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Some bridal gifts presented be,
Thus, Tuzani, some gifts of thine
Give to Maléca, the divine.

Tuz.-Ah! they are all too poor for thee;
For thou art such a peerless one-
Brightest of all that brightest be-
That to give diamonds unto thee
Is to give light unto the sun.
Here is a Cupid all complete.
Arm'd with his bow and arrows keen,
And yet the conquered god is seen
To kneel submissive at thy feet.
Here is a string of pearls, to twine
Around thy beauteous neck of snow—
Tears of the Dawn, which yet must flow
To find her face outshone by thine.
Here is an eagle fair to see,

Of emerald green-hope's favourite hue-
That bird alone that dares to view
The unclouded sun, will gaze on thee.
This ruby chain perchance thou'lt wear
Amid thy tresses dark and smooth—
I need it not; my chains, in sooth,
Are thy sweet smiles and curling hair.
And these memorials may--but no,
I cannot ask so cold a lot-
If thy own heart recall me not
To these, that bliss I would not owe.
Maleca. Tuzani, these gifts I take,
And, grateful for thy love, I vow
To prize them all my life, as now,
And keep and wear them for thy sake.

Lid. And I congratulate you both
Upon the happy vows you've plighted.
Malec.-Come, let their hands be now
united-

The sweet reward of hearts not loth.

Tuz.-Ah! dearest, at thy feet I lieMaleca. Nay, let my arms henceforward be

A lasting chain for love and thee.

Tuz. And I am blest!

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[At the moment that their hands meet, a sound of drums is heard, at which there is an universal exclamation of surprise.]

Malec.-No Moorish tabours give the sound,

The startling sound that hither comes;
No! 'tis the beat of Spanish drums
That thunders through the mountains round.
Tuz.-Alas! this sound forebodeth woe.
Aben.-Stop the bridal till we see
What this novelty may be.

Tuz.-My lord, and hast thou yet to
know

That there can be nothing newer,
Nothing stranger now than this-
That my heart can feel a bliss
Ever fated to endure?

Scarcely on my heart and lips
Hope's bright sun outbeams again,
When the dusky arms of Spain
Hides its light in dark eclipse!

[ALCUZCUZ (the GRACIOSO of the play) here enters, and in the peculiar gib

berish or broken Spanish, that principally constitutes the humour of his character, announces the advance of the Spanish forces. ABENHUEYMA orders the Moorish captains to their several posts-MALEC to Galera, TUZANI to Gabia; he himself remaining at Berja. By degrees all leave the stage, except MALECA and TUZANI.] Maleca. Ah, there's little need to say Whose thou art, sweet joy divine!

Tuz.-Since 'tis plain thou must be mine, By the shortness of thy stay!

Maleca. Joys, alas! too early doomed, Dying ere their birth was known.

Tuz.-Roses plucked ere they were blown, Sweet flowers wither'd ere they bloomed. Maleca. So enfeebled, so prostrated, That a breath has laid you low. Tuz.-What thou art my heart doth know;

Vain my lips aloud should state it.

After some more passionate exclamations of this kind, and lamentations on the fate that divided them at the very moment of their betrothment, the lovers are obliged to separate. Tuzani promising, as the distance was only two leagues, to come every night from Gabia, where he was stationed, to Galera, where Maleca remained, on a visit to his affianced bride.

THE DEATH OF MALECA.

[Scene, Galera. TUZANI enters.]
Tuz.-Through these flames that rise
like mountains,

Through this sea of blood advancing,
Treading upon prostrate corses;
Fondest love has led me hither,

To the house of my Maleca.
Ah! I find it torn and shatter'd,
Victim of a double ruin—

Fire and sword have fallen upon it!
But, my bride, my bride, where art thou?
If thou'rt lost, let sorrow make me
Quick to die, as slow to aid thee.
Where art thou, my loved Maleca ?
Ah, my eyes discover nothing!
Maleca (within).—Alas! alas!
These mournful

Tuz.

accents,

Which the wind around me scatters-
Sad complaints obscurely spoken,
Bitter sighs, too well repeated,
Pierce my breast like lightning flashes
Ah! was ever such affliction?

By the glimmering light arising
From the half-expiring embers,
I behold a woman lying
With her blood the fire allaying.
Ah! it is-it is Maleca-

O sacred heavens! bestow, in pity,
Life on her, or death on me.

[He enters, and returns with MALECA in his arms. Her hair hangs loosely about her, the blood flows from her wound, and she is but half dressed.] Maleca.-Spanish soldier, in whose bosom Cruelty nor pity dwelleth

Pity, since thy hand has struck me-
Cruelty, since death still tarries—
Plunge again thy murderous weapon
In my breast-'twill be less cruel
Than to leave me thus suspended
"Twixt your cruelty and pity.

