Zara. Alas, my lord! what cruel fears have seiz'd you?

What will they all produce but Zara's tears, Had I not seen, had I not read, such proof
To quench this fancied anger? Your lost heart, Of her light falsehood as extinguish'd doubt,
Seduc'd against itself, will search but reasons I could not be a man, and not believe her.
To justify the guilt which gives it pain:
Rather conceal from Zara this discovery;
And let some trusty slave convey the letter,
Re-clos'd to her own hand: then shall you
learn,

Spite of her frauds, disguise, and artifice,
The firmness, or abasement of her soul.
Osman. Thy counsel charms me! We'll
about it now.

Here, take this fatal letter; choose a slave
Whom yet she never saw, and who retains
His tried fidelity-dispatch-be gone.

[Exit Orasmin.
Now whither shall I turn my eyes and steps
The surest way to shun her, and give time
For this discovering trial?—Heaven! she's here!
Re-enter ZARA.

So, madam! fortune will befriend my cause,
And free me from your fetters.-You are met
Most aptly, to dispel a new-ris'n doubt,
That claims the finest of your arts to gloss it.
Unhappy each by other, it is time

To end our mutual pain, that both may rest.
You want not generosity, but love;
My pride forgotten, my obtruded throne,
My favours, cares, respect, and tenderness,
Touching your gratitude, provok'd regard;
Till, by a length of benefits besieg'd,
Your heart submitted, and you thought 'twas
love:

But you deceiv'd yourself, and injur'd me.
There is, I'm told, an object more deserving
Your love than Osman: I would know his

name.

Be just, nor trifle with my anger: tell me
Now, while expiring pity struggles faint;
While I have yet, perhaps, the power to pardon,
Give up the bold invader of my claim,
And let him die to save thee. Thou art known.
Think and resolve. While I yet speak, re-
nounce him;

While yet the thunder rolls suspended, stay
it;

Let thy voice charm me, and recall my soul,
That turns averse, and dwells no more on Zara.
Zara. Can it be Osman speaks, and speaks

to Zara?

What harsh, mysterious words were those I

heard?

Osman. What fears should Osman feel,
since Zara loves him?
Zara. I cannot live, and answer to your
voice

In that reproachful tone; your angry eye
Trembles with fury while you talk of love.
Osman. Since Zara loves him!
Zara. Is it possible

Osman should disbelieve it?-Again, again
Your late repented violence returns.
Alas! what killing frowns you dart against me!
Can it be kind, can it be just to doubt me?
Osman. No! I can doubt no longer.-You
may retire. [Exit Zara.

Re-enter ORASMIN.
Orasmin, she's perfidious, even beyond
Her sex's undiscover'd power of seeming.
Say, hast thou chosen a slave? Is he in-
structed?

Haste to detect her vileness and my wrongs.
Oras. Punctually I have obey'd your whole
command:

But have you arm'd, my lord, your injur'd
heart,

With coldness and indifference? Can you hear,
All painless and unmov'd, the false one's shame?
Osman. Orasmin, I adore her more than

Osman. I have discern'd a gleam of distant hope.

Now hear me with attention.-Soon as night
Has thrown her welcome shadows o'er the
palace;

When this Nerestan, this ungrateful Christian,
Shall lurk in expectation near our walls,
Be watchful that our guards surprise and seize
him;

Then, bound in fetters and o'erwhelm'd with
shame,

Conduct the daring traitor to my presence:
But, above all, be sure you hurt not Zara;
Mindful to what supreme excess I love.

[Exit Orasmin.
On this last trial all my hopes depend.
Prophet, for once thy kind assistance lend,
Dispel the doubts that rack my anxious breast:
If Zara's innocent, thy Osman's bless'd. [Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-Enter ZARA and SELIMA.. Zara. Sooth me no longer with this vain desire;

To a recluse like me, who dares henceforth
Presume admission!-The seraglio is shut;
Barr'd and impassable, as death to time!"
My brother ne'er must hope to see me more.—
How now! what unknown slave accosts us
here?

Enter MELIdor.

Mel. This letter, trusted to my hands, re

ceive,

In secret witness I am wholly yours.
[Zara reads the Letter.

