This sacrilegious hypocrite, this spoiler,
To steal thy terrors, and blaspheme thy name,
Nor doom him instant dead?

Mah. Child of my care,

[Aside.

[Aside.

At length from galling chains I've set thee free,
And made thee triumph in a just revenge;
Think then thou'rt dear to me, and Mahomet
Regards thee with a more than father's eye;
Then know (if thou'lt deserve the mighty boon)
An higher name, a nobler fate, awaits thee.
Pal. What would the tyrant?—
Mah. Raise thy thoughts to glory,
And sweep this Zaphna from thy memory,
With all that's past-Let that mean flame expire
Before the blaze of empire's radiant sun.
Thy grateful heart must answer to my bounties,
Follow my laws, and share in all my conquests.
Pal. What laws, what bounties, and what con-
quests, tyrant?

Fraud is thy law, the tomb thy only bounty,
Thy conquests fatal as infected air,
Dispeopling half the globe-See here, good
Heaven!

The venerable prophet I revered,
The king I served, the god that I adored!
Mah. approaching her.] Whence this unwont-
ed language, this wild frenzy?

Pal. Where is the spirit of my martyred father?

Where Zaphna's, where Palmira's innocence? Blasted by thee, by thee, infernal monsterThou found'st us angels and hast made us fiends; Give, give us back our lives, our fame, our virtue :

Thou canst not, tyrant-yet thou seekest my love,

Seekest with Alcanor's blood his daughter's love! Mah. apart.] Horror and death! the fatal secret's known.

Enter MIRVAN.

Mir. Oh, Mahomet, all's lost, thy glory tarnished,

And the insatiate tomb ripe to devour us!
Hercides' parting breath divulged the secret.
The prison's forced, the city all in arms:
See where they bear aloft their murdered chief,
Fell Zaphna in their front, death in his looks,
Rage all his strength. Spite of the deadly draught,
He holds in life but to make sure of vengeance.
Mah. What dost thou here, then? instant
with our guards,

Attempt to stem their progress, till the arrival
Of Omar with the troops.
Mir. I haste, my lord. [Exit Mirvan.
Pal. Now, now, my hour's at hand!
Hearest thou those shouts, that rend the ambient
air?

Seest thou those glancing fires, that add new horrors

To the night's gloom? fresh from thy murdering

poignard,

With head erect, as if he knew not guilt,
As if no tongue spake from Alcanor's wounds,
Nor called for vengeance on him.

Mah. Impious man!

Is it not enough to have spilt thy parent-blood,
But, with atrocious and blaspheming lips,
Darest thou arraign the substitute of Heaven!
Zaph. The substitute of Heaven! so is the
sword,

The pestilence, the famine; such art thou;
Such are the blessings Heaven has sent to man
By thee its delegate; nay, more, to me.
Oh, he took pains, Palmira, upon us;
Deluded us into such monstrous crimes
As Nature sickened at conception of!-
How couldst thou damn us thus?

Mah. Babbler, avaunt!

Zaph. Well thou upbraid'st me; for to parley with thee

Half brands me coward. Oh, revenge me, friends!

Revenge Alcanor's massacre; revenge Palmira's wrongs, and crush the rancorous monster!

Mah. Hear me, ye slaves, born to obey my will!

Pal. Ah, hear him not! fraud dwells upon his tongue.

Zaph. Have at thee, fiend-Ha! Heaven! [Zaphna advancing, reels, and reclines on his sword. What cloud is this

That thwarts upon my sight? My head grows

dizzy,

My joints unloose; sure 'tis the stroke of Fate. Mah. [Aside.] The poison works! then triumph, Mahomet!

Zaph. Off, off, base lethargy!

Pal. Brother, dismayed!

Hast thou not power but in a guilty cause,
And only strength to be a parricide?

Zaph. Spare that reproach-Come on- -It will not be.

[Hangs down his sword, and reclines on Pharon.

Some cruel power unnerves my willing arm, Blasts my resolves, and weighs me down to earth. Mah. Such be the fate of all, who brave our law.

Nature and Death have heard my voice, and now
Let Heaven be judge 'twixt Zaphna and myself,
And instant blast the guilty of the two.

Pal. Brother! oh, Žaphna!
Zaph. Zaphna, now no more.

[Sinking down by Alcunor's body, and leaning
on the bier, Pharon kneeling down with
him, and supporting him.

