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[then turning his eyes languidly to Alvar She hath avenged the blood of Isidore ! I stood in silence like a slave before her That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, And satiate this self-accusing heart With bitterer agonies than death can give. Forgive me, Alvar !
Oh !---couldst thou forget me! [Dies.
[Alvar and Teresa bend over the
body of Ordonio. Alh. (to the Moors.) I thank thee, Heaven !
thou hast ordained it wisely, That still extremes bring their own cure. That
---Knew I a hundred men
forth, Conquering and still to conquer ! [Alhadra hurries off with the Moors ; the stage
fills with armed peasants, and servants,
Zulimez and Valdez at their head.
Valdez rushes into Alvar's arms. Alv. Turn not thy face that way, my father! Oh hide it from his eye! Oh let thy joy [hide, Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing
[both kneel to Valdez. Val. My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh bless
[both rise. Alv. Delights so full, if unalloyed with grief, Were ominous. In these strange dread events Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. Our inward monitress to guide or warn, If listened to; but if repelled with scorn, At length as dire Remorse, she reappears, Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears ! Still bids, Remember! and still cries, Too late! And while she scares us, goads us to our fate.
The following Scene, as unfit for the stage, was taken from the tragedy, in the year 1797, and published in the Lyrical Ballads.
Enter Teresa and Selma. Ter. 'Tis said, he spake of you familiarly, As mine and Alvar's common foster-mother.
Sel. Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be
Ter. But that entrance, Selma ?
Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale !
My husband's father told it me,
You know that huge round beam
And whistled, as he were a bird himself.
'Tis a sweet tale :
He went on shipboard
Note to the words “ You are a painter,” p. 184, Scene II. Act II.
The following lines I have preserved in this place, not so much as explanatory of the picture of the assassination, as to gratify my own feelings, the passage being no mere fancy portrait; but a slight, yet not unfaithful, profile of the late Sir George Beaumont. Zul. (speaking of Alvar in the third person.) Such was the
noble Spaniard's own relation. He told me, too, how in his early youth, And his first travels, 'twas his choice or chance To make long sojourn in sea-wedded Venice; There won the love of that divine old man, Courted by mightiest kings, the famous Titian! Who, like a second and more lovely Nature, By the sweet mystery of lines and colours Changed the blank canvass to a magic mirror, That made the absent present; and to shadows Gave light, depth, substance, bloom, yea, thought and