I see bright truth descending to thy heart,
And now my long-lost child is found for ever.
Zara. Oh, my father!
Dear author of my life! inform me, teach me,
What should my duty do?
Lus. By one short word,
With that Nerestan, whom thou know'stthat Christian!
Oras. And have you, sir, indulg'd that strange desire?
Osman. What mean'st thou? They were infant slaves together;
To dry up all my tears, and make life wel- Friends should part kind, who are to meet
Say thou art a Christian.
Zára. Sir, I am a Christian.
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 faws; where blind austerity
Sinks virtue to necessity.- My blood
Disclaims your Asian jealousy; I hold
Oras. Madam, the sultan order'd me to The fierce, free plainness of my Scythian an
That he expects you instant quit this place,
And bid your last farewell to these vile Chris
tians.
You, captive Frenchmen, follow me; for you
It is my task to answer.
Cha. Still new miseries!--
How cautious man should be, to say,
Lus. These are the times, my friends, to
try our firmness,
Our Christian firmness.
Zara. Alas, sir! Oh!
Lus, Oh, you! I dare not name you! Farewell! but, come what may, be sure member
Their open confidence, their honest hate,
Their love unfearing, and their anger told.
Go; the good Christian waits; conduct him
to her;
Zara expects thee. What she wills, obey.
[Exit.
Oras. Ho! Christian! enter.
Enter NERESTAN.
Wait a moment here.
Zara will soon approach: I go to find her. [Exit. Ner. In what a state, in what a place, I leave her!
re-Oh, faith! Oh, father! Oh, my poor, lost sister! She's here.
You keep the fatal secret: for the rest,
Leave all to heaven-be faithful, and be blest.
[Exeunt.
SCHNE 1. Enter OSMAN and ORASMIN. Osman. Orasmin, this alarm was false and groundless;
Thank heaven, it is not then unlawful
To see you yet once more, my lovely sister!
Not all so happy!-VVe, who met but now,
Shall never meet again; for Lusignan-
We shall be orphans still, and want a father.
Zara. Forbid it, heaven!
Ner. His last sad hour's at hand.
That flow of joy, which follow'd our discovery,
Too strong and sudden for his age's weakness,
Wasting his spirits, dried the source of life,
And nature yields him up to time's demand.
Shall he not die in peace?-Oh! let no doubt
Disturb his parting moments with distrust;
Let me, when I return to close his eyes,
Compose his mind's impatience too, and tell
him,
Lewis no longer turns his arms on me;
The French, grown weary by a length of woes,
Wish not at once to quit their fruitful plains,
And famish on Arabia's desert sands.
Their ships, 'tis true, have spread the Syrian seas:
And-Lewis, hov'ring o'er the coast of Cyprus,
Alarms the fears of Asia,-But I've learn'd,
That, steering wide from our unmenac'd ports,
He points, his thunder at th' Egyptian shore.
There let him war, and waste my enemies;
Their mutual conflict will but fix my throne.-You are confirm'd a Christian!
Release those Christians; I restore their freedom:
Twill please their master, nor can weaken me.
Transport 'em, at my cost, to find their king.
I wish to have him know me. Carry thither
This Lusignan; whom, tell him, I restore,
Because I cannot fear his fame in arms,
But love him for his virtue and his blood.
Tell him, my father, having conquer'd twice,
Condemn'd him to perpetual chains; but I
Have set him free, that I might triumph more.
Oras. The Christians gain an army in his
Osman. I cannot fear a sound.
Oras. But, sir, should Lewis
Zara. Oh! may his soul enjoy, in earth
and heaven,
Eternal rest; nor let one thought, one sigh,
One bold complaint of mine recall his cares!
But you have injur'd me, who still can doubt.
What! am I not your sister? and shall you
Refuse me credit? You suppose me light;
You, who should judge my honour by your
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 err'd,
Affection, not distrust, misled my fear;
Your will may be a Christian, yet not you;
Osman. Tell Lewis, and the world, it shall There is a sacred mark, a sign of faith,
That you consent, this day, to seal our faith, Now to subunit to see my sister doom'd
By that mysterious rite which waits your call. A bosom slave to him whose tyrant heart
Zara. I swear by heaven, and all its holy 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,
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
Has 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 clear 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 dar not speak more plainly.
