Class PR448 
 
 Book >Q7 
 
 I 873 
 
 
 
/ 
 
 
 OSORIO: 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 -AfCflf 
 
080RI0 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 As Originally Written in 1797 
 
 SAMUEL TATLOE COLERIDGE 
 
 NOW FIRST PRINTED FROM A COPT RECENTLY DISCOVERED BY TBE 
 
 PUBLISHER WITH THE VARIORUM READINGS OF " REMORSE" 
 
 AND A MONOGRAPH ON THE HISTORY OF THE PLAY 
 
 IN ITS EARLIER AND LATER FORM BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF " TENNYSONIANA" 
 
 LONDON 
 
 JOHN PEARSON YORK STREET COVENT CxARDEN 
 
 1873 
 
A 
 
 % 
 
 t^\ 
 
 A 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY JAS. WADE, 
 
 TAVISTOCK STKEET, COVES T GARDEN. 
 
 

 DEDICATED, 
 
 BY PEEMISSION, 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 SIE JOHN DUKE COLERIDGE, 
 
 ar.P. FOE EXETER, 
 
 H.M.'S ATTQENEY-GENEEAL, &C, &C, 
 
 BY HIS 
 
 OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL SERVANT, 
 
 THE . PUBLISHER. 
 
 York Street, Covent Garden. 
 August, 1873. 
 
A Monograph on 
 
 COLEBIDGE'S "OSOKIO." 
 
 In the summer of 1797 two of the greatest of 
 modern English poets, Coleridge and Wordsworth, 
 met for the first time at Eacedown in Dorsetshire. 
 Wordsworth was in his twenty- eighth and Coleridge 
 in his twenty-fifth year, in the spring-tide of his 
 creative faculty. He had come over on a visit to 
 Wordsworth from Nether- Stowey in Somerset- 
 shire, where he had been engaged in writing the 
 tragedy of Osorio. Wordsworth was also occupied 
 with a tragedy, The Borderers, which was com- 
 pleted in the following November, offered to the 
 managers of Covent Garden Theatre, and sum- 
 marily rejected by them, and which only saw the 
 light forty- five years afterwards. 
 
 The story of the fortunes and misfortunes of 
 Coleridge's Osorio, with which alone we are con- 
 cerned here, will take longer to tell.. 
 
VI A MONOGRAPH ON 
 
 Charles Lamb writes to Coleridge (June 
 13th, 1797):— "Lloyd tells me that Sheridan 
 put you upon writing your tragedy. I hope 
 you are only Coleridgeizing when you talk of 
 finishing it in a few days. Shakespeare was a 
 more modest man ; but you best know your own 
 power." 
 
 During the time of the visit above-mentioned, 
 Miss Wordsworth writes from Eacedown to a 
 friend : — " After tea he (Coleridge) repeated 
 to us two acts and a half of his tragedy, 
 Osorio" Coleridge writing at the time of this 
 visit to his friend Cottle (June, 1797) says : — 
 "He (Wordsworth) admires my tragedy, which 
 gives me great hopes." 
 
 In a letter received by Cottle from Coleridge 
 soon after, he says : — " I shall now stick close to 
 my tragedy (called Osorio), and when I have 
 finished it, shall walk to Shaftesbury to spend a 
 few days with Bowles." This letter, as was 
 usual, has no date, but a letter from Words- 
 worth]* determines about the time when Cole- 
 ridge had nearly completed his play. Words- 
 worth says, under date September 13, 1797 : — 
 " Coleridge is gone over to Bowles with 
 his tragedy, which he has finished to the 
 
COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. VU 
 
 middle of the fifth Act. He set off a week 
 ago."* 
 
 In the meantime, Wordsworth himself was hard 
 at work on The Borderers. Both the poets, how- 
 ever, were doomed to witness the disappointment 
 of their hopes. 
 
 " William's play," says Miss Wordsworth 
 (20th Nov., 1797), " is finished, and sent to the 
 managers of the Covent Garden Theatre. We 
 have not the faintest expectation that it will be 
 accepted." On 21st Dec. she writes : — " We have 
 been in London : our business was the play ; and 
 the play is rejected. It was sent to one of the 
 principal actors at Covent Garden, who expressed 
 great approbation, and advised William strongly 
 to go to London to make certain alterations." 
 " Coleridge's play," she adds, ** is also rejected ;" 
 and for this she expresses great sorrow and dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 In the following year (1798) two scenes from 
 Osorio, under the titles of The Dungeon and The 
 Foster-Mother* s Tale, were published, together with 
 other pieces by Coleridge, in the volume of Lyrical 
 
 * Early Recollections, chiefly relating to the late Samuel 
 Taylor Coleridge, during his long residence in Bristol. By 
 Joseph Cottle. Lond., 1837. Pp. 234,235. 
 
VU1 A MONOGRAPH ON 
 
 Ballads which he produced conjointly with Words- 
 worth. Here, with the omission of some of the 
 opening lines of the latter scene, they continued 
 to appear in the successive editions of 1800, 1802, 
 and 1805. 
 
 " The manuscript of Osorio" says Mr. Gillman, 
 " had been sent to Sheridan, who did not even 
 acknowledge the receipt of the letter which 
 accompanied the drama ; he, however, observed 
 to a friend that he had received a play from 
 Coleridge, but there was one extraordinary line 
 in the Cave Scene, drip, drip, which he could 
 not understand : ' in short,' said he, ' it is all 
 dripping.' This was the only notice he took of 
 the play ; but the comment was at length repeated 
 to the author through the medium of a third 
 party."* 
 
 In reference to this celebrated story, the accom- 
 plished daughter of the poet writes as follows : — 
 
 " The * dripping,' whatever its unction may once 
 have been, is stale enough now; but the story 
 has freshness in it yet. Such neglects as that of 
 Mr. Sheridan in not returning the MS. of Remorse 
 are always excusable in public men of great and 
 
 * Gillman's Life of Coleridge (Pickering, 1838), p. 265. 
 
COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. IX 
 
 various occupation ; but the lesson to the 
 literary aspirant is just the same as if he had 
 been ever so blameable. 
 
 " I repeat this story as told by Mr. Coleridge 
 himself, because it has been otherwise told by 
 others. I have little doubt that it was more 
 pointedly than faithfully told to him, and can 
 never believe that Mr. Sheridan represented a 
 ludicrous line as a fair specimen of the whole 
 play, or his tenacious adherence to it as the reason 
 
 for its rejection However, in lighter moods, 
 
 my father laughed at Sheridan's joke as much as 
 any of his auditors could have done in 1806, and 
 repeated with great effect and mock solemnity, 
 
 " ' Drip ! — Drip ! — Drip ! — nothing but dripping.' 
 
 When first written this play had been called 
 Osorio, from the principal character, whose name 
 my father afterwards improved into Ordonio. I 
 believe he in some degree altered, if he did not 
 absolutely recast, the three last acts after the 
 failure with Mr. Sheridan, who probably led him 
 to see their unfitness for theatrical representation. 
 But of this point I have not certain knowledge. 
 .... After all, I am happy to think that this 
 drama is a strain of poetry, and like all, not only 
 
X A MONOGRAPH ON 
 
 dramatic poems, but highly poetic dramas, not to 
 be fully appreciated on the stage."* 
 
 On the stage, nevertheless, after a lapse of 
 fifteen years, it was destined to be performed with 
 brilliant success, at the very theatre where it had 
 before been so ignominiously rejected. This happy 
 result was owing mainly to the good offices of 
 Lord Byron, whose interest at the newly-rebuilt 
 house secured its acceptance. The generous aid 
 so opportunely extended by the noble poet to his 
 less fortunate brother is one of the pleasantest 
 episodes in the history of the much-maligned 
 author of Childe Harold. 
 
 In Crabb Bobinson's Diary we find the follow- 
 ing entry, under date Nov. 3rd, 1812 : — " Coleridge 
 informs me that his tragedy is accepted at Drury 
 Lane. Whitbread admires it exceedingly, and 
 Arnold, the manager, is confident of its success." 
 
 Under date " Keswick, Jan. 17, 1813," Southey 
 writes to his friend C. W. Wynn: — " Coleridge's 
 tragedy, which Sheridan and Kemble rejected 
 fifteen years ago, will come out in about a fortnight 
 at Drury Lane." 
 
 * Biographical Supplement to the Biographia Literaria 
 (1847). By the late Sara Coleridge. Pp. 412—415. 
 
COLERIDGE S OSORIO. Xi 
 
 After its successful appearance, Southey wrote 
 to Grosvenor Bedford (Jan. 27, 1813) :— "I never 
 doubted that Coleridge's play would meet with a 
 triumphant reception. Be it known and remem- 
 bered hereafter, that this self- same play, having 
 had no other alterations made in it now than 
 Coleridge was willing to have made in it then, was 
 rejected in 1797 by Sheridan and Kemble. Had 
 these sapient caterers for the public brought 
 it forward at that time, it is by no means 
 improbable that the author might have pro- 
 duced a play as good every season; with my 
 knowledge of Coleridge's habits I verily believe 
 he would."* 
 
 The tragedy, which had been remodelled with 
 a view to stage effect, was performed for the first 
 time, under the title of Remorse, at Drury Lane 
 Theatre on Saturday, Jan. 23, 1813. The Pro- 
 logue was written by Charles Lamb, and the 
 Epilogue by the author himself. The success was 
 immediate and decisive, and the play had a run of 
 twenty nights. The cast of the characters was as 
 follows : — 
 
 * Soutfiey's Life and Correspondence (LoncL, 1850), iv., 
 12, 13. 
 
Xll A MONOGRAPH ON 
 
 Marquis Valdez, Father to the two } ™ p 
 
 brothers, and Donna Teresa's Guardian ) 
 
 Don Alt ae, the eldest son Mr. Elliston. 
 
 Don Ordonio, the youngest son Mr. Bae. 
 
 Monviedro. a Dominican and Inquisitor . Mr. Powell. 
 Zulimez, the faithful attendant on Alvar . Mr. Crooke. 
 Isidore, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a) M -p. ~ 
 
 Christian ... ... ... ^ j Me. Db Camp. 
 
 Familiars op the Inquisition. 
 
 Naomi Mr. Wallace. 
 
 Moors and Servants, &c. 
 
 Donna Teresa, an Orphan Heiress Miss Smith. 
 
 Alhadra, wife to Isidore Mrs. Glover. 
 
 Crabb Robinson thus records his presence on 
 the first night : — 
 
 "Jan. 23rd, 1813. — In the evening at Drury 
 Lane, to see the first performance of Coleridge's 
 
 tragedy, Memorse My interest for the 
 
 play was greater than in the play, and my 
 anxiety for its success took from me the feeling 
 of a mere spectator. I have no hesitation in say- 
 ing that its poetical is far greater than its dramatic 
 merit, that it owes its success rather to its faults 
 than to its beauties, and that it will have for its 
 less meritorious qualities applause which is really 
 due to its excellences. Coleridge's great fault 
 is that he indulges before the public in those 
 metaphysical and philosophical speculations which 
 are becoming only in solitude or with select minds. 
 His two principal characters are philosophers of 
 
COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. Xlll 
 
 Coleridge's own school ; the one a sentimental 
 moralist, the other a sophisticated villain — both 
 are dreamers. Two experiments made by Alvar 
 on his return, the one on his mistress by relating 
 a dream, and the other when he tries to kindle 
 remorse in the breast of Ordonio, are too fine- 
 spun to be intelligible. So when Ordonio 
 enigmatically reproaches Isidore with his guilt, 
 he tries the cunning of his audience to find out 
 his drift. However, in spite of these faults, of 
 the improbability of the action, of the clumsy con- 
 trivance with the picture, and the too ornate and 
 poetic diction throughout, the tragedy was received 
 with great and almost unmixed applause, and was 
 announced for repetition without any opposition." 
 The following notice in the Examiner* we may 
 suppose to have been written by Leigh Hunt : — 
 " The fable is managed and developed with a 
 rapidity which never languishes, an intelligibility 
 which a child might follow, and a surprise which 
 would keep awake the most careless attention. 
 The skill, indeed, with which the situations are 
 disposed, so as to create effect, would have done 
 honour to a veteran dramatist; for this, we 
 suppose, Mr. Coleridge is indebted to his 
 
 * January 31, 1813. 
 
XIV A MONOGRAPH ON 
 
 acquaintance with the German drama, which, in 
 the hands of Schiller at least, redeems all its 
 faults by its excellence, and among its other 
 striking beauties, abounds in the picturesque. 
 We never saw more interest excited in a theatre 
 than was expressed at the sorcery-scene in the 
 third act. The altar flaming in the distance, the 
 solemn invocation, the pealing music of the mystic 
 song, altogether produced a combination so awful 
 as nearly to overpower reality, and make one half 
 believe the enchantment which delighted our 
 senses. The characters most laboured by the 
 author are Ordonio and Alhadra. Both are 
 developed with a force of thinking and a power 
 of poetry which have been long strangers to the 
 stage, and the return of which we hail as the 
 omen of better days. In none of his works has 
 Mr. Coleridge exhibited so much of his senti- 
 mental and descriptive power, so little deformed 
 with his peculiar affectations. His images have 
 his usual truth and originality without their usual 
 meanness : his tenderness is as exquisite as in his 
 best pieces, and does not degenerate into his usual 
 whining." 
 
 The following criticism of Remorse is from the 
 Times of Monday, Jan. 25, 1813 :— 
 
COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. XV 
 
 "The drama was presented for the first time 
 on Saturday, and called, or in the more scru- 
 pulous phrase of the author, is to be called, Re- 
 morse. The plot was singularly involved and 
 laboured. . . . 
 
 " Mr. Coleridge is a poet, and it would be next 
 to impossible that a work of his could be utterly 
 destitute of poetic value ; but he is one of a school 
 whose conceptions scorn the bounds of humble 
 taste, and his ' vaulting ambition hath o'erleapt 
 them all.' There are, however, intermingled with 
 those fierce ventures, occasional passages of true 
 poetic cadence. The speech of the Moresco 
 woman, describing her imprisonment, is a strong 
 and deep picture of feelings that could scarcely be 
 coloured too strongly. Her story of her husband's 
 murder is finely told ; her eager listening, — her 
 hearing his last groan from the bottom of the 
 chasm, — her finding his sword, — and her solemn 
 determination to have blood for blood, did honour 
 to the capacity that conceived and expressed them ; 
 and in defiance of the foolish blasphemy, in which 
 she is made to talk about ' plucking the dead out 
 of Heaven,' and other exploded plagiarisms from 
 the German school, the whole dialogue of the part 
 received great applause. 
 
XVI A MONOGRAPH ON 
 
 . . . . " We speak with restraint and unwil- 
 lingly of the defects of a work which must have 
 cost its author so much labour. We are peculiarly 
 reluctant to touch the anxieties of a man who 
 has already exhibited talent, and whose various 
 acquirements and manly application of them 
 deserve the favour of those who value literature. 
 But to conceal the truth is only to do final injury, 
 and it must be acknowledged that this drama has 
 sins, nay, a multitude, almost beyond the covering 
 of charity. Its first fault is its unwieldy length : 
 it was almost five hours long. Its next is its 
 passion for laying hold of everything that could 
 allow an apology for a description. Murderers 
 stop short with the dagger in their hands to talk 
 of ' roses on mountain sides ;' fathers start back 
 from their children to moralise ; and a lover, in 
 the outrage of disappointed love, lingers to tell 
 at what hour of the day he parted from his 
 mistress, — how she smiled, and how the sun 
 smiled, — how its light fell upon the valleys, and 
 the sheep, and the vineyards, and the lady, — and 
 how red her tears were in ' the slant beam.' This 
 may be poetical, but it has no connexion with 
 the plain, rapid, and living truth of the drama. 
 There is an essential difference in those two 
 
COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. XVli 
 
 branches of the art. With the mere poet, time 
 is as nothing, — he may wonder and rest, and 
 indulge his eye — like a pilgrim offer his hymn at 
 every shrine by the way — and then resume his 
 sandals and his staff, and pace onward to the 
 altar of his patron. To the dramatist, time 
 is as everything. He has not a moment to waste, 
 — he carries an important mission, — life and 
 death are hanging on his steps, — and he musl 
 speed forward without venturing to turn his eye 
 from that spot in the horizon which at every 
 moment enlarges as he speeds, and where his 
 coming is to agitate or appease so many hearts. 
 We are slow to speak of faults as applied to this 
 writer : but he has not yet learned this value of 
 time. His plot is intolerably curved and circuitous, 
 indistinct beyond all power of pleasurable appre- 
 hension, and broken beyond all reach of continued 
 
 interest 
 
 " The Prologue was, we hope, by some ' d d 
 
 good-natured friend,' who had an interest in 
 injuring the play;* it was abominable. The 
 
 * Poor Lamb ! One can imagine the mingled dismay and 
 amusement with which he must have read the above pleasant 
 piece of criticism; and the jokes that Avere doubtless cut on 
 the subject at his next Wednesday evening supper. — Ed. 
 
 b 
 
XV111 A MONOGRAPH ON 
 
 Epilogue seemed to come from the same hand, 
 and had precisely the same merits. It seemed to 
 be composed for the express purpose of trying 
 how many pure stupidities might be comprised in 
 fifty lines, and how far Miss Smith's popularity 
 might be proof against her performance. This 
 specimen of her recitation was singularly lachry- 
 mose and lamentable. The applause was violent 
 at the fall of the curtain." 
 
 The Morning Post of the same date says : — 
 " The Epilogue is lively, and makes several happy 
 hits at some of the reigning follies of the day." 
 
 The Theatrical Inquisitor for February, 1813, 
 says : — " The Prologue and Epilogue were among 
 the most stupid productions of the modern muse ; 
 the former was in all probability a Eejected 
 Address, for it contained many eulogiums on the 
 beauty and magnificence of the ' dome ' of Drury ; 
 talked of the waves being not quite dry, and 
 expressed the happiness of the bard at being the 
 first whose muse had soared within its limits. 
 More stupid than the doggerel of Twiss, and more 
 affected than the pretty verses of Miles Peter 
 Andrews, the Epilogue proclaimed its author and 
 the writer of the Prologue to be par nobile fratrum, 
 in rival dulness both pre-eminent." 
 
COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. XIX 
 
 On Feb. 14, 1813, Coleridge wrote thus to 
 his friend Poole : — " The receipt of your heart- 
 engendered lines was sweeter than an unexpected 
 strain of sweetest music ; — or in humbler phrase, 
 it was the only pleasurable sensation which the 
 
 success of the Remorse has given me No 
 
 grocer's apprentice, after his first month's per- 
 mitted riot, was ever sicker of figs and raisins than 
 I of hearing about the Remorse. The endless 
 rat-a-tat-tat at our black-and-blue bruised door, 
 and my three master fiends, proof-sheets, letters, 
 — and worse than these — invitations to large 
 dinners, which I cannot refuse without offence 
 and imputation of pride (&c), oppress me so that 
 my spirits quite sink under it. I have never 
 seen the play since the first night. It has been 
 a good thing for the theatre. They will get eight 
 or ten thousand pounds by it, and I shall get 
 more than by all my literary labours put together ; 
 nay, thrice as much." 
 
 Two years after the success of Remorse, Lord 
 Byron wrote to Coleridge from " Piccadilly, March 
 13, 1815," urging him to make a second attempt : 
 — " In Kean there is an actor worthy of express- 
 ing the thoughts of the characters which you 
 have every power of embodying, and I cannot but 
 
XX A MONOGRAPH ON 
 
 regret that tlie part of Ordonio was disposed of 
 before his appearance at Drury Lane. We have 
 had nothing to be mentioned in the same breath 
 with Remorse for very many years, and I should 
 think that the reception of that play was sufficient 
 to encourage the highest hopes of author and 
 audience." 
 
 "With the calmer criticism which the lapse of 
 half a century brings, Mr. Swinburne writes of 
 Remorse in these measured terms : — " There is 
 little worth praise or worth memory in the Remorse 
 except such casual fragments of noble verse as 
 may readily be detached from the loose and friable 
 stuff in which they lie imbedded. In the scene 
 of the incantation, in the scene of the dungeon, 
 there are two such pure and precious fragments 
 of gold. In the part of Alhadra there are lofty 
 and sonorous interludes of declamation and reflec- 
 tion. The characters are flat and shallow ; the 
 plot is at once languid, violent, and heavy." * 
 
 In the original Osorio, however, these " frag- 
 ments of noble verse" are much more numerous 
 and frequent than in the play as remodelled to 
 suit the exigencies of the stage. Speaking of the 
 
 * Swinburne's Essay on Coleridge (1860), xiv., xv. 
 
COLERIDGE S " OSORIO/ XXI 
 
 beautiful scene from the first draft of the 
 tragedy, the Foster-Mother's Tale, and of another 
 fragment omitted in the drama, but printed in an 
 appendix to the later editions, the poet's surviv- 
 ing son thus writes : — " Both these scenes appear 
 more or less necessary for the perfect understand- 
 ing of the plot. If there were many such curtail- 
 ments, or if for the sake of a more rapid action 
 the reflective character of the piece were in any 
 degree sacrificed, it might almost be regretted 
 that the rejected Osorio, for such was the original 
 title, had not been preserved as it came from the 
 author's pen."* 
 
 Now that the original Osorio is at length given 
 to the world, and placed beyond the chance of 
 future loss, the reader will see that there were many 
 such curtailments, amounting not only to innumer- 
 able verbal'differences, all the most important of 
 which are indicated in footnotes, but to the 
 omission of whole scenes of great poetic beauty 
 and the entire remodelling of others. Preserved 
 from destruction by one of those strange and 
 unaccountable freaks of chance or fortune which 
 
 * Preface to the Dramatic Works of S. T. Coleridge, by 
 the Rev. Derwent Coleridge (1852). 
 
XX11 MONOGRAPH ON " OSORIO. 
 
 seem little short of miraculous, the transcript of 
 Osorio, retained and treated with such contumely 
 by Sheridan, and long supposed to be lost, has 
 come forth from its hiding-place and reached our 
 hands. In giving publicity to this interesting 
 relic of one of the greatest of modern English 
 poets, we shall be doing a service to all who love 
 noble verse, and to all who honour and reverence 
 the name of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
 
 [The Publisher desires gratefully to acknow- 
 ledge the kind suggestions received from the 
 poet's son, the Rev. Derwent Coleridge, in the 
 course of the present undertaking.] 
 
OSORIO: 
 
 A TRAGEDY, 
 
O S O E, I O : 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 ACT THE FIKST. 
 
 Scene. — The sea shore on the coast of Granada* 
 Velez, Maria. 
 
 maeia. 
 
 I hold Osorio dear : lie is your son, 
 And Albert's brother. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Love him for himself, 
 Nor make the living wretched for the dead. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord 
 Velez ! 
 
 * For the opening scene added in the published Remorse, 
 see Appendix at the end of this volume. 
 
 B 
 
Z OSORIO : 
 
 But Heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 
 Faithful to Albert, be he dead or living. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves ; 
 And could my heart's blood give him back to thee 
 I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts ! 
 Thy dying father comes upon my soul 
 With that same look, with which he gave thee 
 
 to me : 
 I held thee in mine arms,* a powerless babe, 
 While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty 
 Fix'd her faint eyes on mine : ah, not for this, 
 That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 
 And with slow anguish wear away thy life, 
 The victim of a useless constancy. 
 I must not see thee wretched. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 There are woes 
 Ill-barter'd for the garishness of joy ! 
 If it be wretched with an untired eye 
 To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean; 
 Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, 
 My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze, 
 
 * In my arms. — Remorse (1813). 
 
A TRAGEDY. 3 
 
 To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again 
 All past hours of delight ; if it be wretched 
 To watch some bark, and fancy Albert there ; 
 To go through each minutest circumstance 
 Of the bless'd meeting, and to frame adventures 
 Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell 
 
 them: 
 (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid, 
 Who dress'd her in her buried lover's clothes, 
 And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft 
 Hung with her lute, and play'd the self-same tune 
 He used to play, and listen'd to the shadow 
 Herself had made) ; if this be wretchedness, 
 And if indeed it be a wretched thing 
 To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine 
 That I had died — died, just ere his return ; 
 Then see him listening to my constancy ; 
 And hover round, as he at midnight ever* 
 Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon ; 
 Or haply in some more fantastic mood 
 To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers 
 Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, 
 And there to wait his coming ! O my sire ! 
 My Albert's sire ! if this be wretchedness 
 
 * Or hover round, as he at midnight oft. — Remorse. 
 
4 OSORIO : 
 
 That eats away the life, what were it, think you, 
 If in a most assured reality 
 He should return, and see a brother's infant 
 Smile at him from my arms ? 
 
 [Clasjring her forehead. 
 what a thought?* 
 'Twas horrible ! it pass'd my brain like lightning. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 'Twere horrible, if but one doubt remain' d 
 The very week he promised his return. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Ah, what a busy joy was ours — to see him 
 After his three years' travels ! tho' that absence 
 His still-expected, never-failing letters 
 Almost endear' d to me ! Even then what 
 tumult !f 
 
 * The line following- is omitted in Remorse, and the reply 
 of Valdez runs : — 
 
 " A thought ? even so ! mere thought ! an empty thought, 
 The very week, &c." 
 
 f The ahove speech is thus altered in Remorse : — 
 
 Ter. {abruptly.) Was it not then a husy joy ? to see him 
 After those three years' travels ! we had no fears — 
 The frequent tidings, the ne'er-failing letter, 
 Almost endear'd his absence ! Yet the gladness, 
 The tumult of our joy ! What then if now 
 
A TRAGEDY. 
 
