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When love is in excess

It brings a man no honor

Nor any worthiness

But if in moderation Cypris comes,

There is no other power at all so gracious.

Euripides, Medea 627-631




Juan de Castro, Viceroy of the Indies.

Garcia, his Friend.

Sylveyra, the Son of Constantia.



Persod, an aged Bramin.

Constantia de Sylveyra, Mother of the Young Officer who bears that name.

Velora, the Bramin’s Daughter.

PanEEa, an Indian attendant.

Portugueze Guards,








[Discovered in an Indian dress and a pensive attitude, with a book: after a short pause.]

Thou mild divinity! persuasive power,

Thou guide and glory of our Christian rulers!

Protect thy secret votary! I read

Thy clear unquestioned truth, thy matchless mercy

In all my fate, and in the heavenly mind

Of my brave guardian, my beloved Sylveyra:

Yet pardon me, thou pure, indulgent power!

That still to India’s unenlightened worship

I pay a forced observance! O forgive

This filial heart, whose only fallacy

Aims to ensure an aged father’s peace.





Constantia, [Entering.]

Still at thy orisons my dear Velora;

Good angels waft thy every vow to Heaven,

And plead for purity so like their own!



Then will they teach me to repay your kindness,

And all the bounty of your generous son,

Which soothed my woes, and makes captivity,

Beneath your provident parental care,

More sweet than freedom.



In thy glowing heart,

My lovely Indian, like thy genial clime,

Rich nature reigns; thy gratitude o’er-rates

Compassion’s casual services.                      .



Your pardon!

To rate them justly is my reason’s pride:

Hence memory paints them in her strongest colours:

I see the furious sons of Portugal,

Roused to fierce anger on Cambaya’s shore

By Moorish fraud, and our perfidious king;

I see them, bursting like a flood of fire

Athwart our peaceful grove, where fixt we listened

To the mild precepts of our aged sire:

The ruffian soldiers in his hoary locks

Twist their fell hands; and with uplifted falchions

Demand his hidden treasure.                              .



What a scene

For thy soft filial heart!



The holy Bramin Pleads only for his child:—the furious robbers

Tear from my neck the strings of precious pearl,

Threatening worse violence:—but swift to save us

The blest Sylveyra comes.



’Twas Heaven, that sent him

In pity to thy virtues.



His bright eye Flashes rebuke; and at his awful mandate

Keen avarice and murder shrink abashed,

As from the presence of an angry God.



Thy flattering picture charms a mother’s heart.



O! had you heard with what angelic sweetness

He banished terror from our troubled minds!

Music is harsh to that consoling voice:

He raised us from despair: He kindly promised
To place my father, and his helpless child

In the protecting’ walls of distant Goa.



Tho’ difficult the task, he has achieved it,

And thy full gratitude exceeds his bounty.



No! dear Constantia! why is Heaven adored,

But for such blessings, as I owe to him?

Is be not all maternal love can wish?



Yes! my Velora, with a conscious pride

I watched his youth, have seen the richest bloom

Of honor, glowing on bis ripened spirit:

O! how unlike his sex! those hypocrites,

Who humbly bend to innocence and beauty,

But cover falsehood with devotion's mask.



What injuries excite thy gentle nature

To these severer thoughts?



In some fit hour I will unfold to thee a wretched story,

Touching the cruel father of Sylveyra,

That will amaze thy tenderness, and make

E’en the warm current of thy glowing veins

Run cold with horror: but thy present danger

Claims, dear Velora, our immediate care:

Thou’rt still a captive; still a Bramin’s daughter.



O! do not think that even love can tempt

Velora to forget her filial duties,

And wound the bosom of an aged father,

Who watched unceasing o’er her early youth,

Nor asked existence, but to guard his child!

I know how firmly his pure heart is wedded

To all our ancient rites; and that his spirit

Would rather give me to the tomb, much rather,

Than yield his daughter to a foreign hand;

That worst pollution to the race of Brama!



When first my generous son, beneath my care

Placed thee, a lovely captive, I observed

His growing passion with a mother’s fears:

But charmed, Velora, by thy winning sweetness,

I own I gazed upon your chaste affections

With such pure joy, as the good angels felt,

When first o’er Eden’s infant bowers they hovered

And fondly viewed the new created pair,

While innocence and love were all their portion:

Yet still there’s danger, lest ye should imbitter

The virtuous Bramin’s closing eve of life:

Canst thou believe thy love will long elude

The quick observance of an anxious father?



Alas! too soon will that unhappy father,

Worn out with age, the martyr of affliction,

Be severed from the idol of his care:

One dying wish he formed, and thy dear son

Has nobly promised to restore his captives

Safe to their native seat: ’tis there my father

Yet hopes to purify his parting soul:

There will I tend his short remains of life,

Calm all his fears, and sooth his latest pang.



O! thou dear paragon of filial duty!

Blest be thy every purpose! but my child,

I have yet heavier fears!



Whate’er they arc,

O! yet awhile suppress them! for behold

My father bends his feeble steps towards us.






May mighty Brama, and his purest spirits

Watch o’er our gentle friend, whose pitying eyes

Have looked so kindly on an old man’s sorrows,

And this sole treasure of his trembling age!

Has aught yet reached thee from our dear protector,

Thy gallant son?



No! venerable sire,

He’s yet engaged upon the neigbouring shore

To treat with fiercest foes, with whom, I fear,

His sword must arbitrate: protect him Heaven!



Such prayers are mine: nor can thy bosom feel

A dearer interest in his precious life.



Still let us cherish hope! nor yield our hearts

To false suggestions of ill-grounded fear!

If the mild works of peace demand his presence,
Does not persuasion, dwelling in his voice,

Assure us of success? if cruel war

Call him reluctant to the fields of blood,

Where’er lie turns, does not resistless valour

Guide the keen lightning of his conquering sword,

And victory guard him, with her golden wings?



Alas I my child, a more immediate terror

Has seized my trembling heart: thou know’st, the Viceroy

Saw thee attendant on my helpless age:

He dwelt upon thy beauties with an eye

Of fierce desire.



Good Heaven! it was my fear.



O! my kind father, from thy fondness springs

This vain surmise; for is not mighty Castro

Most noble, generous, merciful, and just?



The purest virtue melts in passion’s flame,

When boundless power appears a ready pander

To every wild desire: where is our refuge,

Defenceless as we are?



Unhappy father?



Wilt thou assure my trembling heart, that when

These dim eyes close in death, thou wilt protect

My child, nor yield her to his guilty passion!



Hear me thou good old man! before the throne

Of Heaven’s great father kneeling, thus I swear,

By all the sorrows, I have known myself,

And by the recompense, my soul expects

For all its sufferings, in a purer world,

I will protect thy daughter as my own.



Enough! enough! O! let me wound no more

Thy tender bosom, with an old man’s terrors!

I will retire; and pray the gracious Brama,

To aid the virtuous purpose of thy soul.



Let thy Velora on thy steps attend!



No, my sweet child! rest with thy gentle friend!

I go to bend before the lord of life,

The one, that ever was, and to implore him,

That in what form soe’er he deigns to clothe

My parting spirit, it may still be near thee;

And in these dangers, that my fondness dreads,

Still hover round thee, and preserve my child.







O thou unfortunate! if Castro love thee,

Farewell to all our peace, for in his love

Lies misery and ruin!



Is he not

The noble character, that fame reports him?



Yes! my Velora, when his manly spirit

Appears unsullied by the mists of passion,

It is the very mirror, that presents

The perfect form of honor.—Yet beware!

If ever Castro speak to thee of love,

Drop not a word, from which he may collect

Thy fond attachment to Sylveyra’s virtues,

For if thy beauties have inflamed the Viceroy,

(I know his nature) ’twill be jealous passion,

And frantic as the tyger o’er his prey,

Whose fierce suspicion, and whose fell revenge,

Would drink the life-blood of his fellow savage,

For daring but to look on’t—trust my care!

And keep this counsel treasured in thy heart!






[Aside] Alone by all my wishes! her soft bosom

By pensive solitude prepared for love! [End Aside.]

Can we not teach the beautiful Velora

To lose the memory of Cambaya’s shore

In the gay pleasures of our sumptuous city?

Will young Sylveyra rob us of those charms,

And to her desolated country bear

His lovely charge?



My lord, his word is past.



Who, that from ocean’s dangerous depths had brought

A pearl of such pure lustre, would throw back

The peerless gem?



That pity, which alone

Inspired the brave Sylveyra to protect,

And lead us to this realm, will prompt him still

To crown the just hopes of an aged exile.

My heart, my lord, can form no dearer wish,

Than to attend my father's injured age:

This sacred duty calls me, and must plead

My pardon with your highness.



Stay, Velora!



My lord! my lord! release me! nor oppress

A helpless captive!



By my life I worship

Thy wonderous charms: It is my heart’s ambition

To court the kindness of thy gentle bosom:

If thou wilt meet the passion of my soul,

My proud affection will delight to throw

The richest splendors of dominion round thee,

And make thy station, like thy matchless beauty,

The gaze and envy of this Eastern world!



Reflect, my lord, that filial cares alone

Claim, and possess Velora’s every thought!



No more, thou lovely coy one! force no more

From those soft lips such ill-agreeing sounds,

While every beauty in thy blushing form,

With all the energy of warm expression

Tells nobler truths, more consonant to nature;

While these enchanting eyes inflame my soul,

And sparkle promises of bliss too high

For human voice to utter. In iny arms

Come let me clasp thee!



O! forbear, my lord!

Nor force me to alarm an aged father!

I must retire: and may the God you serve,

Instruct your cooler reason to renounce

These fatal thoughts!



