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Thus disguised

       I will first seek to meet Ordonio’s — wife! 95

       If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk,

       And this the hour; her words, her very looks

       Will acquit her or convict.

      Zulimez. Will they not know you?

      Alvar. With your aid, friend, I shall unfearingly 100

       Trust the disguise; and as to my complexion,

       My long imprisonment, the scanty food,

       This scar — and toil beneath a burning sun,

       Have done already half the business for us.

       Add too my youth, since last we saw each other. 105

       Manhood has swoln my chest, and taught my voice

       A hoarser note — Besides, they think me dead:

       And what the mind believes impossible,

       The bodily sense is slow to recognize.

      Zulimez. ‘Tis yours, sir, to command, mine to obey. 110

       Now to the cave beneath the vaulted rock,

       Where having shaped you to a Moorish chieftain,

       I’ll seek our mariners; and in the dusk

       Transport whate’er we need to the small dell

       In the Alpujarras — there where Zagri lived. 115

      Alvar. I know it well: it is the obscurest haunt

       Of all the mountains — [Both stand listening.

       Voices at a distance!

       Let us away! [Exeunt.

SCENE II

       Table of Contents

      Enter TERESA and VALDEZ.

      Teresa. I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son

       And Alvar’s brother.

      Valdez. Love him for himself,

       Nor make the living wretched for the dead.

      Teresa. I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Valdez,

       But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 5

       Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living.

      Valdez. Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves,

       And could my heart’s blood give him back to thee

       I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts!

       Thy dying father comes upon my soul 10

       With that same look, with which he gave thee to me;

       I held thee in my arms a powerless babe,

       While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty

       Fixed her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this,

       That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 15

       And with slow anguish wear away thy life,

       The victim of a useless constancy.

       I must not see thee wretched.

      Teresa. There are woes

       Ill bartered for the garishness of joy!

       If it be wretched with an untired eye 20

       To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean;

       Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock,

       My hair dishevelled by the pleasant sea breeze,

       To shape sweet visions, and live o’er again

       All past hours of delight! If it be wretched 25

       To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there,

       To go through each minutest circumstance

       Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures

       Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them;

       (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid 30

       Who drest her in her buried lover’s clothes,

       And o’er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft

       Hung with her lute, and played the selfsame tune

       He used to play, and listened to the shadow

       Herself had made) — if this be wretchedness, 35

       And if indeed it be a wretched thing

       To trick out mine own deathbed, and imagine

       That I had died, died just ere his return!

       Then see him listening to my constancy,

       Or hover round, as he at midnight oft 40

       Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon;

       Or haply in some more fantastic mood,

       To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers

       Build up a bower where he and I might dwell,

       And there to wait his coming! O my sire! 45

       My Alvar’s sire! if this be wretchedness

       That eats away the life, what were it, think you,

       If in a most assured reality

       He should return, and see a brother’s infant

       Smile at him from my arms? 50

       Oh what a thought!

      Valdez. A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought.

       The very week he promised his return ——

      Teresa. Was it not then a busy joy? to see him,

       After those three years’ travels! we had no fears — 55

       The frequent tidings, the ne’er failing letter.

       Almost endeared his absence! Yet the gladness,

       The tumult of our joy! What then if now ——

      Valdez. O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts,

       Spite of conviction! I am old and heartless! 60

       Yes, I am old — I have no pleasant fancies —

       Hectic and unrefreshed with rest —

      Teresa. My father!

      Valdez. The sober truth is all too much for me!

       I see no sail which brings not to my mind

       The home-bound bark in which my son was captured 65

       By the Algerine — to perish with his captors!

      Teresa. Oh no! he did not!

      Valdez. Captured in sight of land!

       From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch-tower

       We might have seen ——

      Teresa. His capture, not his death.

      Valdez. Alas! how aptly thou forget’st a tale 70

       Thou ne’er didst wish to learn! my brave Ordonio

       Saw both the pirate and his prize go down,

       In the same storm that baffled his own valour,

       And thus twice snatched a brother from his hopes:

       Gallant Ordonio! O beloved Teresa, 75

       Would’st thou best prove thy faith to generous Alvar,

       And most delight his spirit, go, make thou

       His brother happy, make his aged father

       Sink to the grave in joy.

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