 VELBZ. 
 
 power of youth, to feed on pleasant thoughts 
 Spite of conviction ! I am old and heartless ! 
 Yes, I am old — I have no pleasant dreams — 
 Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest. 
 
 mama [with great tenderness].. 
 My father ! 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Aye, 'twas the morning thou didst try to cheer me 
 With a fond gaiety. My heart was bursting, 
 And yet I could not tell me, how my sleep 
 Was throng'd with swarthy faces, and I saw 
 The merchant- ship in which my son was captured — 
 Well, well, enough — captured in sight of land — 
 We might almost have seen it from our house-top ! 
 
 maria [abruptly']. 
 He did not perish there ! 
 
 velez [impatiently]. 
 
 Nay, nay — how aptly thou forgett'st a tale 
 Thou ne'er didst wish to learn — my brave Osorio 
 Saw them both founder in the storm that parted 
 
6 OSORIO : 
 
 Him and the pirate : both the vessels founder'd.* 
 
 Gallant Osorio ! 
 
 [Pauses, then tenderly. 
 
 O belov'd Maria, 
 
 Would' st thou best prove thy faith to generous 
 
 Albert 
 
 And most delight his spirit, go and makef 
 
 His brother happy, make his aged father 
 
 Sink to the grave with joy ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 For mercy's sake 
 Press me no more. I have no power to love him ! 
 
 * Ter. {with great tenderness.) My father ! 
 
 Vald. The sober truth is all too much for me ! 
 I see no sail which brings not to my mind 
 The home-bound bark in which my son was captured 
 By the Algerine— to perish with his captors ! 
 
 Ter. Oh no ! he did not ! 
 
 Vald. Captured in sight of land ! 
 
 From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch tower 
 We might have seen 
 
 Ter. His capture, not his death. 
 
 Vald. Alas ! how aptly thou forgett'st a tale 
 Thou ne'er didst wish to learn ! my brave Ordonio 
 Saw both the pirate and his prize go down, 
 In the same storm that baffled his own valour, 
 And thus twice snatch'd a brother from his hopes. — Remorse. 
 
 f Go thou, make. — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. / 
 
 His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow 
 Chill me, like dew- damps of the unwholesome 
 
 night. 
 My love, a timorous and tender flower, 
 Closes beneath his touch. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 You wrong him, maiden. 
 You wrong him, by my soul ! Nor was it well 
 To character by such unkindly phrases 
 The stir and workings of that love for you 
 Which he has toil'd to smother. 'Twas not well — 
 Nor is it grateful in you to forget 
 His wounds and perilous voyages, and how 
 With an heroic fearlessness of danger 
 He roamed the coast of Afric for your Albert. 
 It was not well — you have moved me even to tears. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 O pardon me, my father ! pardon me. 
 
 It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, 
 
 A most ungrateful speech ! But I am hurried 
 
 Beyond myself, if I but dream of one* 
 
 Who aims to rival Albert. Were we not 
 
 Born on one day, like twins of the same parent ? 
 
 * If I but hear of one. — Remorse. 
 
8 osorio : 
 
 Nursed in one cradle ? Pardon me, my father ! 
 A six years' absence is an heavy thing ; 
 Yet still the hope survives 
 
 velez [looking forwards'] . 
 Hush — hush ! Maria. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 It is Francesco, our Inquisitor ; 
 
 That busy man, gross, ignorant, and cruel ! 
 
 Enter Francesco and Alhadra. 
 
 FRANCESCO [to VELEz]. 
 
 Where is your son, my lord ! Oh ! here he comes.* 
 
 Enter Osorio. 
 My Lord Osorio ! this Moresco woman 
 (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you. 
 
 * The three preceding speeches are thus altered in 
 Bemorse : — 
 
 Void, {looking forwards.) Hush ! 'tis Monviedro. 
 Ter. The Inquisitor, on some new scent of blood ! 
 
 Enter Monviedeo with Alhadea.. 
 Monv. (Jiaving first made his obeisance to Vaedez and 
 Teeesa.) Peace and the truth he with you! 
 Good, my lord, 
 My present need is with your son. 
 
 (Looking forward. 
 We have hit the time. Here comes he ! Yes, 'tis he. 
 
A TRAGEDY. \) 
 
 OSORJO. 
 
 Hail, reverend father! What may be the 
 
 business ? 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 O the old business — a Mohammedan ! 
 
 The officers are in her husband's house, 
 
 And would have taken him, but that he mention'd 
 
 Your name, asserting that you were his friend, 
 
 Aye, and would warrant him a Catholic. 
 
 But I know well these children of perdition, 
 
 And all their idle falsehoods to gain time ; 
 
 So should have made the officers proceed, 
 
 But that this woman with most passionate outcries, 
 
 (Kneeling and holding forth her infants to me) 
 
 So work'd upon me, who (you know, my lord !) 
 
 Have human frailties, and am tender-hearted, 
 
 That I came with her. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 You are merciful.* 
 
 [Looking at Alhadra. 
 
 * Thus in Remorse : — 
 
 Ordon. Hail, reverend father ! what may he the husiness ? 
 
 Mon. My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse 
 To their false creed, so recently abjured, 
 The secret servants of the Inquisition 
 
10 0S0RI0 : 
 
 I would that I could serve you ; but in truth 
 Tour face is new to me. 
 
 [Alhadba is about to speak, but is interrupted by 
 
 FBANCESCO. 
 
 Aye, aye — I thought so ; 
 And so I said to one of the familiars. 
 A likely story, said I, that Osorio, 
 The gallant nobleman, who fought so bravely 
 Some four years past against these rebel Moors ; 
 Working so hard from out the garden of faith 
 To eradicate these weeds detestable ; 
 That he should countenance this vile Moresco, 
 
 Have seized her husband, and at my command 
 
 To the supreme tribunal would have led him, 
 
 But that he made appeal to you, my lord, 
 
 As surety for his soundness in the faith. 
 
 Tho 5 lessen'd by experience what small trust 
 
 The asseverations of these Moors deserve, 
 
 Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, 
 
 Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour 
 
 The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, 
 
 Thus far prevail'd with me that 
 
 Ord. Reverend father, 
 
 I am much beholden to your high opinion, 
 Which so o'erprizes my light services. 
 
 (then to Alhadba. 
 I would that I could serve you ; but in truth 
 Your face is new to me. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 11 
 
 Nay, be his friend — and warrant him, forsooth ! 
 Well, well, my lord ! it is a warning to me ; # 
 Now I return. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 My lord, my husband's name 
 Is Ferdinand : you may remember it. 
 Three years ago — three years this very week — 
 You left him at Almeria. 
 
 Francesco [triumphantly'] . 
 
 Palpably false ! 
 This very week, three years ago, my lord ! 
 (You needs must recollect it by your wound) 
 You were at sea, and fought the Moorish fiends 
 Who took and murder' d your poor brother 
 Albert.f 
 
 * Thus in Remorse : — 
 
 Mon. My mind foretold me 
 
 That such would he the event. In truth, Lord Valdez, 
 'Twas little probable, that Don Ordonio, 
 That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely 
 Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors, 
 Should prove the patron of this infidel ! 
 The guarantee of a Moresco's faith ! 
 Now I return. 
 
 f You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, 
 
 The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar ! — Remorse. 
 
12 OSORIO : 
 
 [Maria, holes at Francesco with disgust and 
 horror. Osorio's appearance to be collected from 
 the speech that follows. ,] 
 
 Francesco [to Yelez and pointing to Osorio]. 
 What ? is he ill, niy lord ? How strange he looks ? 
 
 velez [angrily']. 
 
 You started on him too abruptly, father ! 
 The fate of one, on whom you know he doted. 
 
 osorio [starting as in a sudden agitation]. 
 
 heavens ! I doted ! 
 
 [Then, as if recovering himself. 
 Yes ! I doted on him ! 
 [Osorio walks to the end of the stage. Yelez 
 follows soothing him.] 
 
 maria [her eye following them]. 
 
 I do not, cannot love him. Is my heart hard ? 
 Is my heart hard ? that even now the thought 
 Should force itself upon me — yet I feel it ! 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 The drops did start and stand upon his forehead 
 I will return — in very truth I grieve 
 
A TRAGEDY. 13 
 
 To have been the occasion. Ho ! attend me, 
 woman ! 
 
 ALHADRA [to MABIA]. 
 
 O gentle lady, make the father stay 
 Till that my lord recover.* I am sure 
 That he will say he is my husband's Mend. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Stay, father, stay — my lord will soon recover. 
 
 [Osorio and Yelez returning. 
 
 osorio [to Velez as they return]. 
 
 Strange ! that this Francesco 
 Should have the power so to distemper me. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son ! 
 
 FRANCESCO [to OSORIO]. 
 
 My lord, I truly grieve 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Tut ! name it not. 
 A sudden seizure, father ! think not of it. 
 
 * Until my lord recover. — Remorse. 
 
14 OSORIO : 
 
 As to this woman's husband, I do know him : 
 I know him well, and that he is a Christian. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 I hope, my lord, your sensibility* 
 Doth not prevail. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Nay, nay. You know me better. 
 You hear what I have said. But 'tis a trifle. 
 I had something here of more importance. 
 [Touching his forehead as if in the act of recollection. 
 
 Hah! 
 The Count Mondejar, our great general, 
 Writes, that the bishop we were talking of 
 Has sicken' d dangerously. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 Even so. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 I must return my answer. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 When, my lord ? 
 * Your merely human pity. — Bemorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 15 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 To-morrow morning, and shall not forget 
 How bright and strong your zeal for the Catholic 
 faith. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 You are too kind, my lord ! You overwhelm me. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Nay, say not so. As for this Ferdinand,* 
 
 'Tis certain that he was a Catholic. 
 
 What changes may have happen' d in three years, 
 
 I cannot say, but grant me this, good father ! 
 
 I'll go and sift him :f if I find him sound, 
 
 You'll grant me your authority and name 
 
 To liberate his house. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 My lord you have it .% 
 
 * The twelve preceding lines are omitted in the printed 
 Remorse, which runs on : — 
 
 M011. I hope, my lord, your merely human pity 
 Doth not prevail 
 
 Ord. 'Tis certain that he was a Catholic, &c. 
 
 f Myself I'll sift him. — Remorse. 
 
 X This speech is thus amplified in Remorse : — 
 Your zeal, my lord, 
 And your late merits in this holy warfare 
 Would authorize an ampler trust — you have it. 
 
16 OSOEIO : 
 
 osoeio [to alhadea] 
 I will attend you home within an hour. 
 Meantime return with us, and take refreshment.* 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 Not till my husband's free, I may not do it. 
 I will stay here. 
 
 maeia [aside]. 
 
 Who is this Ferdinand ? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Daughter ! 
 
 MAEIA. 
 
 With your permission, my dear lord, 
 I'll loiter a few minutes, and then join you.f 
 
 [Exeunt Yelez, Feancesco, and Osoeio. 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 Hah ! there he goes. A bitter curse go with him, 
 A scathing curse ! 
 
 [Alhadea had been betrayed by the warmth of 
 her feelings into an imprudence. She checks herself, 
 yet recollecting Maeia's manner towards Feancesco, 
 says in a shy and distrustful manner] 
 
 You hate him, don't you, lady ! 
 
 * The second line of this speech is assigned to Valdez in 
 Remorse. 
 
 f I'll loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze. — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 17 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Nay, fear me not ! my heart is sad for you. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 These fell Inquisitors, these sons of blood ! 
 As I came on, his face so madden' d me 
 That ever and anon I clutch' d my dagger 
 And half unsheathed it. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Be more calm, I pray you. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 And as he stalk' d* along the narrow path 
 Close onf the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager. 
 'Twas with hard toil I made myself remember 
 That his foul officers J held my babes and husband. 
 To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge 
 And hurl'd him down the ragged precipice, 
 O — it had been most sweet ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Hush, hush ! for shame. 
 Where is your woman's heart ? 
 
 * walk'd — Remorse. 
 f Close by.— lb. 
 I his familiars. — lb. 
 
18 
 
 OSORIO 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 gentle lady ! 
 You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, 
 Many and strange. Besides I am a Christian, 
 And they do never pardon,* 'tis their faith ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Shame fall on those who so have shown it to 
 thee! 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 I know that man ; 'tis well he knows not me ! 
 Five years ago, and he was the prime agent. 
 Five years ago the Holy Brethren seized me. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 What might your crime be ? 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Solely my complexion. f 
 They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, 
 Into a dungeon of their prison house. 
 There was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, 
 ~No touch, no sound of comfort ! The black air, 
 
 * Christians never pardon. — Remorse. 
 
 f I was a Moresco ! 
 They cast me, &c. — lb. 
 
TRAGEDY. 19 
 
 It was a toil to breathe it ! I have seen 
 
 The gaoler's lamp, the moment that he enter' d, 
 
 How the flame sunk at once down to the socket.* 
 
 miserable, by that lamp to see 
 
 My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread 
 Brought daily : for the little wretch was sickly — 
 My rage had dried away its natural food ! 
 In darkness I remain'd, counting the clocksf 
 Which haply told me that the blessed sun 
 Was rising on my garden. When I dozed, 
 My infant's moanings mingled with my dreams £ 
 And waked me. If you were a mother, lady, 
 
 1 should scarce dare to tell you, that its noises 
 And peevish cries so fretted on my brain 
 That I have struck the innocent babe in anger ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 O G-od ! § it is too horrible to hear ! 
 
 * It was a toil to breathe it ! When the door, 
 Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed 
 One human countenance, the lamp's red flame 
 Cower'd as it enter'd and at once sank down. — Remorse. 
 
 f counting the bell. — lb. 
 
 X with my slumbers. — lb. 
 
 § O Heaven ! &c. — lb. 
 
20 OSORIO : 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 What was it then to suffer ? 'Tis most right 
 That such as you should hear it. Know you not 
 What Nature makes you mourn, she bids you 
 
 heal? 
 Great evils ask great passions to redress them, 
 And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 You were at length deliver' d ?* 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Yes, at length 
 I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven. 
 'Twas the first time my infant smiled ! No more. 
 For if I dwell upon that moment, lady, 
 A fit comes on,f which makes me o'er again 
 All I then was, my knees hang loose and drag, 
 And my lip falls with such an idiot laugh 
 That you would start and shudder ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 But your husband ? 
 
 * You were at length released ? — Remorse. 
 t A trance comes on. — lb, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 21 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 A month's imprisonment would kill him, lady ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Alas, poor man ! 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 He hath a lion's courage, 
 But is not stern enough for fortitude.* 
 Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart 
 He worships Nature in the hill and valley, 
 Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all ! 
 
 [Enter Albert disguised as a Moresco, and in 
 Moorish garments.'] 
 
 albert [not observing maria and alhadra]. 
 
 Three weeks have I been loitering here, nor ever 
 Have summon' d up my heart to ask one question, 
 Or stop one peasant passing on this way.f 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Know you that man ? 
 
 * He hath a lion's courage, 
 Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance. — Remorse. 
 
 f This speech is omitted in Remorse. 
 
22 
 
 030RIO 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 His person, not his name. 
 I doubt not, he is some Moresco chieftain 
 Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras. 
 A week has scarcely pass'd since first I saw him ; 
 He has new-roof'd the desolate old cottage 
 Where Zagri lived — who dared avow the prophet 
 And died like one of the faithful ! There he lives, 
 And a friend with him. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Does he know his danger 
 So near this seat ? 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 He wears the Moorish robes too, 
 As in defiance of the royal edict. 
 
 [Alhadra advances to Albert, who has walked 
 to the bach of the stage near the rocks. Maria drops 
 her veil.'} 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Gallant Moresco ! you are near the castle 
 Of the Lord Velez, and hard by does dwell 
 A priest, the creature of the Inquisition.* 
 
 * The four preceding speeches are thus altered in 
 Remorse : — 
 
 Ter. Know you that stately Moor ? 
 Alhad. I know him not : 
 
A TRAGEDY. 23 
 
 albeet [retiring]. 
 You have mistaken me — I am a Christian. 
 
 ALHADRA [to MARIA]. 
 
 He deems that we are plotting to ensnare him. 
 Speak to him, lady ! none can hear you speak 
 And not believe yon innocent of guile. 
 [Albert, on hearing this, pauses and turns round. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 If aught enforce you to concealment, sir ! 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 He trembles strangely. 
 
 [Albert sinks down and hides his face in his 
 garment.'] 
 
 But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, 
 Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras. 
 
 Ter. The Alpuxarras ? Does he know his danger, 
 So near this seat ? 
 
 Alhad. He wears the Moorish robes too, 
 
 As in defiance of the royal edict. 
 
 [Alhadea advances to Alvae, who has walked to the 
 back of the stage near the rocks. Teeesa drops her 
 veil.] 
 Alhad. Gallant Moresco ! An inquisitor,. 
 Monviedro, of known batred to our race 
 
24 
 
 OSORIO : 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 See — we have disturb' d him. 
 
 [Approaches nearer to him. 
 I pray you, think us friends — uncowl your face, 
 For you seem faint, and the night-breeze blows 
 
 healing. 
 I pray you, think us friends ! 
 
 albert [raising his head]. 
 
 Calm — very calm ; 
 'Tis all too tranquil for reality ! 
 And she spoke to me with her innocent voice. 
 That voice ! that innocent voice ! She is no 
 
 traitress ! # 
 It was a dream, a phantom of my sleep, 
 A lying dream. 
 
 [He starts up, and abruptly addresses her. 
 Maria ! you are not wedded ? 
 
 Maria [haughtily to alhadra]. 
 Let us retire. 
 
 [They advance to the front of the stage. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 He is indeed a Christian. 
 
 * The rest of the speech is omitted in Remorse. 
 f The rest of this speech and the two following speeches 
 are omitted in Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 25 
 
 Some stray Sir Knight, that falls in love of a 
 sudden. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 What can this mean ? How should he know my 
 
 name? 
 It seems all shadowy. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Here he comes again. 
 
 albert [aside]. 
 She deems me dead, and yet no mourning 
 
 garment ! # 
 Why should my brother's wife wear mourning 
 
 garments ? 
 God of all mercy, make me, make me quiet !f 
 
 [To Maria. 
 Tour pardon, gentle maid! X that I disturb'd you. 
 I had just started from a frightful dream. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 These renegado Moors — how soon they learn 
 
 * yet wears no mourning garment. — Remorse. 
 
 f This line is omitted in Remorse. 
 
 X Your pardon, noble dame ! — Remorse. 
 
26 osorio : 
 
 The crimes and follies of their Christia.ii 
 tyrants !* 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I lean'd 
 With blindest trust, and a betrothed maid 
 Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me, 
 For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her ! 
 This maid so idolized, that trusted friend, 
 Polluted in my absencef soul and body ! 
 And she with him and he with her conspired 
 To have me murder'd in a wood of the mountains : X 
 
 * For the above speech the three following are substituted 
 in the published Remorse : — 
 
 Ter. Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis said, 
 They prophesy — 
 
 Alv. The Past lives o'er again 
 
 In its effects, and to the guilty spirit, 
 The ever frowning Present is its image. 
 Ter. Traitress ! {then aside) 
 
 What sudden spell o'ermasters me ? 
 Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman. 
 
 [Teresa looks round uneasily, hut gradually hecomes 
 attentive as Alvar proceeds in the next speech. 
 
 f Dishonour' d in my absence. — Remorse. 
 
 X For the above two lines the two following were substi- 
 tuted in Remorse : — 
 
 Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, 
 And murderers were suborn'd against my life. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 27 
 
 But by my looks and most impassion'd words 
 I roused tlie virtues, that are dead in no man, 
 Even in the assassins' hearts. They made their 
 
 terms, 
 And thank' d me for redeeming them from murder. 
 
 ALHADRA [to MARIA.]. 
 
 You are lost in thought. Hear him no more, 
 sweet lady ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 From morn to night I am myself a dreamer, 
 And slight things bring on me the idle mood. 
 Well, sir, what happen'd then ? 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 On a rude rock, 
 A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs 
 Whose threaddy leaves to the low breathing gale 
 Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean, 
 I stay'd as tho' the hour of death were past, 
 And I were sitting in the world of spirits, 
 For all things seem'd unreal ! There I sate. 
 The dews fell clammy, and the night descended, 
 Black, sultry, close ! and ere the midnight hour 
 A storm came on, mingling all sounds of fear 
 
28 
 
 OSORIO 
 
 That woods and sky and mountains seem'd one 
 
 havock ! 
 The second flash of lightning show'd-ft-4ree 
 Hard by me, newly-scathed. I rose tumultuous : 
 My soul work'd high : I bared my head to the 
 
 storm, 
 And with loud voice and clamorous agony 
 Kneeling I pray'd to the great Spirit that 
 
 made me, 
 Pray'd that Eemorse might fasten on their hearts, 
 And cling, with poisonous tooth, inextricable 
 As the gored lion's bite ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 A fearful curse ! 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 But dreamt you not that you return'd and kill'd 
 
 him?* 
 Dreamt you of no revenge ? 
 
 albert [his voice trembling, and in tones of deep 
 
 She would have died, 
 Died in her sinsf — perchance, by her own hands ! 
 
 * and kill'd them. — Remorse. 
 f Died in her guilt. — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 29 
 
 Arid bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds 
 I might have met the evil glance of frenzy 
 And leapt myself into an unblest grave ! 
 I pray'd for the punishment that cleanses hearts, 
 For still I loved her ! 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 And you dreamt all this ? 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 My soul is full of visions, all is wild !* 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 There is no room in this heart for puling love-tales. 
 Lady ! your servants there seem seeking us.f 
 
 maria [lifts wp her veil and advances to albert]. 
 
 Stranger, farewell ! I guess not who you are, 
 Nor why you so address'd your tale to me. 
 Tour mien is noble, and, I own, perplex'd me 
 With obscure memory of something past, 
 Which still escaped my efforts, or presented 
 Tricks of a fancy pamper'd with long- wishing. 
 
 * All as wild. — Remorse. (The reading in the text may 
 possibly be an error of the transcriber.) 
 f This line is omitted in Remorse. 
 
30 OSORIO : 
 
 If (as it sometimes happens) our rude startling, 
 While your full heart was shaping out its dream, 
 Drove you to this, your not ungentle wildness,* 
 You have my sympathy, and so farewell ! 
 But if some undiscover'd wrongs oppress you, 
 And you need strength to drag them into light, 
 The generous Yelez, and my Lord Osorio 
 Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer, 
 Nor shall you want my favourable pleading. 
 
 [Exeunt Maria and Alhadra. 
 
 albert [alone], 
 
 'Tis strange ! it cannot be ! my Lord Osorio ! 
 Her Lord Osorio ! Nay, I will not do it. 
 I cursed him once, and one curse is enough. 
 How sad she look'd and pale ! but not like guilt, 
 And her calm tones — sweet as a song of mercy ! 
 If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice, 
 Hell scarce were hell. And why not innocent ? 
 Who meant to murder me might well cheat her. 
 But ere she married him, he had stain'd her 
 
 honour. 
 Ah ! there I am hamper' d. What if this were 
 
 a lie 
 
 * your not ungentle kindness, — Remorse. 
 
 
A TRAGEDY. 31 
 
 Framed by the assassin ? who should tell it him 
 If it were truth ? Osorio would not tell him. 
 Yet why one lie ? All else, I know, was truth. 
 No start ! no jealousy of stirring conscience ! 
 And she referr'd to me — fondly, niethought ! 
 Could she walk here, if that she were a traitress ?* 
 Here where we play'd together in our childhood ? 
 Here where we plighted vows ? Where her cold 
 
 cheek 
 Beceived my last kiss, when with suppress' d 
 
 feelings 
 She had fainted in my arms ? It cannot be ! 
 "lis not in nature i I will die, believing 
 That I shall meet her where no evil is, 
 No treachery, no cup dash'd from the lips ! 
 I'll haunt this scene no more — live she in peace ! 
 Her husband — ay, her husband ! May this 
 
 Angel 
 New-mould his canker'd heart ! Assist me, 
 
 Heaven ! 
 That I may pray for my poor guilty brother ! 
 
 End of Act the Fiest. 
 
 If she had been a traitress ? — Remorse. 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 Scene the Fibst — A wild and mountainous 
 country. Osorio and Ferdinand are discovered 
 at a little distance from a house* which stands 
 under the brow of a slate rock, the rock covered with 
 vines. 
 
 Ferdinand and Osorio. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Thrice you have saved my life. Once in the 
 
 battle 
 You gave it me, next rescued me from suicide, 
 When for my follies I was made to wander 
 With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them. 
 
 * In the published Remorse the remainder of this stage 
 direction is omitted, and the Scene opens thus : — 
 
 Ord. Here we may stop : your house distinct in view, 
 Yet we secured from listeners. 
 
 Isid. Now indeed 
 
 My house ! and it looks cheerful as the clusters 
 Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock 
 That overbrows it ! Patron ! Friend ! Preserver ! 
 Thrice have you saved my life, &c. 
 
 D 
 
34 osoeio : 
 
 Now, but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 
 Had pillow'd my snapt joints.* 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 Good Ferdinand ! 
 Why this to me ? It is enough you know it. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 A common trick of gratitude, my lord ! 
 Seeking to ease her own full heart. 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 Enough. 
 A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. 
 You have it in your power to serve me greatly. 
 