Down, down, good Pharon--Thou poor injured

corse,

May I embrace thee? Wont thy pallid wound
Purple anew at the unnatural touch,
And ooze fresh calls for vengeance?

High heaven detests the involuntary crime,
And dooms for parricide-Then tremble, tyrant!
If the Supreme can punish errors thus,
What new-invented tortures must await
Thy soul, grown leprous with such foul offences?
But soft-now Fate and Nature are at strife—
Sister, farewell! with transport should I quit
This toilsome, perilous, delusive stage,
But that I leave thee on it: leave thee, Palmira,
Exposed to what is worse than fear can image,
That tyrant's mercy; but I know thee brave;
Know that thou'lt act a part-Look on her Hea-

ven,

Guide her, and—oh !

[Dies.

Pal. Think not, ye men of Mecca, This death inflicted by the hand of heaven; 'Tis he-that viper

Mah. Know, ye faithless wretches! 'Tis mine to deal the bolts of angry heaven; Behold them there, and let the wretch, who doubts,

Tremble at Zaphna's fate; and know, that Mahomet

Can read his thoughts, and doom him with a look. Go then, and thank your pontiff and your prince For each day's sun he grants you to behold. Hence to your temples, and appease my rage! [The people go off. Pal. Ah, stay! my brother's murdered by this tyrant :

By poison, not by piety, he kills.

Mah. 'Tis done- Thus ever be our law received!

Now, fair Palmira

Pal. Monster! is it thus,

[Apart.

Thou makest thyself a god, by added crimes,
And murders justified by sacrilege?

Mah. Think, exquisite Palmira! for thy sake—
Pal, Thou'st been the murderer of all my

My crimes have planted scorpions in my breast;
Here, here, I feel them. Tis in vain to brave
The host of terrors, that invade my soul:
I might deceive the world, myself I cannot.

Ali. Be calm a while, my lord; think what you are.

Mah. Ha! what am I? [Turning to the bodies. Ye breathless family,

Let your loud crying wounds say what I am.
Oh! snatch me from that sight; quick, quick
transport me

To nature's loneliest mansion, where the sun
Ne'er entered, where the sound of human tread
Was never heard-But wherefore? still I there,
There still, shall find myself-Ay, that's the hell!
I'll none on't.
[Drawing his sword.
Ali. Heavens! help, hold him!

[Ali, &c. disarm him.

Mah. Paltry dastards!

You fled the foe, but can disarm your master!
Angel of death, whose power I've long proclaimed,
Now aid me, if thou canst; now, if thou canst,
Draw the kind curtain of eternal night,
And shroud me from the horrors, that beset me!
[Exeunt Mahomet, &c.

Pha. Oh! what a curse is life, when self-conviction

Flings our offences hourly in our face,
And turns existence torturer to itself!
Here let the mad enthusiast turn his eyes,
And see from bigotry what horrors rise;
Here in the blackest colours let him read,
That zeal, by craft misled, may act a deed,
By which both innocence and virtue bleed.

Exeunt omnes.

SCENE I.-The palace.

Enter SIGISMUNDA and LAURA. Sig. Аn, fatal day to Sicily! the king Touches his last moments!

Laura. So 'tis feared.

Sig. The death of those distinguished by their station,

But by their virtue more, awakes the mind
To solemn dread, and strikes a saddening awe;
Not that we grieve for them, but for ourselves,
Left to the toil of life-And yet the best
Are, by the playful children of this world,
At once forgot, as they had never been.
Laura, 'tis said, the heart is sometimes charged
With a prophetic sadness: such, methinks,
Now hangs on mine. The king's approaching
death

Suggests a thousand fears. What troubles thence
May throw the state once more into confusion,
What sudden changes in my father's house
May rise, and part me from my dearest Tancred,
Alarms my thoughts.

Laura. The fears of love-sick fancy!
Perversely busy to torment itself.

But be assured, your father's steady friendship,
Joined to a certain genius, that commands,
Not kneels to fortune, will support and cherish,
Here, in the public eye of Sicily,

This, I may call him, his adopted son,
The noble Tancred, formed to all his virtues.
Sig. Ah, formed to charm his daughter !—
This fair morn

Has tempted far the chase. Is he not yet
Returned?

Laura. No. When your father to the king,
Who now expiring lies, was called in haste,
He sent each way his messengers to find him;
With such a look of ardour and impatience,
As if this near event was to count Tancred
Of more importance than I comprehend.

