The living images of their dear mother!

You gen'rous witnesses of my last hour,
While I yet live, assist my humble prayers,
And join the resignation of any soul.
Nerestan! Chatillon! and you, fair mourner,
Whose tears do honour to an old man's sorrows!
Pity a father, the unhappiest sure

That ever felt the hand of angry heaven!

thoughts,

My eyes, though dying, still can furnish tears; O God! who seest my tears and know'st my
Half my long life they flow'd, and still will flow!
A daughter and three sons, my heart's proud Do not forsake me at this dawn of hope;
hopes,
Strengthen my heart, too feeble for this joy.
Were all torn from me in their tend'rest Madam! Nerestan!-Help me, Chatillon!
[Rises.
My friend Chatillon knows, and can remem- Nerestan, hast thou on thy breast a scar,
Which ere Caesarea fell, from a fierce hand,
Surprising us by night, my child receiv'd?

years:

ber

Cho. Would I were able to forget your woe.
Lus. Thou wert a pris'ner with me in Cae-

Perish in flames.

Cha. A captive, and in fetters, I could not help 'em.

Ner. Bless'd hand!-I bear it. - Sir, the mark

is there!

Lus. Merciful heaven!

Ner. Oh, sir!-Oh, Zara, kneel! [Kneels.
Zara. My father!-Oh!-

Lus. Oh, my lost children!

Both. Oh!

[Kneels.

Lus. My son! my daughter! lost in em

bracing you,

I would now die, lest this should prove a dream.
Cha. How touch'd is my glad heart to see

their joy!

Lus. I know thou couldst not. Oh, was a dreadful scene! these eyes beheld it: Hustand and father, helpless I beheld it; Deny'd the mournful privilege to die. Oh, my poor children, whom I now deplore, If we are saints in heav'n, as sure ye are, Look with an eye of pity on that brother, That sister whom you left! If I have yet Or son or daughter; for in early chains, Far from their lost and unassisting father, I heard that they were sent, with numbers more, To this seraglio; hence to be dispers'd Now dissipate all doubt, remove all dread; In nameless remnants o'er the east, and spread Has heaven, that gives me back my children, Our Christian miseries round a faithless world.

Lus. They shall not tear you from my arms
-my children,.

Again I find you-dear in wretchedness.
Oh, my brave son, and thou, my nameless

daughter!

given 'em

to me?

Your silence speaks; too well I understand it. Zara. I cannot, sir, deceive you; Osman's laws

Cha. Twas true; for in the horrors of that Such as I lost them? come they Christians day, I snatch'd your infant daughter from her cradle; One weeps, and one declines a conscious eye! When from my bleeding arms, fierce Saracens Fore'd the lost innocent, who smiling lay And pointed, playful, at the swarthy spoilers! With her your youngest, then your only son, Whose little life bad reach'd the fourth sad year, And just giv'n sense to feel his own misfortunes, Was order'd to this city.

Were mine; and Osman is not Christian.
Lus. Her words are thunder bursting on

my head.
Wer't not for thee, my son, I now should die.
Full sixty years I fought the Christian's cause;
Saw their doom'd temple fall, their power
destroy'd:
Twenty, a captive, in a dungeon's depth;
Yet never for myself my tears sought heaven:
All for my children rose my fruitless prayers.
Yet what avails a father's wretched joy?
I have a daughter gain'd, and heaven an enemy.
Oh, my misguided daughter, lose not thy faith;
Reclaim thy birthright; think upon the blood
Of twenty Christian kings, that fills thy veins:
'Tis heroes' blood, the blo blood of saints and
martyrs!
What would thy mother feel to see thee thus?
She and thy murder'd brothers!-think they
call thee;
Think that thou see'st 'em stretch their bloody

To dry up all my tears, and make life wel- Friends should part kind, who are to meet

Lus. Receive her, gracious heaven! and bless Down with those rigours of the proud seraglio!

Oras. Madam, the sultan order'd me to The fierce, free plainness of my Scythian an

tell you That he expects you instant quit this place, And bid your last farewell to these vile Christians.

Farewell! but, come what may, be sure re- Oh, faith! Oh, father! Oh, my poor, lost sister!