 FERDINAN*D. 
 
 As how,f my lord? I pray you name the thing ! 
 I would climb up an ice- glazed precipice 
 To pluck a weed you fancied. 
 
 osoeio [with embarrassment and hesitation]. 
 Why— that— lady— 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 'Tis now three years, my lord ! since last I 
 
 saw you. 
 Have you a son, my lord ? 
 
 * Had been my bed and pillow. — Remorse. 
 f And how, — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 35 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 miserable ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 Ferdinand ! you are a man, and know this world.* 
 I told you what I wish'd — now for the truth ! 
 She loved the man you kill'd ! 
 
 Ferdinand [looking as suddenly alarmed]. 
 You jest, my lord ? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 And till his death is proved, she will not wed me. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 You sport with me, my lord ? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Come, come, this foolery 
 Lives only in thy looks — thy heart disowns it. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 I can bear this, and anything more grievous 
 From you, my lord ! — but how can I serve you 
 here? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Why, you can mouth set speeches solemnly,! 
 
 * and know mankind. — Remorse. 
 
 f Why you can utter with a solemn gesture 
 Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning,— lb. 
 
36 osorio : 
 
 Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious 
 antics. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 I am dull, my lord ! I do not comprehend you. 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 In blunt terms you can play the sorcerer. 
 She has no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true. 
 Her lover school' d her in some newer nonsense : 
 Yet still a tale of spirits works on her. 
 She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, 
 Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye. 
 Such ones do love the marvellous too well 
 Not to believe it. We will wind her up* 
 With a strange music, that she knows not of. 
 With fumes of frankincense, and mummery — 
 Then leave, as one sure token of his death, 
 That portrait, which from off the dead man's 
 
 neck 
 I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.f 
 
 * And such do love the marvellous too well 
 
 Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy — Remorse. 
 f In the published Remorse the two following speeches are 
 here added : — 
 
 Isid. Will that be a sure sign ? 
 
 Ord. Beyond suspicion. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 37 
 
 feedinand [with hesitation]. 
 
 Just now I should have cursed the man who told me 
 You could ask aught, my lord ! and I refuse. 
 But this I cannot do. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Where lies your scruple ? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 That shark Francesco. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 O ! an o'ersized gudgeon ! 
 I baited, sir, my hook with a painted mitre, 
 And now I play with him at the end of the line. 
 Well— and what next ?* 
 
 Fondly caressing him, her favoured lover, 
 (By some hase spell he had bewitch'd her senses) 
 She whispered such dark fears of me forsooth, 
 As made this heart pour gall into my veins. 
 And as she coyly hound it round his neck, 
 She made him promise silence ; and now holds 
 The secret of the existence of this portrait 
 Known only to her lover and herself. 
 But I had traced her, stoln unnoticed on them, 
 And unsuspected saw and heard the whole. 
 
 * The two preceding speeches are omitted in Remorse ; an 
 Isidore (Ferdinand) replies : — 
 
 Why — why, my lord, 
 You know"you told me, &c. 
 
38 osorio : 
 
 Ferdinand [stammering'] . 
 
 Next, next — my lord ! 
 You know, yon told me that the lady loved yon, 
 Had loved you with incautious tenderness. 
 That if the young man, her betrothed husband, 
 Return' d, yourself, and she, and an unborn 
 
 babe, 
 Must perish. Now, my lord ! to be a man !* 
 
 osorio [aloud, though to express his contempt he 
 
 speaks in the third person] . 
 
 This fellow is a man ! He kill'd for hire 
 
 One whom he knew not — yet has tender 
 
 scruples. 
 
 [Then turning to Ferdinand. 
 
 Thy hums and ha's, thy whine and stammering. 
 
 Pish — fool! thou blunder' st through the devil's 
 
 book,f 
 
 Spelling thy villainy ! 
 
 * That if the young man, her hetrothed husband, 
 Return' d, yourself, and she, and the honour of both, 
 Must perish. Now, though with no tenderer scruples 
 Than those which being native to the heart — 
 Than those, my lord, which merely being a man. 
 
 — Remorse. 
 
 f These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering — ■ 
 Pish, fool ! thou blunder'st through the book of guilt. — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 39 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 My lord — my lord ! 
 I can bear much, yes, very much from you. 
 But there's a point where sufferance is meanness ! 
 I am no villain, never kill'd for hire. 
 My gratitude 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 ! ay, your gratitude ! 
 'Twas a well- sounding word — what have you done 
 with it? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Who proffers his past favours for my virtue* 
 Tries to o'erreach me, is a very sharper, 
 And should not speak of gratitude, my lord ! 
 I knew not 'twas your brother ! 
 
 osorio [evidently alarmed]. 
 
 And who told you ? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 He himself told me. 
 
 * In the published Remorse Osorio (Ordonio) here 
 interposes : — 
 
 Ord. {with bitter scorn.) Virtue 
 
40 
 
 OSORIO : 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Ha ! you talk'd with hini ? 
 And those, the two Morescoes, that went with 
 you ? # 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Both fell in a night-brawl at Malaga. 
 osoeio [in a low voice]. 
 My brother ! 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Yes, my lord ! I could not tell you : 
 I thrust away the thought, it drove me wild. 
 But listen to me now. I pray you, listen ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Villain ! no more ! I'll hear no more of it. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 M y lord ! it much imports your future safety 
 T hat you should hear it. 
 
 osorio [turning off from Ferdinand]. 
 
 Am I not a man ? 
 'Tis as it should be ! Tut — the deed itself 
 Was idle — and these after-pangs still idler ! 
 
 * And these, the two Morescoes who were with you ? — 
 
 Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 41 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 We met him in the very place you mention' d, 
 Hard by a grove of firs. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Enough ! enough ! 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 He fought us valiantly, and wounded all ; 
 In fine, compell'd a parley ! 
 
 osorio [sighing as if lost in thought] . 
 Albert ! Brother ! 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 He offer' d me his purse. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Yes? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Yes ! I spurn' d it. 
 He promised us I know not what — in vain ! 
 Then with a look and voice which overawed me, 
 He said — What mean you, friends ? My life is 
 
 dear. 
 I have a brother and a promised wife 
 
42 
 
 OSORIO 
 
 Who make life dear to me, and if I fall 
 
 That brother will roam earth and hell for 
 
 vengeance. 
 There was a likeness in his face to yours. 
 I ask'd his brother's name ; he said, Osorio, 
 Son of Lord Yelez ! I had well-nigh fainted ! 
 At length I said (if that indeed I said it, 
 And that no spirit made my tongne his organ), 
 That woman is now pregnant* by that brother, 
 And he the man who sent us to destroy you. 
 He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him, 
 He wore her portrait round his neck — he look'd 
 As he had been made of the rock that propp'd 
 
 him back ;f 
 Ay, just as you look now — only less ghastly ! 
 At last recovering from his trance, he threw 
 His sword away, and bade us take his life — 
 It was not worth his keeping. 
 
 osoxtio. 
 
 And you kill'd him ? 
 blood-hounds ! may eternal wrath flame round 
 you! 
 
 * That woman is dishonoured. — Remorse. 
 f that propt his back. — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 43 
 
 He was the image of the Deity. 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 It seizes me — by hell ! I will go on ! 
 What ? would' st thou stop, man ? thy pale looks 
 won't save thee ! 
 
 [Then suddenly pressing Ms forehead. 
 Oh ! cold, cold, cold — shot thro' with icy cold ! 
 
 FERDINAND [aside~]. 
 
 Were he alive, he had return' d ere now. 
 
 The consequence the same, dead thro' his plotting ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 O this unutterable dying away here, 
 
 This sickness of the heart ! 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 What if I went 
 And lived in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds ? 
 Ay ! that's the road to heaven ! fool ! fool ! 
 
 fool! 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 What have I done but that which nature destined 
 
 Or the blind elements stirr'd up within me ? 
 
 If good were meant, why were we made these 
 
 beings ? 
 And if not meant 
 
44 osorio : 
 
 ferdinand. 
 How feel you now, my lord ? # 
 [Osorio starts, looks at him wildly, then, after a 
 pause, during which his features are forced into a 
 
 smile~] . 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 A gust of the soul ! i'faith, it overset me. 
 
 O 'twas all folly — all ! idle as laughter ! 
 
 Now, Ferdinand, I swear that thou shalt aid me. 
 
 Ferdinand [in a low voice~] . 
 
 I'll perish first !f Shame on my coward heart, 
 That I must slink away from wickedness 
 Like a cow'd dog ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 What dost thou mutter of ? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Some of your servants know me, I am certain. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll 
 mask you. 
 
 * You are disturb'd, my lord ! — Remorse. 
 
 f The remainder of this speech is omitted in Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 45 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 They'll know my gait. But stay ! of late I have 
 
 watch' d 
 A stranger that lives nigh, still picking weeds, 
 Now in the swamp, now on the walls of the ruin, 
 Now clambering, like a runaway lunatic, 
 Up to the summit of our highest mount. 
 I have watch'd him at it morning-tide and noon, 
 Once in the moonlight. Then I stood so near, 
 I heard him muttering* o'er the plant. A 
 
 wizard ! 
 Some gaunt slave, prowling out for dark employ- 
 ments. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 What may his name be ?f 
 
 * Last night I watch'd 
 A stranger near the ruin in the wood, 
 Who as it seein'd was gathering herbs and wild flowers. 
 I had follow'd him at distance, seen him scale 
 Its western wall, and by an easier entrance 
 Stoln after him unnoticed. There I mark'd 
 That mid the chequer work of light and shade, 
 With curious choice he pluck'd no other flowers 
 But those on which the moonlight fell : and once 
 I heard him muttering, Sfc. — Remorse. 
 
 f Ord. Doubtless you question'd him ? — lb. 
 
46 osorio : 
 
 ferdinand. 
 
 That I cannot tell you. 
 Only Francesco bade an officer 
 Speak in your name, as lord of this domain. 
 So he was question' d, who and what he was. 
 This was his answer : Say to the Lord Osorio,* 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again." 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 A strange reply ! 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Ay — all of him is strange. 
 He call'd himself a Christian — yet he wears 
 The Moorish robe, as if he courted death. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Where does this wizard live ? 
 
 * Isid. 'Twas my intention, 
 
 Having first traced him homeward to his hannt. 
 But lo ! the stern Dominican, whose spies 
 Lurk every where, already (as it seem'd) 
 Had given commission to his apt familiar 
 To seek and sound the Moor ; who now returning, 
 Was "by this trusty agent stopp'd midway. 
 I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him 
 In that lone place, again conceal'd myself: 
 Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd 
 And in your name, as lord of this domain. 
 Proudly he answer'd, Say to the Lord Ordonio, &c. — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 47 
 
 Ferdinand [pointing to a distance]. 
 
 You see that brooklet ? 
 Trace its course backwards, thro' a narrow 
 
 opening 
 It leads you to the place. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 How shall I know it ? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 You can't mistake. It is a small green dale* 
 Built all around with high off-sloping hills, 
 And from its shape our peasants aptly call it 
 The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst, 
 And round its banks tall wood, that branches 
 
 over 
 And makes a kind of faery forest grow 
 Down in the water. At the further end 
 A puny cataract falls on the lake ; 
 And there (a curious sight) you see its shadow 
 For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke, 
 Up through the foliage of those faery trees. 
 His cot stands opposite — you cannot miss it. 
 Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash 
 
 * You cannot err. It is a small green dell. — Remorse. 
 
48 osorio : 
 
 Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters 
 O'er the new thatch.* 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 I shall not fail to find it. 
 [Exit Osorio. Ferdinand goes into his house. 
 
 Scene changes. 
 
 The inside of a cottage, around ivhich flowers and 
 plants of various kinds are seen. 
 
 Albert and Maurice. 
 
 albert. 
 
 He doth believe himself an iron soul, 
 And therefore puts he on an iron outward ; 
 And those same mock habiliments of strength 
 Hide his own weakness from himself. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 His weakness ! 
 Come, come, speak out ! Tour brother is a 
 villain ! 
 
 * O'er the old thatch. — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 4^ 
 
 Yet all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours 
 You suffer him to hold ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Maurice ! dear Maurice ! 
 That my return involved Osorio's death* 
 
 * Up to the point indicated this scene is entirely different 
 in the printed Remorse. As will be seen, Alhadra is intro- 
 duced, and Zulimez replaces Maurice, who is only alluded to. 
 
 The inside of a Cottage, around which flowers and plants of 
 various Icinds are seen. Discovers ALVAR, Zulimez, and 
 Alhadra, as on the point of leaving. 
 
 Alhad. {addressing Alvar.) 
 Farewell then ! and though many thoughts perplex me, 
 Aught evil or ignoble never can I 
 Suspect of thee ! If what thou seem'st thou art, 
 The oppressed brethren of thy blood have need 
 Of such a leader. 
 
 Alv. Nobly-minded woman ! 
 
 Long time against oppression have I fought, 
 And for the native liberty of faith, 
 Have bled and suffered bonds. Of this be certain, 
 Time, as he courses onwards, still unrolls 
 The volume of Concealment. In the Future, 
 As in the optician's glassy cylinder, 
 The indistinguishable blots and colours 
 Of the dim Past collect and shape themselves, 
 Upstarting in their own completed image, 
 
 To scare or to reward. 
 
 I sought the guilty, 
 
50 OSORIO : 
 
 I trust would give me an unmingled pang- 
 Yet bearable. But when I see my father 
 Strewing his scant grey hairs even on the 
 
 ground 
 Which soon must be his grave ; and my Maria, 
 Her husband proved a monster,* and her 
 
 infants 
 His infants — poor Maria ! — all would perish, 
 All perish — all ! — and I (nay bear with me !) 
 Could not survive the complicated ruin ! 
 
 And what I sought I found : but ere the spear 
 
 Flew from my hand, there rose an angel form 
 
 Betwixt me and my aim. With baffled purpose 
 
 To the Avenger I leave Vengeance, and depart ! 
 
 Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid, 
 
 Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee : 
 
 For many are thy wrongs, and thy soul noble. 
 
 Once more farewell. [Exit Alhadea. 
 
 Yes, to the Belgic states 
 We will return. These robes, this stain'd complexion, 
 Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit. 
 Whate'er befall us, the heroic Maurice 
 Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance 
 Of our past services. 
 
 Zul. And all the wealth, power, influence which is yours 
 You let a murderer hold ? 
 
 Alv. O faithful Zulimez ! 
 
 That my return involved Ordonio's death, tyc. 
 
 * proved a murderer. — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 51 
 
 maurice [much affected]. 
 Nay, now, if I have distress'd you — you well know, 
 I ne'er will quit your fortunes ! true, 'tis tiresome. 
 You are a painter — one of many fancies — 
 You can call up past deeds, and make them live 
 On the blank canvas, and each little herb, 
 That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest, 
 You've learnt to name — but I 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Well, to the Netherlands 
 We will return, the heroic Prince of Orange 
 Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance 
 Of our past service. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Heard you not some steps ?* 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 What if it were my brother coming onward ! 
 Not very wisely (but his creature teased me)f 
 I sent a most mysterious message to him. 
 
 * The preceding speech of Albert is omitted in Remorse, 
 and the former speaker continues : — 
 
 You have learnt to name 
 
 Hark ! heard you not some footsteps ? 
 
 f This line is omitted in Remorse. 
 
52 
 
 OSORIO 
 
 MAURICE, 
 
 Would he not know you ? 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 I unfearingly 
 Trust this disguise. Besides, he thinks me dead ; 
 And what the mind believes impossible, 
 The bodily sense is slow to recognize. 
 Add to my youth, when last we saw each other ; 
 Manhood has swell' d my chest, and taught my 
 
 voice 
 A hoarser note. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Most true ! And Alva's Duke 
 Did not improve it by the unwholesome viands 
 He gave so scantily in that foul dungeon, 
 During our long imprisonment.* 
 
 [Enter Osorio. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 It is he ! 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Make yourself talk ; you'll feel the less. Come, 
 
 speak. 
 How do you find yourself ? Speak to me, Albert. 
 
 * The three preceding speeches are omitted in Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 53 
 
 Albert [placing his hand on his heart]. 
 A little fluttering here ; but more of sorrow !* 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 You know my name, perhaps, better than me. 
 I am Osorio, son of the Lord Velez. 
 
 albert [groaning aloud]. 
 
 The son of Velez ! 
 
 [osorio walks leisurely round the room, and looks 
 attentively at the plants.] 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Why, what ails you now ? 
 [Albert grasps Maurice's hand in agitation. 
 
 * The two preceding speeches are omitted in Remorse, and 
 the following speech of Osorio (Ordonio) runs thus : — 
 
 Ord. (to himself as he enters). 
 If I distinguished right her gait, and stature, 
 It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife, 
 That pass'd me as I enter'd. A lit taper, 
 In the night air, doth not more naturally 
 Attract the night flies round it, than a conjuror 
 Draws round him the whole female neighbourhood. 
 
 (addressing Alvae. 
 You know my name, I guess, if not my person. 
 I am Ordonio, &c. 
 
54 osorio 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 How your hand trembles, Albert ! Speak ! what 
 wish yon ? 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 To fall upon his neck and weep in anguish !* 
 
 osorio [returning']. 
 
 All very curious ! from a ruin'd abbey 
 
 Pluck'd in the moonlight. There's a strange 
 
 power in weedsf 
 When a few odd prayers have been mutter'd o'er 
 
 them. 
 Then they work miracles ! I warrant you, 
 There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks J 
 Some serviceable imp. There's one of you, 
 Who sent me a strange message. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 I am he ! 
 
 * and weep forgiveness !-— Remorse. 
 
 f In the published Remorse this speech begins as follows : -*. 
 
 Ord. (returning, and aloud). 
 Pluck'd in the moonlight from a ruin'd abbey — 
 Those only, which the pale rays visited ! 
 O the unintelligible power of weeds, &c. 
 
 X but underneath it works. — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 55 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 I will speak with you, and by yourself. 
 
 [Exit Maurice.* 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again." 
 Such was your message, sir ! You are no dullard, 
 But one that strips the outward rind of things ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds 
 That are all dust and rottenness within. 
 Would'st thou I should strip such ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Thou quibbling fool, 
 What dost thou mean ? Think'st thou I journey'd 
 
 hither 
 To sport with thee ? 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 No, no ! my lord ! to sport 
 Best fits the gaiety of Innocence ! 
 
 * In Remorse thus : — 
 
 Ord. With you, then, I am to speak. 
 
 \ILaughtily waving his hand to Zulimez. 
 
 And mark you, alone. 
 
 [Ewit Zulimez. 
 
 I 
 
56 osorio : 
 
 osoeio [draws hack as if stung and embarrassed, 
 then folding Ms arms'], 
 
 O what a thing is Man ! the wisest heart 
 
 A fool — a fool, that laughs at its own folly, 
 
 Yet still a fool ! 
 
 [Looks round the cottage. 
 
 It strikes me* you are poor ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 What follows thence ? 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 That you would fain be richer. 
 Besides, you do not love the rack, perhaps, 
 Nor a black dungeon, nor a fire of faggots. 
 The Inquisition — hey ? You understand me, 
 And you are poor. Now I have wealth and 
 
 power, f 
 Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty. 
 
 * It strikes me. These three words are omitted in 
 Remorse. 
 
 f The second and third lines of this speech are omitted in 
 the printed Remorse, where it opens thus : — 
 
 Ord. That you would fain be richer. 
 
 The Inquisition, too. You comprehend me ? 
 You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power, &c. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 57 
 
 And for this service, all I ask you is* 
 
 That you should serve me — once — for a few hours. 
 
 albekt [solemnly']. 
 
 Thou art the son of Yelez ! Would to Heaven 
 That I could truly and for ever serve thee ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 The canting scoundrel softens. f 
 
 You are my friend ! 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again." 
 Nay, no defence to me. The holy brethren 
 Believe these calumnies. I know thee better. 
 
 [Then with great hitterness. 
 Thou art a man, and as a man I'll trust thee ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Alas, this hollow mirth ! Declare your business ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 I love a lady, and she would love me 
 But for an idle and fantastic scruple. 
 
 * And for the boon I ask of you but this. — Remorse. 
 f The slave begins to soften.— lb. 
 
58 osoeio : 
 
 Have you no servants round the house?* no 
 
 listeners ? 
 
 [Osoeio steps to the door. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 What ! faithless too ? false to his angel wife ? 
 
 To such a wife ? Well might' st thou look so wan, 
 
 Ill-starr'd Maria ! Wretch ! my softer soul 
 
 Is pass'd away ! and I will probe his conscience. 
 
 osoeio [returned']. 
 In truth this lady loved another man, 
 But he has perish'd. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 What ? you kill'd him ? hey ? 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think'st it, 
 Thou slave ! thou galley-slave ! thou mountebank ! 
 I leave thee to the hangman !f 
 
 * Have you no servants here ? — Remorse. 
 f Thus altered and transposed in Remorse : — 
 Ord. I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think'st it ! 
 Insolent slave ! how dared'st thou — 
 
 (turns abruptly from Alvae, and then to himself. 
 Why ! what's this ? 
 'Twas idiotcy ! I'll tie myself to an aspen, 
 And wear a fool's cap 
 
A TRAGEDY. 59 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Fare you well ! 
 I pity you, Osorio ! even to anguish ! 
 
 [Albert retires off the stage. 
 
 osorio [recovering himself ~\. 
 
 'Twas idiotcy ! I'll tie myself to an aspen, 
 And wear a fool's cap. Ho ! 
 
 [Calling after Albert. 
 
 ALBERT 
 
 Be brief, what wish you ? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 You are deep at bartering — you charge yourself 
 At a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 I listen to you. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 In a sudden tempest 
 Did Albert perish — he, I mean, the lover — 
 The fellow 
 
 Alv. (watching his agitation.) Fare thee well — 
 I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish. 
 
 [ Alvae retires to the back of the stage. 
 
 Ord. (having recovered himself.) 
 Ho ! (calling to Alvae.) 
 
60 OSORIO : 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Nay, speak out, 'twill ease your heart 
 To call him villain ! Why stand' st thou aghast ? 
 Men think it natural to hate their rivals ! 
 
 osorio [hesitating and half doubting whether he 
 should proceed']. 
 
 Now till she knows him dead she will not 
 wed me ! 
 
 albert [with eager vehemence']. 
 
 Are you not wedded, then ? Merciful Grod !* 
 Not wedded to Maria ? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Why, what ails thee ? 
 Art mad or drunk ? Why look'st thou upward 
 
 BO?f 
 
 Dost pray to Lucifer, prince of the air ? 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Proceed. I shall be silent. 
 
 [Albert sits, and leaning on the table hides his face. 
 
 * Merciful Heaven ! — Remorse. 
 
 f What, art thou mad ? Why look'st thou upward so ? — lb . 
 
A TRAGEDY. 61 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 To Maria ! 
 Politic wizard ! ere you sent that message, 
 You had conn'd your lesson, made yourself 
 
 proficient 
 In all my fortunes ! Hah ! you prophesied 
 A golden crop ! — well, you have not mistaken — 
 Be faithful to me, and I'll pay thee nobly. 
 
 albert [lifting up his head]. 
 Well — and this lady ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 If we could make her certain of his death, 
 She needs must wed me. Ere her lover left her 7 
 She tied a little portrait round his neck 
 Entreating him to wear it. 
 
 albert [sighing']. 
 
 Yes ! he did so ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Why, no ! he was afraid of accidents, 
 Of robberies and shipwrecks, and the like. 
 In'secrecy he gave it me to keep 
 Till his return. 
 
04 OSORIO : 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 What, lie was your friend then ? 
 
 osorio [wounded and embarrassed]. 
 
 I was Ids friend. 
 
 [A pause. 
 Now that he gave it me 
 This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizard — 
 Can call this dead man up — he will not come — 
 He is in heaven then ! — there you have no 
 
 influence — 
 Still there are tokens ; and your imps may bring 
 
 you 
 Something he wore about him when he died. 
 And when the smoke of the incense on the altar 
 Is pass'd, your spirits will have left* this picture. 
 What say you now ? 
 
 albert [after a long pause] . 
 Osorio, I will do it. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Delays are dangerous. It shall be to-morrowf 
 In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Velez. 
 
 * Can have left. — Remorse. 
 
 f We'll hazard no delay Be it to-night. — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 63 
 
 I will prepare him. Music, too, and incense, 
 All shall be ready. Here is this same picture — 
 And here what you will value more, a purse. 
 Before the dusk * 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 I will not fail to meet you. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Till next we meet, farewell ! 
 
 Albert [alone, gazes passionately at the portrait] , 
 
 And I did curse thee ? 
 At midnight ? on my knees ? And I believed 
 Thee perjured, thee polluted, thee a murderess ? f 
 O blind and credulous fool ! guilt of folly ! 
 Should not thy inarticulate fondnesses, 
 Thy infant loves — should not thy maiden vows, 
 
 * Thus in Remorse: — 
 
 Music, too, and incense, 
 (For I have arranged it — Music, Altar, Incense) 
 All shall be ready. Here is this same picture, 
 And here, what you will value more, a purse. 
 Come early for your magic ceremonies. 
 
 f Thee perjured, thee a traitress! thee dishonour'd? — 
 Remorse. 
 
64 osorio : 
 
 Have come upon my heart? And this sweet 
 image 
 
 Tied round my neck with many a chaste endear- 
 ment 
 
 And thrilling hands, that made me weep and 
 tremble. 
 
