See where they bring the good old chief,

grown dim

Shar'd this captivity; we both grew up
So near each other, that a tender friendship
Endear'd her to my wishes: my fond heart-With age, by pain and sorrows hasten'd on.
Cha. How is my heart dissolv'd with sud-
den joy.

Pardon its weakness, bleeds to see her lost,
And, for a barbarous tyrant, quit her God!
Cha. Such is the Saracens too fatal policy:

Watchful seducers still of infant weakness!
But let us think: may not this Zara's int'rest,
Loving the sultan, and by him belov'd,
For Lusignan procure some softer sentence?
Ner. How shall I gain admission to her
presence?

Osman has banish'd me; but that's a trifle:
Will the seraglio's portals open to me?
Or could I find that easy to my hopes,
What prospect of success from an apostate?
On whom I cannot look without disdain;
And who will read her shame upon my brow.
The hardest trial of a generous mind
Is to court favours from a hand it scorns.
Cha. Think it is Lusignan we seek to serve.
Ner. Well, it shall be attempted. Hark!
who's this?

Are my eyes false? or is it really she?

Enter ZARA.

Zara. Start not, my worthy friend! I come to seek you;

The sultan has permitted it; fear nothing:
But to confirm my heart, which trembles near

you,

Soften that angry air, nor look reproach; Why should we fear each other, both mistaking?

Enter LUSIGNAN, led in by two Guards.

Lus. Where am I? From the dungeon's
depth what voice

Has call'd me to revisit long-lost day?
Am I with Christians? I am weak; forgive me,
And guide my trembling steps. I'm full of
years;

My miseries have worn me more than age.
Am I in truth at liberty? [Seats himself.
Cha. You are;

And every Christian's grief takes end with yours.
Lus. Ó light! O, dearer far than light, that
voice!

Chatillon, is it you? my fellow martyr!
And shall our wretchedness indeed have end?
In what place are we now? my feeble eyes,
Disus'd to day-light, long in vain to find you.
Cha. This was the palace of your royal
fathers:

'Tis now the son of Noradin's seraglio.

Zara. The master of this place, the mighty
Osman,

Distinguishes, and loves to cherish virtue.
This gen'rous Frenchman, yet a stranger to you
Drawn from his native soil, from peace and rest,
Brought the vow'd ransom of ten Christian
slaves,

Himself contented to remain a captive;
But Osman, charm'd by greatness like his own,
To equal what he lov'd, has giv'n him you.
Lus. So gen'rous France inspires her social
sons!

Associates from our birth, one prison held us,
One friendship taught affliction to be calm,
Till heaven thought fit to favour your escape,
And call you to the fields of happier France;
Thence, once again, it was my lot to find you They have been ever dear and useful to me.
A pris'ner here: where, hid amongst a crowd Would I were nearer to him. Noble sir,
Of undistinguish'd slaves, with less restraint
I shar'd your frequent converse:*

[Nerestan approaches.
How have I merited, that you for me
Should pass such distant seas to bring me
blessings,

And hazard your own safety for my sake?
Ner. My name, sir, is Nerestan; born in
Syria,

It pleas'd your pity, shall I say your friendship?
Or rather, shall I call it generous charity?
To form that noble purpose, to redeem
Distressful Zara-you procur'd my ransom,
And with a greatness that out-soar'd a crown,
Return'd yourself a slave, to give me freedom: I wore the chains of slavery from my birth;
But heav'n has cast our fate for different Till quitting the proud crescent for the court

climes;

Here, in Jerusalem, I fix for ever;
Yet, among all the shine that marks my fortune,
I shall with frequent tears remember yours.
Your goodness will for ever sooth my heart,
And keep your image still a dweller there:
Warm'd by your great example to protect
That faith that lifts humanity so high,
I'll be a mother to distressful Christians.
Ner. How! you protect the Christians! you,

who can

Abjure their saving truth, and coldly see
Great Lusignan, their chief, die slow in chains!
Zara. To bring him freedom you behold
me here;

You will this moment meet his eyes in joy.
Cha. Shall I then live to bless that happy
hour?

Ner. Can Christians owe so dear a gift to
Zara?

Zara. Hopeless I gather'd courage to entreat
The sultan for his liberty: amaz'd,
So soon to gain the happiness I wish'd!

Where warlike Lewis reigns, beneath his eye
I learnt the trade of arms: the rank I held
Was but the kind distinction which he gave me,
To tempt my courage to deserve regard.
Your sight, unhappy prince, would charm
his eye;

That best and greatest monarch will behold
With grief and joy those venerable wounds,
And print embraces where your fetters bound

Lus. Tell me yet,

Has it remain'd for ever in your hands? What, both brought captives from Caesarea hither?

Zara. Both, both.

Lus. Their voice! their looks!
The living images of their dear mother!