Shall you distrust a truth I dar'd avow,
And stamp apostate on a sister's heart?
Ner. Ah, do not misconceive me; if I ert'd,
Affection, not distrust, misled my fear;
Your will may be a Christian, yet not you;

Osman. Tell Lewis, and the world, it shall There is a sacred mark, a sign of faith,

That you consent, this day, to seal our faith, Now to submit to see my sister doom'd
By that mysterious rite which waits your call. A bosom slave to him whose tyrant heart
Zara. I swear by heaven, and all its holy But measures glory by the Christian's woe.

host,

Its saints, its martyrs, its attesting angels,
And the dread presence of its living author,
To have no faith but yours-to die a Christian!
Now tell me what this mystic faith requires.
Ner. To hate the happiness of Osman's throne,
And love that God, who, through his maze
of woes,

las brought us all, unhoping, thus together.
For me-I am a soldier, uninstructed,
Vor daring to instruct, though strong in faith:
But I will bring the ambassador of heaven,
To clear your views, and lift you to your God.
Be it your task to gain admission for him.
But where? from whom? Oh! thou immortal

power!

Yes, I will dare acquaint our father with it
Departing Lusignan may live so long,
As just to hear thy shame, and die to 'scape it.
Zara. Stay, my too angry brother; stay,

perhaps,

Zara has resolution great as thine:
'Tis cruel and unkind, Thy words are crimes;
My weakness but misfortune. Dost thou suffer?
I suffer more. Oh! would to heaven this blood
Of twenty boasted kings would stop at once,
And stagnate in my heart! It then no more
Would rush in boiling fevers through my veins,
And every trembling drop be fill'd with Osman.
How has he lov'd me; how has he oblig'd me!
I owe thee to him. What has he not done,
To justify his boundless pow'r of charming?

Whence can we hope it, in this curs'd seraglio? For me he softens the severe decrees
Who is this slave of Osman? Yes, this slave! Of his own faith; and is it just that mine
Does she not boast the blood of twenty kings? Should bid me hate him, but because he loves

Is not her race the same with that of Lewis?

me?

Is she not Lusignan's unhappy daughter?
A Christian and my sister? yet a slave,

No- I will be a Christian-but preserve
My gratitude as sacred as my faith;

A willing slave! I dare not speak more plainly. If I have death to fear for Osman's sake, Zara Cruel! go on-Alas! you do not It must be from his coldness, not his love.

know me.

Ner. I must at once condemn and pity thee. Here then begin performance of thy vow; Here, in the trembling horrors of thy soul, Promise thy king, thy father, and thy God, Not to accomplish these detested nuptials, Till first the rev'rend priest has clear'd your

eyes,

At once, a stranger to my secret fate,
My pains, my fears, my wishes, and my power:
lam-I will be Christian-will receive
This holy priest with his mysterious blessing;
I will not do nor suffer aught unworthy
Myself, my father, or my father's race.
Bat tell me, nor be tender on this point,
What punishment your Christian laws decree,
For an unhappy wretch, who, to herself
Unknown, and all abandon'd by the world,
Lost and enslav'd, has, in her sovereign master,
Found a protector, generous as great,
Has touch'd his heart, and given

own?

en him all her

Zara. It is! ador'd by Osman, I adore him: This hour the nuptial rites will make us one. Mer. What! marry Osman! Let the world grow dark,

Taught you to know, and given you claim to heaven.

Promise me this.

me:

Zara. So bless me, heaven! I do.
Go, hasten the good priest, I will expect him;
But first return; cheer my expiring father;
Tell him I am, and will be, all he wishes
Tell him, to give him, life 'twere joy to die.
Ner. I go. Farewell, farewell, unhappy
sister!
[Exit.
Zara. I am alone; and now be just, my
heart,

And tell me wilt thou dare betray thy God?
What am I? what am I about to be?
Daughter of Lusignan, or wife to Osman?
Am I a lover most, or most a Christian?
What shall I do? What heart has strength

to bear

That the extinguish'd sun may hide thy shame! These double weights of duty?-Help me,

Could it be thus, it were no crime to kill thee.

heaven!

