Classic Poem

ABDALLA, aside.
All is not lost, Abdalla; see the queen,
See the last witness of thy guilt and fear,
Enrob'd in death--Despatch her, and be great.

CARAZA.
Unhappy fair! compassion calls upon me
To check this torrent of imperious rage:
While unavailing anger crowds thy tongue
With idle threats and fruitless exclamation,
The fraudful moments ply their silent wings,
And steal thy life away. Death's horrid angel
Already shakes his bloody sabre o'er thee.
The raging sultan burns, till our return,
Curses the dull delays of ling'ring mercy,
And thinks his fatal mandates ill obey'd.

ABDALLA.
Is then your sov'reign's life so cheaply rated,
That thus you parley with detected treason?
Should she prevail to gain the sultan's presence,
Soon might her tears engage a lover's credit;
Perhaps, her malice might transfer the charge;
Perhaps, her pois'nous tongue might blast Abdalla.

IRENE.
O! let me but be heard, nor fear from me
Or flights of pow'r, or projects of ambition.
My hopes, my wishes, terminate in life,
A little life, for grief, and for repentance.

ABDALLA.
I mark'd her wily messenger afar,
And saw him sculking in the closest walks:
I guess'd her dark designs, and warn'd the sultan,
And bring her former sentence new-confirmed.

HASAN.
Then call it not our cruelty, nor crime;
Deem us not deaf to woe, nor blind to beauty,
That, thus constrain'd, we speed the stroke of death.
[Beckons the mutes.

IRENE.
O, name not death! Distraction and amazement,
Horrour and agony are in that sound!
Let me but live, heap woes on woes upon me;
Hide me with murd'rers in the dungeon's gloom;
Send me to wander on some pathless shore,
Let shame and hooting infamy pursue me,
Let slav'ry harass, and let hunger gripe.

CARAZA.
Could we reverse the sentence of the sultan,
Our bleeding bosoms plead Irene's cause.
But cries and tears are vain; prepare, with patience,
To meet that fate, we can delay no longer.
[The mutes, at the sign, lay hold of her.

ABDALLA.
Despatch, ye ling'ring slaves; or nimbler hands,
Quick at my call, shall execute your charge;
Despatch, and learn a fitter time for pity.

IRENE.
Grant me one hour. O! grant me but a moment,
And bounteous heav'n repay the mighty mercy,
With peaceful death, and happiness eternal.

CARAZA.
The pray'r I cannot grant--I dare not hear.
Short be thy pains. [Signs again to the mutes.

IRENE.
Unutterable anguish!
Guilt and despair, pale spectres! grin around me,
And stun me with the yellings of damnation!
O, hear my pray'rs! accept, all-pitying heav'n,
These tears, these pangs, these last remains of life;
Nor let the crimes of this detested day
Be charg'd upon my soul. O, mercy! mercy!
[Mutes force her out.