You gen'rous witnesses of my last hour,
While I yet live, assist my humble prayers,
And join the resignation of my soul.
Nerestan! Chatillon! and you, fair mourner,
Whose tears do honour to an old man's sorrows!
Pity a father, the unhappiest sure
That ever felt the hand of angry heaven!
My eyes, though dying, still can furnish tears; O God! who seest my tears and know'st my
Half my long life they flow'd, and still will flow!
A daughter and three sons, my heart's proud Do not forsake me at this dawn of hope;
hopes,
Strengthen my heart, too feeble for this joy.
Were all torn from me in their tend'rest Madam! Nerestan!-Help me, Chatillon!

And there bebeld'st my wife and two dear sons
Perish in flames.

Cha. A captive, and in fetters,

I could not help 'em.

Lus. I know thou couldst not.

Oh, 'twas a dreadful scene! these eyes beheld it:
Husband and father, helpless I beheld it;
Deny'd the mournful privilege to die.

thoughts,

would now die, lest this should prove a dream. Cha. How touch'd is my glad heart to see their joy!

Lus. They shall not tear you from my arms
-my children,

Again I find you-dear in wretchedness.
Oh, my brave son, and thou, my nameless
daughter!

Oh, my poor children, whom I now deplore,
If ye are saints in heav'n, as sure ye are,
Look with an eye of pity on that brother,
That sister whom you left! If I have yet
Or son or daughter; for in early chairs,
Far from their lost and unassisting father,
I heard that they were sent, with numbers more,
To this seraglio; hence to be dispers'd Now dissipate all doubt, remove all dread;
In nameless remnants o'er the east, and spread Has heaven, that gives me back my children,
Our Christian miseries round a faithless world.
Cha. Twas true; for in the horrors of that Such as I lost them? come they Christians

day,

given

to me?

'em

I snatch'd your infant daughter from her cradle; One weeps, and one declines a conscious eye! Your silence speaks; too well I understand it. Zara. I cannot, sir, deceive you; Osman's laws

When from my bleeding arms, fierce Saracens
Forc'd the lost innocent, who smiling lay
And pointed, playful, at the swarthy spoilers!
With her your youngest, then your only son,
Whose little life had reach'd the fourth sad year,
And just giv'n sense to feel his own misfortunes,
Was order'd to this city.

Ner. I too, hither,

Just at that fatal age, from lost Caesarea,
Came in that crowd of undistinguish'd Christians.
Lus. You! came you thence? Alas! who
knows but you
Might heretofore have seen my two poor chil-
dren.
[Looks up.
Ha, madam! that small ornament you wear,
Its form a stranger to this country's fashion,
How long has it been yours?

Zara. From my first birth, sir.
Ah, what! you seem surpris'd!-Why should
this move you?

Lus. Would you confide it to my trembling hands?

Zara. To what new wonders am I now reserv'd?

Ob, sir! what mean you?

Lus. Providence and heaven!
Oh, failing eyes, deceive ye not my hope?
Can this be possible?—Yes, yes, 'tis she!
This little cross-I know it by sure marks!
Oh! take me, heaven, while I can die with joy!
Zara. Oh, do not, sir, distract me! Rising
thoughts,

And hopes, and fears, o'erwhelm me!

Were mine; and Osman is not Christian.
Lus. Her words are thunder bursting on

my head.

Wer't not for thee, my son, I now should die.
Full sixty years I fought the Christian's cause;
Saw their doom'd temple fall, their power
destroy'd:

Twenty, a captive, in a dungeon's depth;
Yet never for myself my tears sought heaven:
All for my children rose my fruitless prayers.
Yet what avails a father's wretched joy?
I have a daughter gain'd, and heaven an enemy.
Oh, my misguided daughter, lose not thy faith;
Reclaim thy birthright; think upon the blood
Of twenty Christian kings, that fills thy veins:
'Tis heroes' blood, the blood of saints and
martyrs!

What would thy mother feel to see thee thus?
She and thy murder'd brothers!—think they
call thee;

Think that thou see'st 'em stretch their bloody

To dry up all my tears, and make life wel- Friends should part kind, who are to meet

When Zara asks, I will refuse her nothing:
Restraint was never made for those we love.

Lus. Receive her, gracious heaven! and bless Down with those rigours of the proud seraglio!
I hate its laws; where blind austerity
Sinks virtue to necessity.-My blood
Disclaims your Asian jealousy; I bold

Oras. Madam, the sultan order'd me to The fierce, free plainness of my Scythian an

And bid your last farewell to these vile Chris- Their love unfearing, and their anger told.
Go; the good Christian waits; conduct him
to her;
Zara expects thee. What she wills, obey.

for you!

Shall you distrust a truth I dar'd avow,
And stamp apostate on a sister's heart?