THE VICEROY [alone.]

O! thou luxuriant beauty!

Thou must be mine, for all thy weak resistance

Is like the failing mound, that art would raise

To stop the rising billows.






What would Garcia?



My Lord, I bring great news: our foes are scattered,

The brave Sylveyra has dislodged the Moors.



Now blest be Portugal’s protecting saint!

The young Sylveyra gallantly pursues

The example of his race.



Yet, noble Castro,

We see thee tempted from the paths of fame

By love’s illusive fire:—-tho’ thy great soul

Should, like the Eagle, keep its native height,

And scorn to gaze but on the beams of glory.



O Garcia, I regard with envious wonder

The steady virtues of thy happier mind:

No rebel passions can dethrone thy reason;

Mine is the slave of appetite: I feel

My blind attachment to this lovely Indian

Death to my peace, and poison to my fame.

Yet doat on my perdition: ne’er did passion

Reign so despotic in my subject heart,

Since our young days, when my disastrous love

Deprived the injured Isabel of life.



Tho’ all her sorrows have so long been buried,

Her fate still touches me, and to this hour

I curse her cruel father; whose proud soul

Crushed the fair hopes of your appointed nuptials,

And sunk his wounded daughter to the grave;

Tho’ rumour whispers that her death was feigned.



O! couldst thou bring that martyred saint to life,

Then might I worship thee: No! Garcia, no!

'Twas not her father; ’twas my fury killed her,

The jealous fury of a mind distracted.

In some convenient season, I will tell thee

All the past crimes, and frenzy of my life,

For thou wilt turn them to my preservation;

Thy generous counsel will oft set before me

My madness past; by friendship’s guardian power

Wean my weak spirit from its present passion,

And save me from myself:—but see Molina.






Now. Garcia, haste, and summon to our presence

The wretched parent of this gallant victor!

For years secluded in domestic sorrow:

I have not seen her, but we now have tidings,

That will instruct e’en grief itself to smile.

[Exit Garcia.]

Say! is this brilliant victory dearly bought

By our brave soldiers’ blood?—whom have we lost?



Never did Portugal’s prevailing bands

Obtain such vantage at a cheaper rate.



the viceroy, molina; garcia entering with CONSTANTIA, and VELORA, in veils.



Still, gentle lady, in the veil of sorrow!

Thy son’s exploits shall turn these mourning weeds

To robes of triumph:—now, Molina, speak

The deeds of this young conqueror!



Our foes,

Who on the neighbouring hills encamped apart,

Disclaimed all treaty; threatening e’en the siege

Of this imperial city: with this aim

The artful Renegado had assembled

All the confederate princes in a fort

On the adjacent shore, whose chosen guard

Trebled our scanty number: by surprise

The brave Sylveyra made a fierce attack;

Twice to the earth he struck the base Coutino,

And slew the author of this dangerous league.



By Heaven this action binds him to my heart.



Great God of battles! to thy throne I bend

And thank thee with my tears.



Beside that traitor,

The Moorish Chieftain fell: instant dismay

Seized all their host; and infinite had been

The general slaughter, but the just Sylveyra

Proclaimed free pardon to the native Indians.



Reward him for it, all ye host of heaven,

Who teach him still to emulate your nature,

And be the guardian of a fallen race.



This well-timed mercy ratified our conquest;

And, the great business of his mission ended,

Ere now Sylveyra is embarked for Goa.



He shall have noble welcome. Gentle mourner!

Let every trace of your past grief be lost,

In the gay triumph of your gallant son!



Your generous kindness to a mother claims

Her praise, but my full heart can only thank you

With silence, and with tears.

[Exit with Velora.]



Molina haste!

And bid our Citizens with festive triumph

Meet this young Victor

[Exit Molina.]

Garcia, though I love him.

As if he were my son, for he inherits

The noble virtues of our valued friend,

Yet my heart tells me, his return portends

I know not what of ill.—Didst thou observe

With what a fond idolatry of praise

The warm Velora magnified his mercy?



O! my dear lord! remember, that we stand

Upon enchanted ground! hence, let us fly!

Then may I clear your heart, that field of honor,

From weeds of love and jealousy, whose growth

Would choke the harvest of your rich renown.



Yes! honest Garcia, thou shalt freely use

A right inherent in a soul like thine;

Search, and correct, my foibles, till thy friend

Shall bless thee as the guardian of his glory.





CONSTANTIA, [Entering alone.]

At length he’s gone; and my o’erburdened heart

May vent its perturbation: cruel Castro!

How has thy presence wakened all my wrongs,

Yet with them all my love! O! did not memory

Still haunt me with thy base neglect and scorn,

How would my heart again embrace delusion,

And idolize thy nobleness of nature!

Shall I, as if ascending from the grave,

Burst like a spectre on thy aching sight,

And while thou’rt lost in horror and amazement,

Speak transport to thee in soul-piercing sounds,

And fondly cry, Sylvevra is thy son?

Perhaps the hardened heart, that could endure

To leave his infant innocence an outcast,

Alight still disclaim the offspring, it deserted;

And shall I court thy pride to own thy child?

Save me from such abasement! my proud soul

Its secret shall retain:—in my last hour

I will amaze thee with a wondrous tale,

And teach the libertine, the cruel father,

To melt, and to revere the sacred force

Of female virtue, and maternal love!








Yes I thou bright mirror of our martial youth,

In thy brave deeds, which make the veteran’s cheek

Turn pale with envy, my exulting’ heart

Feels a paternal joy:—But O! Sylveyra,

I draw thee now from festive admiration

To speak of doubts, that prey upon my peace,

And ask thy private aid.



I hold my life

Of value, only as it may repay

Your generous bounty to my orphan youth.



Thy much loved guardian lives again in thee.

Thou art the perfect image of his valour;

And O! thou gallant youth, I hope to find

The very spirit of his friendship in thee;

Warm, active, generous; proud to sacrifice

His own most eager purpose, to promote

The dearer interest of the man he loved:

Have I a right, Sylvcyra, to expect

Such services from thee?



Wrong not, my lord,

This grateful breast by so unkind a question!

If there is aught, that now may prove my zeal,

Name it most quickly! and may glorious danger

Endear the business to my eager heart!



Then answer frankly one important question!



Falsehood, my lord, has never stained my lips!



Say, on a soldier’s faith, is it your purpose

To yield Velora to her distant home?



My lord, humanity first made the promise,

And honor binds me to its strict performance.



Blest be thy words! their animating power

Dispels my only fear! thy spirit then

Has 'scaped the magic of this fair enchantress.

Now, my Sylveyra, now, without disguise,

I will unfold to thee my secret hopes;

And thou wilt aid the wishes of thy friend.

Know then, I doat upon thy lovely charge

With all the fierce excess of fondest passion!

Thou must engage the excellent Constantia

To be my advocate:—nay! do not start!

Think not, ingenuous youth, I would employ

Thy virtuous parent in a task of shame,

Too gross for utterance! no! my thoughts are bent

On pure designs of honorable love:

I mean to bind Velora to my heart

By all the sanctity of marriage vows,



My lord, it is impossible.



What dost thou mean?

Why falters thy faint voice? Ha! tell me wherefore

Across thy changing visage does there fly

That sickly cloud?—By Heaven it is the cast

Of rival terror:—Thou dost love Velora:

Thou hast deceived me; all thy coward frame

Declares the fraud, and trembles at detection.



Indeed, my lord, you’re blinded by excess

Of vehement passion:—’tis amazement chains

My failing voice: O! what will Lisbon say?

Lisbon, who loudly talks of Castro’s fame!

How will she credit this degrading love,

That makes the noblest of her heroes, stoop

From his proud height, to wed an Indian captive?

How can this wondrous purpose be achieved?

Is not Velora of the Bramin race,

Whose laws condemn such union as a crime,

Which e’en their sacred, purifying stream,

The mighty Ganges, cannot wash away?



And are thy fears awakened by my fame?

Are they the fears of friendship, not of love?

I fain would think so: if they are, perchance

I may relieve thy kind concern by trusting

My brightest hopes to thy congenial heart.



Your bounty has o’erwhelmed me: witness Heaven,

That I esteem your happiness and glory

Still dearer than my own!



My dear Sylveyra,

My spirit tells me, that the hand of Heaven,

Whose secret agency so oft amazes

The blinded eye of human apprehension,

Has given this wondrous impulse to my soul,

Which passes the weak power of vulgar passion,

And bears the signet of divine control.

Thou know’st what wrongs this mild and gentle race

Have felt for ages from the fierce Arabian;

And thou hast heard what injuries they suffered.

From those, whose avarice abused the power

Of this our great vicegerency.



Thank Heaven,

The gracious tenor of your mild dominion

Redeems the glory of the Christian name!



Perhaps my union with the dear Velora

May lead to revolutions of such wonder,

As will astonish the unthinking earth:

Perhaps, Sylveyra; 'tis reserved for us

To pass the fame of Europe’s proudest boast;

To pluck the crescent from this Eastern sphere,

And from the Moors redeem this richer world,

Too long the prey of Mahomet!



Yet how,

How is it possible, my lord, to move

The mighty bar of disagreeing faith,

That must obstruct the marriage you design?



There, my Sylveyra, thou must aid my wishes:

The kind Constantia, whose engaging virtues

I fully know, tho' accident has kept me

A stranger to the graces of her person;

She must exert those virtues to o’ercome

The idle scruples of her Indian guests:

Haste, and inform her, how thy friend entreats,

That to their gentle minds she will display

The bright advantage of so blest a union!

The dear Velora shall from hence be deemed

The guardian goddess of the Indian world:

O haste! and swift to my impatient heart

Return, with flattering presage Of success!



