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!

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 flash'd, 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.

Where sleep its dead!

Bid the wide desert tell

To mightier hosts than them

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

Seb.

That all have perished!

It cannot be

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 parched lip of fever, with a thought

So darkly sad!

Gon.

Oh never, never cast

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
To fall, and leave no trophy,-let them not

Be soon, be e'er forgotten! for their fate
Bears a deep warning in its awfulness,
Whence power might well learn wisdom!
Seb.
Think'st thou, then,
That years of sufferance and captivity,
Such as have bow'd down eagle hearts ere now,
And made high energies their spoil, have pass'd
So lightly o'er my spirit? It is not thus!
The things thou wouldst recall are not of those
To be forgotten! But my heart hath still
A sense, a bounding pulse for hope and joy,
And it is joy which whispers in the breeze

Sent from my own free mountains. Brave Gonzalez!
Thou art one to make thy fearles heart a shield

Unto thy friend, in the dark stormy hour

When knightly crests are trampled, and proud helms
Cleft, and strong breastplates shiver'd. Thou art one

To infuse the soul of gallant fortitude
Into the captive's bosom, and beguile

The long slow march beneath the burning noon'
With lofty patience; but for those quick bursts
Those buoyant efforts of the soul to cast

Her weight of care to earth, those brief delights
Whose source is in a sunbeam, or a sound

Which stirs the blood, or a young breeze, whose wing
Wanders in chainless joy; for things like these

Thou hast no sympathies!-And thou, my Zamor,
Art wrapt in thought! I welcome thee to this,
The kingdom of my fathers. Is it not

A goodly heritage?

Žam.

The land is fair:

But he, the archer of the wilderness,

Beholdeth not the palms beneath whose shade
His tents are scatter'd, and his camels rest ;
And therefore is he sad!

Seb.
Thou must not pine
With that sick yearning of the impatient heart,
Which makes the exile's life one fever'd dream
Of skies, and hills, and voices far away,
And faces wearing the familiar hues
Lent by his native sunbeams. I have known
Too much of this, and would not see another
Thus daily die. If it be so with thee,

My gentle Zamor, speak. Behold, our bark
Yet, with her white sails catching sunset's glow,
Lies within signal reach. If it be thus,

Then fare thee well-farewell, thou brave, and true,
And generous friend! How often is our path
Cross'd by some being whose bright spirit sheds
A passing gladness o'er it, but whose course
Leads down another current, never more
To blend with ours! Yet far within our souls,

Amidst the rushing of the busy world,

Dwells many a secret thought which lingers yet
Around that image. And e'en so, kind Zamor,
Shalt thou be long remembered!

Zam.
By the fame
Of my brave sire, whose deeds the warrior tribes
Tell round the desert's watchfire, at the hour
Of silence, and of coolness, and of stars,

I will not leave thee! "Twas in such an hour
The dreams of rest were on me, and I lay
Shrouded in slumber's mantle, as within
The chambers of the dead. Who saved me then,
When the pard, soundless as the midnight, stole
Soft on the sleeper? Whose keen dart transfix'd
The monarch of the solitudes? I woke,
And saw thy javelin crimson'd with his blood,
Thou, my deliverer! and my heart e'en then
Call'd thee its brother.

Seb.
For that gift of life
With one of tenfold price, even freedom's self,
Thou hast repaid me well.

Zam.

Then bid me not

Forsake thee! Though my father's tents may rise
At times upon my spirit, yet my home

Shall be amidst thy mountains, Prince, and thou
Shalt be my chief, until I see thee robed

With all thy power. When thou canst need no more
Thine Arab's faithful heart and vigorous arm,
From the green regions of the setting sun

Then shall the wanderer turn his steps, and seek
His orient wild's again.

Seb.
Be near me still,
And ever, O my warrior! I shall stand
Again amidst my hosts a mail-clad king,.
Begirt with spears and banners, and the pomp
And the proud sounds of battle. Be thy place
Then at my side. When doth a monarch cease
To need true hearts, bold hands? Not in the field
Of arms, nor on the throne of power, nor yet
The couch of sleep. Be our friend, we will not part.
Gon. Be all thy friends then faithful, for e'en yet
They may be fiercely tried.

Seb.
I doubt them not.
Even now my heart beats high to meet their welcome.
Let us away!

Gon. Yet hear once more my liege:
The humblest pilgrim from his distant shrine
Returning, finds not e'en his peasant home
Unchanged amidst its vineyards. Some loved face,
Which made the sun-light of his lowly board,
Is touch'd by sickness; some familiar voice
Greets him no more; and shall not fate and time

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