 Ah, coward dupe ! to yield it to the miscreant 
 
 Who spake pollutions* of thee ! 
 
 I am unworthy of thy love, Maria ! 
 
 Of that unearthly smile upon those lips, 
 
 Which ever smiled on me ! Yet do not 
 scorn me. 
 
 I lisp'd thy name ere I had learnt my mother's ! 
 
 [Enter Maurice. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Maurice ! that picture, which I painted for thee, 
 Of my assassination. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Ill go fetch it. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Haste ! for I yearn to tell thee what has pass'd. 
 
 [Maurice goes out. 
 
 * Pollution.— Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 65 
 
 Albert [gazing at the portrait] .* 
 
 Dear image ! rescued from a traitor's keeping, 
 I will not now profane thee, holy image ! 
 To a dark trick ! That worst bad man shall find 
 A picture which shall wake the hell within him, 
 And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience ! 
 
 * The ten preceding lines, from the entrance of Maurice, 
 are omitted in Itemorse, and the speech of Albert (Alvar) 
 continues uninterrupted. 
 
 End op Act the Second. 
 
ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 Scene the First. — A hall of armoury, with an altar 
 in the part farthest from the stage. 
 
 Velez, Osorio, Maria. 
 
 * Maria. 
 
 Lord Velez ! you have ask'd my presence here, 
 And I submit ; but (Heaven bear witness for me !) 
 My heart approves it not ! 'tis mockery !t 
 
 [Here Albert enters in a sorcerer's robe. 
 
 * See note on page 72. 
 
 f The following passage is here inserted in the published 
 Remorse : — 
 
 Ord. Believe you then no preternatural influence ? 
 Believe you not that spirits throng around us ? 
 
 Ter. Say rather that I have imagined it 
 A possible thing : and it has soothed my soul . 
 As other fancies have ; but ne'er seduced me 
 To traffic with the black and frenzied hope 
 That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard. 
 
68 osorio : 
 
 MARIA [to ALBERT]. 
 
 Stranger ! I mourn and blush to see you here 
 On such employments ! With far other thoughts 
 I left you. 
 
 osorio [aside]. 
 
 Ha ! he has been tampering with her ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 high-soul'd maiden, and more dear to me 
 Than suits the stranger's name, I swear to thee, 
 
 1 will uncover all concealed things !* 
 Doubt, but decide not ! 
 
 Stand from off the altar. 
 [Here a strain of music is heard from behind the 
 scenes, from an instrument of glass or steel f — the 
 harmonica or Celestina stojJ, or daggers metallic 
 organ.] 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm 
 I call up the departed soul of Albert ! 
 Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spells : 
 So may the gates of Paradise unbarr'd 
 
 * all concealed guilt. — Bemorse. 
 
 f The remaining part of this stage direction is omitted in 
 
A TRAGEDY. 69 
 
 Cease thy swift toils, since haply thou art one 
 
 Of that innumerable company, 
 
 Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow, 
 
 Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, 
 
 With noise too vast and constant to be heard — 
 
 Fitliest unheard ! For, O ye numberless 
 
 And rapid travellers ! what ear unstunn'd, 
 
 What sense unmadden'd, might bear up against 
 
 The rushing of your congregated wings ? 
 
 Even now your living wheel turns o'er my head ! 
 
 Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desert sands, 
 
 That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters, 
 
 A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion, 
 
 To the parch'd caravan that roams by night. 
 
 And ye build up on the becalmed waves 
 
 That whirling pillar, which from earth to heaven 
 
 Stands vast, and moves in blackness. Te too split 
 
 The ice-mount, and with fragments many and 
 
 huge, 
 Tempest the new-thaw'd sea, whose sudden gulfs 
 Suck in, perchance, some Lapland wizard's skiff. 
 Then round and round the whirlpool's marge ye 
 
 dance, 
 Till from the blue-swoln corse the soul toils out, 
 And joins your mighty army. 
 
 Soul of Albert ! 
 
70 OSORIO : 
 
 Hear the mild spell and tempt no blacker charm. 
 
 By sighs unquiet and the sickly pang 
 
 Of an half dead yet still undying hope, 
 
 Pass visible before our mortal sense ; 
 
 So shall the Church's cleansing rites be thine, 
 
 Her knells and masses that redeem the dead. 
 
 The Song. [Sung behind the scenes, accompanied 
 by the same instrument as before.'] 
 
 Hear, sweet spirit ! hear the spell 
 
 Lest a blacker charm compel ! 
 
 So shall the midnight breezes swell 
 
 With thy deep long-lingering knell. 
 
 And at evening evermore 
 
 In a chapel on the shore 
 
 Shall the chanters sad and saintly, 
 
 Yellow tapers burning faintly, 
 
 Doleful masses chant for thee, 
 
 Miserere, Domine ! 
 
 Hark ! the cadence dies away 
 
 On the quiet moonlight sea, # 
 
 The boatmen rest their oars, and say, 
 
 Miserere, Domine ! 
 
 [A long pause. 
 
 * On the yellow moonlight sea. — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 71 
 
 0S0RI0. 
 
 This was too melancholy, father ! 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Nay! 
 My Albert loved sad music from a child. 
 Once he was lost ; and after weary search 
 We found him in an open place of the wood, 
 To which spot he had follow' d a blind boy 
 Who breathed into a pipe of sycamore 
 Some strangely-moving notes, and these, he said, 
 Were taught him in a dream ; him we first saw 
 Stretch' d on the broad top of a sunny heath- 
 bank; 
 And, lower down, poor Albert fast asleep, 
 His head upon the blind boy's dog — it pleased me 
 To mark, how he had fasten'd round the pipe 
 A silver toy, his grandmother had given him. 
 Methinks I see him now, as he then look'd. 
 His infant dress was grown too short for him, 
 Yet still he wore it.* 
 
 * Thus in Remorse : — 
 
 A silver toy his grandam had late given him. 
 Methinks I see him now as he then look'd — 
 Kven so ! — He had outgrown his infant dress, 
 Yet still he wore it. 
 
72 osorio ; 
 
 ALBERT 
 
 My tears must not flow— 
 I must not clasp his knees, and cry, my father !* 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 The innocent obey nor charm nor spell. 
 
 My brother is in heaven. Thou sainted spirit 
 
 Burst on our sight, a passing visitant ! 
 
 Once more to hear thy voice, once more to see 
 
 thee, 
 O 'twere a joy to me. 
 
 albert [abruptly']. 
 
 A joy to thee ! 
 What if thou heard'st him now? What if his 
 
 spirit 
 Re-enter'd its cold corse, and came upon thee, 
 With many a stab from many a murderer's 
 
 poniard ? 
 What if, his steadfast eye still beaming pity 
 And brother's love, he turn'd his head aside, 
 
 * The three preceding speeches stand at the opening of the 
 Third Act in the published Remorse, with the following stage 
 direction : — 
 
 " Valdez, Oedonio, and Alyae in a sorcerer's role, are 
 discovered" 
 
A TRAGEDY. 73 
 
 Lest he should look at thee, and with one look 
 Hurl thee beyond all power of penitence ? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 These are unholy fancies ! 
 
 osorio [struggling with his feelings]. 
 Yes, my father ! 
 He is in heaven ! 
 
 ALBERT [still to OSORIO]. 
 
 But what if this same brother 
 Had lived even so,* that at his dying hour 
 The name of heaven would have convulsed his 
 
 face 
 More than the death-pang ? 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Idly-prating man ! 
 He was most virtuous, t 
 
 * But what if he had a brother, 
 
 Who had lived even so, &c. — Remorse. 
 
 f In the published Remorse this speech is assigned to 
 Valdez (Velez), but in the following amplified form : — 
 
 Vol. Idly prating man ! 
 
 Thou hast guess'd ill ; Don Alvar's only brother 
 Stands here before thee — a father's blessing on him ! 
 He is most virtuous. 
 
74 OSORIO : 
 
 ALBERT [still to OSOEIO]. 
 
 What if his very virtues 
 Had pamper' d his sworn heart, and made him 
 
 proud ? 
 And what if pride had duped him into guilt, 
 Yet still he stalk'd, a self-created G-od, 
 Not very bold, but excellently cunning ;* 
 And one that at his mother's looking-glass, 
 Would force his features to a frowning sternness ? 
 Young lord ! I tell thee, that there are such 
 
 beings, — 
 Yea, and it gives fierce merriment to the damn'd, 
 To see these most proud men, that loathe mankind, 
 At every stir and buzz of coward conscience, 
 Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypocrites ! 
 Away ! away ! Now let me hear more music. f 
 
 [Music as before. 
 
 * exquisitely cunning. — Remorse. 
 
 f The following passage is here added in the published 
 Remorse : — 
 
 [Music again]. 
 
 Ter. 'Tis strange, I tremble at nry own conjectures! 
 But whatsoe'er it mean, I dare no longer 
 Be present at these lawless mysteries, 
 This dark provoking of the hidden Powers ! 
 Already I affront— if not high Heaven — 
 Yet Alvar's memory ! — Hark ! I make appeal 
 
A TRAGEDY. 75 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 The spell is mutter' d — come, thou wandering* 
 
 shape, 
 Who own'st no master in an eye of flesh, 
 Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it or foul, 
 If he be dead, come quick, and bring with thee 
 That which he grasp'd in death; and if he- 
 lives, 
 Some token of his obscure perilous life. 
 
 [The whole orchestra crashes into one chorus* 
 
 Wandering demon ! hear the spell 
 Lest a blacker charm compel ! 
 
 [A thunder-clap. The incense on the altar takes 
 fire suddenly.'] f 
 
 Against th' unholy rite, and hasten hence 
 
 To kneel before a lawful shrine, and seek 
 
 That voice which whispers, when the still heart listens, 
 
 Comfort and faithful hope ! Let us retire. 
 
 Alv. (To Teresa anxiously.) 
 O full of faith and guileless love, thy spirit 
 Still prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guilt 
 Surprise the guilty : thou art innocent ! 
 
 [Exeunt Teres A and Attendant. 
 
 * The whole music clashes into a Chorus. — Remorse. 
 
 f The rest of this Act is entirely different in the published 
 Remorse. [See Appendix.^ 
 
76 
 
 OSORIO 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 This is some trick — I know, it is a trick. 
 
 Yet my weak fancy, and these bodily creepings, 
 
 Would fain give substance to the shadow. 
 
 velez [advancing to the altar']. 
 
 Hah! 
 A picture ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 God ! my picture ? 
 
 albekt [gazing at Maria with wild impatient 
 
 Pale — pale — deadly pale ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 He grasp'd it when he died. 
 
 [She swoons. Albert rushes to her and supports 
 her.] 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 My love ! my wife ! 
 Pale — pale, and cold ! My love ! my wife ! Maria ! 
 [Velez is at the altar. Osorio remains near 
 him in a state of stupor.] 
 
 osorio [rousing himself]. 
 Where am I ? 'Twas a lazy chilliness. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 77 
 
 velez [takes and conceals the picture in his robe'] , 
 
 This way, my son ! She must not see this 
 
 picture. 
 Go, call the attendants ! Life will soon ebb back ! 
 [Velez and Osorio leave the stage. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Her pulse doth nutter. Maria ! my Maria ! 
 maeia [recovering — looks round']. 
 
 I heard a voice — but often in my dreams, 
 
 I hear that voice, and wake ; and try, and try, 
 
 To hear it waking — but I never could ! 
 
 And 'tis so now — even so ! Well, he is dead, 
 
 Murder' d perhaps ! and I am faint, and feel 
 
 As if it were no painful thing to die ! 
 
 albert [eagerly]. 
 
 Believe it not, sweet maid ! believe it not, 
 Beloved woman ! 'Twas a low imposture 
 Framed by a guilty wretch. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Ha ! who art thou ? 
 
 albert [exceedingly agitated]. 
 My heart bursts over thee ! 
 
78 osorio : 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Didst thou murder him ? 
 And dost thou now repent ? Poor troubled man ! 
 I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee ! 
 
 albert [aside]. 
 Let me be gone. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 If thou didst murder him, 
 His spirit ever, at the throne of God, 
 Asks mercy for thee, prays for mercy for thee, 
 With tears in heaven ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Albert was not murder' d. 
 Your foster-mother 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 And doth she know aught ? 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 She knows not aught — but haste thou to her 
 
 cottage 
 To-morrow early — bring Lord Velez with thee. 
 There ye must meet me — but your servants come. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 79 
 
 maeia [wildly']. 
 
 Nay — nay — but tell me ! 
 
 [A pause — then presses her forehead, 
 Ah! 'tis lost again ! 
 This dead confused pain ! 
 
 [A pause — she gazes at Albert. 
 Mysterious man ! 
 Methinks, I cannot fear thee — for thine eye 
 Doth swim with pity — I will lean on thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Albert and Maria. 
 
 He-enter Velez and Osorio. 
 velez [sportively] . 
 You shall not see the picture, till you own it. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 This mirth and raillery, sir ! beseem your age. 
 I am content to be more serious.* 
 
 velez. 
 
 Do you think I did not scent it from the first ? 
 An excellent scheme, and excellently managed. 
 
 * The transcriber had here written " superstitious," which 
 is marked through with ink, and the word in the text substi- 
 tuted, in an entirely different hand, apparently that of 
 Coleridge himself. 
 
80 OSORIO : 
 
 Twill blow away her doubts, and now she'll wed 
 
 you. 
 I'faith, the likeness is most admirable. 
 I saw the trick — yet these old eyes grew dimmer 
 With very foolish tears, it look'd so like him ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Where should I get her portrait ? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Get her portrait ? 
 Portrait? You mean the picture! At the 
 
 painter's — 
 No difficulty then — but that you lit upon 
 A fellow that could play the sorcerer, 
 With such a grace and terrible majesty, 
 It was most rare good fortune. And how deeply 
 He seem'd to suffer when Maria swoon' d, 
 And half made love to her! I suppose you'll 
 
 ask me 
 Why did he so? 
 
 osoeio [with deep tones of suppressed agitation] . 
 Ay, wherefore did he so ? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Because you bade him — and an excellent thought ! 
 
A TRAGEDY. 81 
 
 A mighty man, and gentle as he is mighty. 
 He'll wind into her confidence, and rout 
 A host of scruples — come, confess, Osorio ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 You pierce through mysteries with a lynx's eye, 
 In this, your merry mood ! You see it all ! 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Why, no ! — not all. I have not yet discover' d, 
 At least, not wholly, what his speeches meant. 
 Pride and hypocrisy, and guilt and cunning — 
 Then when he fix'd his obstinate eye on you, 
 And you pretended to look strange and tremble. 
 Why — wnv — what ails you now ? 
 
 osorio [with a stupid stare]. 
 
 Me ? why ? what ails me ? 
 A pricking of the blood — it might have happen'd 
 At any other time. Why scan you me ? 
 
 velez [clapping Mm on the shoulder']. 
 
 'Twon't do — 'twon't do — I have lived too long in 
 
 the world. 
 His speech about the corse and stabs and 
 
 murderers, 
 
82 osorio : 
 
 Had reference to the assassins in the picture : 
 That I made out. 
 
 osorio [with a frantic eagerness']. 
 
 Assassins ! what assassins ? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Well acted, on my life ! Your curiosity 
 Euns open-mouth' d, ravenous as winter wolf. 
 I dare not stand in its way. 
 
 [He shows Osorio the picture. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Duped — duped — duped ! 
 That villain Ferdinand ! [aside.'] 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Duped — duped — not I. 
 As he swept by me 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Ha ! what did he say ? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 He caught his garment up and hid his face. 
 
 It seem'd as he were struggling to suppress 
 
A TRAGEDY. 83 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 A laugh ! a laugh ! hell ! he laughs at me ! 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 It heaved his chest more like a violent sob. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 A choking laugh ! 
 
 [A pause — then very wildly. 
 
 I tell thee, my dear father ! 
 
 I am most glad of this ! 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Grlad ! — ay — to be sure. 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 I was benumb'd, and stagger' d up and down 
 Thro' darkness without light — dark — dark — 
 
 dark — 
 And every inch of this my flesh did feel 
 As if a cold toad touch'd it ! Now 'tis sunshine, 
 And the blood dances freely thro' its channels ! 
 
 [He turns off — then (to himself) mimicking 
 Ferdinand' s manner, .] 
 " A common trick of gratitude, my lord ! 
 Old gratitude ! a dagger would dissect 
 His own full heart," 'twere good to see its colour ! 
 
84 osoeio : 
 
 velez [looking intently at the picture]. 
 
 Calm, yet commanding ! how he bares his breast, 
 
 Yet still they stand with dim uncertain looks, 
 
 As penitence had run before their crime. 
 
 A crime too black for aught to follow it 
 
 Save blasphemous despair ! See this man's face — 
 
 With what a difficult toil he drags his soul 
 
 To do the deed. 
 
 [Then to Osorio. 
 
 O this was delicate flattery 
 
 To poor Maria, and I love thee for it ! 
 
 osorio [in a slow voice with a reasoning laugh]. 
 
 Love — love — and then we hate — and what ? and 
 
 wherefore ? 
 Hatred and love. Strange things ! both strange 
 
 alike ! 
 What if one reptile sting another reptile, 
 Where is the crime ? The goodly face of Nature 
 Hath one trail less of slimy filth upon it. 
 Are we not all predestined rottenness 
 And cold dishonour ? Grant it that this hand 
 Had given a morsel to the hungry worms 
 Somewhat too early. Where's the guilt of this ? 
 That this must needs bring on the idiotcy 
 Of moist-eyed penitence — 'tis like a dream ! 
 
A TRAGEDY. 85 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Wild talk, my child ! but thy excess of feeling 
 
 [Turns off from Osomo. 
 Sometimes, I fear, it will unhinge his brain ! 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 I kill a man and lay him in the sun, 
 And in a month there swarm from his dead body 
 A thousand — nay, ten thousand sentient beings 
 In place of that one man whom I had kill'd. 
 Now who shall tell me, that each one and all, 
 Of these ten thousand lives, is not as happy 
 As that one life, which being shoved aside 
 Made room for these ten thousand ? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Wild as madness ! 
 
 OSORIO t 
 
 Come, father ! you have taught me to be merry, 
 And merrily we'll pore upon this picture. 
 
 velez [holding the picture before ©soeio]. 
 
 That Moor, who points his sword at Albert's 
 breast 
 
66 OSOEIO : 
 
 osoeio [abruptly']. 
 
 A tender-hearted, scrupulous, grateful villain, 
 Whom I will strangle ! 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 And these other two 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 Dead-— dead already ! — what care I for the dead ? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 The heat of brain and your too strong affection 
 For Albert, fighting with your other passion, 
 Unsettle you, and give reality 
 To these your own contrivings. 
 
 osoeio. 
 
 Is it so ? 
 Tou see through all things with your penetration. 
 Now I am calm. How fares it with Maria ? 
 My heart doth ache to see her. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Nay — defer it ! 
 Defer it, dear Osorio ! I will go. 
 
 [Exit Velez. 
 

 
 A TRAGEDY. 87 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea — 
 And now 'tis gone ! all may be done this night ! 
 
 [Enter a Servant. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 There is a man, once a Moresco chieftain, 
 One Ferdinand. 
 
 Servant. 
 He lives in the Alpuxarras, 
 Beneath a slate rock. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Slate rock ? 
 Servant. 
 
 Yes, my lord ! 
 If you had seen it, you must have remember' d 
 The flight of steps his children had worn up it 
 With often clambering. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Well, it may be so. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Why, now I think on't, at this time of the year 
 Tis hid by vines. 
 
88 osorio : 
 
 osorio [in a muttering voice]. 
 
 The cavern — ay — the cavern. 
 
 He cannot fail to find it. 
 
 [To the Servant. 
 
 Where art going ? 
 
 You must deliver to this Ferdinand 
 
 A letter. Stay till I have written it. 
 
 [Exit the Servant. 
 
 osorio [alone]. 
 The tongue can't stir when the mouth is fill'd 
 
 with mould. 
 A little earth stops up most eloquent mouths, 
 And a square stone with a few pious texts 
 Cut neatly on it, keeps the earth down tight. 
 
 Scene changes to the space before the castle. 
 Francesco and a Spy. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 Yes ! yes ! I have the key of all their lives. 
 If a man fears me, he is forced to love me. 
 And if I can, and do not ruin him, 
 He is fast bound to serve and honour me ! 
 
 [Albert enters from the castle, and is crossing 
 the stage.] 
 
a tragedy. 89 
 
 Spy. 
 
 There — there — your Eeverence ! That is the 
 sorcerer. 
 
 [Francesco runs wp and rudely catches hold 
 of Albert. Albert dashes him to the earth. 
 Francesco and the Spy make an uproar, and the 
 servants rush from out the castle.'] 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 Seize, seize and gag him ! or the Church curses 
 you! 
 
 [The servants seize and gag Albert. 
 
 Enter Yelez and Osorio. 
 osorio [aside]. 
 This is most lucky ! 
 
 Francesco [inarticulate with rage] . 
 
 See you this, Lord Velez ? 
 Good evidence have I of most foul sorcery, 
 And in the name of Holy Church command you 
 To give me up the keys — the keys, my lord ! 
 Of that same dungeon-hole beneath your castle. 
 This imp of hell — but we delay enquiry 
 Till to Granada we have convoy'd him. 
 
90 
 
 OSORIO : 
 
 osorio [to the servants']. 
 
 Why haste you not ? Go, fly and dungeon him ! 
 Then bring the keys and give them to his 
 Reverence. 
 [The servants hurry off Albert. Osorio goes 
 up to Francesco, and pointing at Albert.] 
 
 osorio [with a laugh]. 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again." 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 What ? did you hear it ? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Yes, and plann'd this scheme 
 To bring conviction on him. Ho ! a wizard, 
 Thought I — but where' s the proof! I plann'd 
 
 this scheme. 
 The scheme has answer'd — we have proof enough. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 My lord, your pious policy astounds me. 
 I trust my honest zeal 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Kay, reverend father ! 
 It has but raised my veneration for you. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 91 
 
 But 'twould be well to stop all intertalk 
 Between my servants and this child of darkness. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 My lord ! with speed I'll go, make swift return, 
 And humbly re-deliver you the keys. 
 
 [Exit Francesco. 
 
 osorio [alone]. 
 
 " The stranger, that lives nigh, still picking 
 
 weeds." 
 And this was his friend, his crony, his twin- 
 brother ! 
 O ! I am green, a very simple stripling — 
 The wise men of this world make nothing of me. 
 By Heaven, 'twas well contrived ! And I, forsooth, 
 I was to cut my throat in honour of conscience. 
 And this tall wizard — ho ! — he was to pass 
 For Albert's friend ! He hath a trick of his 
 
 manner. 
 He was to tune his voice to honey'd sadness, 
 And win her to a transfer of her love 
 By lamentable tales of her dear Albert, 
 And his dear Albert! Yea, she would have 
 
 loved him. 
 He, that can sigh out in a woman's ear 
 
92 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Sad recollections of her perish'd lover, 
 
 And sob and smile with veering sympathy, 
 
 And, now and then, as if by accident, 
 
 Pass his mouth close enough to touch her cheek 
 
 With timid lip, he takes the lover's place, 
 
 He takes his place, for certain ! Dusky rogue, 
 
 Were it not sport to whimper with thy mistress, 
 
 Then steal away and roll upon my grave, 
 
 Till thy sides shook with laughter? Blood! 
 
 blood! blood! 
 They want thy blood ! thy blood, Osorio ! 
 
 End of Act the Third. 
 
ACT THE FOUBTH. 
 
 Scene the First. — A cavern, dark except where 
 a gleam of moonlight is seen on one side of the 
 further end of it, supposed to be cast on it from a 
 cranny in a part of the cavern out of sight. 
 
 Ferdinand alone, an extinguished torch in his 
 hand. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Drip ! drip ! drip ! drip ! — in such a place as this 
 It has nothing else to do but drip ! drip ! drip ! 
 I wish it had not dripp'd upon my torch.* 
 Faith 'twas a moving letter — very moving ! 
 His life in danger — no place safe but this. 
 'Twas his turn now to talk of gratitude ! 
 
 * These are the identical lines which furnished Sheridan 
 with his famous joke at the poet's expense. Coleridge's dis- 
 avowal of their existence in the preface to the first edition 
 of Remorse (see Appendix), shows remarkable forgetful- 
 ness, if not disingenuousness. Of course it is needless to 
 observe that they entirely disappear in the published play, 
 and the Act opens with the line which stands here as the 
 fourth. 
 
94 
 
 osorio : 
 
 And yet — but no ! there can't be such a villain. 
 
 It cannot be ! 
 
 Thanks to that little cranny* 
 
 Which lets the moonlight in ! I'll go and sit 
 by it. 
 
 To peep at a tree, or see a he- goat's beard, 
 
 Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep, 
 
 'Twere better than this dreary noise of water- 
 drops !f 
 [He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of 
 
 moonlight, returns after a minute's elapse in an 
 
 ecstasy of 'fear '.] 
 
 A hellish pit ! God — 'tis like my night-mare !} 
 
 I was just in ! — and those damn'd fingers of ice 
 
 Which clutch'd my hair up ! Ha ! what's that ? 
 it moved ! 
 [Ferdinand stands staring at another recess in 
 
 the cavern. In the meantime Osorio enters with a 
 
 torch and hollas to him.'] 
 
 * crevice [and so also in the stage-direction above]. — 
 Remorse. 
 
 f Any thing but this crash of water-drops ! 
 