Enter OSMAN and ORASMIN. Osman. Swifter, ye hours, move on; my fury glows

Sel. Thou everlasting Ruler of the world! Shed thy wish'd mercy on our hopeless tears; Impatient, and would push the wheels of time. Redeem us from the hands of hated infidels, How now? What message dost thou bring? And save my princess from the breast of Osman. Speak boldly. [Aside. What answer gave she to the letter sent her? Zara. I wish, my friend, the comfort of Mel. She blush'd, and trembled, and grew pale, and paus'd;

your counsel.

Sel. Retire-you shall be call'd-wait near Then blush'd, and read it, and again grew pale; -go, leave us. And wept, 'and smil'd, and doubted, and resolv'd:

[Exit Melidor.

Zara. Read this, and tell me what I ought For after all this race of varied passions, When she had sent me out, and call'd me back,

to answer:

For I would gladly hear my brother's voice.
Sel. Say rather you would hear the voice
of heaven.
'Tis not your brother calls you, but your God.
Zara. I know it, nor resist his awful will;
Thou know'st that I have bound my soul by
oath;

But can I, ought I, to engage myself,
My brother, and the Christians, in this danger?
Sel. 'Tis not their danger that alarms your
fears;

Your love speaks loudest to your shrinking soul.
This tiger, savage in his tenderness,
Courts with contempt, and threatens amidst
softness;

Yet cannot your neglected heart efface
His fated, fix'd impression!

Zara. What reproach

Can I with justice make him?—I indeed
Have given him cause to hate me!
Was not his throne, was not his temple ready?
Did he not court his slave to be a queen,
And have not I declin'd it?-I who ought
To tremble, conscious of affronted power!
Have not I triumph'd o'er his pride and love?
Seen him submit his own high will to mine,
And sacrifice his wishes to my weakness?
Sel. Talk we no more of this unhappy pas-
sion:

What resolution will your virtue take?
Zara. All things combine to sink me to
despair:

From the seraglio death alone will free me.
I long to see the Christians' happy climes;
Yet in the moment while I form that prayer,
I sigh a secret wish to languish here.
How sad a state is mine! my restless soul
All ignorant what to do, or what to wish:
My only perfect sense is that of pain.
Oh, guardian heaven! protect my brother's life,
For I will meet him, and fulfil his prayer:
Then, when from Solyma's unfriendly walls,
Ilis absence shall unbind his sister's tongue,
Osman shall learn the secret of my birth,
My faith unshaken, and my deathless love;
He will approve my choice, and pity me.
I'll send my brother word he may expect me.
Call in the faithful slave. God of

my

fathers!

[Exil Selima. Let thy hand save me, and thy will direct.

know

Thou dost not

To what excess of tenderness I lov'd her:
I knew no happiness but what she gave me,
Nor could have felt a mis'ry but for her!
Pity this weakness-mine are tears, Orasmin,
That fall not oft, nor lightly.

Re-enter MELIDOR, with SELIMA.
Go-tell the Christian who intrusted thee,
That Zara's heart is fix'd, nor shrinks at danger;
And that my faithful friend will, at the hour,
Expect and introduce him to his wish.
Away-the sultan comes; he must not find us.
[Exeunt Zara and Selima. At my revenge too, tremble-for 'tis due,

Oras. Tears! Oh, heaven! Ob, my unhappy lord! I tremble for youOsman. Do-tremble at my sufferings, al my love;

And will not be deluded.

Oras. Hark! I hear
The steps of meu along the neighb'ring wall!
Osman. Fly! seize him! 'tis Nerestan! Wait
no chains,

But drag him down to my impatient eye.
[Exit Oras.

Osman. Dost thou behold her, slave?
Ner. Unhappy sister!

Osman. Sister! Didst thou say sister? If thou didst,

Bless me with deafness, heaven!

Ner. Tyrant! I did.

She was my sister. All that now is left thee,
Dispatch-From my distracted heart drain next
The remnant of the royal Christian blood!

