For love or pity, be his doom as theirs!
Pledge we our faith to this!

Rai. (Rushing forward indignantly.) Our faith to this! No! I but dreamt I heard it !-Can it be?

My countrymen, my father!-Is it thus

That freedom should be won ?-Awake! Awake
To loftier thoughts !-Lift up, exultingly,

On the crowned heights, and to the sweeping winds,
Your glorious banner!-Let your trumpet's blast
Make the tombs thrill with echoes! Call aloud,
Proclaim from all your hills, the land shall bear
The stranger's yoke no longer !-What is he
Who carries on his practiced lip a smile,
Beneath his vest a dagger, which but waits
Till the heart bounds with joy, to still its beatings?
That which our nature's instinct doth recoil from,
And our blood curdle at.-Aye, yours and mine-
A murderer !-Heard ye ?-Shall that name with ours
Go down to after days?-Oh, friends! a cause
Like that for which we rise, hath made bright names
Of the elder time as rallying-words to men,
Sounds full of might and immortality!

And shall not ours be such?

Mont. Fond dreamer, peace!

Fame! what is fame?-Will our unconscious dust.

Start into thrilling rapture from the grave,

At the vain breath of praise?-I tell thee, youth,

Our souls are parched with agonizing thirst,

Which must be quenched, though death were in the draught:

We must have vengeance, for our foes have left

No other joy unblighted....:

Proc. Oh! my son,

The time is past for such high dreams as thine.

Thou knowest not whom we deal with. Knightly faith

And chivalrous honor, are but things whereon
They cast disdainful pity. We must meet
Falsehood with wiles, and insult with revenge.
Rai. Many a land

Hath bowed beneath the yoke; and then arisen,
As a strong lion rending silken bonds,
And on the open field, before high heaven,
Won such majestic vengeance, as hath made
Its name a power on earth.-Aye, nations own

23050B

It is enough of glory to be called

The children of the mighty, who redeemed
Their native soil-but not by means like these.

Mont. I have no children.-Of Montalba's blood
Not one red drop doth circle through the veins
Of aught that breathes !-Why, what have I to do
With far futurity? My spirit lives

But in the past.-Away! when thou dost stand
On this fair earth, as doth a blasted tree

Which the warm sun revives not, then return,
Strong in thy desolation: but, till then,
Thou art not for our purpose; we have need
Of more unshrinking hearts.

Rai.

Montalba, know,

I shrink from crime alone. Oh! if my voice
Might yet have power amongst you, I would say,
Associates, leaders, be avenged! but yet,
As knights, as warriors!

Mont. Peace! have we not borne

The indelible taint of contumely and chains?
We are not knights and warriors. Our bright crests
Have been defiled and trampled to the earth.

Boy! we are slaves-and our revenge shall be
Deep as a slave's disgrace.

Rai. Why, then, farewell.

I leave you to your counsels. He that still
Would hold his lofty nature undebased,

.

And his name pure, were but a loiterer here. (Exit Raimond.) Proc. He's gone!-why, let it be !

I trust our Sicily hath many a son

Valiant as mine.-Associates! 'tis decreed

Our foes shall perish. We have but to name
The hour, the scene, the signal.

Mont. It should be

In the full city, when some festival

Hath gathered throngs, and lulled infatuate hearts

To brief security. Then may we mix

With the flushed revelers, making their gay feast
The harvest of the grave.

Proc. There are noblemen

Sentenced to die, for whom we fain would purchase
Reprieve with other blood.

Mont. Be it then the day

Preceding that appointed for their doom.

Gui. My brother, thou shalt live!-Oppression boasts No gift of prophecy!--It but remains

To name our signal, chiefs!

Mont.

The vesper-bell.

Proc. Even so, the vesper-bell, whose deep-toned peal
Is heard o'er land and wave.-The vesper-bell!
That sound shall wake the avenger; for 'tis come,
The time when power is in a voice, a breath,
To burst the spell which bound us.--But the night
Is waning, with her stars, which, one by one,

Warn us to part. Friends, to your homes!-your homes?
That name is yet to win.

XXVII.-FROM PIZARRO.-Sheridan.

ALONZO SENTINEL-ROLLA.

Scene. A dungeon-Alonzo in chains the Sentinel walking near.