Tuz.-Fair but most unhappy being!
Thou, a goddess in thy beauty,
Thou, a mortal in thy griefs,
Since divinest natures ever
Taste of earthly pangs as well-
He who in his arms doth hold thee,
Does not seek to take thy life.
Ah, to save that life he'd rather
Lose his own a thousand times.

Maleca.-By these accents I discover
That thou art of Moorish blood.
If my sex, my sorrow move thee
With a double power to pity-
Grant one favour for the two.
In Gabia is Alcaide,

Tuzani, my dearest husband;
Thither hasten thou to seek him-
And this last embrace I give thee,
Bear him faithfully from me;
Tell him that his bride, Maleca,
Bathed and weltering in her blood,
By a Spaniard's hand outpoured;
By a Spaniard, more ambitious
Of her jewels than of honour,

Died this day in lost Galera.

Tuz.-The embrace which thou hast given me,

It is needless that I carry

To your husband; for, alas!

End of all his dreams and rapture!

He himself is here to take it.

Maleca.-Ah! this voice so well remem-
bered

Voice of one so dearly loved-
Sends new breath into my bosom,

Makes my death supremely happy.

Let me once again embrace thee

Let me die within thy arms.

[Dies.

Tuz.-Oh, how much that man betrayed

his

Ignorance of human nature;

He who said that love doth ever
Blend two separate lives in one!
If such miracles were real,
Neither I would now be living,
Nor wouldst thou be lying dead.
Since, indeed, this very moment,
Thou by living, I by dying,
Were our destinies alike!
Heavens, that witness my affliction,
Mountains, that behold my anguish,
Birds, that hear my sad complainings,
Flames, that see my bosom's sorrow,
Why, oh! why have ye permitted
That the brightest light is darkened—

That the fairest flower has perished,
That the sweetest breath has failed?
Men, who've known love's sacred feeling,
Aid me in this deep affliction.
Tell me, in this hour of woe,
What is he to do, the lover,
Who, the night he comes to visit
His adored, espoused lady,

Hoping to receive the guerdon
Of his long and faithful love,
Finds her in her young blood lying?
Sweetest lily ever pictured
On a perilous enamel !—
Purest gold that ever brightened
In the crucible of grief!-
What ought he to do, the mourner,
Who his bridal-bed beholdeth
Changed into a mournful tomb,
And the goddess he expected
Lying there a pallid corse?
But no, no-you will not answer;
Aid nor counsel will you give.
If grief, in such a dire misfortune,
Will not prompt a man aright,
Vain is all advice or counsel.
O mountain of the Alpujarra !-
O theatre of coward slaughter!-
Scene of the most vile transaction-
Field of the most shameful conquest,
And the most degraded glory—
Never, never have your mountains—
Never, never have your valleys,
Seen, amid your pointed summits-
Seen, along your flowery margins-
One so fair and so unhappy!
But of what avails complaining,
What avails my lamentation,
If 'tis lost in idle air?

[Enter ABENIIUEYMA, LIDORA,
and Moors.

Aben.-Though, with tongues of fire,
Galera

Called us from afar to aid her,

We have come too late.

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My Maleca, my betrothed,

Is the corse so pale and bloody,
Coldly lying at thy feet!

A treacherous hand, a burning brand,
Plunged within her glowing bosom,
And the flame of life extinguished!
Who will not behold with wonder
Fire extinguished thus by fire,
And the precious gem of life
By the sharp steel cleft asunder?
You can every one bear witness
Of this sacrilegious outrage;
Of this cruel wrong-this horror-
This most costly, bitter trial
Of fatality and love.

Be ye witnesses, henceforward,
Of my deep, undying vengeance,
The most dreadful, the most noble
That the world has ever entered
In her chronicles of jaspar-
In her monuments of bronze.
Here, before this lifeless beauty-
This weak flower-this fragile rose-
Who at length doth die a wonder,
As a wonder she was born-
Here, with unavailing homage,
Bending at her feet, I vow
For her death eternal vengeance!
And since this Galera (truly
Well it meriteth the name!)*
Founders in this purple sea,
And, 'mid flames that rise around it,
Threatens to sink headlong downward
From this peak to yonder vales-
Since the Spaniards have departed,
So that the faint, distant beating
Of their drums now reach us not-
I shall follow in their footsteps,
Till I find, amid their army,
Him, the wretch, that slew my bride-
At the least his life shall answer
My revenge, if not her death!-
That the fire that saw the murder-
That the world which knew 'twas done-
That the trembling wind that listened-
That the fortune that allowed it-
That the Heavens which this permitted--
Men, and beasts, and birds, and fishes-
Sun, and moon, and flowers, and stars-
Fire, and air, and earth, and water-
May learn, may know, may publish forth,
May see, observe, and comprehend,
That within a Moorish heart,
That within a Moorish bosom,
Love surviveth after death!