 These dull abortive sounds, that fret the silence 
 
 With puny thwartings and mock opposition ! 
 
 So beats the death-watch to a sick man's ear. — lb. 
 
 X A hellish pit ! The very same I dreamt of! — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 95 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 I swear, I saw a something* moving there ! 
 
 The moonshine came and went, like a flash of 
 
 lightning. 
 I swear, I saw it move ! 
 
 [Osorio goes into the recess, then returns, and 
 with great scom.~\ 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 A jutting clay-stone 
 Dripsf on the long lank weed that grows beneath ; 
 And the weed nods and drips. 
 
 Ferdinand [forcing a faint laugh~\. 
 A joke to laugh at ! 
 It was not that which frighten'd me, my lord ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 What frighten'd you ? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 You see that little cranny ?£ 
 
 * I swear that I saw something. — Remorse. 
 f Drops. — lb. 
 % Thus in Remorse : — 
 
 Isid. (forcing a laugh faintly.) A jest to laugh at ! 
 It was not that which scared me, good my lord. 
 Ord, What scared you then ? 
 Isid, You see that little reft ? 
 
96 osorio : 
 
 But first permit me, 
 
 [Lights his torch at Osorio' s, and while lighting it. 
 
 A lighted torch in the hand 
 Is no unpleasant object here — one's breath 
 Floats round the flame, and makes as many- 
 colours 
 As the thin clouds that travel near the moon. 
 You see that cranny there ? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Well, what of that? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 I walk'd up to it, meaning to sit there. 
 
 When I had reach' d it within twenty paces — — 
 
 [Ferdinand starts as if he felt the terror over 
 again. .] 
 Merciful Heaven ! Do go, my lord ! and look. 
 
 [Osorio goes and returns. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 It must have shot some pleasant feelings thro' 
 you?* 
 
 * You see that crevice there ? 
 
 My torch extinguish'd by these water drops, 
 
 And marking that the moonlight came from thence, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 97 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 If every atom of a dead man's flesh 
 
 Should move,* each one with a particular 
 
 life, 
 Yet all as cold as ever — 'twas just so ! 
 Or if it drizzled needle-points of frost 
 Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald — 
 
 osorio [interrupting hiin]. 
 Why, Ferdinand ! I blush for thy cowardice. 
 
 I stept in to it, meaning- to sit there ; 
 
 But scarcely had I measured twenty paces — 
 
 My body bending forward, yea o'erbalanced 
 
 Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink 
 
 Of a huge chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshine 
 
 Filling the Void so counterfeited Substance, 
 
 That my foot hung aslant adown the edge. 
 
 Was it my own fear ? 
 
 Fear too hath its instincts ! 
 And yet such dens as these are wildly told of, 
 And there are Beings that live, yet not for the eye — 
 An arm of frost above and from behind me, 
 Pluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven ! 
 You smile ! alas, even smiles look ghastly here ! 
 My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it. 
 
 Ord. It must have shot some pleasant feelings through 
 you. — Remorse. 
 
 * Should creep. — lb. 
 
 H 
 
98 osorio . 
 
 It would have startled any man, I grant thee. 
 But such a panic.* 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 When a boy, niy lord ! 
 I could have sat whole hours beside that chasm, 
 Push'd in huge stones and heard them thump 
 
 and rattlef 
 Against its horrid sides ; and hung my head 
 Low down, and listen' d till the heavy fragments 
 Sunk, with faint splash, $ in that still groaning 
 
 well, 
 Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which never 
 A living thing came near ; unless, perchance, 
 Some blind- worm battens§ on the ropy mould, 
 Close at its edge. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Art thou more coward now ? 
 
 * In Remorse the above speech stands thus : — 
 Orel, {interrupting Mm.) Why Isidore, 
 I blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled, 
 I grant you, even a brave man for a moment— 
 But such a panic 
 
 f strike and rattle. — Remorse. 
 
 J with faint crash. — lb. 
 
 § fattens. — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 99 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Call hira that fears his fellow-men a coward. 
 I fear not man. But this inhuman cavern 
 It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. 
 Besides (you'll laugh,* my lord !) but true it is, 
 My last night's sleep was very sorely haunted 
 By what had pass'd between us in the morning. 
 I saw you in a thousand hideous ways, 
 And dozed and started, dozed again and started. 
 I do entreat your lordship to believe me,f 
 In my last dream 
 
 osorio. 
 
 Well? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 I was in the act 
 Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra 
 Waked me. She heard my heart beat ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Strange enough ! 
 Had you been here before ? 
 
 * you'll smile. — Remorse. 
 
 f I saw you in a thousand fearful shapes, 
 
 And I entreat your lordship to believe me. — lb. 
 
100 OSORIO : 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Never, my lord ! 
 But my eyes do not see it now more clearly 
 Than in my dream I saw that very chasm. 
 
 [Osorio stands in a deep study — then, after a 
 pause.'] 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 There is no reason why it should be so. 
 And yet it is.* 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 What is, my lord ? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Unpleasantf 
 To kill a man ! 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Except in self-defence. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Why that's my case : and yet 'tis still unpleasant. 
 At least I find it so ! But you, perhaps, 
 Have stronger nerves ? 
 
 * I know not why it should be ! yet it is. — Remorse. 
 t Abhorrent from our nature. — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 101 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Something doth trouble you. 
 Sow can I serve you ?* By the life you gave me, 
 By all that makes that life of value to me, 
 My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear to you, 
 Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, 
 If it be innocent ! But this, my lord ! 
 Is not a place where you could perpetrate, 
 No, nor propose a wicked thing. The darkness 
 (When ten yards off, we know, 'tis cheerful 
 
 moonlight) 
 Collects the guilt and crowds it round the heart. 
 It must be innocent. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Thyself be judge. 
 [Osorio walks round the cavern — then looking 
 round it.~\ 
 One of our family knew this place well. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Who ? when ? my lord. 
 
 * Ord. Why that's my case! and yet the soul recoils 
 from it — 
 'Tis so with me at least. But you, perhaps, 
 Have sterner feelings ? 
 
 Isid. Something troubles you, 
 
 How shall I serve you ? — Remorse. 
 
102 OSOEIO : 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 What boots it who or when ? 
 Hang up the torch. I'll tell his tale to thee. 
 [They hang their torches in some shelf of the cavern* 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 He was a man different from other men, 
 And he despised them, yet revered himself. 
 
 FEEDINAND.f 
 
 What ? he was mad ? 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 All men seem'd mad to him, 
 Their actions noisome folly, and their talk — 
 A goose's gabble was more musical. t 
 Nature had made him for some other planet, 
 And press'd his soul into a human shape 
 By accident or malice. In this world 
 He found no fit companion ! 
 
 # on some ridge in the cavern.'] — Remorse. 
 f Ferdinand's (Isidore's) speech is amplified in Remorse : — 
 Isid. (aside.) 
 
 He ? He despised ? Thou'rt speaking of thyself ! 
 
 I am on my guard however : no surprise. 
 
 (then to Oedonio.) 
 What he was mad ? 
 
 % The above two lines are omitted in Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 103 
 
 FERDINAND.* 
 
 Ah, poor wretch ! 
 Madmen are mostly proud. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 He walk'd alone, 
 And phantasies,! unsought for, troubled him. 
 Something within would still be shadowing out 
 All possibilities, and with these shadows 
 His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happen'd, 
 A fancy cross' d him wilder than the rest : 
 To this in moody murmur, and low voice, 
 He yielded utterance, as some talk in sleep. 
 
 The man who heard him 
 
 "Why didst thou look round ? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 I have a prattler three years old, my lord ! 
 
 In truth he is my darling. As I went 
 
 From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep — 
 
 But I am talking idly — pray go on ! J 
 
 And what did this man ? 
 
 * Of himself lie speaks. 
 
 Alas ! poor wretch ! — Remorse. 
 f And phantom thoughts. — lb. 
 X pray proceed. — lb. 
 
104 0S0RI0 : 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 With his human hand 
 
 He gave a being and reality* 
 
 To that wild fancy of a possible thing. 
 
 Well it was done. 
 
 [Then very wildly, 
 
 Why babblest thou of guilt ? 
 
 The deed was done, and it pass'd fairly off. 
 
 And he, whose tale I tell thee — dost thou listen ? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 I would, my lord, you were by my fireside ! 
 I'd listen to you with an eager eye, 
 Tho' you began this cloudy tale at midnight. 
 But I do listen — pray proceed, my lord ! 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 Where was I ? 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 He of whom you tell the tale — 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Surveying all things with a quiet scorn 
 Tamed himself down to living purposes, 
 
 * He gave a substance and reality. — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 105 
 
 The occupations and the semblances 
 Of ordinary men — and such he seem'd. 
 But that some over-ready agent — he — 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 Ah ! what of him, my lord ? 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 He proved a villain ; 
 Betray'd the mystery to a brother villain ;* 
 And they between them hatch'd a damned plot 
 To hunt him down to infamy and death 
 To share the wealth of a most noble family, 
 And stain the honour of an orphan lady 
 With barbarous mixture and unnatural union.f 
 What did the Yelez ? I am proud of the name, 
 Since he dared do it. 
 
 [Osorio grasps his sword and turns off from 
 Ferdinand, then, after a pause, returns."] 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Our links burn dimly. 
 
 * He proved a traitor, 
 Betray'd the mystery to a brother traitor.— Remors 
 f The above three lines are omitted in Remorse* 
 
106 OSORIO : 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 A dark tale darkly finish' d ! Nay, my lord ! 
 Tell what he did. 
 
 osorio '[fiercely']. 
 
 That which his wisdom prompted. 
 He made the traitor meet him in this cavern, 
 And here he kill'd the traitor. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 No !— the fool. 
 He had not wit enough to be a traitor. 
 Poor thick- eyed beetle ! not to have foreseen 
 That he, who gull'd thee with a whimper' d lie 
 To murder Ms own brother, would not scruple 
 To murder thee, if e'er his guilt grew jealous, 
 And he could steal upon thee in the dark ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Thou would' st not then have come, if 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 O yes, my lord ! 
 I would have met him arm'd, and scared the 
 coward ! 
 [Ferdinand throws off Ms robe, shows himself 
 armed, and draws Ms sword.] 
 
A TRAGEDY. 107 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Now this is excellent, and warms the blood ! 
 My heart was drawing back, drawing me back 
 With womanish pules of pity. Dusky slave, 
 Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it* 
 Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter. 
 
 FERDINAND. 
 
 And all my little ones fatherless ! Die thou first. 
 [They fight. Osorio disarms Ferdinand, and in 
 disarming him, throws his sword up that recess, 
 opposite to which they were standing^ 
 
 Ferdinand [springing wildly towards Osorio]. 
 Still I can strangle thee ! 
 
 osorio. 
 
 Nay, fool ! stand off. 
 I'll kill thee — but not so ! G-o fetch thy sword. 
 
 [Ferdinand hurries into the recess with his 
 torch. Osorio follows him, and in a moment 
 returns alone.~\ 
 
 * My heart was drawing back, drawing me back 
 
 With weak and womanish scruples. Now my Vengeance 
 Beckons me onwards with a Warrior's mien, 
 And claims that life my pity robb'd her of — 
 Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and count it, &c. 
 
 — Remorse. 
 
108 OSORIO : 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Now — this was luck ! No blood-stains, no dead 
 
 body ! 
 His dream, too, is made out. Now for bis friend. 
 
 [Exit* 
 
 Scene changes to the court before the Castle of 
 Yelez. 
 
 t Maria and her Foster-Mother. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 And wben I beard tbat you desired to see me, 
 I thougbt your business was to tell me of bim. 
 
 * Oedonio folloivs him; a loud cry of "Traitor! 
 Monster !" is heard from the cavern, and in a moment 
 Oedonio returns alone. 
 
 Ord. I have hurl'd hini down the chasm ! Treason for 
 treason. 
 He dreamt of it : henceforward let him sleep, 
 A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him. 
 His dream too is made out — Now for his friend. 
 
 [Exit Oedonio. 
 
 — Remorse. 
 f The whole of this scene between Maria and her foster- 
 mother was omitted as unfit for the stage in the acted 
 Remorse, but was afterwards, with the exception of the first 
 two speeches, printed in an appendix to the third edition 
 
A TRAGEDY. 109 
 
 FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 I never saw the Moor, # whom you describe. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 'Tis strange ! he spake of youf familiarly 
 As mine and Albert's common foster-mother. 
 
 I FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, 
 
 That join'd your names with mine ! my sweet 
 
 lady, 
 As often as I think of those dear times 
 When you two little ones would stand at eve, 
 On each side of my chair, and make me learn 
 All you had learnt in the day ; and how to talk 
 
 (1813). All of it but the first speech originally appeared, 
 under the title of " The Foster-Mother's Tale ; a Dramatic 
 Fragment," as one of Coleridge's contributions to the Lyrical 
 Ballads, 1798, and continued to appear there, with some 
 further omission as regards the opening part, in the later 
 editions of 1800, 1802, and 1805. Cottle in his Early Recol- 
 lections of Coleridge (Lond., 1837, vol. I., pp. 234, 235), 
 prints a version of it, with some slight variations, from a 
 copy in Coleridge's own writing, given to him by the poet in 
 the summer of 1797. 
 
 * I never saw the man. — Lyrical Ballads, 1798. 
 
 f 'Tis said he spake of you. — Appbndix to Remorse. 
 
 X Cottle's version opens here. 
 
110 0S0RI0 : 
 
 In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you, 
 'Tis more like heaven to come, than what has 
 been! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 my dear mother ! this strange man has left me 
 Wilder'd with wilder fancies than yon moon* 
 Breeds in the love-sick maid — who gazes at it 
 Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye 
 She gazes idly ! f But that entrance, mother ! t 
 
 FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 Can no one hear ? It is a perilous tale ! 
 
 maria- 
 No one. 
 
 FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 My husband's father told it me, 
 Poor old Leoni.§ Angels rest his soul ! 
 He was a woodman, and could fell and saw 
 
 * Troubled with wilder fancies than the moon. — Lyrical 
 Ballads (1798) and Cottle's version. 
 
 f In the later editions of the Lyrical Ballads the pre- 
 vious part is omitted, and the scene opens here. 
 
 % But that entrance, Selma. Appendix to Remorse, where 
 the previous part of this speech is omitted. 
 
 § Poor old Sesina. — Appendix to Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. Ill 
 
 With lusty arm. You know that huge round 
 
 beam 
 Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel ? 
 Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, 
 He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined 
 With thistle-beards, and such small locks of 
 
 wool 
 As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him 
 
 home, 
 And rear'd him at the then Lord Yelez' cost. 
 And so the babe grew up a pretty boy. 
 A pretty boy, but most unteachable — 
 And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, 
 But knew the names of birds, and mock'd their 
 
 notes, 
 And whistled, as he were a bird himself. 
 And all the autumn 'twas his only play 
 To get the seeds* of wild flowers, and to plant 
 
 them 
 With earth and water on the stumps of trees. 
 A friar who gather'd simples in the wood, 
 A grey-hair'd man — he loved this little boy, 
 The boy loved him — and, when the friar taught 
 
 him, 
 
 * To gather seeds. — Appendix to Remorse, 
 
112 osorio : 
 
 He soon could write with the pen ; and from that 
 
 time 
 Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle. 
 So he became a very learned youth.* 
 But ! poor wretchf — he read, and read, and 
 
 read, 
 Till his brain turn'd — and ere his twentieth year, 
 He had unlawful thoughts of many things. 
 And though he pray'd, he never loved to pray 
 "With holy men, nor in a holy place. 
 But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, 
 The late Lord Yelez ne'er was wearied with him, 
 And once as by the north side of the chapel 
 They stood together, chain'd in deep discourse, 
 The earth heaved under them with such a groan, 
 That the wall totter'd, and had well-nigh fall'n 
 Right on their heads. My lord was sorely 
 
 frighten' d ; 
 A fever seized him ;J and he made a confession§ 
 
 * So he became a very learned man. — Cottle's version. 
 
 So he became a rare and learned youth. — Appendix to 
 Remorse. 
 
 f But O ! poor youth. — Cottle's version. 
 
 X a fever seized the youth. — lb. 
 
 § he made confession. — Cottle, Appendix to Remorse, 
 and Lyrical Ballads. The insertion of the article in the 
 text was probably an error of the transcriber. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 
 
 113 
 
 Of all the heretical and lawless talk 
 
 Which brought this judgment : so the youth was 
 
 seized 
 And cast into that hole.* My husband's father 
 Sobb'd like a child — it almost broke his heart. 
 And once as he was working in the cellar,f 
 He heard a voice distinctly ; 'twas the youth's, 
 Who sung a doleful song about green fields, 
 How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah 
 To hunt for food, and be a naked man, 
 And wander up and down at liberty. 
 He always doted on the youth, and now 
 His love grew desperate ; and defying death, 
 He made that cunning entrance I described : 
 And the young man escaped. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 'Tis a sweet tale : 
 Such as would lull a listening child to sleep, 
 His rosy face besoil'd with unwiped tears. 
 And what became of him ? 
 
 FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 He went on shipboard 
 
 * And cast into that den. — Appendix to Remorse 
 f working 1 near this dungeon. — lb. 
 
114 osorio : 
 
 With those bold voyagers, who made discovery 
 Of golden lands ; Leoni's* younger brother 
 Went likewise, and when he return'd to Spain, 
 He told Leoni* that the poor mad youth, 
 Soon after they arrived in that new world, 
 In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat, 
 And all alone set sail by silent moonlight, 
 Up a great river, great as any sea, 
 And ne'er was heard of more ; but 'tis supposed 
 He lived and died among the savage nien.f 
 
 * Sesina, — Appendix to 'Remorse. 
 
 f Here ends The Foster-Mother 's Tale as given in the 
 Lyrical Ballads, in the Appendix to Remorse, and in Cottle's 
 Recollections. In the published Remorse the entrance of 
 Valdez (Velez) is preceded by the following sololiquy of 
 Teresa (Maria) : — 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Sea Coast. 
 Ter. Heart- chilling Superstition ! thou canst glaze 
 Even Pity's eye with her own frozen tear. 
 In vain I urge the tortures that await him ; 
 Even Selrna, reverend guardian of my childhood, 
 My second mother, shuts her heart against me ! 
 Well, I have won from her what most imports 
 The present need, this secret of the dungeon 
 Known only to herself. — A Moor ! a Sorcerer ! 
 No, I have faith, that nature ne'er permitted 
 Baseness to wear a form so noble. True, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 115 
 
 Enter Velez. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Still sad, Maria ? This same wizard haunts you. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Christ ! the tortures that hang o'er his head, 
 If ye betray him to these holy brethren !* 
 
 velez [with a kind of sneer'] . 
 
 A portly man, and eloquent, and tender ! 
 In truth, I shall not wonder if you mourn 
 That their rude grasp should seize on such a 
 victim. 
 
 1 doubt not, that Ordonio had suborn' d him 
 To act some part in some unholy fraud ; 
 
 As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose 
 He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him, 
 And that Ordonio meditates revenge ! 
 But my resolve is fix'd ! myself will rescue him, 
 And learn if haply he know aught of Alvar. 
 
 * In the published Remorse this speech is omitted, and 
 the former speaker continues uninterruptedly : — 
 
 Vol. Still sad, Teresa ! This same wizard haunts you, 
 
 A stately man, and eloquent and tender 
 
 {with a snee-r) 
 Who then need wonder if a lady sighs 
 Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans 
 
116 OSORIO : 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 The horror of their ghastly punishments 
 Doth so o'ertop the height of sympathy, 
 That I should feel too little for mine enemy — 
 Ah ! far too little — if 'twere possible, 
 I could feel more, even tho' my child or husband 
 Were doom'd to suffer them ! # That such things 
 are 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Hush ! thoughtless woman ! 
 
 MAEIA. 
 
 Nay — it wakes within me 
 More than a woman's spirit. 
 
 velez [angrily]. 
 
 No more of this — 
 I can endure no more. 
 
 * Thus in Remorse : — 
 
 Ter. {with solemn indignation.) 
 The horror of their ghastly punishments 
 Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion, 
 That I should feel too little for mine enemy, 
 If it were possible I could feel more, 
 Even tho' the dearest inmates of our household 
 Were doom'd to suffer them, Sec. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 117 
 
 FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 My honour' d master ! 
 Lord Albert used to talk so. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Yes ! my mother ! 
 These are my Albert's lessons, and I con them 
 With more delight than, in my fondest hour, 
 I bend me o'er his portrait. 
 
 velez [to the poster-mother]. 
 
 My good woman, 
 
 You may retire. 
 
 [Exit the Foster-Mother. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 We have mourn'd for Albert. 
 Have I no living son ? 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Speak not of him ! 
 That low imposture — my heart sickens at it, 
 If it be madness, must I wed a madman ?* 
 
 * Thus in Remorse : — 
 
 Void. No more of this — 
 What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us ! 
 I dare not listen to you. 
 
118 OSORIO : 
 
 And if not madness, there is mystery, 
 And guilt doth lurk behind it ! 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Is this well ? 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Yes ! it is truth. Saw you his countenance ? 
 How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear, 
 Displaced each other with swift interchanges ? 
 If this were all assumed, as you believe, 
 He must needs be a most consummate actor ; 
 And hath so vast a power to deceive me, 
 I never could be safe. And why assume 
 The semblance of such execrable feelings ? # 
 
 Ter. My honoured lord 
 These were my Alvar's lessons, and whene'er 
 I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them, 
 As if to give a voice to the mute Image. 
 
 Void, We have mourn'd for Alvar, 
 
 Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt. 
 Have I no other son ? 
 
 Ter. Speak not of him ! 
 That low imposture ! That mysterious picture! 
 If this be madness, Sfc. 
 
 * For the last five lines of this speech the following 
 twenty -five are substituted in the published Remorse :■ — 
 
 that I had indeed the sorcerer's power — 
 
 1 would call up before thine eyes the image 
 Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first born. 
 

 
 A TRAGEDY. 119 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Ungrateful woman ! I have tried to stifle 
 An old man's passion ! Was it not enough 
 That thou hast made my son a restless man, 
 Banish' d his health and half-unhinged his reason, 
 But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion, 
 And toil to blast his honour ? I am old — 
 
 His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, 
 His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips ! 
 That spiritual and almost heavenly light 
 In his commanding eye — his mien heroic, 
 Virtue's own native heraldry ! to man 
 Genial, and pleasant to Ms guardian angel. 
 Whene'er he gladden' d, how the gladness spread 
 Wide round him ! and when oft with swelling tears, 
 Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd 
 The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots, 
 Oh, what a grief was there for Joy to envy, 
 Or gaze upon enamour'd ! 
 
 O my father ! 
 Recall that morning when we knelt together, 
 And thou didst bless our loves ! O even now, 
 Even now, my sire ! to thy mind's eye present him 
 As at that moment he rose up before thee, 
 Stately, with beaming look ! Place, place beside him 
 Ordonio's dark perturbed countenance ! 
 Then bid me (oh thou couldst not) bid me turn 
 From him, the joy, the triumph of our kind ! 
 To take in exchange that brooding man, who never 
 Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl. 
 
120 osorio : 
 
 A comfortless old man !* Thou shalt not stay 
 Beneath my roof ! 
 
 [Francesco enters and stands listening. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Eepent and marry him — 
 Or to the convent. 
 
 * Here the speech of Valdez (Velez) breaks off in Remorse, 
 and 
 " Enter a peasant and presents a letter to Valdez. Valdez 
 
 reading it. 
 " He dares not venture hither !" Why what can this mean ? 
 " Lest the Familiars of the Inquisition, 
 "That watch around my gates, should intercept him; 
 " But he conjures me, that without delay 
 " I hasten to him — for my own sake entreats me 
 " To guard from danger him I hold imprison' d — 
 " He will reveal a secret, the j oy of which 
 " Will even outweigh the sorrow," — Why what can this be ? 
 Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem, 
 To have in me an hostage for his safety. 
 Nay, that they dare not ? Ho ! collect my servants ! 
 I will go thither — let them arm themselves. 
 
 [Exit Valdez. 
 
 Ter. {alone.) The moon is high in heaven, and all is 
 hush'd. 
 Yet anxious listener ! I have seem'd to hear 
 A low dead thunder mutter thro' the night, 
 As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep 
 O Alvar ! Alvar ! that they could return," fye. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 
 
 121 
 
 Francesco [muttering]. 
 
 Good ! good ! very good ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Nay, grant me some small pittance of my fortune, 
 And I will live a solitary woman, 
 Or my poor foster-mother and her grandsons 
 May be my household. 
 
 Francesco [advancing], 
 
 I abhor a listener ; 
 But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you. 
 I pray, my lord ! will you embolden me 
 To ask you why this lady doth prefer 
 To live in lonely sort, without a friend 
 Or fit companion ? 
 
 velez. 
 
 Bid her answer you. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Nature will be my friend and fit companion. 
 
 [Turns off from them, 
 O Albert ! Albert ! that they could return, 
 Those blessed days, that imitated heaven ! 
 When we two wont to walk at evening-tide ; 
 
 m 
 
122 osomo : 
 
 When we saw nought but beauty ; when we 
 
 heard 
 The voice of that Almighty One, who loved us, 
 In every gale that breathed, and wave that 
 
 murmur' d ! 
 we have listen'd, even till high-wrought 
 
 pleasure 
 Hath half-assumed the countenance of grief, 
 And the deep sigh seenr d to heave up a weight 
 Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart.* 
 
 f FRANCESCO. 
 
