chief spreads swift as their kingdom's rivers,
Strong as their power, and wide as their domains.

_Enter_ Ricardo.

_Orsi._ Now friend?

_Ricar._ From yonder height I caught distinctly
The gleam of arms.

_Orsi._ 'Tis well--Away, my sovereign,
And join your troops; then shape your march tow'rds Burgos,
Nor doubt the event, for who that loves his country.
To save his king shall fear to die himself?
None, surely none! The patriot glow shall catch
From heart to heart throughout Castile, as swiftly
As sparks of fire disperse through summer forests;
Till all in care of thee forget themselves,
And every good man's bosom bucklers thine!
Forward, my king!--Lead on! [_Exeunt._

Scene II.--_A chamber in the palace._

_Enter_ Henriquez _and_ Melchior.

_Mel._ And the grave council
Fell blindfold in the snare?

_Hen._ They could not fail,
So well Caesario spread it--With such art
He told his tale, and in such glowing colours
Painted Alfonso's worth, and his son's guilt,
That all cried vengeance on the prince Don Pedro,
And bade Caesario mount his forfeit throne.

_Mel._ And he, no doubt, obeyed?

_Hen._ In modest guise
He owned his union with the princess gave him
Some rights, but vowed, so heavy seemed its weight,
He feared to wear a crown, so prayed them spare him:
Till won by urgent prayer at length he yielded,
And kindly deigned to be a king.

_Mel._ He's here,
And Bazil with him.

_Enter_ Caesario, _father_ Bazil, _and attendants._

_Caesa._ (_Entering._) Bid her rest assured,
Her king is her first subject. But, good father,
How bears her health, this shock? Say, looks she pale?
Does she e'er name----

_Bazil._ She bade me lead thee hither,
And claimed my promise not to tell thee more.
I'll warn her, thou art here. [_Going._]

_Caesa._ Say too, my heart
Shares every pang of her's; that crowns are worthless
Bought with her tears; that could my prayers my blood,
Restore Alfonso's life----

_Bazil._ Hold!--On that subject
What thou wouldst tell her, will come best from thee.
[_Exit._

_Caesa._ Ha!--Meant he----No! Sure had he known my secret,
The monk had canted 'gainst the guilt of treason,
Thundering out saint-like curses!----Vile, vile chance,
Which led the princess.--Yet what fear I now?
She keeps my secret: then she loves me still,
And, loving, must forgive me--Hark! I hear her.
Now all ye powers of bland persuasion, shed
Your honey on my lips. Come to my aid,
Ye soft memoria