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,
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 years 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-

Alv.

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

We were alone: the purple hue of dawn
Fell from the kindling cast 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!

[Then with agitation. Hadst thou seen

How in each motion her most innocent soul

Beam'd forth and brighten'd, 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 ever 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 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,

Knew that which none but she could have disclosed.
Zul. A damning proof!

Alv.

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 follow'd.
The fullness 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!
Yes, 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,

Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners
Secrete the boat there.

Alv.

Of the assassination

Zul.

Above all, the picture

Be assured

Thus disguised,

That it remains uninjured.

Alv.

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 recognize.

Zul. 'Tis yours, Sir, to command; mine to obev. 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
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!

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

Enter TERESA and VALDEZ.

Ter. I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son

And Alvar's brother.

Val.

Love him for himself,

Nor make the living wretched for the dead.

Ter. I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord

Valdez;

But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain

Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living.

Val. 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 my 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.

Ter.

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,
To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again
All past hours of delight! If it be wretched
To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there,
To go through each minutest circumstance
Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures
Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them;
* (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid
Who drest 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,
Or hover round, as he at midnight oft
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 Alvar's sire! if this be wretchedness
That eats away the life, what were it, think
If in a most assured reality

He should return, and see a brother's infant
Smile at him from my arms?

you,

* Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a soothing half-playful tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy, by the little tale in the parenthesis.