SCENE I.

NERESTAN, CHATILLON.

Cha. Matchless Nerestan! generous and great! You, who have broke the chains of hopeless slaves!

You, Christian saviour! by a Saviour sent!
Appear, be known, enjoy your due delight;
The grateful weepers wait to clasp your knees,
They throng to kiss the happy hand that saved
them:

Indulge the kind impatience of their eyes,
And, at their head, command their hearts for

ever.

Ner. Illustrious Chatillon! this praise o'erwhelms me;

What have I done beyond a Christian's duty;
Beyond what you would, in my place, have done?
Chat. True-it is every honest Christian's
duty;

Nay, 'tis the blessing of such minds as ours,
For others' good to sacrifice our own.—
Yet, happy they, to whom Heaven grants the
power,

To execute, like you, that duty's call.
For us the relicks of abandoned war,
Forgot in France, and in Jerusalem,
Left to grow old in fetters,-Osman's father
Consign'd us to the gloom of a damp dungeon,
Where, but for you, we must have groaned out
life,

And native France have blessed our eyes no

more.

Ner. The will of gracious Heaven, that softened Osman,

Inspired me for your sakes :-But, with our joy,
Flows, mixed, a bitter sadness-I had hoped
To save from their perversion a young beauty,
Who, in her infant innocence, with me,
Was made a slave by cruel Noradin;
When, sprinkling Syria with the blood of Chris-
tians,

Cæsarea's walls saw Lusignan surprised,
And the proud crescent rise in bloody triumph.
From this seraglio having young escaped,
Fate, three years since, restored me to my chains;
Then, sent to Paris on my plighted faith,
I flattered my fond hope with vain resolves,
To guide the lovely Zara to that court
Where Lewis has established virtue's throne:
But Osman will detain her-yet, not Osman;
Zara herself forgets she is a Christian,
And loves the tyrant sultan !-Let that pass:
I mourn a disappointment still more cruel;
The prop of all our Christian hope is lost!
Chat. Dispose me at your will-I am your

own.

Ner. Oh, sir, great Lusignan, so long their captive,

That last of an heroic race of kings!

That warrior, whose past fame has fill'd the world!

Osman refuses to my sighs for ever!

Chat. Nay, then, we have been all redeemed
in vain ;

Perish that soldier who would quit his chains,
And leave his noble chief behind in fetters.
Alas! you know him not as I have known him;
Thank Heaven, that placed your birth so far re-
moved

From those detested days of blood and woe:
But I, less happy, was condemned to see
Thy walls, Jerusalem, beat down-and all
Our pious fathers' labours lost in ruins!
Heaven! had you seen the very temple rifled!
The sacred sepulchre itself profaned!
Fathers with children mingled, flame together!
And our last king, oppressed with age and arms,
Murdered, and bleeding o'er his murdered sons!
Then Lusignan, sole remnant of his race,
Rallying our fated few amidst the flames,
Fearless, beneath the crush of falling towers,
The conquerors and the conquered, groans and
death!

Dreadful-and, waving in his hand his sword,
Red with the blood of infidels, cried out,
This way, ye faithful Christians' follow me.--
Ner. How full of glory was that brave retreat!
Chat. 'Twas heaven, no doubt, that saved and
led him on,

Pointed his path, and marched our guardian guide:

We reached Cæsarea-there the general voice
Chose Lusignan thenceforth to give us laws;
Alas! 'twas vain-Cæsarea could not stand
When Sion's self was fallen !-we were betray-
ed;

And Lusignan condemned to length of life,
In chains, in damps, and darkness and despair:
Yet great, amidst his miseries, he looked,
As if he could not feel his fate himself,
But as it reached his followers. And shall we,
For whom our generous leader suffered this,
Be vilely safe, and dare be blessed without him?
Ner. Oh! I should hate the liberty he shared

not.

Shared this captivity; we both grew up
So near each other, that a tender friendship
Endeared her to my wishes: My fond heart-
Pardon its weakness, bleeds to see her lost,
And, for a barbarous tyrant, quit her God!
Chat. Such is the Saracens too fatal policy!
Watchful seducers, still, of infant weakness:
Happy that you, so young, escap'd their hands!
But let us think-May not this Zara's interest,
Loving the sultan, and by him beloved,
For Lusignan procure some softer sentence?
The wise and just, with innocence, may draw
Their own advantage from the guilt of others.
Ner. How shall I gain admission to her pre-
sence?

Osman has banished me-but that's a trifle;
Will the seraglio's portals open to me?
Or, could I find that easy to my hopes,
What prospect of success from an apostate,
On whom I cannot look without disdain,
And who will read her shame upon my brow?
The hardest trial of a generous mind,
Is, to court favours from a hand it scorns.