Alonzo. For the last time, I have beheld the shadowed ocean close upon the light. For the last time, through my cleft dungeon's roof, I now behold the quivering lustre of the stars. For the last time, oh, sun! (and soon the hour,) I shall behold thy rising, and thy level beams melting the pale mists of morn, to glittering dew-drops. Then comes my death, and in the morning of my day, I fall, which-no, Alonzo, date not the life which thou hast run, by the mean reckoning of the hours and days which thou hast breathed: a life spent worthily should be measured by a nobler line; by deeds, not years. Then wouldst thou murmur not, but bless Providence, which in so short a span, made thee the instrument of wide and spreading blessings, to the helpless and oppressed! Though sinking in decrepid age, he prematurely falls, whose memory records no benefit conferred by him on man. They only have lived long, who have lived virtuously.-(Looking out.)-Surely, even now, thin streaks of glimmering light steal on the darkness of the east. If so, my life is but one hour more. I will not watch the coming dawn; but in the darkness of my cell, my last prayer to thee, Power Supreme! shall be for my wife and child!

Grant them to dwell in innocence and peace; grant health and purity of mind-all else is worthless. (Enters his cell.) Sentinel. Who's there? answer quickly! who's there? Rolla. (Within.) A friar comes to visit your prisoner. (Rolla enters, disguised as a monk.)

Rol. Inform me, friend, is not Alonzo, the Spanish prisoner, confined in this dungeon?

Sen.

Rol.
Sen.

He is.

I must speak with him.

You must not.

Rol. He is my friend.

(Stopping him with his spear.)

Sen. Not if he were thy brother.

Rol.

Sen.

What is to be his fate?

He dies at sunrise.

Rol. Ha! then I am come in time.
Sen. Just to witness his death.
Rol. Soldier, I must speak to him.
Sen. Back, back. It is impossible.

Rol. I do entreat thee, but for one moment.

Sen.

Rol.

Sen.

obey.

Thou entreatest in vain-my orders are most strict.
Even now, I saw a messenger go hence.

He brought a pass which we are all accustomed to

Rol. Look on this wedge of massive gold-look on these precious gems. In thy own land they will be wealth for thee and thine, beyond thy hope or wish. Take them-they are thine. Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo.

Sen. Away!-wouldst thou corrupt me? Me! an old Castilian! I know my duty better.

Rol.

Soldier! hast thou a wife?

Sen. I have.

Rol.

Sen.

was born.

Rol.

Sen.

Rol.

Where didst thou leave them?

In my native village; even in the cot where myself

Dost thou love thy children and thy wife?

Do I love them! God knows my heart-I do.

Soldier! imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in a strange land. What would be thy last request? Sen. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children.

Rol.

Oh! but if that comrade was at thy prison gate, and

should there be told-thy fellow soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children or his wretched wife, what wouldst thou think of him who thus could drive thy comrade from the door?

Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child. I am come to receive for her, and for her babe, the last blessing of my friend.

Sen. Go in.

(Shoulders his spear and walks away.) Rol. Oh, holy Nature! thou dost never plead in vain. There is not, of our earth, a creature bearing form, and life, human or savage-native of the forest wild, or giddy airaround whose parent bosom, thou hast not a cord entwined of power to tie them to their offspring's claims, and at thy will to draw them back to thee. On iron pinions borne, the bloodstained vulture cleaves the storm, yet is the plumage closest to her breast, soft as the cygnet's down, and o'er her unshelled brood the murmuring ring-dove sits not more gently!-Yes, now he is beyond the porch, barring the outer gate! Alonzo! Alonzo! my friend! Ha! in gentle sleep! Alonzo-rise. Al. How is my hour elapsed? Well, (Returning from the cell,) I am ready.

Rol.

Al.

Alonzo-know me.
What voice is that?

Rol. 'Tis Rolla's.

(Takes off his disguise.) Al. Rolla! my friend! (Embraces him.) Heavens !-how couldst thou pass the guard? Did this habit

Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words: this disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle it has gained me entrance to thy dungeon; now take it, thou, and fly.

me.

Al. And Rolla

Rol. Will remain here in thy place.

Al. And die for me? No! Rather eternal tortures rack

Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's; and from my prison soon will thy arm deliver me; or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted plantain, standing alone amid the sandy desert. Nothing seeks or lives beneath my shelter. Thou art- -a husband and a father-the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant hangs upon thy life. Go! go, Alonzo! Go, to save, not thyself, but Cora and thy child! Al. Urge me not thus, my friend; I had prepared to die in peace.