Ner. Ah, do not misconceive me; if I eri'd
Affection, not distrust, misled my fear;
Your will may be a Christian, yet not you;
There is a sacred mark, a sign of faith,
A pledge of promise, that must firm you
claim,

Wash you from guilt, and open heaven be
fore you.
Swear, swear by all the woes we all have borne
By all the martyr'd saints who call
daughter,

That you consent, this day, to seal our faith, Now to submit to see my sister doom'd

By that mysterious rite which waits your call.
Zara, I swear by heaven, and all its holy
host,

Its saints, its martyrs, its attesting angels,
And the dread presence of its living author,
To have no faith but yours-to die a Christian!
Now tell me what this mystic faith requires.
Ner. To hate the happiness of Osman's throne,
And love that God, who, through his maze
of woes,

Hlas brought us all, unhoping, thus together.
For me-I am a soldier, uninstructed,

Nor daring to instruct, though strong in faith:
But I will bring the ambassador of heaven,
To dear your views, and lift you to your God.
Be it your task to gain admission for him.
But where? from whom? Oh! thou immortal
power!

Whence can we hope it, in this curs'd seraglio?
Who is this slave of Osman? Yes, this slave!
Does she not boast the blood of twenty kings?
Is not her race the same with that of Lewis?
Is she not Lusignan's unhappy daughter?
A Christian and my sister? yet a slave,
A willing slave! I dare not speak more plainly.
Zara. Cruel! go on-Alas! you do not

know me.

At once, a stranger to my secret fate,
My pains, my fears, my wishes, and my power:
I am-I will be Christian-will receive
This holy priest with his mysterious blessing;
I will not do nor suffer aught unworthy
Myself, my father, or my father's race.
But tell me, nor be tender on this point,
What punishment your Christian laws decree,
For an unhappy wretch, who, to herself
Inknown, and all abandon'd by the world,
Last and enslav'd, has, in her sovereign master,
Found a protector, generous as great,
llas touch'd his heart, and given him all her
own?

Ner. The punishment of such a slave should be
Death in this world, and pain in that to come.
Zara. I am that slave! Strike here, and
save my shame.

Ner. Destruction to my hopes! Can it be you?

A bosom slave to him whose tyrant heart
But measures glory by the Christian's woe.
Yes, I will dare acquaint our father with it
Departing Lusignan may live so long,
As just to hear thy shame, and die to 'scape it.
Zara. Stay, my too angry brother; stay,
perhaps,

Zara has resolution great as thine:
Tis cruel and unkind. Thy words are crimes;
My weakness but misfortune. Dost thou suffer?
I suffer more. Oh! would to heaven this blood
Of twenty boasted kings would stop at once,
And stagnate in my heart! It then no more
Would rush in boiling fevers through my veins,
And every trembling drop be fill'd with Osman.
How has he lov'd me; how has he oblig'd me!
I owe thee to him. What has he not done,
To justify his boundless pow'r of charming?
For me he softens the severe decrees
Of his own faith; and is it just that mine
Should bid me hate him, but because he loves
me?

No- I will be a Christian-but preserve
My gratitude as sacred as my faith;
If I have death to fear for Osman's sake,
It must be from his coldness, not his love.

Ner. I must at once condemn and pity thee.
Here then begin performance of thy vow;
Here, in the trembling horrors of thy soul,
Promise thy king, thy father, and thy God,
Not to accomplish these detested nuptials,
Till first the rev'rend priest has clear'd your

[Exit. Zara. I am alone;-and now be just, my heart,

And tell me wilt thou dare betray thy God? What am I? what am I about to be? Zara. It is! ador'd by Osman, I adore him: Daughter of Lusignan, or wife to Osman? It's hour the nuptial rites will make us one. Am I a lover most, or most a Christian? Ner. What! marry Osman! Let the world What shall I do? What heart has strength grow dark, That the extinguish'd sun may hide thy shame! These double weights of duty?-Help me, Could it be thus, it were no crime to kill thee.

to bear

heaven!

Zara. Strike, strike! I love him! yes, by To thy hard laws I render up my soul:
But, oh! demand it back; for now 'tis Osman's.

heav'n, I love him.

Ner. Death is thy due; but not thy due

from me: 14, were the honour of our house no bar, My father's fame, and the too gentle laws

that religion which thou hast disgrac'd; 4 not the God thou quit'st hold back my arm; et there I could not there-but by my soul, I would rush, desp'rate, to the sultan's breast, And plunge my sword in his proud heart who damns thee.

1. shame! shame! shame! at such a time as

Zara. Oh, what a wretch am I! Oh, grief!
Oh, love!
Aside.

Osman. Nay, Zara, give me thy hand, and

come.

Zara. Instruct me, heaven!
What I should say-alas! I cannot speak

Osman. Away! this modest, sweet, reluctant | If it has been that Frenchman- What a thought trifling How low, how horrid a suspicion that!

But doubles my desires, and thy own beauties. But tell me, didst thou mark 'em at their parting Zara. Ah, me!

Thou art no Christian.-Educated here,
Thy happy youth was taught our better faith:
Sweet as thy pity shines, 'tis now mistim'd.
What! though an aged suff'rer dies unhappy, Indulge him with a second leave to come?
Why should his foreign fate disturb our joys? Ile said he should return once more to see he
Zara. Sir, if you love me, and would have
me think