Zara. Cruel! go on-Alas! you do not
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
Unknown, and all abandon'd by the world,
Lost and enslav'd, has, in her sovereign master,
Found a protector, generous as great,
Has touch'd his heart, and given him all her
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?,
Zara has resolution great as
Tis cruel and unkind. Thy 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 mor
Would rush in boiling levers 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. VVirat 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 cleard your
Taught you to know, and given you claim to
[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? This 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.
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.
Ner. Death is thy due; but not thy due
Yet, were the honour of our house no bar,
My father's fame, and the too gentle laws
Of that religion which thou hast disgrac'd;
Did not the God thou quit'st hold back my arm;
Not 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
Oh, shame! shame! shame! at such a time as
this,
When Lewis, that awak'ner of the world,"
Beneath the lifted cross makes Egypt pale,
And draws the sword of heaven to spread our
But doubles my desires, and thy own beauties. Zara. Ah, me!
Osman. Away! this modest, sweet, reluctant If it has been that Frenchman- What a thought!
How low, how horrid a suspicion that!
But tell me, didst thou mark 'em at their parting?
Didst thou observe the language of their eyes?
Hide nothing from me.-Is my love betray'd?
Tell me my whole disgrace.-Nay, if thou
tremblest,
Osman. Nay, but thou shouldst not be too cruel.
Zara. I can no longer bear it.-Oh, my lord
Osman. Ha! What? whence? how? Zara. My lord, my sovereign! Heaven knows this marriage would have been a bliss
Above my humble hopes: yet, witness, love! Not from the grandeur of your throne, that bliss,
But from the pride of calling Osman mine. But as it is-these Christians
Osman. Christians! What! How start two images into thy thoughts, So distant, as the Christians and my love? Zara. That good old Christian, rev'rend Lusignan,
Now dying, ends his life and woes together. Osman. Well, let him die. What has thy heart to feel,
Thus pressing, and thus tender, from the death Of an old, wretched Christian?-Thank our prophet,
I hear thy pity speak, though thou art silent.
Oras. I tremble at the pangs I see you suffer.
Let not your angry apprehensions urge
Your faithful slave to irritate your anguish.
I did, 'tis true, observe some parting tears;
But they were tears of charity and grief.
I cannot think there was a cause deserving
This agony of passion.
Osman. Why, no-I thank thee--
Orasmin, thou art wise. It could not be
That I should stand expos'd to such an insult.
Thou know'st, had Zara meant me the offence,
She wants not wisdom to have hid it better.
How rightly didst thou judge!-Zara shall
know it,
And thank thy honest service.-After all, Might she not have some cause for tears, which I Claim no concern in- but the grief it gives her? What an unlikely fear-from a poor slave Who goes to-morrow, and, no doubt, who wishes,
Nay, who resolves to see these climes no more. Oras. Why did you, sir, against our country's custom,
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? He said he should return once more to see her.
Zara. Sir, if you love me, and would have
me think
Zara. It is dreadful to my heart,
To give you but a seeming cause for anger.
Pardon my grief-alas! I cannot bear it.
There is a painful terror in your eye
That pierces to my soul. Hid from your sight,
I go to make a moment's truce with tears,
And gather force to speak of my despair.
[Exit, disordered.
Osman. I stand immoveable like senseless
marble;
Horror had frozen my suspended tongue,
And an astonish'd silence robb'd my will
Of power to tell her that she shock'd my soul.
Spoke she to me? Sure I misunderstood her.
Could it be me she left?-What have I seen?
Orasmin, what a change is here!-She's gone; And I permitted it, I know not how..
Oras. Perhaps you but accuse the charming fault
Of innocence, too modest oft in love.
Osman. But why, and whence those tears?
those looks? that flight?
That grief, so strongly stamp'd on every feature?
Osman. Return! the traitor! he return!
Dares he
Presume to press a second interview?
Would he be seen again? He shall be seen;
But dead. I'll punish the audacious slave,
To teach the faithless fair to feel my anger.
Be still, my transports; violence is blind:
I know my heart at once is fierce and weak.
Rather than fall
Beneath myself, I must, how dear soe'er
It costs me, rise-till I look down on Zara!
Away; but mark me-these seraglio doors,
Against all Christians be they henceforth shut,
Close as the dark retreats of silent death.
[Exit Orasmin.
