Proposing much, means little; talks and vows,
Delighted with a prospect of escape:
He promis'd to redeem ten Christians more,
And free us all from slavery! I own

I once admir'd the unprofitable zeal,
But now it charms no longer.
Sel. What, if yet,

Zara. Can my fond heart, on such a feeble proof,

1

Embrace a faith abhorr'd by him I love?,
I see too plainly custom forms us all;
Our thoughts, our morals, our most fix'd belief,
Are consequences of our place of birth:
Born beyond Ganges, I had been a Pagan,

He, faithful should return, and hold his vow; In France a Christian, I am here a Saraceur:

The sultan's secrets all are sacred here:
But my fond heart delights to mix with thine.
Some three months past, when thou, and other
slaves,

Were forc'd to quit fair Jordan's flow'ry bank!
Heav'n, to cut short the anguish of my days,
Rais'd me to comfort by a pow'rful hand:
This mighty Osman!-

Sel. What of him?
Zara. This sultan,

This conqueror of the Christians, loves-
Sel. Whom?

Zara. Zara!

'Tis but instruction all! Our parents' hand
Writes on our heart the first faint characters,
Which time, re-tracing deepens into strength,
That nothing can efface, but death or heaven!
Thou wert not made a pris'ner in this place,
Till after reasons, borrowing force from years,
Had lent its lustre to enlighten faith;
For me, who in my cradle was their slave,
Thy Christian doctrines were too lately taught

.me:

Yet, far from having lost the rev'rence due,
This cross, as often as it meets my eye,

Strikes through my heart a kind of awful fear!
I honour, from my soul, the Christian laws,
Those laws, which, softening nature by humanity,
Melt nations into brotherhood; no doubt
Christians are happy; and'tis just to love them.
Sel. Why have you then declar'd yourself
their foe?

Thou blushest, and I guess thy thoughts ac- Why will you join your hand with this proud

cuse me:

Osman's,

But, known me better-'twas unjust suspicion. Who owes his triumph to the Christians' ruin? All emperor as he is, I cannot stoop Zara, Ah! who could slight the offer of To honours, that bring shame and baseness his heart?. with 'em:

Reason and pride, those props of modesty,
Sustain my guarded heart, and strengthen virtue;
No-I shall now astonish thee; his greatness
Submits to own a pure and honest flame,
Among the shining crowds, which live to please
him,

His whole regard is fix'd on me alone:
He offers marriage; and its rites now wait
To crown me empress of this eastern world,
Sel. Your virtue and your charms deserve
it all:

I

Nay, for I mean to tell thee all my weakness, Perhaps I had, ere now, profess'd thy faith, But Osman lov'd me-and I've lost it all: think on none but Osman; my pleas'd heart, Fill'd with the blessing, to be lov'd by him, Wants room for other happiness. Oh, my friend!

I talk not of a sceptre, which he gives me:
No-to be charm'd with that were thanks too
humble!

Offensive tribute, and too poor for love!
'Twas Osman won my heart, not Osman's crown
I love not in him aught besides himself.
Thou think'st, perhaps, that these are starts of
passion:

My heart is not surpris'd, but struck to hear it.
If to be empress can complete your happiness,
I rank myself, with joy, among your slaves.
Zara. Be still my equal, and enjoy my But had the will of heav'n, less bent to bless him,
Doom'd Osman to my chains, and me to fill
For, thou partaking, they will bless me more. The throne that Osman sits on-ruin and
Sel. Alas! but heaven! will it permit this

blessings;

marriage?

wretchedness

Will not this grandeur, falsely call'd a bliss,
Plant bitterness, and root it in your heart?
Have you forgot you are of Christian blood?
Zara. Ah, me! what hast thou said, why A grand March. Enter OSMAN, reading
a Paper, which he re-delivers to ORAS-
MIN, with Attendants.

Osman. The sultans, my great ancestors, This place, long sacred to the sultan's privacies. bequeath'd Osman. Go-bring him with thee. Monarchs, like the sun,

Their empire to me, but their taste they gave not;
Their laws, their lives, their loves, delight not me; Shine but in vain, unwarming, if unseen;
I know our prophet smiles on am'rous wishes, With forms and rev'rence let the great ap-
And opens a wide field to vast desire;
I know, that at my will I might possess;
That, wasting tenderness in wild profusion,
I might look down to my surrounded feet,
And bless contending beauties. I might speak,
Serenely slothful, from within my palace,
And bid my pleasure be my people's law.
But, sweet as softness is, its end is cruel;
I can look round and count a hundred kings,
Unconquer'd by themselves, and slaves to
others:

8

What could he mean?—he sigh'd-and, as he And the proud crescent rise in bloody triumph. went, From this seraglio having young escap'd, Turn'd and look'd back at Zara!-didst thou Fate, three years since, restor'd me to my mark it? chains;

Oras. Alas! my sovereign master! let not Then, sent to Paris on my plighted faith,

And, among crowded millions, live alone. [Exit. Alas! you know him not as I have known him:

From those detested days of blood and woe:
But I, less happy, was condemn'd to see
Thy walls, Jerusalem, beat down, and all

Cha. Matchless Nerestan! generous and Our pious fathers' labours lost in ruins!

And native France have bless'd our eyes no For I was born amidst them. Chains and death,

Caesarea lost, and Saracens triumphant, Ner. The will of gracious heav'n, that soft-Were the first objects which my eyes e'er

Hurried, an infant, among other infants,
Snatch'd from the bosoms of their bleeding
mothers,

A temple sav'd us, till the slaughter ceas'd;
Then were we sent to this ill-fated city;
of Here, in the palace of our former kings,
To learn from Saracens their hated faith,
And be completely wretched. Zara, too,

Shar'd this captivity; we both grew up

See where they bring the good old chic

grown dim

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 o
Pardon its weakness, bleeds to see her lost, Cha, How is my heart dissolv'd with suc
And, for a barbarous tyrant, quit her God!
den joy.
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
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 o

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. Ŏ 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?

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

But what have I to do at Paris now?
I stand upon the brink of the cold grave;
That way my journey lies-to find, I hope,
The King of kings, and ask the recompense
For all my woes, long suffer'd for his sake.

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!

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

thoughts,

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 beheld'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.
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 chains,
Far from their lost and unassisting father,

[Rises.

Nerestan, hast thou on thy breast a scar,
Which ere Caesarea fell, from a fierce hand,
Surprising us by night, my child receiv'd?
Ner. Bless'd hand!-I bear it.- Sir, the mark
is there!

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!

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.

given 'em

Cha. 'Twas true; for in the horrors of that Such as I lost them? come they Christians

day,

to me?

laws

I snatch'd your infant daughter from her cradle; One weeps, and one declines a conscious eye!
When from my bleeding arms, fierce Saracens Your silence speaks; too well I understand it.
Forc'd the lost innocent, who smiling lay Zara. I cannot, sir, deceive you; Osman's
And pointed, playful, at the swarthy spoilers!
With her your youngest, then your only son,
Whose little life had reach'd the fourth sad
And just giv'n sense to feel his own misfortunes,
Was order'd to this city.

Ner. I too, hither,

year,

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?

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

my

Wer't not for thee, my son, I now should die.
Full sixty years F 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 children rose my 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: Ah, what! you seem surpris'd!-Why should 'Tis heroes' blood, the blood of saints and

Zara. From my first birth, sir.

this move you?

Lus. Would you confide it to my trembling hands?

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

Oh, 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!