Chat. Think it is Lusignan we seek to serve. Ner. Well-it shall be attempted-Hark! who is this?

Are

my eyes false; or, is it really she?

Enter ZARA.

Zar. Start not, my worthy friend! I come to

seek you;

The sultan has permitted it; fear nothing:
But to confirm my heart, which trembles near you,
Soften that angry air, nor look reproach;
Why should we fear each other, both mistaking?
Associates from our birth, one prison held us,
One friendship taught affliction to be calm,
'Till Heaven thought fit to favour your escape,
And call you to the fields of happier France;
Thence, once again, it was my lot to find you
A prisoner here; where, hid amongst a crowd
Of undistinguished slaves, with less restraint,
I shared your frequent converse ;-

It pleased your pity, shall I say your friendship?
Or rather, shall I call it generous charity?
To form that noble purpose, to redeem
Distressful Zara-you procured my ransom,
And, with a greatness that out-soar'd a crown,
Returned yourself a slave, to give me freedom;
But Heaven has cast our fate for different climes:
Here, in Jerusalem, I fix for ever;

Yet, among all the shine that marks my fortune,
I shall, with frequent tears, remember yours;
Your goodness will for ever soothe my heart,
And keep your image still a dweller there:
Warmed by your great example to protect
That faith, which lifts humanity so high,
I'll be a mother to distressful Christians.

Ner. Can Christians owe so dear a gift to
Zara?

Zar. Hopeless I gathered courage to intreat The sultan for his liberty-amazed,

So soon to gain the happiness I wished! See where they bring the good old chief, grown dim

With age, by pain and sorrows hastened on! Chat. How is my heart dissolved with sudden joy!

Zar. I long to view his venerable face;
But tears, I know not why, eclipse my sight.
I feel, methinks, redoubled pity for him;
But, I, alas! myself have been a slave;
And when we pity woes which we have felt,
'Tis but a partial virtue!

Ner. Amazement!-Whence this greatness in
an infidel!

Enter LUSIGNAN led in by two Guards. Lus. Where am I? From the dungeon's depth what voice

Has called me to revisit long-lost day?
Am I with Christians?—I am weak-forgive me,
And guide my trembling steps. I'm full of years;
My miseries have worn me more than age.
Am I, in truth, at liberty? [Seating himself.
Chat. You are;

And

every Christian's grief takes end with yours. Lus. O light! O, dearer far than light, that voice!

Chatillon, is it you? my fellow martyr?
And shall our wretchedness, indeed, have end?
In what place are we now!-my feeble eyes,
Disused to day-light, long in vain to find you.

Chat. This was the palace of your royal fa

thers:

'Tis now the son of Noradin's seraglio.

Zar. The master of this place the mighty
Osman,

Distinguishes, and loves to cherish virtue.
This generous Frenchman, yet a stranger to you,
Drawn from his native soil, from peace and rest,
Brought the vowed ransoms of ten Christian

slaves,

who can

Abjure their saving faith, and coldly see
Great Lusignan, their chief, die slow in chains!
Zar. To bring him freedom you behold me here;
You will this moment meet his eyes in joy.
VOL. II.

Ner. My name, sir, is Nerestan; born in Syria,

I wore the chains of slavery from my birth; Till, quitting the proud crescent for the court Where warlike Lewis reigns, beneath his eye

I

Lus. They shall not tear you from my armsmy children!

Again, I find you-dear in wretchedness:

Oh, my brave son-and thou, my nameless daughter !

Now dissipate all doubt, remove all dread; Has Heaven, that gives me back my childrengiven them,

Such as I lost them?-Come they Christians to me?

One weeps, and one declines a conscious eye! Your silence speaks-too well I understand it. Zar. I cannot, sir, deceive you-Osman's laws Were mine-and Osman is not a Christian.

Las. Her words are thunder bursting on my head;

Wert not for thee, my son, I now should die!
Full sixty years I fought the Christian cause,
Saw their doom'd temple fall, their pow'r de-
stroyed:

Twenty, a captive, in a dungeon's depth,
Yet never for myself my tears sought Heaven;
All for my children rose my fruitless pray'rs :
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 blood of saints and mar-
tyrs!

What would thy mother feel, to see thee thus! She, and thy murder'd brothers!-think, they call thee;

Think that thou see'st them stretch their bloody arms,

And weep to win thee from their murderer's bo

som.

Even in the place where thou betray'st thy God, He died, my child, to save thee.-Turn thy eyes, And see; for thou art near his sacred sepulchre ;

SCENE I.

Enter OSMAN and ORASMIN.