Zara. Strike, strike! I love him! yes, by To thy hard laws I render up my soul:

heav'n, I love him. Ner. Death is thy due; but not thy due

Osman. Away! this modest, sweet, reluctant If it has been that Frenchman- What a thought! trifing How low, how horrid a suspicion that! But doubles my desires, and thy own beauties. But tell me, didst thou mark 'em at their parting? Zara. Ah, me! Osman. Nay, but thou shouldst not be too

cruel.

Lusignan,

Now dying, ends his life and woes together. Osman. Well, let him die. What has thy heart to feel,

Thus pressing, and thus tender, from the death
Of an old, wretched Christian?-Thank our
prophet,

Thou art no Christian.-Educated here,
Thy happy youth was taught our better faith:
Sweet as thy pity shines, 'tis now mistim'd.

Didst thou observe the language of their eyes?
Hide nothing from me.-Is my love betray'd?
Tell me my whole disgrace.-Nay, if thou
tremblest,

I hear thy pity speak, though thou art silent.
Oras. I tremble at the pangs I see you suffer.
Let not your angry apprehensions urge
Your faithful slave to irritate your anguish.
I did, 'tis true, observe some parting tears;
But they were tears of charity and grief.
I cannot think there was a cause deserving
This agony of passion.

Osman. Why, no-I thank thee-
Orasmin, thou art wise. It could not be
That I should stand expos'd to such an insult.
Thou know'st, had Zara meant me the offence,
She wants not wisdom to have hid it better.
How rightly didst thou judge!-Zara shall

know it,

And thank thy honest service. After all,
Might she not have some cause for tears, which I
Claim no concern in- but the griefit gives her?
What an unlikely fear-from a poor slave
Who goes to-morrow, and, no doubt, who
wishes,

Nay, who resolves to see these climes no more.
Oras. Why did you, sir, against our coun-
try's custom,

What! though an aged suff'rer dies unhappy, Indulge him with a second leave to come? Why should his foreign fate disturb our joys? He said he should return once more to see her.

Zara. Sir, if you love me, and would have

me think

That I am truly dear

Osman. Heaven! if I love?

Zara. Permit me

Osman. What?

Zara. To desire

Osman. Speak out.

Zara. The nuptial rites

May be deferr'd till

Osman. What! Is that the voice

Of Zara?

Osman. Return! the traitor! he return!

Dares he
Presume to press a second interview?
Would he be seen again? He shall be seen;
But dead. I'll punish the audacious slave,
To teach the faithless fair to feel my anger.
Be still, my transports; violence is blind:.
I know my heart at once is fierce and weak.
Rather than fall

Beneath myself, I must, how dear soe'er
It costs me, rise-till I look down on Zara!
Away; but mark me-these seraglio doors,

Zara. Oh, I cannot bear his frown. [Aside. Against all Christians be they henceforth shut,
Osman. Of Zara!

Zara. It is dreadful to my heart,
To give you but a seeming cause for anger.
Pardon my grief-alas! I cannot bear it.
There is a painful terror in your eye
That pierces to my soul. Hid from your sight,
I go to make a moment's truce with tears,
And gather force to speak of my despair.

[Exit, disordered. Osman. I stand immoveable like senseless marble;

Close as the dark retreats of silent death.

[Exit Orasmin. What have I done, just heaven! thy rage to

move?

That thou shouldst sink me down so low to [Exit.

love?

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Enter ZARA and SELIMA.
Sel. Ah, madam! how at once I grieve your
fate,
And how admire your virtue! Heaven permits,
And heaven will give lyou strength to bear
misfortune;

Horror had frozen my suspended tongue,
And an astonish'd silence robb'd my will
Of power to tell her that she shock'd my soul.
Spoke she to me? Sure I misunderstood her.
Could it be me she left? What have I seen? To break these chains, so strong and yet so dear.

Re-enter ORASMIN.
Orasmin, what a change is here!-She's gone;
And I permitted it, I know not how.

Oras. Perhaps you but accuse the charming

fault Of innocence, too modest oft in love. Osman. But why, and whence those tears? those looks? that flight? That grief, so strongly stamp'd on every feature?