I fain would execute your highness’ pleasure:

But, conversant with Brama’s rigid laws

1 know they cannot bend to your desire:

But ere I go, your highness will allow me

To grant a moment to my brave associates,

Who by their gallant services obtained

My promise to present them to your favor.





THE VICEROY. [alone.]

I like not the expression of his features:

No warmth of zeal, no eagerness of friendship

Shines in his downcast eye:—his brow is darkened

With deep distress, and jealous apprehension,

That tempt me still to think, he is my rival:

I must be satisfied: I will remark

His looks more closely in Velora’s presence:

My keen observance will detect his eye

In the first flashes of his treacherous love;

And if I see their melting glances meet --

O! the curst image sets my brain on fire.

[He walks disturbed toward the end of the stage.]




SYLVEYRA [entering with MOLlNA and CARASCO]

Brave friends, behold our Viceroy is alone,

And waits to thank you for your gallant deeds,

Of which I made to him most true report!

Some secret orders, that command me hence,

Allow me not a minute of delay.





MOLINA, carasco


the viceroy [coming forward.]

My resolution’s fixt------ I'll follow him------

Confusion! I am stopt-------- Where is Sylveyra?



My lord, this very instant he departed,

With hasty zeal, on your immediate service.



Insidious speed I—new evidence of passion!

'Tis plain, ’tis fully proved: [aside.] Most brave Molina,

Forgive me!-——I am slow to thank thy valor!

Thou hast done bravely;—Lisbon shall re-echo

Thy great exploits, and thence thou shalt receive

The worthier thanks of a much nobler master!



Your highness overpays my poor deserts.



Wretch! while I pause, he gains the happy minutes

Of festive joy to seize her melting softness,

Mock my fond hopes, and triumph in his falsehood.


Your pardon! worthy friends! gallant Carasco,

It grieves me, that 1 want the leisure now

To dwell, as oft with pleasure I have done,

On thy bold services; but cares of moment

Perplex, and call me hence yet rest assured,

Your merits shall not perish in my mind.






Amazemcnt!  in my lite I never saw

His thoughts so troubled, and his steady soul

So shaken from its balance.



This is nothing:

Your sapient governor, your moral Viceroy,

The saint, whom you have canonized so long,

Will rave, as I am told, from morn to midnight

In praise of poor Sylveyra’s Indian girl.



Peace! thou art splenetic:—I know, Carasco,

Thou lov’st him not: but, as 1 am a soldier,

I do not think, our country, or the world,

Has e’er produced a man more richly graced

With manly virtues, valor, truth and justice.



Curse on his justice! for it robbed me once

Of the most luscious beauty, that e’er blest

A soldier’s fortune in the chance of war.



Peace! peace! thy very accusation crowns him

With purest praise.



Plague on his purity!

’Tis hypocritical—



Farewell, Carasco,

Thou’rt in the raging fit of envious spleen,

The pest of social pleasure: but if soon

Thou gain’st thy more companionable humour.

Thou’It find me on the walls.



CARASCO, [alone.]

If I forgive him, may I ne’er again

Seize the rich plunder of submissive beauty!

I know he is accustomed in disguise

To take his midnight walk of observation,

To pry into the manners of his people;

Perhaps indulging his own secret lust.

My sword is tinged with subtle Indian poison,

Whose slightest touch is mortal, and by Heaven

I will repay him for my wrongs, if e’er

He chance to thwart me in a nightly brawl.




The Scene changes, and discovers VELORA. and SYLVEYRA.



It is the utmost height of human joy

To meet thee thus:—to sec my guardian hero

Restored from danger, and with glory crowned.

Blest be the Go. who hearing all our vows.

Watched o’er thy precious life, thro’ every peril;

And now, in pity to an orphan’s prayers,

Places once more the desolate Velora

In the dear circle of thy saving arms!



Come to my heart! and live forever there!

There shalt thou reign:—it is thy own dominion:

Not all the princes of the earth should tear

Thy sacred form from this unshaken throne.



O! my Sylveyra, in the flood of joy

My fears were drowned; too soon alas its swell

Subsiding, shews the hideous form of danger.

Already thou hast heard, I know thou hast,

Of Castro’s love, for in thy looks I read

An anxious terror struggling with delight.

How canst thou shield me from his base designs?



No! my Velora no! I will not wrong him:

There dwells no baseness in his noble nature;

His love, like all the conduct of his life,

Is open, artless, manly, generous;

Not thinking that the Christian light has dawned

On thy unclouded soul, he has conjured me

To aid his ardent wish:—To vanquish for him

Each obstacle, that Indian laws may raise,

To bar his hopes of marriage with Velora.



What couldst thou answer to such cruel language?

Didst thou reveal the secret of our loves?



He knows it not. Amazement, grief and pity

Robbed me of utterance: yes! by Heaven I pity

The agonies of mind he must endure:

He loves thee with a fond excess of passion;

His liberal heart would grace thy charms with all

The treasures of the East; and make thy beauty

The worthy partner of imperial power:

And what can I? a needy child of fortune!

Almost a poor dependant on his bounty!

May I, Velora, from a prince seclude

A precious jewel, and in secret wear it,

Bound to my heart? while he would nobly give it

The place, that its unrivalled lustre claims

To charm the admiring world?



Canst thou suspect

That pomp, that splendor, that the wealth of worlds,

Could for a moment, in Velora’s mind,

Pretend to competition with thy love?

And couldst thou tell me, couldst thou, e’en in thought,

Resign Velora to a rival’s hand?



Mv faithful love, by thy dear self I swear,

I ne’er could see thee in another’s arms,

And hold my reason:------- madness must ensue:

Should angels call thee to their purer world,

My frantic mind would murmur at its loss,

Unknowing how to yield thee to my God.



Here then, thou second worship of my soul!

I plight to thee my everlasting vow,

To have no law, no lot, no will but thine;

To be the faithful partner of thy fortunes,

Thro’ all the chances of this chequered world;

For O! Sylveyra, death will soon dissolve

Those dear, and sacred ties of filial duty,

That only could divide my heart with thee.



Good angels guard thy father’s closing life

From every pang! and make his latest sigh

Soft as an infant’s slumber! dear Velora,

Thou must not sink too deeply in thy sorrow;

No! I will raise thee up, thou drooping flower,

Beat to the earth by the injurious tempest!

My love shall watch o’er thy reviving bloom,

And fondly shield it from each future storm.



Alas! Sylveyra, terror joins with grief

To rend my troubled heart: think of the Viceroy! 

Think how to ward the dangers, that may rise

E’en to thy precious life, my sole protector,

From all the frenzy of his fatal passion!



Fear not, my love, for Castro still is noble!

He still regards me with parental kindness.

In some convenient, and propitious hour

I will, with gentlest arts of preparation,

And candid truth, unfold to him --



O! no!

No! I conjure thee, drop that dangerous thought!

Who shall defend thee in the sudden storm

Of jealous fury, armed with boundless power?

By all our mutual vows let me entreat thee

To yield that office to Constantia’s care!



Thou lovely monitor! I yield my heart

To thy kind counsels.



I will fly to summon

The dear Constantia to consult thy safety:

Then to my father! in his close of life

I feel his claims yet stronger on my heart;




Yet stay! thou dear angelic softness!

Stay yet a moment! let me kiss away

This heavenly dew of filial tenderness,

That glistens on the roses of thy cheek!


[Exit Velora]





THE VICEROY [entering as VELORA goes out.]

Distraction! death! thou treacherous boy!

So young, and so accomplished in deceit!

Thou viper! that I cherish in my bosom

To sting me into madness! have I caught thee?

Surprised thy guilty secrets, and beheld thee

Staining the brilliant ruby of her lip

With thy false breath?



Just, and noble Castro!

Recover but the firmness of thy soul,

And thou shalt own, that I have ne’er deceived thee!



Oh! insolence of falsehood! not deceived me!

E’en now thy base confusion proves thee false;

And coward guilt denies thy faltering tongue

The power to frame an artful subterfuge,

To give thee e’en the varnish of a villain.



My lord! I scorn the unmanly accusation;

I grieve indeed that you have seen our loves,

But my pure lips have never breathed a Falsehood

To hide them from your sight: I will avow

It was my wish to keep them still concealed:

Not with a coward’s treachery and fear:

No! from a nobler cause, from generous pity.



Thou insolent!—thy pity!—patience, Heaven!

Patience! is Castro then debased so far,

To be the pity of a slave like this?

What! while my generous soul was idly dreaming

Of virtuous love, and purest admiration,

Thou, like a secret sacrilegious thief,

Hast basely robbed the shrine of sacred beauty.



My lord! my father! grant me patient hearing.



Hear thee! thou traitor to that generous friendship,

Which called thee forth from darkness into glory!

Hear thee! for what? thou canst no longer make me

The easy dupe of thy detested falsehood:

And wouldst thou boast, it has been thine to riot

In the rich plunder of her prostrate beauty,

And teach thy willing wanton to deride

Her nobler claims to a superior station?



My lord! my lord! power has no privilege

To sanctify the infamy of slander;

And thou dost slander innocence itself,

A soul as spotless, as the hand of Heaven

Has e’er inshrined in woman’s angel form:

This purity is placed beneath my guard,

And when I want the spirit to defend it.

May I be branded by the public voice, --

For your past bounties to my orphan youth,

I spoke them many and magnificent;

But thus insulted, my indignant honor

Disclaims the debt, these injuries have cancelled.



Thou wretch who mak’st ingratitude thy glory,

Soon shalt thou feel the power, thou hast provoked

Velora was thy prisoner, only held

In just dependance on our sovereign pleasure,

I shall resume a grant, so ill deserved,

And made so rashly by deluded bounty.