Thou canst not move a step, but where he trod!
Thou tremblest-Oh! admit me to thy soul;
Kill not thy aged, thy afflicted father;
Take not thus soon, again, the life thou gav'st
him:

Shame not thy mother-nor renounce thy God!
'Tis past-Repentance dawns in thy sweet eyes;
I see bright truth descending to thy heart,
And now, my long-lost child is found for ever!
Ner. Oh, doubly blest! a sister, and a soul,
To be redeem'd together!

Zar. Oh, my father!

Dear author of my life! inform me, teach me, What should my duty do?

Lus. By one short word,

To dry up all my tears, and make life welcome, Say thou art a Christian

Zar. Sir-I am a Christian.

Lus. Receive her, gracious Heaven! and bless her for it.

You, captive Frenchmen, follow me; for you, It is my task to answer.

Chat. Still new miseries!

How cautious man should be, to say, I'm happy!
Lus. These are the times, my friends, to try
our firmness,
Our Christian firmness.-
Zar. Alas, sir! Oh!

Lus. Oh, you!I dare not name you!
Farewell-but, come what may, be sure remember
You keep the fatal secret! for the rest,
Leave all to Heaven-be faithful, and be blest.
[Exeunt.

"Twill please their master, nor can weaken me;
Transport them at my cost, to find their king;
I wish to have him know me: carry thither
This Lusignan, whom, tell him, I restore,
Because I cannot fear his fame in arms;
But love him for his virtue and his blood.
Tell him, my father, having conquered twice,
Condemned him to perpetual chains; but I
Have set him free, that I might triumph more.
Oras. The Christians gain an army in his name.
Osm. I cannot fear a sound.-

Oras. But, sir-should Lewis

Osm. Tell Lewis, and the world-It shall be

When Zara asks, I will refuse her nothing:
Restraint was never made for those we love.
Down with those rigours of the proud seraglio;
I hate its laws-where blind austerity
Sinks virtue to necessity.-My blood
Disclaims your Asian jealousy ;-I hold

The fierce, free plainness of my Scythian ancestors,

Their open confidence, their honest hate,
Their love unfearing, and their anger bold.

Shall you distrust a truth I dared avow,
And stamp apostate on a sister's heart!
Ner. Ah! do not misconceive me!-if I erred,
Affection, not distrust, misled my fear;
Your will may be a Christian, yet not you;
There is a sacred mark-a sign of faith,
A pledge of promise, that must firm your claim,
Wash you from guilt, and open Heaven before
you.

Swear, swear, by all the woes we all have borne,
By all the martyr'd saints, who call you daughter,
That you consent, this day, to seal our faith,
By that mysterious rite which waits your call.

Zur. I swear by Heaven, and all its holy 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,

Has brought us all, unhoping, thus together.
For me I am a soldier, uninstructed,
Not daring to instruct, though strong in faith:
But I will bring the ambassador of Heaven,

Thank Heaven, it is not, then, unlawful
To see you, yet once more, my lovely sister!
Not all so happy! -We, who met but now,
Shall never meet again—for Lusignan-
We shall be orphans still, and want a father.
Zar. Forbid it Heaven!

Ner. His last sad hour's at hand-
That flow of joy, which followed our discovery,
Too strong and sudden for his age's weakness,
Wasting his spirits, dried the source of life,
And nature yields him up to time's demand.
Shall he not die in peace?-Oh! let no doubt
Disturb his parting moments with distrust;
Let me, when I return to close his eyes,
Compose his mind's impatience too, and tell him,
You are confirmed a Christian!

Zar. Oh! may his soul enjoy, in earth and heaven,

Eternal rest! nor let one thought, one sigh,
One bold complaint of mine, recall his cares!
But you have injured me, who still can doubt.
What! am I not your sister? and shall you
Refuse me credit? You suppose me light;
You, who should judge my honour by your own,

Be it your task to gain admission for him.-
But where? for whom?-Oh! thou immortal

Power!

Whence can we hope it, in this cursed seraglio?
Who is this slave of Osman? Yes, this slave!
Does she not boast the blood of twenty kings?
Is not her race the same with that of Lewis?
Is she not Lusignan's unhappy daughter?
A Christian, and my sister?-yet a slave!
A willing slave!-I dare not speak more plainly.
Zar. Cruel! go on—Alas! you do not know
me!

At once, a stranger to my sacred fate,
My pains, my fears, my wishes, and my power:
I am-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.
But, tell me nor be tender on this point-
What punishment your Christian laws decree
For an unhappy wretch, who, to herself
Unknown, and all abandoned by the world,
Lost and enslaved, has, in her sovereign master,
Found a protector, generous as great,

Has touched his heart, and given him all her own?

Ner. The punishment of such a slave should be Death in this world-and pain in that to come. Zar. I am that slave-strike here-and save