Have done their work, since last we parted hence,
Upon an empire? Ay, within those years,
Hearts from their ancient worship have fall'n off
And bow'd before new stars: high names have sunk
From their supremacy of place, and others

Gone forth, and made themselves the mighty sounds
At which thrones tremble. Oh! be slow to trust
E'en those to whom your smiles were wont to seem
As light is unto flowers. Search well the depths
Of bosoms in whose keeping you would shrine
The secret of your state. Storms pass not by
Leaving earth's face unchanged.

Seb. Whence didst thou learn

The cold distrust which casts so deep a shadow
O'er a most noble nature?

Gon. Life hath been

My stern and only teacher. I have known
Vicissitudes in all things, but the most

In human hearts. Oh! yet awhile tame down
That royal spirit, till the hour be come
When it may burst its bondage! On thy brow
The suns of burning climes have set their seal,
And toil, and years, and perils, have not pass'd
O'er the bright aspect, and the ardent eye,
As doth a breeze of summer. Be that change
The mask beneath whose shelter thou may'st read
Men's thoughts, and veil thine own.

Seb. Am I thus changed

From all I was? And yet it needs must be,
Since e'en my soul hath caught another hue
From its long sufferings. Did I not array
The gallant flower of Lusian chivalry,
And lead the mighty of the land, to pour
Destruction on the Moslem? 1 return,
And as a fearless and a trusted friend,
Bring, from the realms of my captivity,
An Arab of the desert!-But the sun

Hath sunk below th' Atlantic. Let us hence-
Gonzalez, fear me not.

SCENE II.

A Street in Lisbon illuminated.

MANY CITIZENS.

1st Cit. In sooth our city wears a goodly mien With her far-blazing fanes, and festive lamps

Shining from all her marble palaces,

[Exeunt.

Countless as heaven's fair stars. The humblest lattice

Sends forth its radiance. How the sparkling waves

Fling back the light!

2d Cit.

Ay, 'tis a gallant show;

And one which serves, like others, to conceal

Things which must not be told.

3d Cit.

What wouldst thou say?

2d Cit. That which may scarce, in perilous times like these, Be said with safety. Hast thou look'd within

Those stately palaces? Were they but peopled

With the high race of warlike nobles, once

Their princely lords, think'st thou, good friend, that now
They would be glittering with this hollow pomp,

To greet a conqueror's entrance?

3d Cit.

Thou say'st well.

None but a land forsaken of its chiefs

Had been so lost and won.

The lot is cast;
Hush! for some strangers come:

Did the king pass this way

At morning, with his train?

2d Cit.

Ay: saw you not

The long and rich procession?

[SEBAST. enters with GONZAL. and ZAMOR.

Seb. to Gon

This should be

The night of some high festival. E'en thus
My royal city to the skies sent up

From her illumined fanes and towers a voice
Of gladness, welcoming our first return

From Afric's coast. Speak thou, Gonzalez, ask
The cause of this rejoicing. To my heart
Deep feelings rush, so mingled and so fast,
My voice perchance might tremble.

Gon.
Citizen,
What festal night is this, that all your streets
Are throng'd and glittering thus?

1st Cit.

Hast thou not heard

Of the king's entry, in triumphal pomp,

This very morn?

Gon.

The king! triumphal pomp!

Thy words are dark.
Seb.

Speak yet again: mine ears

Ring with strange sounds. Again! 1st Cit.

I said, the king,

Philip of Spain, and now of Portugal,
This morning enter'd with a conqueror's train
Our city's royal palace and for this

We hold our festival.

Seb. (in a low voice.) Thou said'st-the king! His name?-I heard it not.

1st Cit.

Philip of Spain.

Seb. Philip of Spain! We slumber, till aroused

By th' earthquake's bursting shock. Hath there not fall'n
A sudden darkness? All things seem to float

Obscurely round me. Now 'tis past. The streets
Are blazing with strange fire. Go, quench those lamps;

They glare upon me till my very brain

Grows dizzy, and doth whirl. How dare ye thus
Light up your shrines for him?

Gon.

Away, away!

Philip of Spain!

This is no time, no scene

Seb.

How name ye this fair land? Why is it not
The free, the chivalrous Portugal? the land
By the proud ransom of heroic blood

Won from the Moor of old? Did that red stream
Sink to the earth, and leave no fiery current

In the veins of noble men, that so its tide,

Full swelling at the sound of hostile steps,
Might be a kingdom's barrier?

2d Cit.

That high blood
Which should have been our strength, profusely shed
By the rash King Sebastian, bathed the plains
Of fatal Alcazar. Our monarch's guilt

Hath brought this ruin down.

Seb.

Must this be heard,

And borne, and unchastised. Man, darest thou stand
Before me face to face, and thus arraign

Thy sovereign?

Zam. (aside to Seb.) Shall I lift the sword, my Prince, Against thy foes?

Gon.

Be still-or all is lost.