[He rushes out.

THE REVENGE OF TUZANI. [TUZANI having arrived at the camp of DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA, disguised as a Spanish soldier, commences his search for the murderer of MALECA. He is startled at seeing the collar of pearls which he had presented to his betrothed, round the neck of the Prince himself; it having been presented to him, a short time before the arrival of TUZANI, by

DON LOPE DI FIGUEROA, who had obtained it from a soldier, who had himself won it by gambling. Several soldiers enter, disputing about a diamond Cupid, which had also been staked at the gaming-table. TUZANI is requested to act as umpire between them. He inquires how the ornament came into their possession. They are about conducting him to the person from whom they received it, when GARCIA euters, defending himself from several soldiers. TUZANI, seeing one man attacked by so many, places himself by his side, and attacks the soldiers in turn. They are all placed under arrest. TUZANI and GARCIA are conducted to the same prison, when the following scene takes place.] TUZANI-GARCIA.

Gar. Since, indeed, although a stranger,
Never serving thee in aught,
Thou hast still beside me fought,

And snatched me from the midst of danger-
Since thou'st been my life's salvation,
Soon I hope (let this elate thee)

By my aid to liberate thee-
'Tis my only consolation.
Tuz.-God preserve thee!
Gar.-

So, in fine,

Do not thou, Hidalgo, mind
Being here a while confined,
For the fault being only mine,
Sooner than their hands shall touch
A hair of thine, my life shall pay
The debt I have incurred to-day.

Tuz.-Indeed, I did expect as much; But know, I do not waste a thought Upon my being captured here.

I grieve, because I've lost, I fear,
The only object that I sought.

Gar.-May, at least, the name repeat Of him who saved my life?

Tuz.

Oh! I Am but a soldier, come to try And find a man I seek to meet. Gar.-Your friendly courage well deserves That I should tell you where to goWhat is his name?

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Among so many thousand men
Methinks will need some perseverance.
Tuz. And yet, an hour ago, without
My knowing what's his size or name,
Or the corps with which he came,
I had almost found him out.

Gar. These enigmas are too great
For me to guess; but be not sad,
For his Highness will be glad
To serve and aid you, when I state
The service that to me you've rendered.
He owes me much, for, but for me
It ne'er had been his lot to see
Galera's bastioned walls surrendered.
This search between us we'll divide,
For, forced by gratitude's strong power,

GALERA, the name of the town where those events take place, also signifies a galley.

1

In good and evil, from this hour
My chosen place is at thy side.
Tuz.-And were you then, indeed, the
first

Within Galera's walls to go?

Gar.-Ah! would to God it were not so! Tuz.-Why does the memory seem accurst?

Gar. Because from that unlucky hour That first I placed my foot therein, I know not for what deadly sin, Misfortune, with malignant power, Or Fate, or some stern star malign, Or Retribution's wrath, has shed Its baneful influence o'er my head, And all goes wrong with me and mine. Tuz.-Why art thou thus so much dismayed?

Gar. I know not, if 'twas not that day On which it was my fate to slay A young and beauteous Moorish maid. Indeed, just heaven can do no less Than strike me for a deed so base, For heaven was copied in her face. Tuz.-Was she so beautiful?

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But say,

How did this chance?

Gar.-
'Twas in this way.
On a certain day being stationed
Sentinel within a forest,
'Neath the thick o'erhanging branches
Which diffused the gloom of midnight
Down along the sloping mountains,
There I seized a Moorish prisoner.
It were tedious to discover

How he managed to deceive me ;
'Tis enough to say, he led me
Far away 'mid precipices,

Where his shouts soon called together
All the troops of Alpujarra.
Flying, then, I sought for shelter
In a deep and darksome grotto,
Where the fatal mine was opened
Through the hollow rock soon after—
Dreadful monster, which conceiveth
So much fire within its entrails!
It was I who first revealed it

To my lord, Don John of Austria;

It was I who, through the night-time,
Guarded it from all surprises;

It was I who held the entrance
Till my comrades took possession;
It was I, in fine, who entered
First amid the flaming city,
Like a human salamander.