Resume thy grant! Velora’s free as air;

The voice of justice, and thy own award

Pronounced her free; and I will guard that freedom

E’en with my life, against the uplifted arm

Of majesty itself.



Presumptuous upstart!

What! canst thou threaten too?—by Heaven ’tis well:

I thank thee: thy presumption has restored

My condescending spirit to itself;

It will forget its dignity no more

To join in altercation with thy baseness:

No! I will teach thee, false ungrateful boy!

How poor, how low, how lost a thing thou art,

Stript of that favor, which thy fraud abused.





SYLVEYRA [alone.]

He’s gone in the dark storm of jealous anger,

And sullen vengeance—my indignant spirit

O’erstepped its native bound of moderation.

But ’tis the cause of innocence and virtue.






Alone! my son! did we not hear this moment

The voice of Castro, terrible in anger?



O! let me banish from your gentle bosoms

This fond excess of fear.



My loved Sylveyra!

You hide the fatal truth! —his frantic passion

Has dared to threaten, your most precious life:

I know it has.



Believe me, dear Velora --



If this weak beauty can produce such horror,

May Heaven resume its gift, and I will call

Deformity a blessing!



Teach me, Heaven!

To calm this cruel agony of terror!     '



Reflect, dear daughter, that I keep concealed

A mystery of such important nature,

As may preserve us in severer perils!



Name it! and save her from these killing fears!



Alas! my son, I have a tale to tell thee

Of such high moment to thy peace and honor,

That it requires long hours of coolest leisure

To unfold it as I ought.






Gallant Sylveyra,

Obedient to the Viceroy’s hard command,

I come, constrained, to bear thee to confinement.



Has jealousy so drowned thy sense of honor,

Unhappy Castro? by my life I pity

This frenzy of thy soul: Sir, I obey.



Yet stay! ’tis agony to lose thee thus --


CONSTANTIA, [to the Officer.]

Thou generous servant of a cruel master,

Canst thou, in pity to a mother’s tears,

Canst thou allow me one short hour’s delay?



Believe me, lady, on a soldier’s truth,

It grieves me sorely to refuse thy prayer;

But if my pity granted thy request,

It would be at the hazard of my life.



Sir, I attend you -- ministers of mercy,

Descend to soothe these dear unhappy mourners



Stay! my Sylveyra, take me to thy prison!

Am I not sworn thy partner to the grave?



My faithful love! O! melt not my firm soul

With these fond tears! no! by our hopes I beg thee

To call forth all thy latent powers, that arm,

Thy own great mind, and aid our dear Constantia,

Absorbed in grief, and petrified with terrors.

Farewell! farewell!

[Exit with Officer and Guards.]






Preserve him, righteous Heaven!



Yes! I will fly, and fall before his father; That, that must save him.



Dear Constantia! speak!

She hears me not:—alas! unhappy mother!

There is a wildness in her looks and language,

That pierces to my heart.



And yet ’tis dangerous:

I know the fierceness of his cruel father.

O! I am plunged again in doubt’s dark sea.



Guard her, ye angels! for excess of sorrow

Has robbed her tortured spirit of its reason.



No! my sweet child, I am not yet so lost:

But there’s a secret conflict in my soul,

To which thou art a stranger ----I will fly,

And kneel tor entrance at his prison door:

For thou, my son, thou only canst decide

This agonizing doubt: thy voice alone

Must guide me in this crisis of our fate.






O! good Molina lead me to my son!



We come to calm your fears; this sudden mandate

Is but a momentary start of anger.



Now I conjure thee gain me instant entrance

Into Sylveyra’s prison!



Gentle friend,

As yet it is impossible: -- but soon --



Ah! talk not of delay! thou canst not know it,

But I a secret must impart to him,      

Of power, to make e’en frantic murder pause.



I will attend you to the citadel --



Come, let us haste, my generous friend! and thou

Noble Carasco, be Velora’s guard!

[Exit with Molina.]






Vain is their hope: but if Velora’s courage

Is equal to the task, I will instruct her

To baffle this base Viceroy, and preserve

The injured youth, who claims her fondest care.



Then speak! and trust me, that no forms of danger

Shall shake the firmness of Velora’s soul.



Blest be thy spirit, for it merits all

The fond profusion of Sylveyra’s love!

I know your mutual hopes:—now let my friendship

Accelerate your marriage, marked by Heaven

The happiness of both, and, in this crisis,

Your sole protection from the crimes of Castro!



How may this be?



By night I will secure

A faithful priest, who, in disguise shall lead you

Into Sylveyra’s prison, and unite

Your willing hands—still from your father’s weakness

Conceal the secret! — To the baffled Viceroy

Let your blest lord, with joyous pride, proclaim

That holy vows have made you his for ever!

The foiled oppressor will no more pursue

Your hallowed beauties, but renounce a treasure

Thus guarded from his grasp, nor to be purchased

But by the price of complicated crimes.



I yield me to thy friendly guidance—hark!

It was my father’s voice: attend me to him,

And still support me with thy generous counsel!



Yet keep this project secret in thy breast,

E’en from Constantia, for her fond affection

Would hesitate, and tell us of thy danger!



We’ll not alarm the kindness of her nature,

And for myself, come danger as it may,

I have no fears:—Carasco, you beheld

The young Orissa perish in the bloom

Of widowed beauty: you beheld her march,

Fondly observant of our Indian rites,

Nor moved by the dissuasive cries of friendship,

Thrice round the pile, which held the hallowed corse

Of her departed lord; then far within

The leafy bower, whose arches crowned the pile,

Take her firm seat as on a throne of glory,

With dignity undaunted, while her hand

Unshaken, kindled the consuming fire.



It was a sight, that memory cannot lose.



You saw her with a smile of triumph, mock

The mounting blaze, which through her wasted frame

Shot thrilling agony, yet failed to force

One plaintive sigh from her superior soul:

Think of this scene, the subject of your wonder,

And know Velora’s willing heart would bear

Those tortures twentyfold to save Sylveyra

But to my father!



Noble, fearless girl,

I worship thy warm heart; and by my sword

Will freely stake my safety for thy service.








Garcia no more! thy intercession’s vain:

Honor forbids us to recall this mandate

Of just correction.



Think on whom it falls!

On one whom your fond bounty long has cherished

E’en as your child: the trust of a brave friend.

Who dying left you this rich legacy,

This sacred pledge of confidence and honor

Still to be worn with pride upon the heart.



Away! for all you plead in his defence

Turns to the aggravation of his guilt,

And sanctifies my sentence.



Think, my lord,

This is no trifling business! it demands

Most deep discussion; for on this award

Hangs all the glory of your life to come,

Nay all your honors past; if these are dear,

You must revoke this wrong, unguarded sentence;

You must, by Heaven, you must.



Garcia, beware!

Relying on our ancient amity,

Thou dost presume too far upon my patience.



Let fawning flattery be struck dumb with fear,

When her proud idol frowns! ’tis friendship’s glory,

In spite of quick resentment’s random fire,

To persevere in her most noble duty,

And counter-work the mines of treacherous passion.



And thou art come, most sapient monitor,

To teach us wisdom, honesty and virtue.



Yes! I will hold a faithful mirror to thee,

And shew thy troubled mind its own distortion;

Will hold it, tho’ insulted with thy scorn,

E’en till that mind resume its native features,

And thank me for the service. Noble friend,

I know, thou dost believe thy sentence just:

But dive into thy heart, and thou wilt find

Velora’s beauty, is Sylveyra’s guilt.



Leave us, presumptuous counsellor! thou canst not

Make firm authority revoke his mandate

By the vain preaching of thy pedant pride.



No! Castro, no I cannot, dare not yield thee

To the dominion of this tyrant passion,

Which may --



O! patience Heaven! shall I forever

Be rated thus by insolent dependants?



Unhappy Castro! like a drowning wretch,

In a blind struggle, thou dost beat away

The very arm extended for thy safety;

Yes! I will leave thee on thy proud dismission;

May mightier visitation from above

Irradiate thy dark mind! may Isabel,

That blessed saint, that martyr of thy love,

Descend to watch o’er thy disordered spirit!

And dispossess thee of this jealous fiend,

Ere his blind fury gain increasing force,

And hurry thee to deeds of deepest horror!

Farewell! great injured mind, farewell!



Yet stay!

My Garcia, stay!—tbou hast pronounced a name,

Whose very sound’s a sacred charm, of power

To melt the obdurate pride of fiercest anger.

Oh Isabel! thy wrongs are all revenged,

In the wild horrors of this troubled heart:

Garcia, I think, I know, thou art my friend;

But there’s a rigor in thy steady soul,

That will not give thee even power to guess

The agonies of weaker minds:—by Heaven

I hate my own infirmity of nature;

And by my life I am ashamed to tell thee,

How this fierce love has preyed upon my soul,

Absorbing every faculty.


GARCIA, [aside.]

Now, friendship,

Aid me to make e’en passion’s self the means

To work his preservation.



This sweet Indian

Haunts my wild fancy still:—-in every change

Of day, of night, of place, of occupation       

I see her in the vacancies of air:

I hear her magic voice in midnight silence:

And find the spirit of my life consumed

In this encreasing flame of fierce desire.



Now Castro! I perceive a glimpse of hope,

That thy fond wish may yet succeed.



Say how!

Dear Garcia, say! O give me all thy meaning!



Release Sylveyra!—shew the soft Velora

You scorn the advantage of tyrannic power,

And with a generous rivalship submit

To court her kindness!



I approve thy counsel:

’Tis just, ’tis manly, 'tis like Garcia’s soul

Untainted with a shadow of dishonor:

Yes! thou shalt see this frail, this feverish heart

Still not unworthy of a friend like thee.