2d Cit. I dare speak that which all men think and know. "Tis to Sebastian, and his waste of life,

And power, and treasure, that we owe these bonds.

3d Cit. Talk not of bonds. May our new monarch rule The weary land in peace! But who art thou?

Whence com'st thou, haughty stranger, that these things, Known to all nations, should be new to thee?

Seb. (wildly.) I come from regions where the cities lie In ruins, not in chains.

2d Cit.

[Exit with GONZAL. and ZAMOR.
He wears the mien

Of one that hath commanded; yet his looks

And words were strangely wild.

1st Cit.

Mark'd you his fierce
And haughty gestures, and the flash that broke
From his dark eye, when King Sebastian's name
Became our theme?

2d Cit.
Trust me, there's more in this
Than may be lightly said. These are no times
To breathe men's thoughts i' th' open face of heaven
And ear of multitudes. They that would speak
Of monarchs and their deeds, should keep within
Their quiet homes. Come, let us hence, and then
We'll commune of this stranger.

The Portico of a Palace.

SEBASTIAN.-GONZALEZ.-ZAMOR.

Seb. Withstand me not! I tell thee that my soul,
With all its passionate energies, is roused

Unto that fearful strength which must have way
E'en like the elements, in their hour of might
And mastery o'er creation.

Gon.
But they wait
That hour in silence. O! be calm awhile,
Thine is not come. My king-

Seb.
I am no king,
While in the very palace of my sires,

Ay, where mine eyes first drank the glorious light,
Where my soul's thrilling echoes first awoke
To the high sound of earth's immortal names,
Th' usurper lives and reigns. I am no king
Until I cast him thence.

Zam.

Shall not thy voice
Be as a trumpet to the awak'ning land?

Will not the bright swords flash like sun-bursts forth,
When the brave hear their chief?

Gon.
Peace, Zamor, peace!
Child of the desert, what hast thou to do
With the calm hour of counsel ?

-Monarch, pause,
A kingdom's destiny should not be th' sport
Of passion's reckless winds. There is a time
When men, in very weariness of heart
And careless desolation, tamed to yield
By misery, strong as death, will lay their souls
E'en at the conqueror's feet, as nature sinks,
After long torture, into cold and dull,

And heavy sleep. But comes there not an hour

Of fierce atonement? Ay, the slumberer wakes

With gather'd strength and vengeance; and the sense
And the remembrance of his agonies

Are in themselves a power, whose fearful path
Is like the path of ocean, when the heavens
Take off its interdict. Wait then the hour

Of that high impulse.

Seb.

Is it not the sun

Whose radiant bursting through the embattled clouds Doth make it morn? The hour of which thou speak'st, Itself, with all its glory, is the work

Of some commanding nature, which doth bid

The sullen shades disperse. Away!-e'en now
The land's high hearts, the fearless and the true,
Shall know they have a leader. Is not this
The mansion of mine own, mine earliest, friend
Sylveira?

Gon. Ay, its glittering lamps too well

Illume the stately vestibule to leave

Our sight a moment's doubt. He ever loved
Such pageantries.

Seb.
His dwelling thus adorn'd
On such a night! Yet will I seek him here.
He must be faithful, and to him the first
My tale shall be reveal'd. A sudden chill
Falls on my heart; and yet I will not wrong
My friend with dull suspicion. He hath been
Link'd all too closely with mine inmost soul.
And what have I to lose?

Gon.

Is their blood nought

Who without hope will follow where thou lead'st,
E'en unto death?

Seb.

Was that a brave man's voice?

Warrior, and friend! how long then hast thou learn'd
To hold thy blood thus dear?

Gon. Of mine, mine own

Think'st thou I spoke? When all is shed for thee
Thou'lt know me better.

Seb. (entering the palace.) For a while farewell.

[Exit

Gon. Thus princes lead men's hearts. Come, follow me, And if a home is left me still, brave Zamor,

There will I bid thee welcome.

SCENE IV.

A Hall within the palace.

SEBASTIAN.-SYLVEIRA.

[Exeunt.

Sylv. Whence art thou, stranger ?-what would'st thou with me?

There is a fiery wildness in thy mien,

Startling and almost fearful.

Seb.

From the stern,

And vast, and desolate wilderness, whose lord

Is the fierce lion, and whose gentlest wind

Breathes of the tomb, and whose dark children make

The bow and spear their law, men bear not back

That smilingness of aspect, wont to mask

The secrets of their spirits 'midst the stir

Of courts and cities. I have look'd on scenes
Boundless, and strange, and terrible; I have known
Sufferings which are not in the shadowy scope
Of wild imagination; and these things

Have stamp'd me with their impress. Man of peace,
Thou look'st on one familiar with the extremes
Of grandeur and of misery.

Sylv.

Stranger, speak

Thy name and purpose briefly, for the time
Ill suits these mysteries. I must hence; to-night
I feast the lords of Spain.