Sig. There lies, my Laura, o'er my Tancred's

birth

A cloud I cannot pierce. With princely accost,
Nay, with respect, which oft I have observed,
Stealing, at times, submissive o'er his features,
In Belmont's woods my father reared this youth-
Ah, woods! where first my artless bosom learned
The sighs of love.-He gives him out the son
Of an old friend, a baron of Apulia,

Who, in the late crusado, bravely fell.
But then 'tis strange; is all his family
As well as father dead? and all their friends,
Except my sire, the generous good Siffredi ?
Had he a mother, sister, brother, left,
The last remain of kindred, with what pride,
What rapture, might they fly o'er earth and sea,
To claim this rising honour of their blood!
This bright unknown, this all-accomplished youth,
Who charms too much the heart of Sigismunda!
Laura, perhaps your brother knows him better,
The friend and partner of his freest hours.
What says Rodolpho? Does he truly credit
This story of his birth?

Laura. He has sometimes,

Like you, his doubts; yet, when maturely weighed,

Believes it true. As for lord Tancred's self,
He never entertained the slightest thought
That verged to doubt; but oft laments his state,
By cruel fortune so ill paired to yours.

Sig. Merit like his, the fortune of the mind, Beggars all wealth-Then, to your brother, Laura, He talks of me?

Laura. Of nothing else. Howe'er The talk begin, it ends with Sigismunda. Their morning, noontide, and their evening walks, Are full of you, and all the woods of Belmont Enamoured with your name

Sig. Away, my friend;

You flatter-yet the dear delusion charms. Laura. No, Sigismunda, 'tis the strictest truth, Nor half the truth, I tell you. Even with fond

He praises love as if he were a lover.
He blames the false pursuits of vagrant youth,
Calls them gay folly, a mistaken struggle
Against best judging nature. Heaven, he says,
In lavish bounty formed the heart for love;
In love included all the finer seeds

Of honour, virtue, friendship, purest bliss-
Sig. Virtuous Rodolpho!

Laura. Then his pleasing theme
He varies to the praises of your lover

Sig. And, what, my Laura, says he on the subject?

Laura. He says, that, though he was not nobly born,

Nature has formed him noble, generous, brave,
Truly magnanimous, and warmly scorning
Whatever bears the smallest taint of baseness;
That every easy virtue is his own;
Not learned by painful labour, but inspired,
Implanted in his soul. Chiefly one charm
He in his graceful character observes;

That though his passions burn with high impa

tience,

And sometimes, from a noble heat of nature, Are ready to fly off; yet the least check

VOL. I.

Of ruling reason brings them back to temper,
And gentle softness.

Sig. True! Oh, true, Rodolpho!
Blest be thy kindred worth for loving his!
He is all warmth, all amiable fire,
All quick heroic ardour! tempered soft
With gentleness of heart, and manly reason!
If virtue were to wear a human form,
To light it with her dignity and flame,
Then softening, mix her smiles and tender graces—
Oh, she would choose the person of my Tancred!
Go on, my friend, go on, and ever praise him;
The subject knows no bounds, nor can I tire,
While my breast trembles to that sweetest mu-
sic!

The heart of woman tastes no truer joy,

Is never flattered with such dear enchantment-
'Tis more than selfish vanity-as when
She hears the praises of the man she loves!
Laura. Madam, your father comes.

is sudden;

He was this morning well, when to the chase
Lord Tancred went.

Sif. 'Tis true. But at his years

Death gives short notice-Drooping nature then,
Without a gust of pain to shake it, falls.
His death, my daughter, was that happy period
Which few attain. The duties of his day
Were all discharged, and gratefully enjoyed
Its noblest blessings; calm as evening skies
Was his pure mind, and lighted up with hopes
That open heaven; when, for his last long sleep
Timely prepared, a lassitude of life,
A pleasing weariness of mortal joy,
Fell on his soul, and down he sunk to rest.
Oh, may my death be such!-He but one wish
Left unfulfilled, which was to see count Tancred--
Sig. To see count Tancred!—Pardon me, my
lord-

Sif. For what, my daughter?-But, with such emotion,

Why did you start at mention of count Tancred? Sig. Nothing-I only hoped the dying king Might mean to make some generous just provision For this your worthy charge, this noble orphan.

Sif. And he has done it largely-Leave me