Zara. Oh that I could support the fatal
struggle!
Sel. Th'Eternal aids your weakness, sees

your will,

Directs your purpose, and rewards your sor

There is a father to be found above,

Opinions which he hates, To-night the priest,

Who can restore that father to his daughter. In private introduc'd, attends you here;
Zara. But I have planted pain in Osman's

bosom:

But I deserv'd him not; I should have been
Too happy, and the hand of heav'n repell'd me.
Sck. What! will you then regret the glo-
rious loss

And hazard thus a vict'ry bravely won?
Zara. Inhuman victory!-thou dost not know
This love so pow'rful; this sole joy of life;
This first best hope of earthly happiness,
Is yet less pow'rful in my heart than heaven.
To him who made that heart I offer it:
There, there I sacrifice my bleeding passion;
I pour before him ev'ry guilty tear;
I beg him to efface the fond impression,
And fill with his own image all my soul.
But, while I weep and sigh, repent and pray,
Remembrance brings the object of my love,
And ev'ry light illusion floats before him.
I see, I bear him, and again he charms;

You promis'd him admission.
Zara. Would I had not!
I promis'd too to keep this fatal secret;
My father's urg'd command requir'd it of me;
I must obey, all dangerous as it is;
Compell'd to silence, Osman is enrag'd,
Suspicion follows, and I lose his love.

Enter OSMAN.

Osman. Madam, there was a time when my
charm'd heart

Made it a virtue to be lost in love;
When, without blushing, I indulg'd my flame,
And every day still made you dearer to me.
You taught me, madam, to believe my love
Rewarded and return'd; nor was that hope,
Methinks, too bold for reason. Emperors
Who choose to sigh devoted at the feet
Of beauties, whom the world conceive their
slaves,

Have fortune's claim, at least, to sure success:
But 'twere profane to think of power in love.
Dear as my passion makes you, I decline

ther's.

Fills my glad soul, and shines 'twixt me and Possession of her charms, whose heart's ano

heav'n!

Has heaven so nobly form'd his heart to hate

it? Gen'rous and just, beneficent and brave, Were he but Christian-What can man be more?

I wish, methinks, this rev'rend priest was come To free me from these doubts, which shake my soul:

Go, madam; you are free-from Osman's pow'r:

Yet know not why I should not dare to hope, Expect no wrongs; but see his face no more.

That heav'n, whose mercy all confess and feel,
Will pardon and approve th' alliance wish'd.
Perhaps it seats me on the throne of Syria,
To tas my pow'r for these good Christians'

comfort.

Zara. At last 'tis come-the fear'd, the
murd'ring moment

Is come; and I am curs'd by earth and heaven!
[Throws herself on the Ground.
If it is true that I am lov'd no more;
If you -

Thou know'st the mighty Saladine, who first
Conquer'd this empire from my father's race,
Who, like my Osman, charm'd th' admiring
world,
Drew breath, though Syrian, from a Christian Zara, you weep!

mother.

1

Osman. It is true, my fame requires it; It is too true that I unwilling leave you; That I at once renounce you and adore

Zara. If I am doom'd to lose you! Sel What mean you, madam? Ah, you If I must wander o'er an empty world,

do not see

Zara. Yes, yes, I see it all; I am not blind: I see my country, and my race condemn me; I see that, spite of all, I still love Osman. What if I now go throw me at his feet, And tell him there sincerely what I am? Sel Consider-1 that might cost bro

ther's life,

Unloving and unlov'd. Oh! yet do justice
To the afflicted; do not wrong me doubly:
Punish me, if 'tis needful to your peace,
But say not I deserv'd it.

But, ah! my heart was never known to Osman.
May heav'n, that punishes, for ever hate me,
the loss of au
aught but you.

If I regret your

Osman. Rise!

Expose the Christians, and betray you all.
Zara. You do not know the noble heart of The heart you wish to gladden? But I find

What! is it love to force yourself to wound
Lovers least know themselves; for I believ'd
That I had taken, back the power I gave you:
Yet see! you did but weep, and have resum'd