What have I done, just heaven! thy rage to
There is a father to be found above,
Opinions which he hates. To-night the priest,
Who can restore that father to his daughter. In private introduc'd, attends you here;
Zara. But I have planted pain in Osman's You promis'd him admission.
Zara. Would I had not!
He loves me, even to death; and I reward him I promis'd too to keep this fatal secret;
With anguish and despair. How base! how My father's urg'd command requir'd it of me;
I must obey, all dangerous as it is;
Compell'd to silence, Osman is enrag'd,
Suspicion follows, and I lose his love,
Enter OSMAN.
But I deserv'd him not; I should have been
Too happy, and the hand of heav'n repell'd me.
Sel. What! will you then regret the glo-
rious loss
And hazard thus a vict'ry bravely won?
Zara. Inhuman victory!-thou dost not know
This love so pow'rful; this sole joy of life;
This first best hope of earthly happiness,
Is yet less pow'rful in my heart than heaven.
To him who made that heart I offer it:
There, there I sacrifice my bleeding passion;
I pour before him ev'ry guilty tear;
I beg him to efface the fond impression,
And fill with his own image all my soul.
But, while I weep and sigh, repent and pray,
Remembrance brings the object of my love,
And ev'ry light illusion floats before him.
I see, I hear him, and again he charms;
Fills my glad soul, and shines 'twixt me and
heav'n!
Oh, all ye royal ancestors! Oh, father!
Mother! You Christians, and the Christians'
You who deprive me of this gen'rous lover!
If you permit me not to live for him,
Let me not live at all, and I am bless'd.
Sel. Ah! despair not;
Trust your eternal helper, and be happy.
Zara. Why, what has Osman done, that
he too should not?
Has heaven so nobly form'd his heart to hate it?
Gen'rous and just, beneficent and brave, Were he but Christian--What can man be more?
I wish, methinks, this rev'rend priest was come
To free me from these doubts, which shake
my soul:
Yet know not why I should not dare to hope,
That heav'n, whose mercy all confess and feel,
Will pardon and approve th' alliance wish'd.
Perhaps it seats me on the throne of Syria,
To tax my pow'r for these good Christians'
comfort.
Osman. Madam, there was a time when y
charm'd heart
Made it a virtue to be lost in love;.
When, without blushing, I indulg'd my flame,
And every day still made you dearer to me,
You taught me, madam, to believe my love.
Rewarded and return'd; nor was that hope,
Methinks, too bold for reason. Emperors
Who choose to sigh devoted at the feet
Of beauties, whom the world conceive their
slaves,
Have, fortune's claim, at least, to sure success
But 'twere profane to think of power in love.
Dear as my passion makes you, I decline
Possession of her charms, whose heart's
ther's.
you are free-from Osman.
pow'r :
Expect no wrongs; but see his face no more.
Zara. At last 'tis come-the fear'd, the
murd'ring moment
Is come; and I am curs'd by earth and heaven!
[Throws herself on the Ground.
If it is true that I am lov'd no more;
Thou know'st the mighty Saladine, who first If you-
Conquer'd this empire from my father's race, Osman. It is true, my fame requires it;
Who, like my Osman, charm'd th' admiring It is too true that I unwilling leave you;
That I at once renounce you and adore-
Drew breath, though Syrian, from a Christian Zara, you weep!
Zura. If I am doom'd to lose you!
Sel. What mean you, madam? Ah, you If I must wander o'er an empty world,
Zara. Yes, yes, I see it all; I am not blind:
I see my country, and my race condemn me;
I see that, spite of all, I still love Osman.
What if I now go throw me at his feet,
And tell him there sincerely what I am?
Sel. Consider that might cost your bro-
ther's life,
Expose the Christians, and betray you all.
Zara. You do not know the noble heart of
Osman.
Sel. I know him the protector of a faith,
Sworn enemy to ours: the more he loves,
The less will he permit you to profess
Unloving and unlov'd. Oh! yet do justice
To the afflicted; do not wrong me doubly.
Punish me, if 'tis needful to your peace,
But say not I deserv'd it.
But, ah! my heart was never known to Osmau.
May heav'n, that punishes, for ever hate me,
If I regret the loss of aught but you.
What! is it love to force yourself to wound
The heart you wish to gladden? But I find
Lovers least know themselves; for I believ'd
That I had taken back the power I gave you
Yet sec! you did but weep, and have resum'd
'me!