 But in the convent, lady, you would have 
 
 Such aids as might preserve you from perdition. 
 
 There you might dwell. 
 
 # The above ten lines are preserved in Remorse, where the 
 speech of Teresa (Maria) is thus concluded : — 
 
 {a pause. 
 And this majestic Moor, seems he not one 
 Who oft and long communing with my Alvar, 
 Hath drunk in kindred lustre from his presence, 
 And guides me to him with reflected light ? 
 What if in yon dark dungeon coward treachery 
 Be groping for him with envenom' d poignard — 
 Hence womanish fears, traitors to love and duty — 
 I'll free him. [Exit Teresa. 
 
 f All the rest of this Scene is omitted in the published 
 Remorse. 
 

 A TRAGEDY. 123 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 With tame and credulous faith, 
 Mad melancholy, antic merriment, 
 Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs ! 
 
 G-od ! it is a horrid thing to know 
 
 That each pale wretch, who sits and drops her 
 
 beads 
 Had once a mind, which might have given her 
 
 wings 
 Such as the angels wear ! 
 
 Francesco [stifling Ms rage]. 
 Where is your son, my lord? 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 1 have not seen him, father, since he left you. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 His lordship's generous nature hath deceived him ! 
 
 That Ferdinand (or if not he his wife) 
 
 I have fresh evidence — are infidels. 
 
 We are not safe until they are rooted out. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Thou man, who call'st thyself the minister 
 Of Him whose law was love unutterable ! 
 Why is thy soul so parch' d with cruelty, 
 
124 osorio : 
 
 That still thou thirstest for thy brother's blood ? 
 
 velez [rapidly']. 
 
 Father ! I have long suspected it — her brain — 
 Heed it not, father ! 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 Nay — but I must heed it. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Thou miserable man ! I fear thee not, 
 
 Nor prize a life which soon may weary me. 
 
 Bear witness, Heaven ! I neither scorn nor hate 
 
 him — 
 But ! 'tis wearisome to mourn for evils, 
 Still mourn, and have no power to remedy ! 
 
 [Exit Maria. 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 My lord ! I shall presume to wait on you 
 To-morrow early. 
 
 VELEZ. 
 
 Be it so, good father ! 
 
 [Exit Francesco. 
 
 velez [alone]. 
 I do want solace, but not such as thine ! 
 
A TRAGEDY. 125 
 
 The moon is high in heaven, and my eyes ache, 
 But not with sleep. "Well — it is ever so. 
 A child, a child is born ! and the fond heart 
 Dances ! and yet the childless are most happy. 
 
 Scene changes to the mountains by moonlight 
 Alhadra alone in a Moorish dress, her eyes fixed 
 on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from 
 different parts of the stage, a considerable number of 
 Morescoes, all in their Moorish garments. They 
 form a circle at a distance round Alhadra. After 
 a pause one of the Morescoes to the man who stands 
 next to him.~\ 
 
 FIRST MORESCO. 
 
 The law which forced these Christian dresses on us ? 
 'Twere pleasant to cleave down the wretch who 
 framed it. 
 
 SECOND. 
 
 Yet 'tis not well to trample on it idly. 
 
 FIRST. 
 
 Our country robes are dear. 
 
 SECOND. 
 
 And like dear friends, 
 
126 osoeio : 
 
 May chance to prove most perilous informers.* 
 
 A third Moresco, Naomi, advances from out the 
 circle.~\ 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 Woman ! may Alia and the prophet bless thee ! 
 We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief? 
 And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments ? 
 
 alhadra [lifting up her eyes, and looking round 
 
 on the circle]. 
 Warriors of Mahomet, faithful in the battle, 
 My countrymen ! Come ye prepared to work 
 An honourable deed ? And would ye work it 
 In the slave's garb ? Curse on those Christian 
 
 robes ! 
 They are spell- blasted ; and whoever wears them, 
 His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart melts away, 
 And his bones soften ! 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 Wnere is Ferdinand ? 
 
 alhadea [in a deep low voice']. 
 This night I went from forth my house, and left 
 
 * The four preceding speeches, together with the last clause 
 of the preliminary stage directions, are omitted in Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 127 
 
 His children all asleep ; and lie was living ! 
 And I return'd, and fonnd them still asleep — 
 Bnt he had perish' d. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Perished ? 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 He had perish' d ! 
 Sleep on, poor babes ! not one of you doth know 
 That he is fatherless, a desolate orphan ! 
 Why should we wake them ? Can an infant's arm 
 Revenge his murder ? 
 
 ONE to ANOTHER. 
 
 Did she say his murder ? 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 Murder' d? Not murder' d? 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Murder' d by a Christian ! 
 [They all, at once, draw their sabres. 
 
 alhadra [to naomi, who on being addressed again 
 advances from the circle']. 
 
 Brother of Zagri ! fling away thy sword : 
 
128 osorio : 
 
 This is thy chieftain's ! 
 
 [He steps forward to take it. 
 Dost thou dare receive it ? 
 For I have sworn by Alia and the prophet, 
 No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heart 
 Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword 
 Wet with the blood of all the house of Velez ! # 
 
 [Enter Maurice. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 A spy ! a spy ! 
 
 [They seize him. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Off ! off ! unhand me, slaves ! 
 [After much struggling he disengages himself and 
 draivs his sword.~\ 
 
 NAOMI [to ALHADRA]. 
 
 Speak ! shall we kill him ? 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Yes ! ye can kilt a man, 
 Some twenty of you ! But ye are Spanish slaves ! 
 And slaves are always cruel, always cowards. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 That man has spoken truth. Whence and who 
 art thou ? 
 
 * Wet with the life-blood of the son of Valdez ! — Remorse, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 
 
 129 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 I seek a dear friend, whom for aught I know 
 
 The son of Yelez hath hired one of you 
 
 To murder ! Say, do ye know aught of Albert ? 
 
 alhadea [starting']. 
 
 Albert ? — three years ago I heard that name 
 Murmur'd in sleep ! High-minded foreigner ! 
 Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand among us. 
 
 [Maurice stands among the Morescoes. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Was not Osorio my husband's friend? 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 He kill'd my son in battle ; yet our chieftain 
 Forced me to sheathe my dagger. See — the point 
 Is bright, unrusted with the villain's blood ! 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 He is your chieftain's murderer ! # 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 He dies by Alia ! 
 
 * All the preceding part, from the entrance of Maurice, is 
 omitted in Remorse, and Alhadra continues after a pause ; — 
 " Ordonio was your chieftain's murderer !" 
 
130 OSORIO : 
 
 all [dropping on one Jcnee\. 
 By Alia! 
 
 ALHADRA, 
 
 This night a reeking slave came with loud pant, 
 Gave Ferdinand a letter, and departed, 
 Swift as he came. Pale, with unquiet looks, 
 He read the scroll. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Its purport ? 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Yes, I ask'd it. 
 He answer'd me, " Alhadra ! thou art worthy 
 A nobler secret ; but I have been faithful 
 To this bad man, and faithful I will be." 
 He said, and arm'd himself, and lit a torch ; 
 Then kiss'd his children, each one on its pillow, 
 And hurried from me.* But I follow' d him 
 At distance, till I saw him enter there. 
 
 * The arrival of the slave, the interruption of Maurice, and 
 the kissing of the bahes, are all omitted in Remorse, where 
 Alhadra relates briefly : — 
 
 " This night your chieftain arm'd himself 
 And hurried from me," Sfc. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 131 
 
 The cavern? 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 Yes — the mouth of yonder cavern. 
 After a pause I saw the son of Yelez 
 Eush by with flaring torch ; he likewise enter' d — 
 There was another and a longer pause — 
 And once, niethought, I heard the clash of swords, 
 And soon the son of Velez reappear'd. 
 He flung his torch towards the moon in sport, 
 And seem'd as he were mirthful! I stood 
 
 listening 
 Impatient for the footsteps of my husband ! 
 
 MAUEICE. 
 
 Thou called' st him ? 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 I crept into the cavern : 
 'Twas dark and very silent. 
 
 [Then wildly. 
 What said'st thou ? 
 No, no ! I did not dare call, Ferdinand ! 
 Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while, 
 Belike, I lost all thought and memory 
 Of that for which I came ! After that pause, 
 
132 osoeio : 
 
 God!* I heard a groan ! — and follow'd it. 
 And yet another groan — which gnided me 
 Into a strange recess — and there was light, 
 
 A hideous light ! his torch lay on the ground — 
 Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink. 
 
 1 spake — and while I spake, a feeble groan 
 Came from that chasm ! It was his last ! his 
 
 death groan ! 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Comfort her, comfort her, Almighty Father !f 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 I stood in unimaginable trance 
 And agony, that cannot be remember'd, 
 Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan ! 
 But I had heard his last — my husband's death- 
 groan ! 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 Haste ! let us go !{ 
 
 * Heaven ! — Remorse. 
 
 f In Memorse it is Naomi who here interposes with 
 " Comfort her, Alia." After which — 
 
 All. Haste let us seek the murderer ! 
 X Haste ! let us onward ! — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 133 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 I look'd far down the pit. 
 
 My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment, 
 
 And it was stain' d with blood ! Then first I 
 
 shriek'd ! 
 
 My eyeballs burnt ! my brain grew hot as fire ! 
 
 And all the hanging drops of the wet roof 
 
 Turn'd into blood. I saw them turn to blood ! 
 
 And I was leaping wildly down the chasm 
 
 When on the further brink I saw his sword, 
 
 And it said, Vengeance ! Curses on my tongue ! 
 
 The moon hath moved in heaven, and I am here, 
 
 And he hath not had vengeance ! Ferdinand ! 
 
 Spirit of Ferdinand ! thy murderer lives ! 
 
 Away ! away ! 
 
 [She rushes off, all following 
 
 End op the Fourth Act. 
 

 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 Scene the First. — The Sea Shore. 
 
 Naomi and a Moresco. 
 
 moresco. 
 
 This was no time for freaks of useless vengeance. 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 True ! but Francesco, the Inquisitor, 
 
 Thou know'st the bloodhound — 'twas a strong 
 
 temptation. 
 And when they pass'd within a mile of his house, 
 We could not curb them in. They swore by 
 
 Mahomet, 
 It were a deed of treachery to their brethren 
 To sail from Spain and leave that man alive. 
 
 MORESCO. 
 
 Where is Alhadra ? 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 She moved steadily on 
 Unswerving from the path of her resolve. 
 Yet each strange object fix'd her eye: for grief 
 Doth love to dally with fantastic shapes, 
 
136 osoeio : 
 
 And smiling, like a sickly moralist, 
 Gives some resemblance of her own concerns 
 To the straws of chance, and things inanimate. 
 I seek her here ; stand thou upon the watch. 
 
 [Exit Moeesco 
 
 naomi [looking wistfully to the distance]. 
 
 Stretch'd on the rock! It mnst be she — Alhadra! 
 
 [Alhadea rises from the rock, and advances slowly, 
 
 as if musing.'] 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 Once more, well met! what ponder' st thou so 
 deeply ? 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 I scarce can tell thee ! For my many thoughts 
 
 Troubled me, till with blank and naked mind 
 
 I only listen'd to the dashing billows. 
 
 It seems to me, I could have closed my eyes 
 
 And waked without a dream of what has pass'd ; 
 
 So well it counterfeited quietness, 
 
 This wearied heart of mine ! 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 'Tis thus by nature 
 Wisely ordain' d, that so excess of sorrow 
 Might bring its own cure with it. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 137 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Would to Heaven 
 That it had brought its last and certain cure ! 
 That ruin in the wood. 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 It is a place 
 Of ominous fame ; but 'twas the shortest road, 
 Nor could we else have kept clear of the village. 
 Yet some among us, as they scaled the wall, 
 Mutter'd old rhyming prayers. 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 On that broad wall 
 I saw a skull ; a poppy grew beside it, 
 There was a ghastly solace in the sight ! 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 I mark'd it not, and in good truth the night-bird 
 
 Curdled my blood, even till it prick'd the heart. 
 
 Its note comes dreariest in the fall of the year : 
 
 [Looking round impatiently. 
 
 Why don't they come ? I will go forth and meet 
 
 them. 
 
 [Exit Naomi, 
 alhadra [alone]. 
 
 The hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn 
 
 seein'd 
 
138 osoeio : 
 
 As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold, 
 The hanging woods, most lovely in decay, 
 The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands, 
 Lay in the silent moonshine ; and the owl, 
 (Strange ! very strange !) the screech owl only 
 
 waked, 
 Sole voice, sole eye of all that world of beauty ! 
 Why such a thing am I ! Where are these men ? 
 I need the sympathy of human faces 
 To beat away this deep contempt for all things 
 Which quenches my revenge. Oh ! — would to 
 
 Alia 
 The raven and the sea-mew were appointed 
 To bring me food, or rather that my soul 
 Could drink in life from the universal air ! 
 It were a lot divine in some small skiff, 
 Along some ocean's boundless solitude, 
 To float for ever with a careless course, 
 And think myself the only being alive ! 
 
 [Naomi re-enters. 
 
 NAOMI. 
 
 Thy children- 
 
 ALHADKA. 
 
 Children ? Whose children ? 
 
 [A pause — then fiercely. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 139 
 
 Son of Yelez, 
 This hath new-strung my arm ! Thou coward 
 
 tyrant, 
 To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, 
 Till she forgot even that she was a mother ! 
 
 [A noise — enter a part of the Morescoes; and 
 from the opposite side of the stage a Moorish 
 Seaman.] 
 
 moorish seaman. 
 
 The boat is on the shore, the vessel waits. 
 Your wives and children are already stow'd ; 
 I left them prattling of the Barbary coast, 
 Of mosques, and minarets, and golden crescents. 
 Each had her separate dream ; but all were gay, 
 Dancing, in thought, to finger-beaten timbrels ! 
 
 [Enter Maurice and the rest of the Morescoes 
 dragging in Francesco.] 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 spare me, spare me ! only spare my life ! 
 
 AN OLD MAN. 
 
 All hail, Alhadra ! that thou hadst heard him 
 When first we dragg'd him forth ! 
 
 [Then turning to the band. 
 
140 OSORIO : 
 
 Here ! in her presence 
 
 [He advances with his sword as about to hill him. 
 Maurice leaps in and stands with his drawn sword 
 between Francesco and the Morescoes.] 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Nay, but ye shall not ! 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Shall not ? Hah ? Shall not ? 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 What, an unarm'd man ? 
 A man that never wore a sword ? A priest ? 
 It is unsoldierly ! I say, ye shall not ! 
 
 old man [turning to the bands']. 
 He bears himself most like an insolent Spaniard ! 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 And ye like slaves, that have destroy'd their 
 
 master, 
 But know not yet what freedom means ; how holy 
 And just a thing it is ! He's a fall'n foe ! 
 Come, come, forgive him ! 
 
 ALL. 
 
 No, by Mahomet ! 
 
A TRAGEDY. 141 
 
 FRANCESCO. 
 
 mercy, mercy ! talk to them of mercy ! 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Mercy to thee ! No, no, by Mahomet ! 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Nay, Mahomet taught mercy and forgiveness. 
 
 1 am sure he did ! 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Ha ! Ha ! Forgiveness ! Mercy ! 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 If he did not, he needs it for himself ! 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Blaspheming fool ! the law of Mahomet 
 
 Was given by him, who framed the soul of man. 
 
 This the best proof — it fits the soul of man ! 
 
 Ambition, glory, thirst of enterprise, 
 
 The deep and stubborn purpose of revenge, 
 
 With all the boiling revelries of pleasure — 
 
 These grow in the heart, yea, intertwine their roots 
 
 With its minutest fibres ! And that Being 
 
 Who made us, laughs to scorn the lying faith, 
 
142 080EIO : 
 
 Whose puny precepts, like a wall of sand, 
 Would stem the full tide of predestined Nature ! 
 
 naomi [who turns toward Francesco with his 
 
 sword.] 
 Speak ! 
 
 ALL [to ALHADEA]. 
 
 Speak ! 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 Is the murderer of your chieftain dead ? 
 Now as God liveth, who hath suffer'd him 
 To make my children orphans, none shall die 
 Till I have seen his blood ! 
 
 Off with him to the vessel ! 
 
 [A part of the Moeescoes hurry him off.] 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 The tiger, that with unquench'd cruelty, 
 
 Still thirsts for blood, leaps on the hunter's spear 
 
 With prodigal courage. 'Tis not so with man. 
 
 MATJEICE. 
 
 It is not so, remember that, my friends ! 
 Cowards are cruel, and the cruel cowards. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 143 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Scatter yourselves, take each a separate way, 
 And move in silence to the house of Yelez. 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 Scene. — A Dungeon. 
 Albert \_alone~\ rises slowly from a bed of reeds. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 And this place my forefathers made for men !f 
 This is the process of our love and wisdom 
 To each poor brother who offends against us — 
 Most innocent, perhaps — and what if guilty ? 
 Is this the only cure ? Merciful God ! 
 Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up 
 By ignorance and parching poverty, 
 His energies roll back upon his heart, 
 And stagnate and corrupt till changed to poison, 
 
 * The whole of the above portion of the fifth act was 
 omitted in the published Remorse, where Act V. opens with 
 the Dungeon Scene. 
 
 f And this place our forefathers made for man !— Lyrical 
 Ballads (1798). 
 my forefatbers made for man ! — Remorse. 
 
144 osorio : 
 
 They break out on him like a loathsome plague- 
 spot ! 
 Then we call in our pamper' d mountebanks — 
 And this is their best cure ! uncomforted 
 And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, 
 And savage faces at the clanking hour 
 Seen thro' the steaming vapours* of his dungeon 
 By the lamp's dismal twilight ! So he lies 
 Circled with evil, till his very soul 
 Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd 
 By sights of ever more deformity ! 
 With other ministrations thou, Nature ! 
 Healest thy wandering and distemper' d child : 
 Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, 
 Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing 
 
 sweets, 
 Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, 
 Till he relent, and can no more endure 
 To be a jarring and a dissonant thing 
 Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ; 
 But bursting into tears wins back his way, 
 His angry spirit heal'd and harmonised 
 
 * the steam and vapours. — Remorse. 
 
 the steams and vapour. — Lyrical Ballads (1708). 
 
A TRAGEDY. 145 
 
 By the benignant touch of love and beauty.* 
 
 [A noise at the dungeon-door. It opens, and 
 Osorio enters with a goblet in his hand.] 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Hail, potent wizard ! In my gayer mood 
 
 I pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto ;f 
 
 And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought of thee ! 
 
 albert X [in a low voice]. 
 
 I have not summon' d up my heart to give 
 
 That pang, which I must give thee, son of Velez ! 
 
 osorio [with affected levity']. 
 
 Thou hast conspired against my life and honour, 
 Hast trick' d me foully ; yet I hate thee not ! 
 Why should I hate thee ? This same world of 
 ours — 
 
 * The above soliloquy was published in the Lyrical Ballads 
 (1798, pp. 139-140), under the title of The Dungeon. After 
 this and before the entrance of Osorio (Ordonio), a new scene 
 was added in the published Remorse. (See Appendix.) 
 
 f a libation to oblivion. — Remorse. 
 
 X This interruption of Albert (Alvar) is omitted in 
 Remorse. 
 
 L 
 
146 osorio : 
 
 It is a puddle in a storm of rain,* 
 
 And we the air-bladders, that course up and down, 
 
 And joust and tilt in merry tournament, 
 
 And when one bubble runs foul of another, 
 
 [waving his hand at Albert] 
 The lesser must needs break !f 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 I see thy heart ! 
 There is a frightful glitter in thine eye, 
 Which doth betray thee. Crazy-conscienced man, 
 This is the gaiety of drunken anguish, J 
 Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt, 
 And quell each human feeling ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Feeling ! feeling ! 
 The death of a man — the breaking of a bubble. 
 'Tis true, I cannot sob for such misfortunes ! 
 But faintness, cold, and hunger — curses on me 
 If willingly I e'er inflicted them ! 
 
 * 'Tis but a pool amid a storm of rain. — Remorse. 
 f The weaker needs must break. — lb. 
 
 % Inly-tortured man, 
 This is the wildness of a drunken anguish. — lb. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 147 
 
 Come, share the beverage — this chill place demands 
 
 it.* 
 Friendship and wine ! 
 
 [Osorio proffers him the goblet. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Ton insect on the wall, 
 Which moves this way and that its hundred 
 
 legs,f 
 Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft, 
 It were an infinitely curious thing ! 
 But it has life, Osorio ! life and thought ; % 
 And by the power of its miraculous will 
 Wields all the complex movements of its frame 
 Unerringly, to pleasurable ends ! 
 Saw I that insect on this goblet's brink, 
 I would remove it§ with an eager terror. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 What meanest thou ? 
 
 * Here the speech of Osorio (Ordonio) ends in Remorse. 
 
 f its hundred limhs. — Remorse. 
 
 % But it has life, Ordonio ! life, enjoyment ! — lb. 
 
 § The remaining words of Albert's speech are omitted in 
 Remorse. 
 
148 osorio : 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 There's poison in the wine. 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Thou hast guess'd well. There's poison in the 
 
 wine. 
 Shall we throw dice, which of us two shall drink 
 
 it?* 
 For one of us must die ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Whom dost thou think me ? 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 The accomplice and sworn friend of Ferdinand. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Ferdinand ! Ferdinand ! 'tis a name I know not.f 
 
 * Thou hast guess'd right ; there's poison in the wine. 
 There's poison in't — which of us two shall drink it ? — 
 
 'Remorse. 
 
 f In the published Remorse this speech of Albert (Alvar) is 
 somewhat amplified : — 
 
 " I know him not. 
 And yet, methinks, I have heard the name but lately. 
 Means he the husband of the Moorish woman ?" 
 
A TRAGEDY. 149 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Good ! good ! that lie ! by Heaven ! it has restored 
 
 Die. 
 Now I am thy master ! Villain, thou shalt drink it, 
 Or die a bitterer death. 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 What strange solution 
 Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, 
 And drug them to uunatural sleep ? 
 
 [Albert takes the goblet, and with a sigh throws 
 it on the ground."] 
 
 My master ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Thou mountebank ! 
 
 albert. 
 
 Mountebank and villain ! 
 
 What then art thou? For shame, put up thy 
 sword ! 
 
 What boots a weapon in a wither' d arm ? 
 
 I fix DiiDe eye upon thee, and thou tremblest ! 
 
 I speak — and fear and wonder crush thy rage, 
 
 And turn it to a motionless distraction ! 
 
 Thou blind self- worshipper ! thy pride, thy cun- 
 ning, 
 
150 OSORIO : 
 
 Thy faith in universal villainy, 
 Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn 
 For all thy human brethren — out upon them ! 
 What have they done for thee ? Have they given 
 
 thee peace ? 
 Cured thee of starting in thy sleep ? or made 
 The darkness pleasanty when thou wakest at mid- 
 night ? 
 Art happy when alone ? canst walk by thyself 
 With even step, and quiet cheerfulness ? 
 Yet, yet thou mayst be saved. 
 
 osorio [stupidly reiterating the word]* 
 Saved? saved? 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 One pang — 
 Could I call up one pang of true remorse ! 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 He told me of the babe, that prattled to him, 
 His fatherless little ones ! Eemorse ! remorse ! 
 Where gott'st thou that fool's word ? Curse on 
 
 remorse ! 
 Can it give up the dead, or recompact 
 
 # vacantly repeating the words. — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 151 
 
 A mangled body — mangled, dash'd to atoms ! 
 Not all the blessings of an host of angels 
 Can blow away a desolate widow's curse ; 
 And tho' thou spill thy heart's blood for atonement, 
 It will not weigh against an orphan's tear. 
 
 albeet [almost overcome by Ms feelings']. 
 But Albert 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Ha ! it chokes thee in the throat, 
 Even thee ! and yet, I pray thee, speak it out. 
 Still Albert ! Albert ! Howl it in mine ear ! 
 Heap it, like coals of fire, upon my heart ! 
 And shoot it hissing through my brain ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Alas — 
 That day, when thou didst leap from off the rock 
 Into the waves, and grasp'd thy sinking brother, 
 And bore him to the strand, then, son of Velez ! 
 How sweet and musical the name of Albert ! 
 Then, then, Osorio ! he was dear to thee, 
 And thou wert dear to him. Heaven only knows 
 How very dear thou wert ! Why didst thou hate 
 
 him? 
 Heaven ! how he would fall upon thy neck, 
 And weep forgiveness ! 
 
152 osoeio : 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Spirit of the dead ! 
 Methinks I know thee! Ha! — my brain turns 
 
 wild 
 At its own dreams — off — off, fantastic shadow ! 
 
 Albert [seizing his hand]. 
 I fain would tell thee what I am, but dare not ! 
 
 osoeio [retiring from him~\. 
 
 Cheat, villain, traitor ! whatsoe'er thou be 
 I fear thee, man !* 
 
 [He starts, and stands in the attitude of listening.] 
 And is this too my madness ? 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 It is the step of one that treads in fear 
 Seeking to cheat the echo. 
 
 * The stage direction and five speeches that follow are 
 omitted in Remorse, where after the above speech of Ordonio 
 (Osorio), Teresa enters: — 
 
 " Ter. {rushing out and falling on Alyae's neck.) 
 Ordonio, 'tis thy brother ! 
 
 [Oedonio with frantic wildness runs upon Alvae with 
 his sword. Tebesa flings herself on Oedonio and arrests 
 his arm.] 
 
