SEBASTIAN OF PORTUGAL.

SCENE I.

The sea-shore near Lisbon.

SEBASTIAN-GONZALEZ - Zamor.

Seb. With what young life and fragrance in its breath

My native air salutes me! from the groves
Of citron, and the mountains of the vine,

And thy majestic tide thus foaming on

In power and freedom o'er its golden sands,
Fair stream, my Tajo! youth, with all its glow
And pride of feeling, through my soul and frame
Again seems rushing, as these noble waves
Past their bright shores flow joyously. Sweet land,
My own, my fathers' land, of sunny skies
And orange bowers!-Oh! is it not a dream
That thus I tread thy soil? Or do I wake
From a dark dream but now! Gonzalez, say,
Doth it not bring the flush of early life
Back on th' awakening spirit, thus to gaze
On the far-sweeping river, and the shades
Which in their undulating motion speak
Of gentle winds amidst bright waters born,
After the fiery skies and dark-red sands

Of the lone desert? Time and toil must needs

Have changed our mien; but this, our blessed land,
Hath gained but richer beauty since we bade
Her glowing shores farewell. Seems it not thus?
Thy brow is clouded.-

Gon.
Wears, amidst all its quiet loveliness,

To mine eye the scene

A hue of desolation, and the calm,

The solitude and silence which pervade
Earth, air, and ocean, seem belonging less
To peace than sadness! We have proudly stood
Even on this shore, beside the Atlantic wave,
When it hath look'd not thus.

Seb.

Ay, now thy soul Is in the past! Oh no, it look'd not thus

When the morn smiled upon our thousand sails,
And the winds blew for Afric! How that hour,
With all its hues of glory, seems to burst
Again upon my vision! I behold

The stately barks, the arming, the array,
The crests, the banners of my chivalry
Swayed by the sea-breeze till their motion show'd
Like joyous life! How the proud billows foam'd!
And the oars flashed, like lightnings of the deep,
And the tall spears went glancing to the sun,
And scattering round quick rays, as if to guide
The valiant unto fame! Ay, the blue heaven
Seemed for that noble scene a canopy

Scarce too majestic, while it rung afar

To peals of warlike sound! My gallant bands! Where are you now?

Gon.

Bid the wild desert tell

Where sleep its dead! To mightier hosts than them

Hath it lent graves ere now; and on its breast
Is room for nations yet!

Seb.

It cannot be

That all have perish'd! Many a noble man, Made captive on that war-field, may have burst His bonds like ours.

Cloud not this fleeting hour,

Which to my soul is as the fountain's draught
To the parch'd lip of fever, with a thought
So darkly sad!

That deep remembrance from you! When once more
Your place is 'midst earth's rulers, let it dwell
Around you, as the shadow of your throne,
Wherein the land may rest. My king, this hour
(Solemn as that which to the voyager's eye,
In far and dim perspective, doth unfold

A new and boundless world) may haply be
The last in which the courage and the power
Of truth's high voice may reach you. Who may
stand

As man to man, as friend to friend, before

The ancestral throne of monarchs? Or, perchance,
Toils, such as tame the loftiest to endurance,
Henceforth may wait us here! But howsoe'er
This be, the lessons now from sufferings past
Befit all time, all change. Oh! by the blood,
The free, the generous blood of Portugal,
Shed on the sands of Afric,-by the names
Which, with their centuries of high renown,
There died, extinct for ever,-let not those
Who stood in hope and glory at our side
Here, on this very sea-beach, whence they pass'd