Part 14 (2/2)

ABD. Thou disingenuous and ign.o.ble man, Spreading these rumours! sending into exile All those their blighting influence injured most: And whom? thy daughter and adopted son, The chieftains of thy laws and of thy faith.

Call any witnesses, proclaim the truth, And set, at last, thy heart, thy fame, at rest.

JUL. Not, if I purposed or desired to live, My own dishonour would I e'er proclaim Amid vindictive and reviling foes.

MUZA. Calling us foes, avows he not his guilt?

Condemns he not the action we condemn, Owning it his, and owning it dishonour?

'Tis well my cares pressed forward, and struck home.

JUL. Why smilest thou? I never saw that smile But it portended an atrocious deed.

MUZA. After our manifold and stern a.s.saults, With every tower and battlement destroyed, The walls of Ceuta still were strong enough -

JUL. For what? who boasted now her brave defence, Or who forbade your entrance, after peace?

MUZA. None: for who could? their engines now arose To throw thy sons into the arms of death.

For this erect they their proud crests again.

Mark him at last turn pale before a Moor.

JUL. Imprudent have they been, their youth shall plead.

ABD. O father, could they not have been detained?

MUZA. Son, thou art safe and wert not while they lived.

ABD. I feared them not.

MUZA. And therefore wert not safe: Under their star the blooming Egilona Would watch for thee the nuptial lamp in vain.

JUL. Never, oh never, hast thou worked a wile So barren of all good! speak out at once, What hopest thou by striking this alarm?

It shocks my reason, not my fears or fondness.

MUZA. Be happy then as ignorance can be; Soon wilt thou hear it shouted from our ranks.

Those who once hurled defiance o'er our heads, Scorning our arms, and scoffing at our faith, The nightly wolf hath visited, unscared, And loathed them as her prey; for famine first, Achieving in few days the boast of year; Sank their young eyes and opened us the gates: Ceuta, her port, her citadel, is ours.

JUL. Blessed boys! inhuman as thou art, what guilt Was theirs?

MUZA. Their father's.

JUL. Oh, support me, Heaven!

Against this blow! all others I have borne.

Ermenegild! thou mightest, sure, have lived!

A father's name awoke no dread of thee!

Only thy mother's early bloom was thine!

There dwelt on Julian's brow--thine was serene - The brightened clouds of elevated souls, Feared by the most below: those who looked up Saw, at their season, in clear signs, advance Rapturous valour, calm solicitude, All that impatient youth would press from age, Or sparing age sigh and detract from youth: Hence was his fall! my hope! myself! my Julian!

Alas! I boasted--but I thought on him, Inheritor of all--all what? my wrongs - Follower of me--and whither? to the grave - Ah, no: it should have been so years far hence!

Him at this moment I could pity most, But I most prided in him; now I know I loved a name, I doted on a shade.

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