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followed arms beneath them, were justice, faith and mercy. If these are beaten down and trampled under foot, I have no country, nor exists the power entitled to reproach me with revolt.

Piz. The power to judge and punish thee at least exists.
Al. Where are my judges ?
Piz. Thou wouldst appeal to the war council ?

Al. If the good Las Casas have yet a seat there, yes ; if not, I appeal to heaven !

Piz. And to impose upon the folly of Las Casas, what would be the excwes of thy treason ?

Elv. The folly of Las Casas ? such, doubtless, his mild precepts seem to thy hard hearted wisdom ! Oh! would I might have lived as I will die, the sharer of the follies of Las Casas ?

Al. To him I should not need to urge the foul barbara ities which drove me from your side ; but I would gently lead him by the hand through all the lovely fields of Quito; theré, in many a spot where late was barrenness and waste, I would show him how now the opening blossom, blade, or perfumed bud, sweet bashful pledges of delicious harvest, wafting their incense to the ripening sun, give cheerful promise to the hope of industry. This, I would say, is my work. And prouder yet, at that still pause between exertion and repose, belonging not to pastime, labour, or to rest, but unto Him, who sanctions and ordains them all, I would show them many an eye, and many a hand, by gentleness from error won, raised in pure devotion to the true, and only God ! this too, I could tell him, is Alonzo's work ! Then would Las Casas clasp me in his aged arms :: from his uplifted eyes a tear of gracious thankfulness would fall upon my head, and that one ble:sed drop would be to me at once this world's best proof, that I had acted rightly kere, and surest hope of my Creator's mercy and reward herenfter.

Elv. Happy, virtuous Alonzo! And thou, Pizarro, wouldst appal with fear of death, a man who thinks and acts as he does !

Piz. Daring, obstinate enthusiast ! But know the pio blessing of thy preceptor's tears does not await thee here

; he has fled like thee ; like thee, no doubt, to join the foes of Spain. The perilous trial of the next reward you hope, is nearer than perhaps you've thought ; for by my country's

1

wrongs, and by my own, to-morrow's sun shall see thy death,

Elv. Hold ! Pizarro, hear me! Name not thy country's wrongs ; it is plain they have no share in thy resentment. Thy fury against this youth is private hate, and deadly personal revenge. If this be so, and even now thy detected conscience in that look arows it, profane not the name of justice, or thy country's cause, but let him arm, and bid him to the field on equal terms.

Piz. Officious advocate for treason, peace ! Bear bim hence, he knows his sentence.

Al. Thy revenge is eager, and I am thankful for it ; to. me thy haste is niercy. For thee, sweet pleader in misfortune's cause, accept my parting thanks. This camp is not thy proper sphere. Wert thou among yon savages, as they are called, thou wouldst find companions more congenial to thy heart.

Piz. Yes, she shall bear the tidings of thy death to Cora.

Al. Inhuman man ! that pang at least might have been spared me ; but thy malice shall not shake my constancy. I go to death ; many shall bless, but none will hate

my memory. Thou still wilt live, and still wilt be-Pizarro.

Exit, guarded.] Elv. Alonzo then at morn will die ?

Piz. Thinkest thou yon sun will set? As surely at his çising shall Alonzo die.

Elv. Then be it done ; the string is cracked, sundered forever, But mark me, thou hast heretofore had cause, it is true, to doubt my resolution, however offended ; but mark me now, the lips which, cold and jeering, barbing revenge with rancorous mockery, can insult a falling enemy, shall never more receive the pledge of love or friendship. The arm which, unshaken by its bloody purpose, shall assign to needless torture the victim who avows his heart, never more shall press the hand of faith ! Pizarro, scorn not my words ; beware you slight them not ; I feel how noble are the motives which now animate my thoughts. Who could not feel as I do, I condemn; who feeling so, yet would not act as I shall, I despise.

Piz. I have heard thee, Elvira ! believe me, I pity thy tender feelings for the youth, Alonzo ! he dies at subrise!

CHAPTER CVI.

ALONZO IN CHAINS. A SENTINEL WALKING NEAR

THE ENTRANCE OF ALONZO'S DUNGEON IN A ROCK.

SCENE_III.

stars.