 Stop, madman, stop I" 
 
A TRAGEDY. 153 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 It approaches — 
 This nook shall hide me. 
 [Maria enter s from a plank which slips to and fro.] 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 I have put aside 
 The customs and the terrors of a woman, 
 To work out thy escape. Stranger ! begone, 
 And only tell me what thou know'st of Albert. 
 
 [Albert takes her portrait from his neck, and 
 gives it her with unutterable tenderness.'] 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Maria ! my Maria ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Do not mock me. 
 This is my face — and thou — ha ! who art thou ? 
 Nay, I will call thee Albert ! 
 
 [She falls upon his neck. Osorio leaps out from 
 the nook with frantic wildness, and rushes towards 
 Albert with his sword. Maria gazes at him, as 
 one helpless with terror, then leaves Albert, and 
 flings herself upon Osorio, arresting his arm.] 
 
154 OSORIO: 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Madman, stop ! 
 albert [with majesty and tenderness]. 
 
 Does then this thin disguise impenetrably 
 Hide Albert from thee ? Toil and painful wounds, 
 And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons, 
 Have marr'd perhaps all trace and lineament 
 Of what I was ! But chiefly, chiefly, brother ! 
 My anguish for thy guilt. Spotless Maria, 
 I thought thee guilty too !* Osorio, brother ! 
 Nay, nay, thou shalt embrace me ! 
 
 osorio [drawing hack and gazing at albert with a 
 countenance expressive at once of awe and terror.'] 
 
 Touch me not ! 
 Touch not pollution, Albert ! — I will die ! 
 
 [He attempts to fall on his sword. Albert and 
 Maria struggle with him.] 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 We will invent some tale to save your honour. 
 Live, live, Osorio !f 
 
 * The words addressed to Maria are omitted in Remorse. 
 f We will find means to save your honour, live ! 
 
 Oh live, Ordonio, for our father's sake ! 
 
 Spare his grey hairs ! — Remorse. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 155 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 You may yet be happy. 
 
 osorio [looking at maria]. 
 
 O horror ! Not a thousand years in heaven 
 
 Could recompose this miserable heart, 
 
 Or make it capable of one brief joy. 
 
 Live ! live ! — why yes ! 'Twere well to live with 
 
 you— 
 For is it fit a villain should be proud ? 
 My brother ! I will kneel to you, my brother ! 
 
 [Throws himself at Albert's feet. 
 Forgive me, Albert ! — Curse me with forgiveness ! 
 
 ALBERT. 
 
 Call back thy soul, my brother ! and look round 
 
 thee. 
 Now is the time for greatness. Think that 
 
 Heaven 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 O mark his eye ! he hears not what you say. 
 
 osorio [pointing at vacancy^. 
 
 Yes, mark his eye ! there's fascination in it. 
 Thou said'st thou didst not know him. That is he ! 
 He comes upon me ! 
 
156 OSORIO : 
 
 albert [lifting his eye to heaven']. 
 Heal, lieal him, Heaven ! 
 
 OSOEIO. 
 
 Nearer and nearer ! And I cannot stir ! 
 
 Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake 
 
 me? 
 He would have died to save me, and I kill'd him — 
 A husband and a father ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Some secret poison 
 Drinks up his spirit ! 
 
 osorio [fiercely recollecting himself]. 
 
 Let the eternal Justice 
 Prepare my punishment in the obscure world. 
 I will not bear to live — to live ! agony ! 
 And be myself alone, my own sore torment ! 
 
 [The doors of the dungeon are hurst open with a 
 crash. Alhadra, Maurice, and the hand of 
 
 Morescoes enter.] 
 
 alhadra [pointing at Osorio]. 
 
 Seize first that man ! 
 
 [The Moors press round. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 157 
 
 albert [rushing in among them]. 
 
 Draw thy sword, Maurice ! and defend my brother. 
 [A scuffle j during which they disarm Maurice.* 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Off, ruffians ! I have flung away my sword. 
 Woman, my life is thine ! to thee I give it. 
 Off! he that touches me with his hand of flesh, 
 I'll rend his limbs asunder ! I have strength 
 With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes ! 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 My husband 
 
 OSORIO. 
 
 Yes ! I murder'd him most foully. 
 
 albert [throws himself on the earth~] . 
 O horrible !f 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Why didst thou leave his children ? 
 Demon ! thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell 
 To lap their blood. Then, then, I might have 
 harden' d 
 
 * Omitted in Remorse, as is the name of Maurice among 
 the persons who enter. 
 
 f This exclamation of Albert is omitted in Remorse. 
 
158 osorio : 
 
 My soul in misery, and have had comfort. 
 I would have stood far off, quiet tho' dark, 
 And bade the race of men raise up a mourning 
 For the deep horror of a desolation 
 Too great to be one soul's particular lot ! 
 Brother of Zagri ! let me lean upon thee. 
 
 [Struggling to suppress her anguish. 
 The time is not yet come for woman's anguish — 
 I have not seen his blood. Within an hour 
 Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, 
 Where is our father ? 
 
 [Looks at Osorio. 
 I shall curse thee then ! 
 Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee 
 thence. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 See — see ! he doth repent. I kneel to thee. 
 Be merciful ! 
 
 [Maria kneels to her. Alhadra regards her 
 face wistfully^] 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 Thou art young and innocent ; 
 'Twere merciful to kill thee ! Yet I will not. 
 And for thy sake none of this house shall perish, 
 Save only he. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 159 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 That aged man, his father !* 
 
 alhadra [sternly']. 
 
 Why had he such a son ? 
 
 [The Moors press on. 
 
 maria [still kneeling, and wild with affright] . 
 
 Yet spare his life ! 
 They must not murder him ! 
 
 ALHADRA. 
 
 And is it then 
 An enviable lot to waste away 
 With inward wounds, and like the spirit of chaos 
 To wander on disquietly thro' the earth, 
 Cursing all lovely things ? to let him live — 
 It were a deep revenge ! 
 
 [All the hand cry out] — 
 
 No mercy ! no mercy ! 
 [Naomi advances with the sword towards Osorio.] 
 
 * In the published Remorse the appeal of Maria (Teresa) 
 is uninterrupted, thus : — 
 
 " He doth repent! See, see, I kneel to thee ! 
 let hiin live ! That aged man, his father 
 
160 OSOEIO : 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 Nay, bear him forth ! Why should this innocent 
 
 maid 
 Behold the ugliness of death ? 
 
 osoeio [with great majesty'] . 
 O woman !* 
 I have stood silent like a slave before thee, 
 That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, 
 And satiate this self-accusing spirit 
 With bitterer agonies than death can give.f 
 
 X [The Moors gather round him in a crowd, and 
 pass off the stage."] 
 
 * The preceding part is entirely different in the published 
 Remorse, where it stands thus : — 
 
 " Alhad. (sternly.) Why had he such a son ? 
 
 (Shouts from the distance of, Rescue ! Rescue! Alvae! 
 Alvae ! and the voice of Valdez heard.) 
 
 Alhad. Rescue ? — and Isidore's spirit unrevenged ? 
 
 The deed be mine ! 
 
 (Suddenly stabs Obdonio.) 
 Now take my life ! 
 Ord. (with great majesty.) 
 'Tis well thou hast aveng'd thyself. woman \" 
 
 f The following line is added in Remorse: — 
 " Forgive me, Alvar ! Oh, couldst thou forget me ! 
 
 [Dies." 
 
 X The conclusion of the published Remorse is entirely 
 
 different to this. The speech of Alhadra disappears, and 
 
A TRAGEDY. 161 
 
 ALHADEA. 
 
 I thank thee, Heaven ! thou hast ordain'd it wisely, 
 That still extremes bring their own cure. That point 
 
 Alvar winds up with some grandiloquent maxims and senti- 
 ments in the old-fashioned conventional rhymed couplets : — 
 
 " Alv. (while with Teeesa supporting Ordonio.) 
 Arm of avenging Heaven ! 
 
 Thou hast snatch'd from me my most cherish'd hope — 
 But go ! my word is pledged to thee. Away ! 
 Brave not my father's vengeance ! 
 
 {The Moors hurry off Alhadra. The stage fills 
 with armed peasants and servants, Zulimez and 
 Valdez at their head. Valdez rushes into 
 Altar's arms.'] 
 Alv. Turn not thy face that way, my father ! hide, 
 Oh hide it from his eye ! Oh let thy joy 
 Flow in unmingled stream through thy first Messing. 
 
 (Both kneel to Valdez.) 
 Void. My Son ! My Alvar ! hless, Oh bless him, heaven ! 
 Ter. Me too, my father ? 
 Void. Bless, oh bless my children ! 
 
 (both rise) 
 Alv. Delights so full, if unalloy'd with grief, 
 
 Were ominous. In these strange dread events, 
 Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, 
 That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. 
 Our inward Monitress to guide or warn, 
 If listen'd to ; but if repell'd with scorn, 
 At length as dire Remoese, she reappears, 
 Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears ! 
 Still bids, Remember ! and still cries, Too late ! 
 And while she scares us, goads us to our fate !" 
 
 M 
 
162 osoeio. 
 
 In misery, which makes the oppressed man 
 
 Regardless of his own life, makes him too 
 
 Lord of the oppressor's. Knew I an hundred men 
 
 Despairing, but not palsied by despair. 
 
 This arm should shake the kingdoms of the world ; 
 
 The deep foundations of iniquity 
 
 Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath 
 
 them ; 
 The strongholds of the cruel men should fall, 
 Their temples and their mountainous towers 
 
 should fall ; 
 Till desolation seemed a beautiful thing, 
 And all that wore and had the spirit of life 
 Sang a new song to him who had gone forth 
 Conquering and still to conquer ! 
 
 THE END., 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 TO THE FIRST EDITION OF "REMORSE" (1813).* 
 
 This Tragedy was written in the summer and 
 autumn of the year 1797 ; at Nether Stowey, in 
 the county of Somerset. By whose recommenda- 
 tion, and of the manner in which both the Play 
 and the Author were treated by the recom- 
 mender, let me be permitted to relate: that I 
 knew of its having been received only by a third 
 person ; that I could procure neither answer nor 
 the manuscript ; and that but for an accident I 
 should have had no copy of the work itself. 
 That such treatment would damp a young man's 
 exertions may be easily conceived : there was no 
 
 * Remorse. A Tragedy in Five Acts. By S. T. Coleridge. 
 London : Printed for W. Pople, 67, Chancery Lane. 1813. 
 
166 coleridge's preface to 
 
 need of after-misrepresentation and calumny, as 
 an additional sedative. 
 
 * As an amusing anecdote, and in the wish to 
 prepare future Authors, as young as I then was 
 and as ignorant of the world, of the treatment 
 they may meet with, I will add, that the person 
 who by a twice conveyed recommendation (in the 
 year 1797) had urged me to write a Tragedy : 
 who on my own objection that I was utterly 
 ignorant of all stage -tactics had promised that 
 he would himself make the necessary alterations, 
 if the piece should be at all representable ; who 
 together with the copy of the play (hastened by 
 his means so as to prevent the full developmentf 
 of the characters) received a letter from the 
 Author to this purport, " that conscious of his 
 inexperience, he had cherished no expectations, and 
 should therefore feel no disappointment from the 
 rejection of the play ; hut that if beyond his hopes 
 
 jjf r# found in it any capability of being 
 
 adapted to the stage, it was delivered to him as if it 
 
 * The whole of this paragraph of the Preface was omitted 
 in the later editions of Remorse. — Ed. 
 
 f I need not say to authors, that as to the essentials of a 
 poem, little can be superinduced without dissonance, after 
 the first warmth of conception and composition. 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF REMORSE. 167 
 
 had been his own manuscript, to add, omit, or alter, 
 as he saw occasion ; and that (if it were rejected) 
 the Author would deem himself amply remunerated 
 by the addition to his experience which he should 
 
 receive, if Mr. would point out to him the 
 
 nature of its unfitness for public representation ;" — 
 that this very person returned me no answer, 
 and, spite of repeated applications, retained my 
 manuscript when I was not conscious of any 
 other copy being in existence (my duplicate 
 having been destroyed by an accident) ; that he 
 suffered this manuscript to wander about the 
 town from his house, so that but ten days ago 
 I saw the song in the third Act printed and set to 
 music, without my name, by Mr. Carnaby, in the 
 year 1802 ; likewise that the same person asserted 
 (as I have been assured) that the play was rejected, 
 because I would not submit to the alteration 
 of one ludicrous line; and finally in the year 
 1806 amused and delighted (as who was ever in 
 his company, if I may trust the universal report, 
 without being amused and delighted ?) a large 
 company at the house of a highly respectable 
 Member of Parliament, with the ridicule of the 
 Tragedy, as " a fair specimen" of the whole of 
 which he adduced a line : 
 
168 colekidge's preface to 
 
 " Drip ! drip ! drip ! there's nothing here but dripping" 
 
 In the original copy of the Play, in the first 
 Scene of the fourth Act, Isidore had commenced 
 his Soliloquy in the Cavern with the words : 
 
 " Drip ! drip ! a ceaseless sound of water-drops" 
 
 as far as I can at present recollect : for on the 
 possible ludicrous association being pointed out 
 to me, I instantly and thankfully struck out the 
 line. And as to my obstinate tenacity, not only my 
 old acquaintance, but (I dare boldy aver) both 
 the Managers of Drury-Lane Theatre, and every 
 actor and actress, whom I have recently met in 
 the G-reen-room, will repel the accusation: per- 
 haps not without surprise. 
 
 I thought it right to record these circum- 
 stances ; but I turn gladly and with sincere grati- 
 tude to the converse. In the close of last year 
 I was advised to present the Tragedy once more 
 to the Theatre. Accordingly having altered the 
 names, I ventured to address a letter to Mr. 
 Whitbread, requesting information as to whom I 
 was to present my Tragedy. My letter was 
 instantly and most kindly answered, and I have 
 now nothing to tell but a tale of thanks. I 
 should scarce know where to begin, if the good- 
 
THE TRAGEDY OP REMORSE. 169 
 
 ness of the Manager, Mr. Arnold, had not called 
 for my first acknowledgements. Not merely as 
 an acting Play, bnt as a dramatic Poem, the 
 Remorse has been importantly and manifoldly 
 benefited by his suggestions. I can with severest 
 truth say, that every hint he gave me was the 
 ground of some improvement. In the next place 
 it is my duty to mention Mr. Raymond, the Stage 
 Manager. Had the " Remorse" been his own 
 Play — nay, that is saying too little — had I been 
 his brother, or his dearest friend, he could not 
 have felt or exerted himself more zealously. 
 
 As the Piece is now acting, it may be thought 
 presumptuous in me to speak of the Actors : yet 
 how can I abstain, feeling, as I do, Mrs. Glover's 
 powerful assistance, and knowing the circum- 
 stances under which she consented to act 
 Alhadra ? A time will come, when without pain- 
 fully oppressing her feelings, I may speak of this 
 more fully. To Miss Smith I have an equal, 
 though different acknowledgement to make, 
 namely, for her acceptance of a character not 
 fully developed, and quite inadequate to her 
 extraordinary powers. She enlivened and sup- 
 ported many passages, which (though not perhaps, 
 wholly uninteresting in the closet) would but for 
 
170 
 
 her have hung heavy on the ears of a theatrical 
 audience. And in speaking the Epilogue, a 
 composition which (I fear) my hurry will hardly 
 excuse, and which, as unworthy of her name, is 
 here omitted,* she made a sacrifice, which only 
 her established character with all judges of 
 tragic action, could have rendered compatible 
 with her duty to herself. To Mr. De Camp's 
 judgment and full conception of Isidore ; to Mr. 
 Pope's accurate representation of the partial, yet 
 honourable Father; to Mr. Elliston's energy in 
 the character of Alvar, and who in more than one 
 instance gave it beauties and striking points, 
 which not only delighted but surprised me ; and 
 to Mr. Eae, to whose zeal and unwearied study 
 of his part I am not less indebted as a man, 
 than to his impassioned realization of Okdonio, 
 
 as an author ; to these, and to all concerned 
 
 with the bringing out of the Play, I can address 
 but one word — Thanks ! — but that word is 
 uttered sincerely ! and to persons constantly be- 
 fore the eye of the public, a public acknowledg- 
 ment becomes appropriate, and a duty. 
 
 * This suppressed Epilogue has been disinterred from the 
 columns of the Morning Chronicle, and is now printed here 
 (see page 202). — Ed. 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF REMORSE. 171 
 
 I defer all answers to the different criticisms on 
 the Piece to an Essay, which I am about to 
 publish immediately, on Dramatic Poetry, rela- 
 tively to the present state of the Metropolitan 
 Theatres.* 
 
 From the necessity of hastening the publication 
 I was obliged to send the manuscript intended 
 for the Stage: which is the sole cause of the 
 number of directions printed in italics. 
 
 S. T. Coleridge, 
 
 * This is one of the many projects announced by Cole- 
 ridge, which through his habitual and growing indolence and 
 irresolution, never came to any maturity. — Ed. 
 
172 
 PBOLOGUE 
 
 TO THE TRAGEDY OP "REMORSE,' 
 
 BY C. LAMB* 
 
 Spoken by Mr. Carr, 
 
 There are, I am told, who sharply criticise 
 Our modern theatres* unwieldy size. 
 We players shall scarce plead guilty to that charge, 
 Who think a house can never be too large : 
 Grieved when a rant, that's worth a nation's ear, 
 Shakes some prescribed Lyceum's petty sphere ; 
 And pleased to mark the grin from space to space 
 Spread epidemic o'er a town's broad face. — 
 O might old Betterton or Booth return 
 To view our structures from their silent urn, 
 Could Quin come stalking from Elysian glades, 
 Or G-arrick get a day-rule from the shades — 
 
 * I am unable to discover that this Prologue has been in- 
 cluded in any collection of the writings of Charles Lamb ; 
 it seems to have escaped the notice of the most diligent 
 collectors of Mliana. — -Ed. 
 
PROLOGUE TO " REMORSE." 173 
 
 Where now, perhaps, in mirth, which Spirits 
 
 approve, 
 He imitates the ways of men above, 
 And apes the actions of onr upper coast, 
 As in his days of flesh he play'd the ghost : — 
 How might they bless our ampler scope to please, 
 And hate their own old shrunk-up audiences. — 
 Their houses yet were palaces to those, 
 Which Ben and Fletcher for their triumphs chose, 
 Shakespeare, who wish'd a kingdom for a stage, 
 Like giant pent in disproportion^ cage, 
 Mourn'd his contracted strength and crippled 
 
 rage. 
 He who could tame his vast ambition down 
 To please some scatter' d gleanings of a town, 
 And, if some hundred auditors supplied 
 Their meagre meed of claps, was satisfied, 
 How had he felt, when that dread curse of Lear's 
 Had burst tremendous on a thousand ears, 
 While deep-struck wonder from applauding bands 
 Eeturn'd the tribute of as many hands ! 
 Eude were his guests ; he never made his bow 
 To such an audience as salutes us now. 
 He lack'd the balm of labour, female praise. 
 Few Ladies in his time frequented plays, 
 
174 PROLOGUE TO "REMORSE." 
 
 Or came to see a youth with awkward art 
 
 And shrill sharp pipe burlesque the woman's part. 
 
 The very use, since so essential grown, 
 
 Of painted scenes, was to his stage unknown. 
 
 The air-blest castle, round whose wholesome crest, 
 
 The martlet, guest of summer, chose her nest— 
 
 The forest walks of Arden's fair domain, 
 
 Where Jaques fed his solitary vein, — 
 
 No pencil's aid as yet had dared supply, 
 
 Seen only by the intellectual eye. 
 
 Those scenic helps, denied to Shakespeare's page, 
 
 Our Author owes to a more liberal age. 
 
 Nor pomp nor circumstance are wanting here ; 
 
 'Tis for himself alone that he must fear. 
 
 Yet shall remembrance cherish the just pride, 
 
 That (be the laurel granted or denied) 
 
 He first essay'd in this distinguish'd fane, 
 
 Severer muses and a tragic strain. 
 
175 
 
 Note to Page 1. 
 
 The following is the opening scene added in 
 the published Remorse : — 
 
 Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of 
 the civil wars against the Moors, and during the 
 heat of the persecution which raged against them, 
 shortly after the edict which forbade the wearing 
 of Moresco apparel under pain of death. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada. 
 
 Don Alvae, wrapt in a Boat Qlodk, and Ztjlimez 
 {a Moresco) both as just landed. 
 
 Zul. No sound, no face of joy to welcome us ! 
 
 Alv. My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment 
 Let me forget my anguish and their crimes. 
 If aught on earth demand an unmix' d feeling, 
 'Tis surely this — after long years of exile, 
 To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us 
 To hail at once our country, and our birth-place. 
 Hail, Spain ! Granada, hail ! once more I press 
 Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers ! 
 
176 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Zul. Then claim your rights in it ! O, revered 
 Don Alvar, 
 Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose. 
 It is too hazardous ! reveal yourself, 
 And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt ! 
 
 Alv. Remember, Zulimez ! I am his brother, 
 Injured indeed ! O deeply injured ! yet 
 Ordonio's brother. 
 
 Zul. Nobly minded Alvar ! 
 
 This sure but gives his guilt a blacker die. 
 
 Alv. The more behoves it, I should rouse within 
 him 
 Remorse ! that I should save him from himself. 
 
 Zul. Remorse is as the heart, in which it grows: 
 If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews 
 Of true repentance ; but if proud and gloomy, 
 It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost 
 Weeps only tears of poison !* 
 
 Alv. And of a brother, 
 
 Dare I hold this, unproved ? nor make one effort 
 To save him ? — Hear me, friend ! I have yet to 
 
 tell thee, 
 That this same life, which he conspired to take, 
 
 * This speech of Zulimez stands as a motto on the title- 
 page of the original edition. — Ed. 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 177 
 
 Himself once rescued from the angry flood, 
 And at the imminent hazard of his own. 
 Add too my oath — 
 
 Zul. You have thrice told already, 
 
 The year of absence and of secrecy, 
 To which a forced oath bound you : if in truth 
 A suborn' d murderer have the power to dictate 
 A binding oath — 
 
 Ah. My long captivity 
 
 Left me no choice : the very Wish too languish'd 
 With the fond Hope, that nursed it ; the sick babe, 
 Droop' d at the bosom of its famish'd mother. 
 But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy ; 
 The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest, 
 No motive could have tempted him to falsehood ; 
 In the first pangs of his awaken' d conscience, 
 When with abhorrence of his own black purpose 
 The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast, 
 Fell from his palsied hand — 
 
 Zul. Heavy presumption ! 
 
 Alv. It weigh' d not with me — Hark! I will tell 
 thee all. 
 As we pass'd by, I bade thee mark the base 
 Of yonder cliff — 
 
 Zul. That rocky seat you mean 
 Shaped by the billows ? — 
 
178 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Alv. There Teresa met me 
 
 The morning of the day of my departure. 
 We were alone : the purple hue of dawn, 
 Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us, 
 And blending with the blushes on her cheek 
 Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy light. 
 There seem'd a glory round us, and Teresa 
 The angel of the vision ! (tlien with agitation. 
 
 Hadst thou seen, 
 How in each motion her most innocent soul, 
 Beam'd forth and brightened, thou thyself wouldst 
 
 tell me, 
 Guilt is a thing impossible in her ! 
 She must be innocent ! 
 
 Zul. (with a sigh) Proceed, my Lord ! 
 
 Alv. A portrait which she had procured by 
 stealth, 
 (For even then it seems her heart foreboded 
 Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry) 
 A portrait of herself with thrilling hand 
 She tied around my neck, conjuring me 
 With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred 
 To my own knowledge : nor did she desist, 
 Till she had won a solemn promise from me, 
 That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it 
 Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 179 
 
 Knew that which none but she could have dis- 
 closed. 
 Zul. A damning proof ! 
 
 Ah. My own life wearied me ! 
 
 And but for the imperative voice within 
 With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen. 
 That voice, which quell' d me, calm'd me, and I 
 
 sought 
 The Belgic states ; there join'd the better cause ; 
 And there too fought as one that courted death ! 
 Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, 
 In death-like trance : a long imprisonment fol- 
 low' d. 
 The fulness of my anguish by degrees 
 Waned to a meditative melancholy ; 
 And still the more I mused, my soul became 
 More doubtful, more perplex'd : and still Teresa — 
 Night after night, she visited my sleep, 
 Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, 
 Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me ! 
 And still as in contempt of proof and reason, 
 I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless. 
 Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here 
 In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain. — 
 The Moorish robes ? — 
 
 Zul. All, all are in the sea-cave, 
 
180 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners 
 Secrete the boat there. 
 
 Alv. Above all, the picture 
 
 Of the assassination — 
 
 Zul. Be assured 
 
 That it remains uninjured. 
 
 Alv. Thus disguised 
 
 I will first seek to meet Ordonio's — wife! 
 If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk, 
 And this the hour ; her words, her very looks 
 Will acquit her or convict. 
 
 Zul. Will they not know you ? 
 
 Alv. With your aid, friend, I shall unfearingly 
 Trust the disguise ; and as to my complexion, 
 My long imprisonment, the scanty food, 
 This scar, — and toil beneath a burning sun, 
 Have done already half the business for us. 
 Add too my youth, when last we saw each other. 
 Manhood has swoln my chest, and taught my voice 
 A hoarser note — Besides, they think me dead : 
 And what the mind believes impossible, 
 The bodily sense is slow to recognise. 
 
