REMORSE.

A TRAGEDY. IN FIVE ACTS.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

MARQUIS VALDEZ, father to the two brothers, and Doña TERESA's Guardian. DON ALYAR, the eldest son.

DON ORDONIO, the youngest son.

MONVIEDRO, a Dominican and inquisitor.

ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar.

ISIDORE, a Moresco chieftain, ostensibly a Christian.

Familiars of the Inquisition.

NAOMI.

Moors, Servants, &c.

DONA TERESA, an orphan heiress.

ALHADRA, wife of ISIDORE.

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

REMORSE.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—The sea-shore on the coast of Granada.

Don Alvar, wrapt in a boat cloak, and Zulimez (a Moresco), both as just landed.

Zul. No sound, no face of joy to welcome us!
Alv. My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment
Let me forget my anguish and their crimes.
If aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling,
'Tis surely this after long years of exile,
To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us,
To hail at once our country, and our birth-place.
Hail, Spain! Granada, hail! once more I
press
Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers!

Zul. Then claim your rights in it! O, revered Don Alvar
Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose.

It is too hazardous! reveal yourself,

And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt!

Alv. Remember, Zulimez! I am his brother,

Injured indeed! O deeply injured!` yet

Ordonio's brother.

Zul.

Nobly minded Alvar!

This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye.

Alv. The more behooves it, I should rouse within him

Remorse! that I should save him from himself.

Zul. Remorse is as the heart in which it grows :

If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews

Of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy,
It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost
Weeps only tears of poison.

P*

Alv.

And of a brother,

Dare I hold this, unproved? nor make one effort
To save him?-Hear me, friend! I have yet to tell thee,
That this same life, which he conspired to take,
Himself once rescued from the angry flood,

And at the imminent hazard of his own.

Add too my oath—

Zul.

You have thrice told already

The years of absence and of secrecy,

To which a forced oath bound you: if in truth
A suborned murderer have the power to dictate
A binding oath—

Left me no choice: the very wish too languished
With the fond hope that nursed it; the sick babe
Drooped at the bosom of its famished mother.
But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy;

The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest,
No motive could have tempted him to falsehood :
In the first pangs of his awaken'd conscience,
When with abhorrence of his own black purpose
The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast,
Fell from his palsied hand-

Zul.

Heavy presumption !

Alv. It weighed not with me-Hark! I will tell thee all; As we passed by, Į bade thee mark the base

Of yonder cliff—

Zul.

That rocky seat you mean,

Shaped by the billows?

There Teresa met me

Alv.
The morning of the day of my departure.
We were alone: the purple hue of dawn
Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us,
And blending with the blushes on her cheek,
Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy light.
There seemed a glory round us, and Teresa
The angel of the vision!

Had'st thou seen

How in each motion her most innocent soul

Beamed forth and brightened, thou thyself would'st tell me,

Guilt is a thing impossible in her!

She must be innocent!

Zul.

Proceed, my lord!

Alv. A portrait which she had procured by stealth, (For even then it seems her heart foreboded

Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry)

A portrait of herself with thrilling hand
She tied around my neck, conjuring me,
With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred
To my own knowledge: nor did she desist,
Till she had won a solemn promise from me,
That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it
Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew,

Knew that which none but she could have disclosed.
Zul. A damning proof!

Alv.

My own life wearied me!

And but for the imperative voice within,

With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen.

That voice, which quelled me, calmed me and I sought

The Belgic states: there joined the better cause ;
And there too fought as one that courted death!
Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying,
In deathlike trance: a long imprisonment followed.
The fulness of my anguish by degrees
Waned to a meditative melancholy;

me!

And still the more I mused, my soul became
More doubtful, more perplexed; and still Teresa,
Night after night, she visited my sleep;
Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful,
Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me
Yes, still as in contempt of proof and reason,
I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless!
Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here
In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain.—
The Moorish robes ?—