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cherish’d hope

       But go! my word was pledged to thee. Away!

       Brave not my Father’s vengeance! [The Moors hurry off ALHADRA.

      Ord. She hath aveng’d the blood of Isidore.

      Edition 1.

       thyself, O Woman! Edition 1 (b).

      [Note. — In his collation of Remorse with Osorio, the Editor of P.

       W. 1877-1880, iv. 154 affixes to lines 289-303 of the Fifth Act of

       Osorio the following variant, said to be derived from the First

       Edition of Remorse: — After the cry of ‘No mercy’ (Osorio, Act V, l.

       300), ‘NAOMI advances with the sword and ALHADRA snatches it from him

       and suddenly stabs ORDONIO. ALVAR rushes through the Moors and catches

       him in his arms.’ After Ordonio’s dying speech [ll. 304-307], there are

       ‘shouts of Alvar! Alvar! behind the scenes. A Moor rushes in’ —

      Moor. We are surprised! away! away! this instant!

       The country is in arms! Lord Valdez heads them,

       And still cries out, ‘My son! my Alvar lives!’

       Haste to the shore! they come the opposite road.

       Your wives and children are already safe.

       The boat is on the shore — the vessel waits.

      Alhadra. Thou then art Alvar! to my aid and safety

       Thy word stands pledged.

      Alvar. Arm of avenging Heaven!

       I had two cherish’d hopes — the one remains,

       The other thou hast snatch’d from me: but my word

       Is pledged to thee; nor shall it be retracted —

      Edition 1 (c) (?).

      [For MS. version of this variant see note on p. 597.]]

      [After 259] (ORDONIO follows ALHADRA with his eye which then

       raising languidly to ALVAR he compleats his meaning, but substituting

       ‘the’ for ‘Thee’). Marginal stage-direction inserted in MS. R.]

      Stage-direction preceding 265 and 265-79: om. Edition 1.

      [Before 280] [The stage fills with armed peasants … ALVAR’S arms.

       Edition 1.

      APPENDIX

      The following Scene, as unfit for the stage, was taken from the tragedy,

       in the year 1797, and published in the Lyrical Ballads. [1798, pp.

       28-31: vide ante, pp. 182-4.]

      Enter Teresa and Selma.

      Teresa. ‘Tis said, he spake of you familiarly,

       As mine and Alvar’s common foster-mother.

      Selma. Now blessings on the man, whoe’er he be

       That joined your names with mine! O my sweet Lady,

       As often as I think of those dear times, 5

       When you two little ones would stand, at eve,

       On each side of my chair, and make me learn

       All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk

       In gentle phrase; then bid me sing to you ——

       ‘Tis more like heaven to come, than what has been! 10

      Teresa. But that entrance, Selma?

      Selma. Can no one hear? It is a perilous

       tale!

      Teresa. No one.

      Selma. My husband’s father told it me,

       Poor old Sesina — angels rest his soul;

       He was a woodman, and could fell and saw

       With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam 15

       Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel?

       Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree,

       He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined

       With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool

       As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, 20

       And reared him at the then Lord Valdez’ cost.

       And so the babe grew up a pretty boy,

       A pretty boy, but most unteachable ——

       And never learn’d a prayer, nor told a bead,

       But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, 25

       And whistled, as he were a bird himself.

       And all the autumn ‘twas his only play

       To gather seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them

       With earth and water on the stumps of trees.

       A Friar, who gathered simples in the wood, 30

       A grey-haired man, he loved this little boy:

       The boy loved him, and, when the friar taught him,

       He soon could write with the pen; and from that time

       Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle.

       So he became a rare and learned youth: 35

       But O! poor wretch! he read, and read, and read,

       Till his brain turned; and ere his twentieth year

       He had unlawful thoughts of many things:

       And though he prayed, he never loved to pray

       With holy men, nor in a holy place. 40

       But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,

       The late Lord Valdez ne’er was wearied with him.

       And once, as by the north side of the chapel

       They stood together chained in deep discourse,

       The earth heaved under them with such a groan, 45

       That the wall tottered, and had well nigh fallen

       Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened;

       A fever seized him, and he made confession

       Of all the heretical and lawless talk

       Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized, 50

       And cast into that hole. My husband’s father

       Sobbed like a child — it almost broke his heart:

       And once he was working near this dungeon,

       He heard a voice distinctly; ‘twas the youth’s,

       Who sung a doleful song about green fields, 55

       How sweet it were on lake or wide savanna

       To hunt for food, and be a naked man,

       And wander up and down at liberty.

       He always doted on the youth, and now

       His love grew desperate; and defying death, 60

       He made that cunning entrance I described,

       And the young man escaped.

      Teresa. ‘Tis a sweet tale:

       Such as would lull a listening child to sleep,

       His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears.

       And what became of him?

      Selma. He went on shipboard 65

       With those bold voyagers who made discovery

      

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