Proud as I am, I must confess one wish
Evades my power-the blessing to forget you.
Zara, thy tears were form'd to teach disdain,
That softness can disarm it. 'Tis decreed,
I must for ever love; but from what cause,
If thy consenting heart partakes my fires,
Art thou reluctant to a blessing meant me?
Speak! is it artifice?
O! spare the needless pains: art was not made
For Zara. Art, however innocent,
Looks like deceiving; I abhorr'd it ever.
Zara. Alas! I have no art; not even enough To hide this love, and this distress you give me. Osman. New riddles! Speak with plainness to my soul;
What canst thou mean?
Zara. I have no power to speak it, Osman. Is it some secret dangerous to my state?
Is it some Christian plot grown ripe against me? Zara. Lives there a wretch so vile as to betray you?
Osman is bless'd beyond the reach of fear:
Fears and misfortunes threaten only Zara.
Osman. Why threaten Zara?
Zara. Permit me at your feet,
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Oras. Who knows but it contains some happy truth,
That may remove all doubts, and calm your heart?
Osman. Be as 'twill, it shall be read. [Opens the Letter.
dus trembling to beseech a favour from you. Fate, be thy call obey'd.-Orasmin, mark— Osman. A favour! Oh, you guide the will
Ah! would to heav'n our duties were united:
this one sad, unhappy day, permit me, ze, and far divided from your eye, cover my distress, lest you, too tender, Tuld see and share it with me: from to
will not have a thought conceal'd from you. Osman. If it must be, it must. Be pleas'd, my will
kes purpose from your wishes; and consent pends not on my choice, but your decree: ; but remember how he loves, who thus Ands a delight in pain, because you give it. Zara. It gives me more than pain to make you feel it.
Osman. And can you, Zara, leave me? Zara. Alas, my lord. [Excit. Osman. It should be yet, methinks, too soon to fly me;
Too soon, as yet, to wrong my easy faith, The more I think, the less I can conceive What hidden cause should raise such strange despair!
Now, when her hopes have wings, and every wish
Is courted to be lively! When I love,
And joy and empire press her to their bosom;
To see her eyes through tears shine mystic love!
Yet, was I blameless? No-I was too rash;
I have felt jealousy, and spoke it to her;
I have distrusted her-and still she loves:
Gen'rous atonement that!-I remark❜d,
Ev'n while she wept, her soul a thousand times
Sprung to her lips, and long'd to leap to mine,
With honest, ardent utt'rance of her love.
Who can possess a heart so low, so base,
To look such tenderness, and yet have none?
Enter MELIDOR, with ORASMIN.
Mel. This letter, great disposer of the world!
Address'd to Zara, and in private brought,
Hell! tortures! death! and woman!-What,
Orasmin,
Zara?
Are we awake?-Heard'st thou?-Can this be
Oras. Would I had lost all sense! for what
Has cover'd my afflicted heart with horror.
Osman. Thou seest how I am treated.
Oras. Monstrous treason!
To an affront like this you cannot, must not,
Remain insensible. You, who but now,
From the most slight suspicion, felt such pain,
Must, in the horror of so black a guilt,
Find an effectual cure, and banish love.
Osman. Seek her this instant-go, Orasmin, fly!
Show her this letter: bid her read and tremble:
Then, in the rising horrors of her guilt,
Stab her unfaithful breast, and let her die.
Say, while thou strik'st-Stay, stay, return
and pity me.
Would I were dead!'
Would I had died, unconscious of this shame!
Oras. Never did prince receive so bold a
wrong.
Osman. See here detected this infernal secret! This fountain of her tears, which my weak
Mistook for marks of tenderness and pain!
Why! what a reach has woman to deceive!
Under how fine a veil of grief and fear
Did she propose retirement till to-morrow!
And I, blind dotard! gave the fool's consent,
Sooth'd her, and suffer'd her to go!-She parted,
Dissolv'd in tears; and parted to betray me!
Oras. Could you, my gracious lord! for-
give my zeal,
You would
Osman. I know it-thou art right-I'll see
her;
I'll tax her in thy presence; I'll upbraid her; I'll let her learn-Go-find, and bring her to me. Oras. Believe me, sir, your threat'nings, your complaints,
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