HE APOSTATE.

ACT 1.

EI-A Moorish Apartment in Grenada. Enter HALY, HEMEYA, and HAMET, L. is in vain-you talk to me in vain. ave you forget that you are last of all of famous kings who ruled Grenada Spaniard conquered? In their slavery, s still hold you for their righteous prince turn for kingly reverence,

hem kingly care.

ice, I remember,

gs our Christian tyrants heap upon us
your soul with rage.-Aloud you cried
e treacherous breach of every right
dinand secured; but now, when fame
abroad, that Philip will blot out
name of Moor, and has decreed
3 of our faith, our nation's rites,
ed usages, and all that men

rer far than life-this fatal passion
you like a spell.

ad

This Spanish woman

ished from your soul each nobler care —

ghter of Alvarez ! she alone

s all your being! you can think

ak but of Florinda-when the Moors
'er their cruel wrongs, Aben Hemeya
e assembled council sits inwrapt,

a lengthened sigh, breathes out, "Florin da!"
Oh! blame me not, it is my crue fate!
nis passion, like necessity,

Rule my o'ermastered soul.

What can you tay?

Is there a power in eloquence or reason

To cure the heart's deep malady?-ha! tell me.
Have you e'er seen her face? have you beheld
That rare assemblage of all nature's beauties?
Ha! have you ever seen her? where is the remedy
For passion like to mine?

Hal. You should have found it,

If not in duty, in despair.-You know

Our Spanish tyrants spurn, as well as hate us—
Would not Alvarez deem it infamy

That e'en a Moorish prince should wed Florinda ?
When you approach his palace, ev'ry slave,
The menials of his threshold cry, in scorn,
"Behold the Moor!" and e'en the fair Florinda
Has ne'er confessed she smiles upon your passion.
And yet you love-

Hem. And must love on forever.

Love is a fire self-fed, and does not need
Hope to preserve its flame. Full well I know
I must despair! and yet, when I behold her
And her blue eyes are lifted—

Ham. What avails it?

Even if she love, she never could be yours-
Is she not promised to Grenada's governor?
IIem. Kind heaven, let not that fell Pescara c'asp
Those beauties to his bosom, and profane
An angel's form in his accursed embrace!
Oh, no! it will not be-for she abhors him!
She shudders when she sees that man of blood,
Whom Philip sends to crush us. Well she feel,
That he was once the Inquisition's satellite,
Till Philip plucked the cowl from off his front,
To raise him to his councils. Oh! Florinda,
Before I see thee his, may heaven's swift fire
Fall on my head!

Hal. Weak and degenerate passion!

How it unmans your nature! I perceive
Malec alone can break this fatal charm.
Would that the agéd Moor, to whom your fatl er
Upon his death bed gave you, had returned!
Too long amid the Moorish mountaineers

from Grenada. Would he were here,

our slumb'ring virtue !

Foing.] Fare you well!

Crosses, R.

here wouldst thou go? 'tis midnight's silent

T.

u wander forth. No couch now strews

d sleep for you; nor, till the morn, ghast you come

his is my hour,

our of joy. Haly, I go

beside her lattice; there, sometimes,
distant voice, when up to heav'n
midnight melody. The moon

ometimes, on her face, its tender beams;
when I no longer can behold her,
light that from the casement shines,
= upon it, as it were the star

-, till the morning. [Shout, R.] Hark!
sound

E tumult murmurs on mine ear, an's chafing surge

Behold, the sky

Iden in the black horizon's verge;

unnatural light streams o'er the dark,

cks the dawn of morn.

Enter a Moor, R.

[Fire-bell heard.

My lord, the palace of Count Alvarez

inwrapt in fire!

Florinda? speak!

. She has not yet been seen.

. Oh, heavens, Florinda!

SCENE 11.-A Street in Grenada.

[Exeunt, R.

Enter ALVAREZ, L., supported by two SERVANTS. Where is my child? where is my child, Florinda? e do you drag me let me go! unhand me!

e go back and die! unnatural men,

hould not force the father from the child.

Ser. The thought is frenzy! from the rolling smoke carce were ta'en alive! and here we lead you

To breathe the fresh'ning air; you shall not gc
For, should you pass the flaming gates again,
They would swallow you forever.

Alv. Oh, my daughter!

Enter a SPANIARD,

Speak-tell me-speak!

L.

Span. Your daughter has appeared
Amid the flames at last, and at her casement
Stands with her face and arms to heaven uplifted,
And seems a suff'ring angel-while below

The multitude in speechless horror stands.

Exit, L.

Alv. [Kneeling.] Hear, and record my oath! he that shall bear

Florinda to my arms, shall win her hand,

And be inheritor of all my treasures;

And, if I break that oath, the heaviest curse
Fall on my head!

What's that I hear?

[A loud shout is heard, L.

Enter a SPANIARD, L.—after a short pause.

Span. My lord, a desp'rate man with furious force Bursts through the gathered thousands, scales the walls, And plunges through the flame.

Alv. Oh, heaven reward him!

[Another shout, L.

That sound sends life again through every vein,

And my heart bounds

[Voices without, L.] She is saved! she is saved! Alv O heaven!

Lead me from hence, and let me sce my child.

[Exeunt, L. SCENE III-A Garden adjoining the Palace of Alvarez part of which appears already consumed and blackened. Enter HEMEYA, L. U. E., bearing Florinda in his arms. Hem. I feel thy pressure in my heart-I have theeI clasp thee here, while all my senses rush

In the full throb of rapture! all my being
Seems gathered in the pulse that beats to thee:
I am beloved, I am beloved!

Flor. Hemeya!

Heaven, let me thank thee, that this generous man

e! I will look on thee, Hen eya!-
tell thee;--I am very faint ;-
ak;-but I am grateful to thee.
rinda! my beloved!

mne,

oment of delirious joy,

to my heart; but here, behold,
ore thy feet; all that I ask
ong upon thee, till my soul
earthly sorrow: oh, Florinda!
less nights, what days of desperation,
hy form came on my raptured sight,
in my heart!

now you loved me.

confess that I am grateful to thee. o not talk

g gratitude; in the dread moment th hung hov'ring o'er thee, I did hearhear thee say, that death itself

Come here! was welcome in my arms. Don't look upon me! for within thy gaze o the earth.

Why would Florinda,

is made of gentleness and pity,

at beam of dawning happiness, mpse of op'ning heaven!

Because Florinda

o her shuddering heart had dared to tell, he has told to thee! I ne'er can wed thee, at a pang it is to love thee still!

ou not know my father frowns upon thee? ou not know I never can be thine? etched that I am, I have revealed

must blush to think of.-But he comes, ner comes: oh! I must dry these tears; his arms forget my ev'ry grief;

el I am a daughter.-My dear father!

Enter ALVAREZ, L., crosses, C.

My child!

7. Yes, take her, clasp her to your heart, that heart beats with a father's transport, as I am, don't blame me that I love her.

S