Come! follow me! we’ll hasten to Sylveyra,

Declare him free, and let him know how deeply

We both are debtors to thy signal virtue.


AN ATTENDANT, [entering.]

My lord, this paper will explain my office,

And plead my pardon, while I beg your highness

To grant me private audience.



Wait, my friend, In my apartment. I will join thee there!

[Exit Garcia]





THE VICEROY. [examining the letter.]

Confusion! bound by secret, solemn oaths

To marry them in prison, and to-night!

Treacherous Velora! death! what in the moment,

When my fond soul with a forgiving frankness --



My lord! the holy friar has enjoin’d me

To say, his life depends upon your silence.



Go! let him banish fear! tell the good monk

His services are treasured in my heart.

(Exit Attendant]




THE VICEROY. [alone.]

To-night appointed for your treacherous union!

Never shall night that consummation see.

These hours are mine, nor will I lose them—hence

Ye dainty scruples, of deluded honor!

Ye made me pause too long. — Love, manly love.

Nature’s strong heir, not custom’s puny child,

Points my lair prey, and like the hunter’s cry

Leads my keen spirit to the chase of joy.




PERSOD discovered sleeping on a couch, and VELORA sitting by him.



Ye ministers of peace, O! kindly visit

His troubled slumbers! let not frightened nature

Thus lose the balmy influence of rest.


PERSOD, (still sleeping.)

Beware my child beware—-—this cruel Viceroy!



Unhappy father! how it grieves my soul

To see thee shaken by these painful terrors.



No! tyrant, no! away! away! thou shalt not

Tear her from these weak arms—1 clasp her still.


Good Heaven! where am I? O my child! my child!

Do I indeed embrace thee still, my daughter?

Is there no ruffian near?



Be not alarmed.

My gentle father!—’twas a vision only;

Here is no being but thy own Velora.



Alas! my child, these terrifying phantoms

Tear my weak frame: -- they shake me still with horror.

Methought I saw thee in the savage grasp

Of the fierce Viceroy: -- hence distracting image!,

It haunts me still.



Let thy beloved Velora

Calm these wild fears, and talk them into peace!



Still! my sweet child, assure my trembling heart,

That when thy old weak guard is severed from thee,

As soon he must be, strong in native virtue,

Thou wilt resist the Viceroy’s cruel aims,

That no rich offers of insidious love,

No terrors of the tyrant, shall betray

Thy yielding beauty to his impious arms!



No! by thy tender love, thy hallowed age,

By all the virtues of thy heart, I swear

No powers shall force me to that shameful fate.



Thanks I my dear child, thy animating words

Breathe thro’ my chilly breast a cheering glow,

And warm me with new life—methinks I gain

A new supply of strength; and I will use it

To taste the freshness of the evening air.

Bless thee, my kind attendant.



Still let my arm

Assist your steps.



No, sweet support, I thank thee,

I will but venture to yon shady palm,

To soothe my troubled thoughts, and recollect

The thousand tender things, paternal love

Has yet to utter, ere our last adieu:

Remain thou here! and 1 will soon return.





VELORA. [alone.]

Spare, gracious Heaven! the weakness of his age

From farther misery! whatever ills

Thy dreadful pleasure may design to pour

Upon our hapless race, O! keep them all

For my devoted head! nor more afflict

This mild, indulgent, helpless, fond old man!

Good Heaven! what voice!—it is our evil genius:

It is the Viceroy —





THE VICEROY. [entering.]

Guards attend without.

Thanks be to love: I hold thee once again,

Bewitching beauty! and I know thee now:

Yes! under this soft veil of artless youth

Lies all the finished artifice of woman:

Thou canst forget thy Indian laws, and yield

This sacred treasure to an alien’s arms:

With a refining spirit of delight,

Thou canst convert a dungeon to a scene

Of midnight bliss.


VELORA, [aside.]

Our purpose is betrayed!



Yet have thy charms the fascinating power

To melt the fiercest wrath; I will forget

The cruel pangs thy treachery inspires,

If cancelling the offence, thou yet wilt grant me,

The dear rich recompense, for which my soul

So keenly pants with agony of passion.



Never! never!



Perverse, fantastic girl!

Canst thou still doat upon an abject slave,

When royalty’s extended arms would press

Thy beauty into rapture?



Yes! proud tyrant, This constant heart will idolize forever

That hero, whom thy crimes have made a prisoner:

Velora’s firm and faithful soul, would rather

Embrace his bondage, than partake thy power,

E’en had thy pride the privilege of Heaven

To make its reign immortal.



Rash Velora!

Thou dost provoke my wild insulted love

To sieze this golden minute, and repay

My tortured senses with a sweet revenge.

Come! thou shalt bless me.



Help! O! help me Heaven!





PERSOD, [entering and. throwing himself before the Viceroy.]

Turn! thou base tyrant! hear a father’s voice!

Behold his weakness prostrate at thy feet!

Release! release my child! nor by this outrage

Wound sacred nature in a parent’s soul!



Distracting interruption! By my life

His reverend form, and his white hairs have struck

Blank awe thro’ all my veins—

My trembling’ sinews have not power to take her

From his weak hold -- and yet by Heaven she must not

Compleat the triumph of her treacherous love.

Guards there without!

[Enter GUARDS.]



O mercy! mighty Castro,

Thou wilt not force my innocent child away,

While these paternal arms are stretched to save her.


THE VICEROY, [to the Guards]

Reasons of state compel me to divide

These faithless captives: Soldiers! on your duty

I charge ye, part them with the gentlest violence.

And lead Velora to the western tower!







Most cruel mandate! most inhuman Castro!



No! ye vile slaves ye shall not tear her from me:

No! I will hang upon her darling form,

E’en ’till my heart strings break,



Old man, forbear

Thy sorrows grieve us—but we must obey—



Curse my weak age!



My father! O! my father!



[As the Guards force off VELORA,


CONSTANTIA enters with an Attendant, speaking as she enters.]

Mercy! they sieze! they tear Velora from us—

Unhappy father! whence this horrid outrage?



Now, mighty Sieb! great avenging spirit!

Now, now exert thy power! it is thy servant;

It is a father calls, a father robbed,

Most basely robbed, in his enfeebled age,

Of his dear daughter, of his darling child.

Blast this fell ravisher!—with lightning’s speed

Let death’s tierce summons seize his haggard soul '

And if he has a child, O! make him feel

What tortures ---mercy heaven! I faint -----

[He falls.]



O! save him!

Alas his feeble strings of life are broken

By this inhuman violence.—He breathes—

Now bear him gently hence!—in pity’s name

Watch him with tenderest care till my return;

For I must hasten to preserve his child!

[they bear off' Persod]

Now, Castro it is time thou shouldst hehold

Thy Isabel yet lives; for thou art tost

On a tempestuous flood, and little know’st

What hidden rocks of horror thou art near:

My voice must point them to thy blinded spirit,

Ere thy wild passions plunge us in a gulf

Of deepest ruin, misery, and guilt.








Faithful Panera! thy afflictive tidings

Have pierced my heart: alas! unhappy father.

Robbed of thy child, whose fondness should have watched

Thy parting spirit in its latest struggle,

And closed those eyes, that never, never cast

A look upon me, but of tenderest love!



My gentle mistress, yield not to thy grief.

Think it was happy for his helpless age

To lay the burden of its misery down;



Yet have I reason for severest sorrow:

The wretched daughter, bound by dearest duty

To smooth the bed of death, there planted thorns

To pierce her dying father—’twas my zeal

To save Sylveyra’s life; it was thy child,

Thou injured parent, whose misguided aim

So blindly sharpened thy expiring pangs.

O! were they not most terrible to look on?



Let not such visionary fears alarm

Your troubled heart! in a short agony

Your injured father begged of Heaven to blast

The Viceroy’s base designs: opprest he fainted;

But soon recovering, with more tranquil thought

Commended to his God your innocence;

Then death, as if in pity of his woes,

Approaching in the form of softest slumber

Released his spirit from this tainted sphere,

To gain the happier heights of purer being.



My good Paneea, thou dost vainly try

To soothe my anguish; e’en the happier child,

Who, blest with peace, yields, in her native land

An aged parent to the hand of Heaven,

By nature’s dictates sheds the frequent tear

Of unrestrained affliction: what must I,

A captive orphan, robbed of that fond father,

Whose love, whose virtues were my kind support?



May lenient time relieve thy wounded bosom!



Long will my filial heart lament his loss,

And conscious of its treasure torn away,

Ache at this cruel void.—But go, I pray thee,

Prepare the hallowed bale-tree to receive

His dear remains, and let thy faithful hand

Pour richest incense on the blazing pile,

Since bondage keeps me from that sacred duty!



I will obey thee, dear, and gentle mistress,

Farewell! and all pure spirits be thy guard.





VELORA, [alone.]

O! my Sylveyra, thou alone on earth

Art now the guardian of forlorn Velora;

And thou art doomed to bonds: perchance to fail

In the dark dungeon by the secret stab

Of base assassination: what is left

For me, disconsolate and wretched captive,

But in this solitude to sit and weep

My unexampled wrongs, and fatal love?



[While VELOR A remains in a pensive attitude, THE VICEROY enters unperceived.]



She sees me not, absorbed in pensive sorrow;

Anxiety is painted in her eye;

And fear sits panting on her lovely bosom,

Like agitation on the aspin leaf

Trembling at every breeze: I dare not speak--------

How may I find a favorable minute

To soothe her angry grief, and melt its rage

To pity and forgiveness?


VELORA, [starting up.]

Mercy, Heaven!

