After a pause I saw the son of Velez
Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter’d —
There was another and a longer pause — 390
And once, methought, 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! 395
Maurice. Thou called’st him?
Alhadra. 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 400
Of that for which I came! After that pause,
O God! I heard a groan! — and follow’d it.
And yet another groan — which guided me
Into a strange recess — and there was light,
A hideous light! his torch lay on the ground — 405
Its flame burnt dimly o’er a chasm’s brink.
I 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!
Alhadra. I stood in unimaginable trance 410
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!
Alhadra. I look’d far down the pit.
My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment, 415
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 420
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! 425
Away! away! [She rushes off, all following.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT
SCENE II
The interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic Castle with the iron gate
of a dungeon visible.
Teresa. Heart-chilling Superstition! thou canst glaze
Ev’n Pity’s eye with her own frozen tear.
In vain I urge the tortures that await him:
Even Selma, 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,
I doubt not, that Ordonio had suborned 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 fixed! myself will rescue him,
And learn if haply he knew aught of Alvar.
Enter VALDEZ.
Valdez. Still sad? — and gazing at the massive door
Of that fell dungeon which thou ne’er had’st sight of,
Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shap’d it
When the nurse still’d thy cries with unmeant threats.
Now by my faith, girl! this same wizard haunts thee!
A stately man, and eloquent and tender —
Who then need wonder if a lady sighs
Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans —
Teresa. 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 though the dearest inmates of our household
Were doom’d to suffer them. That such things are —
Remorse.
O honor’d Selma! this strange man has left me
Wilder’d with stranger fancies than yon moon
Corr. in MS. III.
She gazes idly!
Ter. But that entrance, Selma
Corr. in MS. III.
[Between 248 and 255:]
What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us!
I dare not listen to you.
Teresa. 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.
Valdez. —— We have mourned for
Alvar.
Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt.
Have I no other son?
Remorse.
Remorse.
[Between 262 and 268:]
O that I had indeed the sorcerer’s power. —
I would call up before thine eyes the image
Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born!
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 his 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,