Enter ZARA and SELIMA, in the dark.
Zara. Where art thou, Selima? Give me Old Lusignan, expiring in my arms,

thy hand.

known sound

Sent his too wretched son, with his last blessing,

It is so dark, I tremble as I step,
With fears and startings, never felt till now! To his now murder'd daughter!
Osman. Damnation! "tis her voice! the well-Would I had seen the bleeding innocent!
I would have liv'd to speak to her in death;
That has so often charm'd me into baseness! Would have awaken'd in her languid heart
[Draws a Dagger. A livelier sense of her abandon'd God;
Revenge, stand firm, and intercept his wishes! That God, who left by her, forsook her too,
Revenge! On whom? No matter: earth and And gave the poor lost sufferer to thy rage.
Osman. Thy sister! Lusignan her father!
Selima!

heaven Would blush, should I forbear: now, Zara, now! [Drops the Dagger. I must not, cannot strike, the starting steel, Inwilling, flies my hand, and shuns to wound her.

Zara. This is the private path; come near-
er, lead me.

Are we not notic'd, think'st thou?
Sel. Fear not, madam;

It cannot now be long, ere we shall meet him.
Osman. That word has given me back my
ebbing rage.
[Recovers the Dagger.
Zara. I walk in terror, and my heart fore-
bodes.

come

There now remains but mine of all the blood, Which through thy father's cruel reign and thine,

Has never ceas'd to stream on Syria's sands. Who's there? Nerestan! Is it you? O wel-Restore a wretch to his unhappy race; Nor hope that torments, after such a scene, Osman. [Stabs her.] This to thy heart. Can force one feeble groan to feast thy anger. 'Tis not the traitor meets thee, I waste my fruitless words in empty air; Tis the betray'd, who writes it in thy blood. The tyrant, o'er the bleeding wound he made, Zara. Oh, gracious heaven! receive my Hangs his unmoving eye, and heeds not me. Osman. Oh, Zara!

parting soul,

And take thy trembling servant to thy mercy.

[Dies.

Oras. Alas, my lord, return! Whither would

grief

Osman. Soul! then revenge has reach'd Transport your gen'rous heart? This Christian

thee. I will now

Haste from this fatal place: I cannot leave her!
Whom did I strike? Was this the act of love?
Swallow me, earth! She's silent! Zara's dead!
And should I live to see returning day,
Twill show me but her blood! show me left
joyless,

In a wide, empty world, with nothing round

me,

But penitence and pain: and yet 'twas just.
Hark! Destiny has sent her lover to me,
To fill my vengeance, and restore my joy.

Re-enter ORASMIN, with NEREstan. Approach, thou wretch! thou more than curs'd! come near!

Thou who, in gratitude for freedom gain'd,
Hlast giv'n me miseries beyond thy own!
Thou heart of hero with a traitor's soul!
Are my commands obey'd?
Oras. All is prepar'd.

dog-
Osman. Take off his fetters, and observe
my will;

To him and all his friends, give instant liberty:
Pour a profusion of the richest gifts
On these unhappy Christians; and when heap'd
With vary'd benefits, and charg'd with riches,
Give 'em safe conduct to the nearest port.
Oras. But, sir

Fly

Osman. Reply not, but obey.

-nor dispute thy master's last command, Thy prince, who orders-and thy friend, who

loves thee!

Thy miseries, shall mourn 'em with their tears; Osman. Thy wanton eyes look round in But, if thou tell'st em mine, and tell'st 'em search of her

truly,

Whose love, descending to a slave like thee,' They who shall hate my crime, shall pity me. From my dishonour'd hand receiv'd her doom. Take too, this poniard with thee, which my See! where she lies

Ner. Oh, fatal, rash mistake!

hand Has stain'd with blood far dearer than my own;

