Scene III — The Portico of a Palace.
Sebastian, Gonzalez, Zamor.
Seb. Withstand me not! I tell thee that my soul,
With all its passionate energies, is roused
Unto that fearful strength which must have way,
E’en like the elements in their hour of might
And mastery o’er creation.
Gon. But they wait
That hour in silence. Oh! be calm awhile—
Thine is not come. My king——
Seb. I am no king,
While in the very palace of my sires,
Ay, where mine eyes first drank the glorious light,
Where my soul’s thrilling echoes first awoke
To the high sound of earth’s immortal names,
Th’ usurper lives and reigns. I am no king
Until I cast him thence.
Zam. Shall not thy voice
Be as a trumpet to th’ awak’ning land?
Will not the bright swords flash like sun-bursts forth,
When the brave hear their chief?
Gon. Peace, Zamor! peace!
Child of the desert, what hast thou to do
With the calm hour of counsel?
Monarch, pause:
A kingdom’s destiny should not be the sport
Of passion’s reckless winds. There is a time
When men, in very weariness of heart
And careless desolation, tamed to yield
By misery strong as death, will lay their souls
E’en at the conqueror’s feet—as nature sinks,
After long torture, into cold, and dull,
And heavy sleep. But comes there not an hour
Of fierce atonement? Ay! the slumberer wakes
With gather’d strength and vengeance; and the sense
And the remembrance of his agonies
Are in themselves a power, whose fearful path
Is like the path of ocean, when the heavens
Take off its interdict. Wait, then, the hour
Of that high impulse.
Seb. Is it not the sun
Whose radiant bursting through the embattled clouds
Doth make it morn? The hour of which thou speak’st,
Itself, with all its glory, is the work
Of some commanding nature, which doth bid
The sullen shades disperse. Away!—e’en now
The land’s high hearts, the fearless and the true,
Shall know they have a leader. Is not this
The mansion of mine own, mine earliest, friend
Sylveira?
Gon. Ay, its glittering lamps too well
Illume the stately vestibule to leave
Our sight a moment’s doubt. He ever loved
Such pageantries.
Seb. His dwelling thus adorn’d
On such a night! Yet will I seek him here.
He must be faithful, and to him the first
My tale shall be reveal’d. A sudden chill
Falls on my heart; and yet I will not wrong
My friend with dull suspicion. He hath been
Link’d all too closely with mine inmost soul.
And what have I to lose?
Gon. Is their blood naught
Who without hope will follow where thou lead’st,
E’en unto death?
Seb. Was that a brave man’s voice?
Warrior and friend! how long, then, hast thou learn’d
To hold thy blood thus dear?
Gon. Of mine, mine own
Think’st thou I spoke? When all is shed for thee
Thou’lt know me better.
Seb. (entering the palace.) For a while farewell.
[Exit.
Gon. Thus princes lead men’s hearts. Come, follow me;
And if a home is left me still, brave Zamor!
There will I bid thee welcome.
[Exeunt.