Till, at length, I reached, by passing
Globes of fire, a strong-built mansion,
Which was, without doubt, the fortress
Of the place, for there the people
Were assembled in great numbers.
But, perchance, you have grown weary
Of my story, 'twill fatigue you
To pay any more attention.

Tuz.-I was somewhat absent, thinking Of my own affairs-continue.

Gar.-In effect, I hurried onward,

Full of anger, full of fury,
Till I reached the house of Malec,
Which, in fine, was all my trouble.
'Twas the time that round the palace,
Or the mansion, or the fortress,
Don Lope di Figueroa-

Light and honour of his country—
Had drawn up his valiant forces,
And the flames were bursting redly
From the walls, and the Alcaide
Was no more. And I, who ever
Seek for prizes as for plaudits-
Though, indeed, rewards and honours
Seldom can be found together-
Daringly ambitious, onward

Through the halls and rooms I wandered,
Till I reached a little chamber,
Last retreat of the most lovely
Moorish maid my eyes e'er gazed on.
Ah! my words were vain to paint her,
Were it even the time for painting!
Confused, in fine, and sorely troubled,
When she saw me, she concealed her
Down behind her bed's white curtains,
As if they, indeed, that moment
Were the curtains of a rampart.
But what mean these tears that trickle
Down your face so pale and haggard?

Tuz.-Those, indeed, are but mementoes Of a similar misfortune.

Gar. Do not heed the lost occasion,
What you wish to find, believe me,
You will meet without your seeking.

Tuz.-You speak truly. Pray continue.
Gar. I pursued her; she was covered
With so many sparkling jewels,
With a dress so rich and splendid,
That she seemed a bride expecting
Her beloved--not a victim
Waiting for the coming death-stroke.
I, beholding so much beauty,
Wished to save her life, provided
She would give her heart as ransom.
Scarcely had I dared to touch her

Snow-white hand, when thus she prayed me: "Christian, if you are desirous More of plunder than of glory

Since a woman's blood doth ever

Stain the sword man's blood doth brighten

Let your thirst be satiated

By these jewels that I carry;

Leave untouched my faith, my honour;

Touch not this poor breast that carries

Many mysteries within it,

Which itself doth comprehend not."
In my arms I seized-

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And that one of two rich conquests
Which I sought, must be abandoned,
Fearing that they both might fail me,
Or that one should be divided
With the soldiers who might enter,
Changing, in a little moment,
Thus my love to quicker vengeance
(Easily doth passion change from
One extreme unto another),
Hurried by some unknown fury,
Frenzied by some sudden madness,
Which impelled my arm-(I know not
How to tell so base an action)—
I, removing first a necklace

Made of pearls, and many a diamond-
Leaving after them a heaven
All of purest snow, rose-tinted—
Plunged my sword within her bosom.
Tuz.-Was the stroke like this, assassin?
[Draws out a dagger, and stabs him.

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THE REAPER'S SONG.

The sheaves are all gathered, the reaping is done,
O! who are so joyous, so happy as we?
The last stook away to the haggard is gone,
And the pipe calls us off for a dance on the lea.
Then come, dearest Kate, be my partner to-night,
Tho' the sun's golden glory be quenched in the sea,
The amber moon shines with a mellower light,
A ray that is dearer to thee, love, and me.

Lo! the flow'ret* that folded its petals all day,
Now opes, that the night lamp is hung in the sky,
Like it, put thy coyness and blushes away,
And rival night's queen by the light of thine eye;
For dim is the glory of moon and of star,
And sad is the music of tabor and song,

And weary the time while from thee, love, afar,
To whom every pulse of this heart doth belong.

The Arcadians† of old deem'd their goddess spell-bound,
By some wizard of earth, when eclipsed from their sight,
And with cymbal and drum, bade their valleys resound,
To dissolve the dark spell with their torches' red light.
Reversed is the magic, my goddess, with thee;
No shadow has e'er on thy fair brow been planted-
No veil o'er those orbs, so bewitching to me,

For thou art the sorceress-I the enchanted.

But come-if you will-weave new charms round this heart
For me, I now feel that retreat is in vain.

Enchantress! exert all the power of thine art,
But break not the spell-'twere anguish and pain.
Then come, dearest Kate, be my partner to-night,
Tho' the sun's golden glory be quenched in the sea,
The amber moon shines with a mellower light,
A ray that is dearer to thee, love, and me.

J. O. B.

* The night-flowering cactus-it blows only when the moon is at the full, for one night, and closes again before morning.

The Arcadians worshipped the moon, and whenever an eclipse occurred, believing her bewitched, beat drums and cymbals, and lighted torches, to ease her labors.

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