Thou base assassin! has thy soul the power

To look on the sad orphan, thou hast made?

Dar’st thou approach me? can thy heart so soon

Insult the sanctity of filial sorrow?



Hear me, thou injured fair! by Heaven I vow

My heart is guiltless of thy father’s death!

I would not have deprived his honored age

Of one short hour, one moment of existence,

To make my days immortal. Could my blood

Redeem his life, and give him to thy prayers,

I now would pour it freely at thy feet.



Vain penitence! did not thy cruel hand

Tear from his bleeding heart his darling child?



'Twas the wild fear of seeing thee enrich

A rival’s arms, ’twas that distracting image,

That drove my maddening soul to cruel force,

Unconscious of the horrors, that have followed:

I feel them now—joined to thy just reproach,

They make me execrate my own existence.

Thou injured orphan! in this wretched bosom

Plunge thy avenging dagger! it will end

Variety of pangs, more keen than all,

My fatal passion has e’er heaped on thee-------

Remorse and anguish harrow up my mind;

Yet, while I gaze upon thee, fiercer love

Burns in my frantic heart: all milder thoughts,

Which penitence and pity can suggest,

He drowns; and leaves triumphant in my soul

The mighty madness of his raging fire.



Canst thou pretend to sorrow, to remorse,

And still insult me with licentious passion

In this afflictive hour?



O! my Velora,

There is a tempest in my soul, that robs

My tongue of language, and my thoughts of reason;

But ’tis excess, ’tis agony of love,

Which claims thy pardon, which deserves thy pity.


GARCIA, [behind the scenes.]

Where is the Viceroy?—slave!—he must be found,

And I will pass thee --



Ha! whose fury dares

Insult our guard?



THE VICEROY, VELORA; GARCIA enters with an Officer.



O! Garcia, what inspires This bold contempt?



Thy danger, with a sense

Of honor, and attachment still remaining

To one, who little has deserved my friendship;

Whose fatal passions have at length produced

The dire effects proportioned to their guilt -----

But ’tis no time to parley; thro’ the city

All is confusion, anger, and revenge:

The swarming Indians, with religious fury,

Call on their murdered Bramin: all our troops,

With spirits ripe for mutiny, demand

Sylveyra’s freedom. O! unhappy Castro,

If justice, glory, and our country’s welfare

Are names yet dear to thee, appear! come forth!

Haste! re-assume thy better self, and rush

To quell these tumults, ere they rise to crush thee.



By hell’s dark powers the tidings, thou hast brought,

Suit the wild tempest in my tortured brain:

Lead to the fiercest terrors of the storm!

I’ll gladly meet them; for my soul’s prepared

To rush upon the lightning’s keenest flash,

And bless the thunders, that are launched against tne.


GARCIA.                              .

Come! my brave friend, let me but soothe thy spirit,

And lead thy virtue to a just atonement,

We yet may stop the ruin, that impends.


THE VICEROY [turning hack, as he and GARCIA are quitting the stage.]

But my Velora!—mark me Officer!

Let her be treated with most humble duty!

Nor be her steps confined, except within

The utmost limits of our castle wall!

But place a double guard at every gate!

Farewell! thou matchless, dear, destructive beauty!

{Exit with Garcia.]


VELORA. [alone.]

Ye generous men! who strive to terminate

The base enthralment of our dear Sylveyra,

Still may the sense of all his bright perfections,

His great achievements, and his galling wrongs

Feed the just anger of your noble minds!





CARSACO, [entering hastily.]

Come dear Velora, I at length have gained

The moment for thy freedom; haste we now

To seize it, while this din of arms engages

The watchful goaler of thy captive beauty!



Away! away! thy fatal schemes have plunged

My soul in anguish, and destroyed my father—



Oh! blame me not! it was the treacherous priest —

Curse on his abject, avaricious soul!

Whose sordid hopes betrayed us to the Viceroy:

But let us lose all thought of evils past

In haste to seize this golden, glorious minute,

That calls thee now from bondage: I have bribed

Sylveyra’s guard; will lead you to his prison,

And shew ye both a subterraneous door:

By this we gain the City; sure protection

Awaits us there: Sylveyra’s ready friends

Will rise in arms, the moment they behold him.



Thou generous friend! I will embrace thy kindness,

And bless thee for it: lead me to my lord!

To save Sylveyra’s precious life is now

My only hope, ,y only end of being.



Come on! my lovely ward! now, Castro, mourn

Thy baffled fondness! I have foiled thee now;

And my past wrongs are happily repaid,

While with triumphant joy, I bear away

This beauteous treasure from thy tyrant grasp.





GUARDS, [behind the scene.]

You must not pass us; ’tis the Viceroy’s order.


CONSTANTIA, [behind the scene.]

Ye cruel guards! ye shall not force me back:

Affliction has a sacred claim to enter

The residence of power.

[Entering with an Officer.]

Thanks! gallant soldier!

Who hast compassion for a woman’s woes!

Now guide me to the Viceroy!



Lovely mourner

Believe me, he is absent from the castle!



Then by thy duty, wheresoe’er he is,

Conduct me to him! I have things to utter

Of higher moment than his life itself.



Necessity constrains me to refuse

Thy eager prayer: the Viceroy is engaged

In scenes of tumult, which thy tender frame

Would tremble to encounter.



Prove my spirit!

I have a heart, that in the embattled field

Would cross the thunder of the bursting cannon

To reach the Viceroy: I conjure thee guide me!

I have an awful mystery to tell,

That yet may save him from impending crimes.



Thy words amaze me, and enforce my service.



Lead on I and fear not! for the saints of Heaven

Will clear our way, and with their sacred power

Assist the parent to preserve her child.







Revenge! revenge, for Brama’s sacred blood!

For age and wisdom, murdered by the hand

Of impious tyranny!



Let’s to the castle!

And from that den of sacrilegious lust

Drag this proud Viceroy, while his angry guards

Yield him our easy prey.






Spare your vain search,

Ye madding croud! behold that Viceroy here,

Whose power ye question, and whose blood ye thirst for!

Ungrateful people! can ye thus forget

From what dark depths of ruinous abasement

I raised your plundered race? there was a time,

When cruel rapine, with unbridled rage,

Preyed on your wasted wealth; when every voice,

That rose from India to unpitying Heaven,

Poured wild complaint, and bitter execration,

Against the insatiate sons of sordid Europe:

Those scenes of wretchedness our cares have changed

To the mild blessings of protected commerce,

And equal justice; yet your mutinous spirits

Insult the power, that saves you from perdition.



Behold, my lord, how their misguided fury,

With just contrition, sinks to silent shame!



Hear! mighty Castro, hear the suppliant voice

Of age! forgive, and soothe thy troubled people!

They own thy mild dominion; they revere

Thy princely virtues: yet in wildest terror

Dread, lest insidious passion should betray thee

To trample on those laws, in whose defence

Thy steady virtue has so long upheld.

The sword of justice, and the shield of mercy.

O! be their guardian still! in generous pity

Give, to the humblest prayers of duty, give

The captive child of that unhappy Bramin,

Whose terrors for his daughter torn away,

Piercing his soul, abridged his virtuous days!



Thou good old man! thy mildness has more power

To move the heart of Castro, than the threats

Of fiercest war, when, in his wildest fury,

His loud voice sounds defiance and destruction.

My troubled subjects! just and gentle spirits!

I have obtained an empire in your hearts;

'Twas my ambition: -- ’tis my noblest pride;

Nor shall base passions tempt me now to forfeit

This best dominion: let the coward tyrant

Enshroud in falsehood’s veil his crimes, his fears!

My heart shall own its errors, and retrieve them.



Ye sons of India, hear your gracious lord!

He has no thought of impious violation.



My fatal passion -- I retain it still --

But deeply conscious, this afflictive love,

This cruel source of horrors unforeseen,

Must wound your dearest rights: those hallowed laws

Which I am bound to cherish, not invade,

Know that my soul has vowed to see no more

That lovely maid whose fascinating charms

Tempt justice from its throne: ye now have heard

Our serious purpose; to confirm it farther

To you, my people! that unshaken honor

May be the guard of feebler continence,

I give this sacred pledge, your Sovereign’s truth:

If now ye think us worthy of your trust,

Dismiss your every fear, disperse, and leave us!



May Heaven long guard the just, the generous Castro!

He may command our treasures, and our blood.


[THE VICEROY and GARCIA come forward, and the Scene closes behind them.]






Blest be thy virtues! I regain my friend:

My heart could almost worship thee for this,

For well I know how dearly it has cost

Thy feeling soul; but honor shall repay thee,

And fame immortal be thy rich reward.



Garcia my word is past: I mean to keep it -----

My heart was formed to merit, and engage

The blessings of my people, not their curse:

But thou must be my feeble virtue’s guard;

For should I look on that enchanting form,

The very firmest of these bright resolves

Would prove a lucid bubble, lost in air

The moment it is blown.



Release your captives,

And time will make thro’ every hour of life

This best of triumphs dearer to your heart!



Go thou, dear Garcia, to the western tower!

I will not hazard e’en the slightest chance

To meet the eyes of that bewitching beauty:

Go, send her to Constantia! then my friend

Haste to rejoin me in Sylveyra’s prison!          .

Ide is again the child of my adoption;

It shall be now my constant aim to banish

All trace of passion, and the name of rival.



Blest be thy words! they give my age new life;

And I shall meet thee with the speed of youth.





CARASCO, [entering with VELORA.]

Curse on that busy and officious fool,

Who thus detained our steps!—we’ve lost an age:

Sylveyra should be here: what ho! my friend!



Good Heaven! he hears us not—-they have destroyed him.


