That way my journey lies-to find, I hope,
The King of Kings, and ask the recompense
For all my woes, long suffered for His sake.
You generous witnesses of my last hour,
While I yet live, assist my humble prayers,
And join the resignation of my soul.
Neristan! Chatillon! and you fair mourner!
Whose tears do honor to an old man's sorrows!
Pity a father, the unhappiest sure

That ever felt the hand of angry heaven!
My eyes, though dying, still can furnish tears;
IIalf my long life they flowed and still will flow!
A daughter and three sons, my heart's proud hopes,
Were all torn from me in their tenderest years—
My friend Chatillon knows and can remember.

CHAT. Would I were able to forget your woe.
Lus. Thou wert a pris'ner with me in Cæsarea,
And there beheld'st my wife and two dear sons
Perish in the flames.

CHAT. A captive and in fetters,

I could not help them.

Lus. I know thou could'st not.

O, 'twas a dreadful scene! These eyes beheld it—
Husband and father, helpless, I beheld it,
Denied the mournful privilege to die!
O my poor children! whom I now deplore,
If ye are saints in heaven, as sure ye are,
Look with an eye of pity on that brother,
That sister whom you left-if I have yet
Or son or daughter! For in early chains,
Far from their lost and unassisting father,

I heard that they were sent, with numbers more,
To this seraglio; hence to be dispersed

In nameless remnants o'er the East, and spread
Our Christian miseries round a faithless world.

CHAT. 'Twas true; for, in the horrors of that day,
I snatched your infant daughter from her cradle,
When, from my bleeding arms, fierce Saracens
Forced the lost innocent, who smiling lay,
And pointed, playful, at the swarthy spoilers!
With her your youngest, then your only son,
Whose little life had reached the fourth sad year,
And just given sense to feel his own misfortunes,
Was ordered to this city.

NER. I, too, hither,

Just at that fatal age, from lost Cæsarea

Came in that cloud of undistinguished Christians.

[Looking up.]

Lus. You!-came you thence? Alas! who knows but you
Might therefore have seen my two poor children.
Ha, madam! That small ornament you wear,
Its form a stranger to this country's fashion,.
How long has it been yours?

ZAÏRE. From my first birth, sir.
Ah, what! you seem surprised?

Why should this move you?

Lus. Would you confide it to my trembling hands? ZAÏRE. To what new wonders am I now reserved? Oh, sir! what mean you?

Lus. Providence and heaven!

O failing eyes, deceive ye not my hope!

Can this be possible? Yes, yes-'tis she!

This little cross-I know it by sure marks!

Oh, take me, heaven! while I can die with joy!

ZAÏRE. Oh, do not, sir, distract me! Rising thoughts,

And hopes and fears o'erwhelm me.

Lus. Tell me yet; has it remained forever in your hands? What! both brought captives from Cæsarea hither?

ZAÏRE. Both, both!

LUS. Their voice! Their looks!

The living images of their dear mother!

[Rising.]

O God! who seest my tears and know'st my thoughts,
Do not forsake me at this dawn of hope!
Strengthen my heart, too feeble for this joy.
Madam! Neristan! Help me, Chatillon!
Neristan, hast thou on thy breast a scar,
Which, ere Cæsarea fell, from a fierce hand,
Surprising us by night my child received?

NER. Blessed hand! I bear it, sir, the mark is there!
Lus. Merciful heaven!

ZAÏRE. My father! Oh!

Lus. O my children!

My son! my daughter!

Lost in embracing you,

I would now die, lest this should prove a dream.

Again I find you-dear in wretchedness.

O my brave son and thou, my nameless daughter,

Now dissipate all doubt, remove all dread:

Has heaven, that gives me back my children, given them
Such as I lost them? Come they Christians to me?

One weeps and one declines a conscious eye!
Your silence speaks; too well I understand it!
ZAÏRE. I cannot, sir, deceive you.

Osman's laws

Were mine-and Osman is not Christian.

Lus. Her words are thunder bursting on my head;

Wer't not for thee, my son, I should die.

Full sixty years I fought the Christians' cause,

Saw their doomed temples fall, their power destroyed;

Twenty, a captive, in a dungeon's depth,

Yet never for myself my tears sought heaven;
All for my children rose my fruitless prayers.
Yet what avails a father's wretched joy?

I have a daughter gained, and heaven an enemy.
O my misguided daughter! lose not thy faith.
Reclaim thy birthright. Think upon the blood
Of twenty Christian kings that fills thy veins:

What would thy mother feel to see thee thus!

She and thy murdered brothers! Think! they call thee!
Think that thou seest them stretch their bloody arms,
And weep to win thee from their murd'rer's bosom.
Ev'n in the place where thou betray'st thy God,
He died, my child, to save thee. Turn thy eyes
And see; for thou art near His sacred sepulchre.
Thou canst not move a step, but where He trod!
Thou tremblest. Oh! admit me to thy soul!
Kill not thy aged, thy afflicted father!

Take not, thus soon, again, the life thou gav'st him!
Shame not thy mother, nor renounce thy God!
'Tis past! Repentance dawns in thy sweet eyes.
I see bright truth descending to thy heart,
And now, my long-lost child is found forever.
ZAÏRE. O my father!

Dear author of my life, inform me, teach me,
What should my duty do?

Lus. By one short word:

To dry up all my tears, and make life welcome,

Say thou art a Christian!

ZAÏRE. Sir, I am a Christian.

Lus. Receive her, gracious heaven, and bless her for it! [Enter ORASMIN, a Saracen.]

ORASMIN. Madam, the Sultan ordered me to tell you

That he expects you instant quit this place,

And bid your last farewell to these vile Christians.

You, captive Frenchmen, follow me; for you

It is my task to answer.

CHAT. Still new miseries!

How cautious man should be, to say, I'm happy!

Lus. These are the times, my friends, to try our firmness, Our Christian firmness.

ZAÏRE. Alas, sir! Oh!

Lus. Oh, you! I dare not name you;

Farewell—but come what may, be sure, remember
You keep the fatal secret! for the rest,
Leave all to heaven-be faithful, and be blest!

ONLY A SOLDIER.

NARMED and unattended walks the Czar

UNA

Through Moscow's busy street one winter's day.

The crowd uncover as his face they see

"God greet the Czar!" they say.

Along his path there moved a funeral

Gray spectacle of poverty and woe;

A wretched sledge, dragged by one weary man,
Slowly across the snow.

And on the sledge, blown by the winter wind,
Lay a poor coffin, very rude and bare.

And he who drew it bent before his load
With dull and sullen air.

The Emperor stopped and beckoned to the man:
"Who is't thou bearest to the grave?" he said.
"Only a soldier, sire!" the short reply;

"Only a soldier, dead."

"Only a soldier!" musing, said the Czar;

Only a Russian, who was poor and brave.
Move on, I follow. Such a one goes not
Unhonored to his grave."

He bent his head, and silent raised his cap,

The Czar of all the Russians, pacing slow,

Following the coffin, as again it went

Slowly across the snow,