

OSMIR (to Mahomet, who strides up and down in gloomy agitation).

⁠Most mighty Mahomet, what thus disturbs you?

May not your slave in humble zeal be told?

MAHOMET.

⁠Away! away! thy humble zeal I know;

Yea, and, the humble zeal of such as thou art.
The willing service of a brave man's heart,
That precious pearl, upon the earth exists,
But I have found it not.
⁠(Turning to Othus and Rodrigo.)
Ye valiant men who have so serv'd your prince,
There still is in the world a mighty monarch,
Who, if he might retain you near his throne,
Shall he say near his heart, in such dear zeal?
Would think his greatness honour'd.

OTHUS.

⁠Great sultan, thou hast conquer'd with such arms

As power has given to thee, th' imperial city
Of royal Constantine; but other arms,
That might the friends of Constantine subdue,
Heav'n has denied thee.

RODRIGO.

⁠No, mighty prince; they who have serv'd for love,

Cannot like flying pennants be transferr'd
From bark to bark.

MAHOMET (impatiently).

⁠I understand you well, and you are free.

Mine arms, such as they are, of heav'n are bless'd,
That is enough.

OTHUS.

⁠That were indeed enough; but heaven oftimes

Success bestows where blessing is denied.
A secret spirit whispers to my heart,
That in these walls your weaken'd wretched race,
Slaves of their slaves, in gloomy prison'd pomp
Shall shed each others blood, and make these towers
A place of groans and anguish, not of bliss.
And think not when the good and valiant perish
By worldly power o'erwhelm'd, that heaven's high favour
Shines not on them.—Oh, no! then shines it most.

For then in them it shews th' approving world
The worth of its best work.
And from their fate a glorious lesson springs;
A lesson of such high ennobling power;
Connecting us with such exalted things
As all do feel, but none with such true force,
Such joy, such triumph, as a dying man.
⁠(Falling back into the arms of Rodrigo.)

FINIS.