SYLVEYRA, [entering.]

It was an angel, or Velora’s voice:

What joy! ’tis she herself -- my life! my love ’

What blessed chance --


We have no time for words;

Each moment’s of inestimable price:

I come to save ye both! —follow rny steps.

And I will guide ye thro’ a path unknown!



My true Carasco! faithful, generous friend!

Watch o’er this dearer portion of my life,

And haste to guide my loved Velora hence!

But for myself, a Soldier’s tender fame

Forbids this secret flight: it wears too much

The cast of conscious guilt, and coward fear.



These ill-timed scruples of mistaken honor

Are ruin to our hopes 



My own Sylveyra,

Thou seest. Velora fatherless before thee,

Enabled only to sustain her being

By her fond hopes in thy protecting love;

Thou art her sole supporter, can thy heart

Desert so dear a duty, to obey

The fancied dictates of delusive honor?



Never! no never! all this heart is thine!

The tender accents of thy plaintive voice

Wake every fond emotion in my soul,

And teach me ’tis the glory of my life

To guard thy innocence thro’ every peril       

Away! I will attend you: ----yet my friend

A moment’s pause! to shield us from pursuit

I'll bar yon avenue ----do thou, Carasco.

Watch at the other grate, lest any noise

Awake suspicion in the court below!



Be swift ----  delay’s inevitable death-----


[SYLVEYRA, withdraws at the end of the stage, and CARASCO remains attentive on the opposite side.]



How slow, how awful are these trying minutes

Of doubtful fate, that on their shadowy wings

In dread concealment bear the uncertain form

Of safety or perdition? Hear me Heaven! ——



SYLVEYRA, and CARASCO on opposite sides of the stage, while velora is absorbed in devotion.


THE VICEROY [entering.]

This resolution ne’er to see her more

Is medicine to my mind------- ha! what art thou,

Bewitching form? art thou a mere illusion,

Or the fair sorceress herself, whose power

Seeks my perdition? let me clasp, and prove thee!

Thou dear delicious poison! O! thy touch

Drives hot delirium thro’ my every vein.



Help me! Carasco, help!



Turn, tyrant turn

Base ravisher! and meet thy punishment!



Audacious villain! it is mine to punish:

And thus I prove my power.

[They fight.]



I spurn it thus —

Thank my kind stars I touch thee—'tis enough.



Vile traitor! I despise thy nerveless arm,

And thus repay thy feeble wound with death.

[While they are engaged VELORA flies.]



Curse thy strong arm! it has—it has destroyed me.


SYLVEYRA, [rushing towards them.]

I am too late! he falls! unhappy friend!





[In the moment CARASCO is falling, GARCIA enters with GUARDS, and seizes the sword of SYLVEYRA.]



What treachery is here? Castro, thou’rt wounded!



My hurt is trifling: I have killed this traitor:

Guards bear Sylveyra to more close confinement!



Off! I will take a soldier’s last farewell

Of this brave man, who dying thus pours forth

His generous blood in friendship’s fatal cause.



Away! they shall not interchange a word -----


[GUARDS force off SYLVEYRA.]



Insulting tyrant! thou mayst triumph now,

Thy triumph will be short.—It joys me yet

To see the lion circled in my toils,

Unconscious of his danger.—Sudden fate,

 Invisible to thee, hangs o’er thy head:

This prospect of revenge, enough for me,

Gilds all the horrors of impending death,

E’en in these moments, while I feel his hand

Pressing most heavy—O! my life is past—

But thine, thine cannot last beyond—O Heaven 1




What mean these vile mysterious threats? I fear

Some dark, and deep conspiracy is formed

By those, who murmured at Sylveyra’s fate:

My honored friend! haste! to thy bleeding wound

Get timely succour I while I search if aught

Of secret treason lurk within the walls.



No, my kind Garcia, I will first go forth,

And make provision for the public safety.

Come then, my generous friend, dismiss thy fears!

Luxuriant ease, and beauty are alone

The bane of Castro: in the hour of danger

Thy piercing eye shall never find his soul

False to the hopes of animated friendship,

And idly distant from the goal of honor.








Hast thou not heard, thou canst not be admitted?

Then trouble us no more with fruitless clamour!



Unfeeling slave!—O! I am faint to death:

Yet hear me! yet admit me to the Viceroy!

And wretched as I seem, most rich reward

Shall make thee bless thy pity.



I have told thee, I dare not on my life, the Viceroy’s wounded

Even to death; and none must pass our gate

Without immediate order from the council.



Good Heaven! my Castro in the pangs of death~

Slave! I will pass.



Presumptuous woman! hence!

Or wait without, and wholesome solitude

Shall teach thee to be patient.

[Enters and shuts the Gate.]




CONSTANTIA, [alone.]

O! my husband!

My dying Castro! could thy closing eyes

Behold thy Isabel, that once loved name,

Thus by a scornful slave, forbid to pour

Her fond forgiveness on thy parting soul!

Mercy! what means this image of distraction?

’Tis my Velora, whose disordered features

Too strongly speak her frantic agony

Of terror and surprise.





VELORA, [entering hastily]

Now save thy son!

If pitying Heaven yet give thee time to save him!



Haste! guide me to him! tell me what the danger!

Where is Sylveyra? what must I attempt?



Alas! I know not; all is doubt and horror:

I left the tyrant in Sylvevra’s prison

Fiercely encountering the brave Carasco;

And may that faithful friend with noble vengeance

Repay our various wrongs.



Where was Sylveyra?

Was his arm raised against the life of Castro?

Can it be possible that Heaven permitted

So horrible a conflict! can my son,

Have drowned his honors in a father’s blood!





MOLINA, [entering hastily.]

Away! my gentle friends, and let me guide ye

To some securer refuge, at these gates

Dire scenes of fierce contention may ensue!



Explain thy friendly fears!



Carasco’s slain,

But in base conflict, with a poisoned sword

Has wounded Castro: our unhappy Viceroy,

In keenest torture, hardly now sustains

A life expected every hour to close.



Mercy! I charge thee to that bed of death

Conduct my steps!—-a sacred duty calls me—



That cannot be: I am myself commanded

To quit the castle; all Sylveyra’s friends

Are kept aloof with a suspicious fear:

Alas! unhappy parent! I must tell thee

Tidings yet more afflictive: at this moment

The council, jealous of endangered power,

And eager to revenge the Viceroy’s fate

Is met to search, how far Sylveyra’s wrongs

Made him the accomplice of this dark assassin:

But we acquainted with his noble nature --   



Shame on the base ingratitude, that wounds

His spotless virtue with its vile suspicion!



O horror! horror! this unhappy father

Will in the blind, convulsive pangs of death

Assassinate his child! and call it justice:

Thou good Molina! think not that affliction

Has driven all sense from this disordered brain,

While I inform thee, that in me thou see'st

The wife, the innocent, the injured wife

Of thy deluded, dear, expiring master,

Who thinks his poor deserted Isabel

Now mould’ring in her grave, nor yet suspects

That brave Sylveyra is the son he lost.



The son of Castro! thou his injured wife!



Amazement! art thou that lamented victim

Of cruel jealousy?



Stay not to question

My wondrous fate! a moment’s pause is worse

Than death’s worst pang: it may destroy a life

Far dearer than my own; my slandered son!

Fly! fly to save him!



Would I had heard

This tale, before the terrors of the council

Shut me from out these walls!—’tis now too late.



Too late! O mercy has their coward fear

Condemned his virtue? has the cruel Viceroy

Forced them——



Distraction! he has killed his child!

I see the father stained with filial blood!

O unexampled crime!



Maternal love

Too keenly sensible, destroys thv reason:

But calm its frantic fears—thy son yet lives:

Yet interposing Heaven------



May I believe thee?

Save me from madness! swear they have not killed him!



Be comforted, fond parent! by my life

He lives—yet friendship trembles at his danger:

The timid council, who well know thy son

The army’s idol, jealous and alarmed,

By every caution to prevent his rescue,

Exclude us from the castle; if we plead

Thy story for admission, they will call it

A sudden artifice to save thy son --



O! for a voice of thunder to proclaim

The sacred truth! but let us force our passage

Thro’ these inhuman guards! what can they more

Than wound this wretched frame? and let them bathe

Their sabres in my blood, if they but leave

My mangled limbs the power to crawl towards him,

Shrieks of maternal terror shall detain

The parting soul of this unconscious father,

And bid him save his unoffending child.



One chance remains:—to sue for entrance here

Would be to waste inestimable minutes;

But at the gate, by which I left the castle,

Some sentinels are placed, much bound to me

By various services; perchance their spirit

Will bravely venture on this breach of orders:

Haste we to prove it!



Come ’ our suppliant tears

Shall melt the sternest --



Now, relenting Heaven!

Now shew thy mercy to an injured mother!




GARCIA, with a Council of OFFICERS.



My valiant friends! the blazing sun is set,

Whose vital energy gave life and splendor

To Lusitanian glory:—mighty Castro,

With pain exhausted, sinks in heavy slumber,

That much, ’tis feared, must terminate in death:

Our grief and duty to as brave a leader

As ever soldier followed to the field,

The voice of justice, and the public safety,

All loudly call for signal, speedy vengeance

On the surviving traitor, deeply joined

In guilty compact with the base Carasco.



Behold the victim you demand!






My duty

To our lamented chief, my murdered friend,

Bids me pronounce a painful accusation:

That done, I leave it to the council’s wisdom

To judge his answer, and decide his fate.

Unhappy youth! it is with grief I charge thee

With having stained thy honors, nobly won,

By dark conspiracy, by meanly joining

In basest vengeance with a vile assassin.