JOHN HOME, a native of Scotland, born in the vicinity of Ancrum, in Roxburgshire, in 1724, after the usual course of education for the church, was ordained and inducted to the living of Athelstaneford, and was the successor of the Rev. Mr. Blair, author of The Grave. In the rebellion of 1745 he took up arms in defence of the existing government. He was present at the battle of Falkirk; where he was taken prisoner, and, with five or six other gentlemen, escaped from the castle of Down. After the rebellion he resumed the duties of his profession. Having a natural inclination for the Belles Lettres, which he had cultivated with some care; he wrote his tragedy of Douglas, and presented it to the managers of the Edinburgh Theatre. Its reception will be easily imagined from the following anecdote. During the representation a young and sanguine Scotchman, in the pit, transported with delight and enthusiasm, cried out on a sudden with an air of triumph, "Weel lods; hwar's yeer Wolly Shokspeer nou !" (where is your William Shakspeare now). The author being a clergyman, the resentment of the elders of the kirk, and many other zealous members of that sect was inflamed, not only against him, but the performers also; on whom, together with him, they freely denounced their anathemas in pamphlets and public papers. The latter indeed it was out of their power greatly to injure; but their rod was near falling very heavy on the author, whom the assembly repudiated, and cut off from his preferments. In England, however, he had the good fortune to meet with friends, and being through the interest of the Earl of Bute and some other persons of distinction, recommended to the notice of his present majesty, then Prince of Wales, his Royal Highness was pleased to bestow a pension on him; thus, sheltering him under his own patronage, he put it out of the power of either bigotry, envy, or malevolence to blast his laurels. Mr Home afterwards pursued his poetical efforts, and produced more dramatic pieces, which were brought on the stage in London; but Douglas must always stand as his master-piece in dramatic writing. He never afterwards resumed his clerical profession, which he had abandoned in 1757; but enjoyed a place under government in Scotland. Mr. Home, always the friend and patron of merit, as far as his circumstances would admit, was the means of bringing the celebrated poems of Ossian to light. While Macpherson was schoolmaster of Ruthven in Badenoch, he occupied his leisure hours in collecting, from the native, but illiterate bards of the mountains of Scotland, fragments of these inimitable poems; a few of them he translated, and inserted in a weekly Miscellany, then publishing at Edinburgh. The beauty of these pieces soon attracted the notice of Mr. Home, Dr. Robertson and Dr. Blair; and they resolved to sent Macpherson on a journey all over the Highlands, at their expence, to collect the originals of those poems, which have since been a subject of so much controversy. Mr. Home died at Manchester-house near Edinburgh, Sept. the 4th 18c8.

DOUGLAS.

Mr.

THIS piece was first produced at Edinburgh, 1756; and the success it met with, induced our author to offer it to the London managers; where, notwithstanding all the influence exerted in its favour, it was refused by Garrick. Rich, however, accepted it, and it was acted the first time at Covent-garden, March the 14th 1757; where its real worth soon placed it out of the reach of critical censure. The plot was suggested by the pathetical old Scotch ballad of Gil (or Child) Morrice, reprinted in the third volume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, and it is founded on the quarrels of the families of Douglas and other of the Scots clans. This tragedy has a great deal of pathos in it, some of the narratives are pleasingly affecting, and the descriptions poetically beautiful. On its first appearance Hume gave his opinion, that is was one of the most interesting and pathetic pieces ever exhibited in any theatre. He declared, that the author possessed the true theatric genius of Shakspeare and Otway; but we must remember, that the author was a Scotchman, consequently such extravagant praise requires no comment. Gray however had so high an opinion of this first drama of Mr. Home, that in a letter to a friend in 1757, he says, "I am greatly struck with the tragedy of Douglas, though it has infinite faults: the author seems to have retrieved the true language of the Stage, which had been lost for these hundred years; and there is one scene (between Matilda and the Old Peasant) so masterly, that it strikes me blind to all the defects in the world." To this opinion every reader of taste will readily subscribe. Johnson blames Mr. Gray for concluding his celebrated ode with suicide; a circumstance borrowed perhaps from Douglas, in which lady Randolph, otherwise a blameless character, precipitates herself, like the Bard, from a cliff, into eternity.

Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan.
Oh, Douglas! Douglas! if departed ghosts

SCENE I.—The Court of a Castle, surrounded Are e'er permitted to review this world,

with Woods.

Enter LADY RANDOLPH. Lady R. YE woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom

Within the circle of that wood thou art, And with the passion of immortals hear'st My lamentation: hear'st thy wretched wife Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost. Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn, The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart, Who perish'd with thee on this fatal day. Farewell awhile: I will not leave you long; But Randolph comes, whom fate has made For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells, Who from the chiding stream, or groaning oak, To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead.

my lord,