 Zul. 'Tis yours, sir, to command, mine to obey. 
 Now to the cave beneath the vaulted rock, 
 Where having shaped you to a Moorish chieftain, 
 I will seek our mariners ; and in the dusk 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 181 
 
 Transport whate'er we need to the small dell 
 In the Alpuxarras — there where Zagri lived. 
 
 Alv. I know it well : it is the obscurest haunt 
 Of all the mountains — (both stand listening. 
 
 Voices at a distance ! 
 Let us away ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Page 3. 
 
 (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid, &c.) 
 
 In the third edition of Remorse the following 
 footnote is appended to this passage : — " [Here 
 Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, 
 which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, 
 and in a soothing, half-playful tone and manner 
 apologises for her fancy by the little tale in the 
 parenthesis.] " 
 
 Note to the words "you are a painter," p. 51. 
 (Act II. Scene II.) 
 
 The following lines I have preserved in this 
 place not so much as explanatory of the picture 
 of the assassination, as (if I may say so, without 
 disrespect to the public) to gratify my own feel- 
 ings, the passage being no mere fancy portrait ; 
 but a slight, yet not unfaithful, profile of one who 
 
182 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 still lives, nobilitate felix, arte clarior, vita colendis- 
 simus* 
 
 Zul. (speaking of Alvar in the third person.) 
 Such was the noble Spaniard's own relation. 
 He told me, too, how in his early youth, 
 And his first travels, 'twas his choice or chance 
 To make long sojourn in sea- wedded Venice ; 
 There won the love of that divine old man, 
 Courted by mightiest kings, the famous Titian ! 
 Who, like a second and more lovely Nature, 
 By the sweet mystery of lines and colours, 
 Changed the blank canvas to a magic mirror, 
 That made the Absent present ; and to Shadows 
 G;ave light, depth, substance, bloom, yea, thought 
 
 and motion. 
 He loved the old man, and revered his art : 
 And though of noblest birth and ample fortune, 
 The young enthusiast thought it no scorn 
 But his inalienable ornament, 
 
 * In later editions, after the death of the person alluded 
 to, these prefatory observations were thus altered : — " The 
 following lines I have preserved in this place, not so much as 
 explanatory of the picture of the assassination, as to gratify 
 my own feelings, the passage being no mere fancy portrait ; 
 but a slight yet not unfaithful profile of the late Sir George 
 Beaumont." 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 183 
 
 To be his pupil, and with filial zeal 
 By practice to appropriate the sage lessons, 
 Which the gay, smiling old man gladly gave. 
 The Art, he honour'd thus, requited him : 
 And in the following and calamitous years 
 Beguiled the hours of his captivity. 
 
 AThad. And then he framed this picture ? and 
 unaided 
 By arts unlawful, spell, or talisman ? 
 
 Alv. A potent spell, a mighty talisman ! 
 The imperishable memory of the dead, 
 Sustain'd by love, and grief, and indignation ! 
 So vivid were the forms within his brain, 
 His very eyes, when shut, made pictures of them !* 
 
 Note to Page 75. 
 
 Bemorse. Act III. 
 
 [The following is entirely different to the close 
 of the third Act of Osorio. See p. 75 supra : — "] 
 
 Wandering Demons ! hear the spell ! 
 Lest a blacker charm compel — 
 
 * Printed in the Appendix to the third edition of Remorse 
 (1813). 
 
184 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 [The incense on the altar takes fire suddenly, 
 and an illuminated picture of Alvar's 
 assassination is discovered, and having 
 remained a few seconds is then hidden by 
 ascending flames.'] 
 
 Ord. [starting in great agitation.) 
 Duped ! duped ! duped ! the traitor Isidore ! 
 
 [At this instant the doors are forced open, 
 Monviedro and the Familiars of the 
 Inquisition, servants, &c, enter and fill 
 the stage.] 
 
 Mon. First seize the sorcerer ! suffer him not 
 to speak ! 
 The holy judges of the Inquisition 
 Shall hear his first words. Look you pale, Lord 
 
 Valdez ? 
 Plain evidence have we here of most foul sorcery. 
 There is a dungeon underneath this castle, 
 And as you hope for mild interpretation, 
 Surrender instantly the keys and charge of it. 
 Ord. (recovering himself as from stupor, to the 
 servants.) 
 Why haste you not ? Off with him to the dungeon ! 
 
 [All rush out in tumult. 
 
ADDITIONS IN " KEMORSE." 185 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Interior of a Chapel, with painted windows. 
 
 Enter Teresa. 
 
 When first I enter'd this pure spot, forebodings 
 Press'd heavy on my heart : but as I knelt, 
 Such calm unwonted bliss possess'd my spirit, 
 A trance so cloudless, that those sounds, hard by, 
 Of trampling uproar, fell upon mine ear 
 As alien and unnoticed as the rain-storm 
 Beats on the roof of some fair banquet-room, 
 While sweetest melodies are warbling 
 
 Enter Valdez. 
 
 Vald. Ye pitying saints, forgive a father's 
 blindness, 
 And extricate us from this net of peril ! 
 
 Ter. Who wakes anew my fears, and speaks of 
 peril? 
 
 Vald. best Teresa, wisely wert thou prompted ! 
 This was no feat of mortal agency ! 
 That picture — Oh, that picture tells me all ! 
 With a flash of light it came, in flames it vanish'd, 
 Self-kindled, self-consumed : bright as thy life, 
 Sudden and unexpected as thy fate, 
 Alvar ! My son! My son ! — The Inquisitor — 
 
186 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Ter. Torture me not ! But Alvar — Oh of Alvar! 
 Vald. How often wouldst thou plead* for these 
 Morescoes ! 
 The brood accursed! remorseless, coward mur- 
 derers ! 
 Ter. (wildly.) 
 
 So ? so ? — I comprehend you — He is 
 
 Void, (with averted countenance.) 
 
 He is no more ! 
 Ter. O sorrow! that a Father's voice should 
 say this, 
 A Father's heart believe it ! 
 
 Void. And how painful 
 
 Are Fancy's wild hopesf to a heart despairing ! 
 Ter. These rays that slant in from those gor- 
 geous windows, 
 From yon bright orb — tho' colour'd as they pass, 
 Are they not Light ? — Even so that voice, Lord 
 
 Valdez ! 
 Which whispers to my soul, tho' haply varied 
 By many a fancy, many a wishful hope, 
 Speaks yet the truth : and Alvar lives for me ! 
 
 * How often would he plead. — Third Edition. 
 
 f A worse sorrow 
 Are Fancy's wild hopes, &c. — Third Edition. 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 187 
 
 Void. Yes, for three wasting years, thus and 
 no other, 
 He has lived for thee — a spirit for thy spirit ! 
 My child, we must not give religious faith 
 To every voice which makes the heart a listener 
 To its own wish. 
 
 Ter. I breathed to the Unerring 
 
 Permitted prayers. Mustthose remain unanswer'd, 
 Yet impious Sorcery, that holds no commune 
 Save with the lying spirit, claim belief? 
 
 Vald. O not to-day, not now for the first time 
 Was Alvar lost to thee — 
 
 (turning off, aloud, but yet as to himself. 
 Accursed assassins ! 
 Disarm'd, o'erpower'd, despairing of defence, 
 At his bared breast he seem'd to grasp some relic 
 
 More dear than was his life 
 
 Ter. (with faint shriek.) 
 
 O Heavens ! my portrait ! 
 He grasp' d it in his death-pang !* 
 
 Off, false Demon, 
 That beat'st thy black wings close above my head ! 
 [Ordonio enters with the keys of the dungeon 
 in his hand.'] 
 
 * And lie did grasp it in his death-pang ! — Third Edition. 
 
188 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Hush! who comes here? The wizard Moor's 
 
 employer ! 
 Moors were his murderers, you say ? Saints shield 
 us 
 
 From wicked thoughts 
 
 [Valdez moves toward the back of the stage 
 to meet Ordonio, and during the con- 
 cluding lines of Teresa's speech appears 
 as eagerly conversing with him.'] 
 
 Is Alvar dead ? what then ? 
 The nuptial- rites and funeral shall be one. 
 Here's no abiding-place for thee, Teresa. — 
 Away ! they see me not — Thou seest me, Alvar ! 
 To thee I bend my course. — But first one 
 
 question, 
 One question to Ordonio. — My limbs tremble — 
 There I may sit unmark'd — a moment will restore 
 me. (retires out of sight. 
 
 Ord. (as he advances with Valdez.) 
 Those are the dungeon keys. Monviedro knew 
 
 not, 
 That I too had received the wizard's message, 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again." 
 But now he is satisfied, I plann'd this scheme 
 To work a full conviction on the culprit, 
 And he entrusts him wholly to my keeping. 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 189 
 
 Void. 'Tis well, my son! But have you yet 
 discover' d 
 (Where is Teresa ?) what those speeches meant — 
 Pride, and hypocrisy, and guilt, and cunning ? 
 Then when the wizard fix'd his eye on you, 
 And you, I know not why, look'd pale and trem- 
 bled— 
 Why — why, what ails you now ? — 
 
 Ord. (confused.) Me ? what ails me ? 
 
 A pricking of the blood — It might have happen'd 
 At any other time. — Why scan you me ? 
 
 Vald. His speech about the corse, and stabs, 
 and murderers, 
 Bore reference to the assassins 
 
 Ord. Duped! duped! duped! 
 
 The traitor, Isidore ! (a pause, then wildly. 
 
 I tell thee, my dear father ! 
 I am most glad of this. 
 
 Vald. (confused.) True — Sorcery 
 
 Merits its doom ; and this perchance may guide us 
 To the discovery of the murderers. 
 I have their statures and their several faces 
 So present to me, that but once to meet them 
 Would be to recognize. 
 
 Ord. Yes ! yes ! we recognize them I 
 
 I was benumb' d, and stagger' d up and down 
 
190 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Thro' darkness without light — dark — dark — dark ! 
 
 My flesh crept chill, my limbs felt manacled, 
 
 As had a snake coil'd round them! — Now 'tis 
 
 sunshine, 
 And the blood dances freely thro' its channels ! 
 
 [Turns off abruptly : then to himself. 
 This is my virtuous, grateful Isidore ! 
 
 [then mimicking Isidore's manner and voice — 
 " A common trick of gratitude, my lord !" 
 Old Gratitude ! a dagger would dissect 
 His " own full heart" — 'twere good to see its 
 
 colour. 
 Void. These magic sights ! O that I ne'er had 
 
 yielded 
 To your entreaties ! Neither had I yielded, 
 But that in spite of your own seeming faith 
 I held it for some innocent stratagem, 
 Which Love had prompted, to remove the doubts 
 Of wild Teresa — by fancies quelling fancies ! 
 
 Ord. (in a slow voice, as reasoning to himself.) 
 Love ! Love ! and then we hate ! and what ? and 
 
 wherefore ? 
 Hatred and Love ! Fancies opposed by fancies ! 
 What ? if one reptile sting another reptile ! 
 Where is the crime ? The goodly face of nature 
 Hath one disfeaturing stain the less upon it. 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 191 
 
 Are we not all predestined transiency, 
 
 And cold dishonour ? Grant it, that this hand 
 
 Had given a morsel to the hungry worms 
 
 Somewhat too early — Where's the crime of this ? 
 
 That this must needs bring on the idiocy 
 
 Of moist-eyed penitence — 'tis like a dream ! 
 
 Void. Wild talk, my son ! But thy excess of 
 
 feeling (averting himself. 
 
 Almost I fear, it hath unhinged his brain. 
 
 Ord. (now in soliloquy, and now addressing his 
 father: and just after the speech has com- 
 menced, Teresa reappears and advances 
 slowly.) 
 Say, I had laid a body in the sun ! 
 Well! in a month there swarm forth from the 
 
 corse 
 A thousand, nay, ten thousand sentient beings 
 In place of that one man. — Say, I had hilVd him ! 
 [Teresa starts, and stops listening. 
 Yet who shall tell me, that each one and all 
 Of these ten thousand lives is not as happy, 
 As that one life, which being push'd aside, 
 
 Made room for these unnumber'd 
 
 Vald. O mere madness ! 
 
 [Teresa moves hastily forwards, and places 
 herself directly before Ordonio.] 
 
192 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Ord. {Checking the feeling of surprise, and forcing 
 his tones into an expression of playful 
 courtesy.) 
 Teresa ? or the phantom of Teresa ? 
 
 Ter. Alas ! the phantom only, if in truth 
 The substance of her being, her life's life, 
 Have ta'en its flight thro' Alvar's death-wound — 
 
 (a pause). Where — 
 
 (Even coward Murder grants the dead a grave) 
 O tell me, Yaldez ! — answer me, Ordonio ! 
 Where lies the corse of my betrothed husband ? 
 Ord. There, where Ordonio likewise would fain 
 lie! 
 In the sleep-compelling earth, in unpierced dark- 
 ness! 
 For while we live — 
 An inward day, that never, never sets, 
 Glares round the soul, and mocks the closing 
 
 eyelids ! 
 Over his rocky grave the Fir-grove sighs 
 A lulling ceaseless dirge ! 'Tis well with him ! 
 
 [Strides off in agitation towards the altar, 
 but returns as Valdez is speaking.^ 
 
 Ter. (recoiling with the expression appropriate to 
 the passion.) 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 193 
 
 The rock ! the fir-grove ! (To Yaldez) 
 
 Didst thou hear him say it ? 
 Hush ! I will ask him ! 
 
 Void. Urge him not — not now ! 
 
 This we beheld. Nor He nor I know more, 
 Than what the magic imagery reveal' d. 
 
 The assassin, who press'd foremost of the three 
 
 Ord. A tender-hearted, scrupulous, grateful 
 villain, 
 Whom I will strangle ! 
 
 Void, {looking with anxious disquiet at his Son, 
 yet attempting to proceed with his description.) 
 
 While his two companions 
 
 Ord. Dead ! dead already ! what care we for 
 
 the dead ? 
 Vald. (To Teresa.) 
 Pity him ! soothe him ! disenchant his spirit ! 
 The^e supernatural shows, this strange disclosure, 
 And his too fond affection, which still broods 
 O'er Alvar's fate, and still burns to avenge it — 
 These, struggling with his hopeless love for you, 
 Distemper him, and give reality 
 To the creatures of his fancy. 
 
 Ord. Is it so ? 
 
 Yes ! yes ! even like a child, that too abruptly 
 Eoused by a glare of light from deepest sleep 
 
194 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Starts up bewilder'd, and talks idly. 
 (Then mysteriously.) Father ! 
 
 What if the Moors that made my brother's grave, 
 Even now were digging ours ! What if the bolt, 
 Though aim'd, I doubt not, at the son of Valdez, 
 Yet miss'd its true aim when it fell on Alvar ? 
 
 Vald. Alvar ne'er fought against the Moors, — 
 say rather, 
 He was their advocate ; but you had march' d 
 With fire and desolation through their villages. — 
 Yet he by chance was captured. 
 
 Orel. Unknown, perhaps, 
 
 Captured, yet as the son of Valdez, murder'd. 
 Leave all to me. Nay, whither, gentle Lady ? 
 
 Void. What seek you now ? 
 
 Ter. A better, surer light, 
 
 To guide me 
 
 Both. Whither? 
 
 Ter. To the only place 
 
 Where life yet dwells for me, and ease of heart. 
 These walls seem threatening to fall in upon me ! 
 Detain me not ! a dim power drives me hence, 
 And that will be my guide. 
 
 Vald. To find a lover ! 
 
 Suits that a high-born maiden's modesty ? 
 O folly and shame ! Tempt not my rage, Teresa ! 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 195 
 
 Ter. Hopeless, I fear no human being's rage. 
 
 And am I hastening to the arms Heaven ! 
 
 I haste but to the grave of my beloved ! 
 
 [Exit, Valdez following after her. 
 
 Ord. This, then, is my reward! and must I 
 
 love her ? 
 Scorn'd, shudder'd at ! yet love her still ? yes ! 
 
 yes! 
 By the deep feelings of revenge and hate 
 I will still love her — woo her — win her too ! 
 (a pause.) Isidore safe and silent, and the portrait 
 Found on the wizard — he, belike, self-poison' d 
 To escape the crueller flames My soul shouts 
 
 triumph ! 
 The mine is undermined ! blood ! blood ! blood ! 
 They thirst for thy blood ! thy blood, Ordonio ! 
 
 (a pause.) 
 The hunt is up ! and in the midnight wood 
 With lights to dazzle and with nets they seek 
 A timid prey : and lo ! the tiger's eye 
 Glares in the red flame of his hunter's torch ! 
 
 To Isidore I will despatch a message, 
 
 And lure him to the cavern ! ay, that cavern ! 
 
 He cannot fail to find it. Thither I'll lure him, 
 
196 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Whence he shall never, never more return ! 
 
 (Looks through the side window.) 
 A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea, 
 And now 'tis gone ! All shall be done to-night. 
 
 [Exit 
 end op the third act. 
 
 Note to Page 145. 
 
 ActV. 
 
 In the published Remorse, the Dungeon soliloquy 
 of Alvar has some additional lines, and the follow- 
 ing scene with Teresa is interpolated. Alvar 
 continues : — 
 
 I am chill and weary ! Ton rude bench of stone, 
 In that dark angle, the sole resting-place ! 
 But the self- approving mind is its own light, 
 And life's best warmth still radiates from the 
 
 heart, 
 Where love sits brooding, and an honest purpose. 
 
 (Retires out of sight. 
 Enter Teresa with a taper. 
 Ter. It has chill' d my very life-blood !* my own 
 voice scares me ! 
 
 * My very life.— Third Edition. 
 
ADDITION'S IN " REMORSE." 197 
 
 Yet when I -near it not, I seem to lose 
 
 The substance of my being — my strongest grasp 
 
 Sends inwards but weak witness that I am. 
 
 I seek to cheat the echo. — How the half sounds 
 
 Blend with this strangled light ! Is he not here ? 
 
 As in a dream I ask ; if it be a dream ?* 
 
 (Looking round.) 
 for one human face here — but to see 
 One human face here to sustain me. — Courage ! 
 It is but my own fear ! — The life within me, 
 It sinks and wavers like this cone of flame, 
 Beyond which I scarce dare to look ! (shudders. )f 
 If I faint ? If this inhuman den should be 
 At once my death-bed and my burial vault ? 
 Ho ! (with a faint scream as Alvar emerges from 
 
 the recess and moves hastily toward her.) 
 Alv. (Rushes towards her, and catches her as she 
 
 is falling.) 
 gracious heaven ! it is, it is Teresa ! 
 Shall I reveal myself? The sudden shock 
 Of rapture will blow out this spark of life, 
 And joy complete what terror has begun. 
 
 * This line is omitted in the later editions of Remorse. 
 f In the later editions of Remorse this line runs : — 
 " Beyond which I scarce dare look onward ! Oh 
 
 {shuddering)" 
 
198 ADDITIONS IN REMOHSE." 
 
 ye impetuous beatings here, be still ! 
 Teresa, best beloved ! pale, pale, and cold ! 
 Her pulse doth nutter ! Teresa ! my Teresa ! 
 
 Ter. (Recovering, looks round wildly.) 
 
 1 beard a voice ; but often in my dreams 
 
 I bear that voice ! and wake, and try — and try — 
 To bear it waking ! but I never could — 
 And 'tis so now — even so ! Well ! be is dead — 
 Murder' d perhaps ! And I am faint, and feel 
 As if it were no painful thing to die ! 
 
 Alv. (eagerly.) 
 Believe it not, sweet maid ! Believe it not, 
 Beloved woman ! 'Twas a low imposture, 
 Framed by a guilty wretch. 
 
 Ter. (Retires from him, and feebly supports Tier- 
 self against a pillar of the dungeon.) 
 Ha ! Who art thou ? 
 
 Alv. (exceedingly affected.) 
 Suborn' d by his brother — 
 
 Ter. Didst thou murder him ? 
 
 And dost thou now repent ? Poor troubled 
 
 man, 
 I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee ! 
 
 Alv. Ordonio — he — 
 
 Ter. If thou didst murder him — 
 
 His spirit ever at the throne of G-od 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 199 
 
 Asks mercy for thee : prays for mercy for thee, 
 With tears in Heaven ! 
 
 Alv. Alvar was not murder'd. 
 
 Be calm ! Be calm, sweet maid ! 
 
 Ter. (wildly.) Nay, nay, but tell me ! 
 
 (a pause, then presses her forehead.) 
 
 O 'tis lost again ! 
 This dull confused pain — 
 
 (a pause, she gazes at Alvar.) 
 
 Mysterious man ! 
 Methinks I cannot fear thee : for thine eye 
 Doth swim with love and pity — Well ! Ordonio — • 
 Oh my foreboding heart ! And he suborn' d thee, 
 And thou didst spare his life ? Blessings shower 
 
 on thee, 
 As many as the drops twice counted o'er 
 In the fond faithful heart of his Teresa ! 
 
 Alv. I can endure no more. The Moorish 
 sorcerer 
 Exists but in the stain upon this face. 
 That picture — 
 
 Ter. (advances towards him.) Ha ! speak on I 
 Alv. Beloved Teresa ! 
 
 It told but half the truth. let this portrait 
 Tell all — that Alvar lives — that he is here ! 
 
200 ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 
 
 Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar. 
 
 [Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives 
 it her. 
 
 Ter. (receiving the portrait.) 
 The same — it is the same. Ah ! Who art thou ? 
 Nay I will call thee, Alvar. (She falls on his neck.) 
 
 Alv. O joy unutterable ! 
 
 But hark ! a sound as of removing bars 
 At the dungeon's outer door. A brief, brief 
 
 while 
 Conceal thyself, my love ! It is Ordonio. 
 For the honour of our race, for our dear father ; 
 O for himself too (he is still my brother) 
 Let me recall him to his nobler nature, 
 That he may wake as from a dream of murder ! 
 O let me reconcile him to himself, 
 Open the sacred source of penitent tears, 
 And be once more his own beloved Alvar. 
 
 Ter. O my all- virtuous love ! I fear to leave 
 thee 
 With that obdurate man. 
 
 Alv. Thou dost not leave me ! 
 
 But a brief while retire into the darkness : 
 O that my joy could spread its sunshine round 
 thee! 
 
 Ter. The sound of thy voice shall be my music ! 
 
ADDITIONS IN " REMORSE." 201 
 
 [Retiring, she returns hastily and embracing 
 Alvar.] 
 Alvar ! my Alvar ! am I sure I hold thee ? 
 Is it no dream ? thee in my arms, my Alvar ! 
 
 [Exit 
 
( 202 ) 
 
 KPILOGUE 
 
 TO MR. COLERIDGE'S NEW TRAGEDY CALLED 
 "KEMOESE."* 
 
 Written by the Author, and spoken by Miss Smith in the 
 character of Tbbesa. 
 
 Oh ! the procrastinating idle rogue, 
 The Poet has just sent his Epilogue ; 
 Ay, 'tis just like him ! — and the hand ! — 
 
 (Poring over the manuscript) — The stick ! 
 I could as soon decipher Arabic ! 
 But, hark ! my wizard's own poetic elf 
 Bids me take courage, and make one myself! 
 
 An heiress, and with sighing swains in plenty, 
 From blooming nineteen to full-blown five-and 
 
 twenty, 
 Life beating high, and youth upon the wing, 
 
 A six years' absence was a heavy thing !" 
 Heavy ! — nay, let's describe things as they are, 
 With sense and nature 'twas at open war — 
 
 * Printed in the Morning Chronicle, Thursday, January 
 28, 1813. 
 
EPILOGUE TO " REMORSE." 203 
 
 Mere affectation to be singular. 
 
 Yet ere yon overflow in condemnation, 
 
 Think first of poor Teresa's education ; 
 
 'Mid mountains wild, near billow-beaten rocks, 
 
 Where sea- gales play'd with her dishevel' d 
 
 locks, 
 Bred in the spot where first to light she sprung, 
 With no Academies for ladies young— 
 Academies — (sweet phrase !) that well may claim 
 From Plato's sacred grove th' appropriate name ! 
 
 No morning visits, no sweet waltzing dances 
 
 Then for reading — what but huge romances, 
 With as stiff morals, leaving earth behind 'em, 
 As the brass-clasp'd, brass-corner' d boards that 
 
 bind 'em. 
 Knights, chaste as brave, who strange adventures 
 
 seek, 
 And faithful loves of ladies, fair as meek ; 
 
 Or saintly hermits' wonder-raising acts, 
 
 Instead of — novels founded upon facts ! 
 
 Which decently immoral, have the art 
 
 To spare the blush, and undersap the heart ! 
 
 Oh, think of these, and hundreds worse than 
 these, 
 
 Dire disimproving disadvantages, 
 
 And grounds for pity — not for blame you'll see, 
 
"Q 
 
 204 EPILOGUE TO " REMORSE." 
 
 E'en in Teresa's six years' constancy. 
 
 (Looking at the manuscript.) 
 But stop ! what's this ? — Our Poet bids me say, 
 That he has woo'd your feelings in this Play, 
 By no too real woes, that make you groan, 
 Recalling kindred griefs, perhaps your own, 
 Yet with no image compensate the mind, 
 Nor leave one joy for memory behind. 
 He'd wish no loud laugh, from the sly, shrewd 
 
 sneer, 
 To unsettle from your eyes the quiet tear, 
 That Pity had brought, and Wisdom would leave 
 
 there. 
 Now calm he waits your judgment ! (win or miss), 
 By no loud plaudits saved, damn'd by no factious 
 
 hiss. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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