O! Garcia, wrong not by so base a name

A gallant, generous, and departed soldier,

Lavish of life in friendship’s sacred cause!

Would I alone had met the oppressive arm

Of this proud ravisher! what! tho’ I owed him

Obedience as a subject! nobler duties

More loudly called me as a man to guard

That injured innocence, and plaintive beauty,

Which his fierce raqe had seized for violation.



Thou lost young man! whose fairer dawn of life

Gave the false promise of progressive virtue,

I quit the little hope, my heart had formed

To find thee guiltless, while I hear thee thus,

With the bold insolence of vice, defend

The villain, who destroyed his sovereign’s life

By the base wound of an envenomed sword.



By an envenomed sword! can this be true?



The dying ruffian, with mysterious triumph,

Joyed in his crime.



Could friendship be the mask

Of blackest vengeance?



When I seized thy sword

In the confusion of that fatal conflict

It seemed, in aid of the accurst assassin,

To point its murd’rous aim at Castro’s heart.



Think not an abject love of life can lead me

To clear my innocence!—I know too well

The tyrant’s jealousy, which e’en in death

Will rage, to rob me of the only treasure,

That makes life lovely in Sylveyra’s eyes.

But just attention to my wounded honor

Bids me proclaim, my sword was only drawn

To interrupt their conflict.



Couldst thou prove

That generous purpose, thy untainted honor

Would, with the force of the meridian beam

Start from this passing cloud: but, hapless youth!

The only witness that perchance might clear

Thy sullied fame, is that departing hero,

Whose pale lips, now we strongly fear, have closed

To speak no more; and for myself, I grieve,

While painful truth impels me to repeat,

That if my eye deceived me not, thy sword

Was basely levelled at his sacred life.



Now Garcia, thou has paid thy debt to friendship;

Our duty points to justice.


A MESSENGER, [entering.]

Suspend your resolution, valiant chiefs!

It is the Viceroy’s will:—he haply gains

Some little portion of reviving strength,

And has commanded his attendant train

To bear him to the council, that his sentence --

But see I his mighty mind, tho’ worn with torture,

Anticipates my message --





THE VICEROY, [brought in.]

Gently! friends,

All motion throws a sickly langour o’er me,

And robs my spirit of collected thought—

Dear Garcia, I am faint—whene’er I die,

Thou art my successor: I would not wish

To place dominion in a nobler hand.



That faithful hand shall resolutely guide

The sword of justice to avenge—



Ah! no!

I charge thee no! I heard thy dangerous error;

Thou hast believed the innocent Sylveyra

The accomplice of a ruffian: but I come,

With pain collecting all the shattered powers

Of my dissolving frame, to prove his truth;

To witness, that his generous arm was raised

Not to destroy, but guard the ungrateful master,

Who basely wronged him.



Blest be thy firm soul,

Thou dear lamented friend, which timely clears

My dread mistake, and saves blind zeal from staining

The sword of eager justice, with the blood

Of slandered virtue.



Gallant, injured youth!

Come near me! for the friendly hand of death

Has rent asunder that dark veil of passion,

Which hid thy virtues from my blinded heart!

Give me thy hand! before my fatal frenzy

I loved thee as my son: ’twas I who first

Broke that dear bond.



Thou kind, exalted spirit!

Still mayst thou live, and be again my father!



No! generous youth! my feverish dream of life

Is hastening to its close: but O! my friends,

Be it related to our royal master,

That Castro owned, with his expiring lips,

How deeply he had wronged the brave Sylveyra;

And dying, begged, it might be told his king,

That in his service he will never find

A valiant youth of fairer expectation.



O unexampled nobleness of nature!

It rends my heart:—O that my worthless life—






[throwing herself before the Viceroy.]

Save him! O save him, Castro! Tis thy son!

The son of Isabel! thy injured wife!

Behold her proud heart prostrate at thy feet!



Good Heaven! thy piercing accents have convulsed

All my weak springs of life—look up! O shew me

Thy features, thou! that hast assumed a name,

Whose very sound is torture to my soul

Thou blessed form! my Isabel herself!

My innocent, my living Isabel!

Enough—ye powers of mercy! ’tis enough—

I fain would bless thee—but—




Alas! he dies! ----

Wretch that I am! my blind precipitate haste

Has cruelly abridged the few short minutes

Of his lost life.—Thou dear, unhappy Castro!



Despair not, gentle lady ’ this surprise

O’erpowers enfeebled nature; but I see

Returning life—-it flushes on his cheek—

[To the Council.]

My honored friends, your presence may distress

His wounded spirit; then awhile retire!

And when he gains some slight return of strength,

I will myself inform you of his wishes—

[the Officers withdraw.]



Where art thou, blessed spirit! tell me where!

I thought my Isabel informed my soul,

She was not murder’d by the cruel Castro—

Now my lost love! I hold thee once again:

Speak to me! let thy soft angelic voice,

If thou indeed art Isabel, disperse

This darkness of my soul, that makes me fear

A blessing, so beyond the reach of hope,

Is but the mockery of mere delirium.



Thy Isabel yet lives: O! could her love

Yet save thy dearer life!



Kind angel! spare,

Spare that vain thought’, the hand of righteous Heaven

Has marked my hour of death—I feel it near;

But thus to know, that I have not destroyed

Thy innocence; to fold thee thus,

And fondly resting my repentant spirit

On the kind softness of thy tender bosom;

To breathe my last in thy forgiving arms

Is worth long centuries of guilty life.

­But haste to tell me all thy wondrous fate,



If, in these moments of reviving love,

I must again resign thee, yet my Castro!

Yet in thy parting soul let me awaken

The blest emotions of paternal joy.

Let Isabel to thy embraces give

A son most worthy of thy honored name

This injured youth, this brave accomplished hero,

Formed by thy care, and child of thy adoption,

Thy loved Sylveyra, is thy real son.



Amazement! transport! Heaven my son restored!

Come let me press thee with my dying hand!

And pouring penitent tears into thy bosom

Thus from thy pure heart wash the painful record

Of all thy father’s cruelty and guilt.



His worth, his kindness live for ever there



Dear Garcia, seek that injured excellence

The sweet Velora—I have learnt the story

Of their chaste loves, and her concealed attachment

To our pure faith: it is by her alone,

That I can make atonement to their virtues.

[Exit Garcia.]

Tell me, my Isabel, and haste to tell me,

How gracious providence has been thy shield!



Thou know’st that far from Lisbon, and my father,

Within my sister’s castle, ’twas my hope

To hide the offspring of our secret marriage;

There first 1 learnt, that frantic jealousy

Impelled thee to desert thy injured wife—



That cruel jealousy was raised to madness

By the curst arts of a defeated rival.



The power of innocence, and pride of virtue,

With the pure spirit of maternal love,

Sustained my wounded heart: my generous sister

Contrived the artful tale which haply led

My friends, my father, and e’en thee to think me

Sunk in the wished asylum of the tomb:

So I was free to watch, with ceaseless care,

The precious fruit of thy ill-fated love —



Thou miracle of pure maternal virtue!

O let me thank thee with these bursting tears

Of fondest admiration!



When the mind

Of my sweet boy first glowed with young ambition,

It chanced thy valour raised thee to this sphere:

I then resolved beneath a borrowed name,

To visit India with a hope to see

Thy unsuspected son by youthful merit

Attract thy notice: this my dearest aim,

To brave Sylveyra, thy departed friend,

I first unfolded—-as his widowed sister,

He sheltered me with well-devised concealment:

That virtuous hero aided all my views                          ,

With noblest zeal, and to thy wakened love

Meant to restore us, when the afflictive chance

Of battle robbed us of his kind support.



My generous friend! I well remember all

His care to fix in my unconscious heart

The virtues of my child—Oh! Isabel,

To what long years of suffering has my frenzy

Reduced thy spotless heart! and canst thou pardon —






And see another innocent, whom Castro

Has basely tortured by injurious passion!

O! Heaven, the sense of all your wrongs united

O’erwhehns my fainting spirit.



Gracious Heaven,

Relieve this anguish of his wounded soul.



My lovely daughter, to this noble youth

Now let me, as a gift of expiation,

Present thy purity! no! no! my children!

Ye must not kneel: to me alone belongs

Humiliation; and my prostrate soul

Bends to that innocence, which I have wronged,

And may your generous hearts forget how deeply,

Nor let your hate attend me to the grave.



My honored father, could our love preserve thee!



'Tis death alone can expiate my offences,

And his dark shades are gathering fast around me,

I yet, my son, in these affecting moments,

Feel a fond pride in thy superior virtue:

And may that virtue, may thy chaste affections

Make thy pure days as full of peace and joy,

As mine have been of turbulence and horror!

Console thy peerless mother! let thy kindness

Repay, if possible, my cruelty!

And O! forever make this best of friends

The model of thy life! my faithful Garcia!

Thy friendship is the noblest legacy,

That I can leave these most beloved of beings!

My Isabel! where art thou? my dim eyes

Have lost thee, and are strained in vain to find

The dearest object of their failing sight—

With my last breath I bless thee—O farewell!

Nor think too hardly of a heart, which still

Doats on thy excellence! O! mercy Heaven!




Farewell, great spirit! formed to giace the earth

With all the brightest qualities of man!

O’er life’s rough ocean ’twas thy wish to steer

The course of steady virtue; but the storms

Of passion drove thee from thy destined way:

May all thy gallant deeds, and they were many,

Be justly blazoned in the tints of glory!

And be thy frailties buried in the grave!

Or but remembered with a kind concern,

To teach misguided man, that misery

Haunts all the hasty steps of lawless passion;

While gentler, just affections only bring

Unclouded peace, and purity of joy!  privacy statement