. . . . . . . _Daughter to Bernardo._

CAPTIVE OF CASTILE;

OR

THE MOORISH MAIDEN'S VOW.

SCENE FIRST.

[_A thick wood. Storm coming on.
Enter_ Ernest.]

Ernest. This summer sky, darkened by storm, is a fit emblem of my life.
O happy England, why did I leave thee; why let dreams of fame and honor
win me from a home, to wander now a lonely and bewildered fugitive? But
why do I repine? Life, health, and a brave heart yet are mine; and 'mid
all my peril, God may send some joy to cheer me on to happiness and
honor. Hist! a footstep. 'Tis a light one, but a Moorish foe steals
like a serpent on his prey. I'll hide me here, and if need be I'll sell
my life as a brave man should [_conceals himself among the trees_].

[_Enter_ Zara, _weeping._

Zara. Heaven shield me! Whither shall I turn? Alone in this wild forest,
where may I find a friend to help. The dark storm gathers fast, and I am
shelterless. The fierce Spaniard may be wandering nigh, and I dare not
call for aid. Mistress of a hundred slaves, here must I perish for one
to lead me. Father, the faint heart turns to thee when earthly help is
past; hear and succor thy poor child now, who puts her trust in thee.

Ernest [_coming forward_]. Lady, thy prayer is heard. God hath not sent
me here in vain. How may I best serve thee?

Zara. Gentle stranger, pity and protect a hapless maid who puts her
faith in thee. Guide me from this wild wood, and all the thanks a
grateful heart can give are thine.

Ernest. I ask no higher honor than to shield so fair a flower from the
storm, or from rude hands that may harm it. But how chanced it, lady,
that thou art wandering thus unattended? 'Tis unsafe for youth and
beauty while the Spanish army is so near.

Zara. It was a foolish fancy led me hither, and dearly am I punished.
Journeying from a distant convent to my father's home, while my
attendants rested by a spring I wandered through the wood, unthinking of
the danger, till turning to retrace my steps, I found myself lost and
alone. I feared to call, and but for thee, kind stranger, might have
never seen my home again. Ask not my name, but tell me thine, that in my
prayers I may remember one who has so aided me.

Ernest. It were uncourteous to refus