ALONZO ALONE. For the last time, I have beheld the shadowed ocean close upon the light. For the last time, through my cleft dungeon's roof, I now behold the quivering lustre of the

For the last time, O sun ! (and soon the hour) I shall behold thy rising, and thy level beams melting the pale mists of morn to glittering dew drops. Then comes my death, and in the morning of my day, I fall ! No, Alonzo, date not the life which thou hast run, by the mean reckoning of the hours and days, which thou hast breathed. A life spent worthily, should be measured by a nobler line. by deeds, not years. Then wouldst thou murmur not, but bless the providence, which in so short a span, made thee the instrument of wide and spreading blessings, to the helpless and oppressed ! Though sinking in decrepit age, he prematurely falls, whose memory records no benefit conferred by him on man. They only have lived long, who have lived virtuously.

(Enter a soldier, shews the sentinel a passport, who withdrawe. Al. What bear

you

there? Sol. These refreshments I was ordered to leave in your dungeon

Al. By whom ordered ?

Sol. By the lady Elvira ; she will be here herself before the dawn.

Al. Bear back to her my humblest thanks ; and take thou the refreshments, friend, I need them not.

Sol. I have served under you, Don Alonzo. Pardon my saying, that my heart pities you. (Exit.)

Al, In Pizarro's camp to pity the unfortunate, no doubt, requires forgiveness. [Looking out.] Surely, even now, thin streaks of glimmering light steal on the darkness of the east. If so, my life is but one hour more. I will not watch the coming dawn ; but, in the darkness of my cell, my last prayer to thee, Power Supreme ! shall be for my wife

and child ! Grant them to dwell in innocence and peace : Great health and purity of mind, all else is worthless.

Enters the cavern.] Sent. Who's there ? answer quickly! who's there? Rolla. A friar, come to visit your prisoner.

RollA enters, disguised as a Monk. Rol. Inform me, friend ; is not Alonzo, the Spanish prisoner, confined in this dungeon ?

Sent. He is,
Rol. I must speak with him.
Sent. You must not.
Rol. He is my friend.
Sent. Not if he were your brotheç.
Rol. What is to be his fate ?
Sent. He dies at sunrise. •
Rol, Ha ! then I am come in time.
Sent. Just-to witness his death.
Rol. Soldier, I must speak with him.
Sent Back, back. It is impossible ?
Rol. I do entreat you, but for one moment !
Sent. You entreat in vain ; my orders are most strict.
Rol. Even now I saw a messenger go hence.

Sent: He brought a pass, which we are all accustomed to obey.

Rol. Look on this wedge of massive gold, look on these precious gems. In thine own land they will be wealth for thee and thine, beyond thy hope or wish. Take them, they are thine. Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo.

Sent. Away! wouldst thou corrupt me? Me! an old Castilian ! I know my duty bettera

Rol. Soldier, hast thou a wife?
Sent. I have.
Rol. Hast thou children ?
Sent. Four ; honest, lively boys.
Rol. Where didst thou leave them ?
Sent. In my native village, even in the cot where myself
Rol. Dost thou love thy children and thy wife?
Sent. Do I love them ? 'most affectionately!

Rol. Soldier, imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in this strange land; what would be thy last request ?

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Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children.

Rol. Oh! but if that comrade was at thy prison gate, and should there be told, thy fellow soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him; nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children, or his wretched wife ; what wouldst. thou think of him, who thus could drive thy comrade from the door?

Sent. How ?

Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child, I am come but to receive for her and for her babe the last blessing of my friend.

Sent Go in. (Retires.)
Rol. O holy nature ! thou dost never plead in vain.
There is not, of our earth, a creature bearing form, and
life, human, or savage native of the forest, wild or giddy
air, around whose parent bosom, thou hast not a cord en-
twined of power to tie them to their offspring claims, and
at thy will to draw them back to thee. On iron pinions
borne, the blood stained vulture cleaves the storm ; yet, is
the plumage closest to her heart, soft as the cygnet's down,
and o'er her unshelled brood, the murmuring ring dove
sits not more gently ! Yes; now he is beyond the porch,
barring the outer gate ; Alonzo ! Alonzo! my friend. Ha !
in gentle sleep! Alonzo, rise !

Al. How ! Is my hour elapsed ? Well, I am ready.
Rol. Alonzo, know ine.
Al. What voice is that?
Rol. 'Tis Rolla's.

Al. Rolla ! my friend ! [Embraces him.] Heavens ! how couldst thou pass the guard ? did this habit

Rol. The guard withdrawn ; there is not a moment to be lost in words; this disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle ; it has gained me entrance to thy dungeon ; now take it thou and iy.

Al. And Rolla-
Rol. Will remain here in thy place.
Al. And die for me ! No! rather eternal tortures rack

me.

Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's, and fron prison soon will thy arm deliver me ; of, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted plantain stand

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