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In the high deeds and sufferings of the soul,
Than in the circling heavens, with all their stars,
Or the far-sounding deep, doth send abroad
A spirit, which takes affliction for its mate,

In the good cause, with solemn joy !—How long?
-And who art thou, that, in the littleness
Of thine own selfish purpose, would'st set bounds
To the free current of all noble thought

And generous action, bidding its bright waves
Be stay'd, and flow no further?-But the Power
Whose interdict is laid on seas and orbs,

To chain them in from wandering, hath assign'd
No limits unto that which man's high strength
Shall, through its aid, achieve!

ELMINA.

Oh there are times,

When all that hopeless courage can achieve

But sheds a mournful beauty o'er the fate

Of those who die in vain.

HERNANDEZ.

Who dies in vain

Upon his country's war-fields, and within
The shadow of her altars?-Feeble heart!
I tell thee that the voice of noble blood,

Thus pour'd for faith and freedom, hath a tone
Which, from the night of ages, from the gulf
Of death, shall burst, and make its high appeal
Sound unto earth and heaven! Aye, let the land,
Whose sons, through centuries of woe, have striven,
And perish'd by her temples, sink awhile,
Borne down in conflict !-But immortal seed
Deep, by heroic suffering, hath been sown
On all her ancient hills; and generous hope
Knows that the soil, in its good time, shall yet
Bring forth a glorious harvest !-Earth receives
Not one red drop, from faithful hearts, in vain.

ELMINA.

Then it must be !—And ye will make those lives,
Those bright young lives, an offering—to retard
Our doom one day!

HERNANDEZ.

The mantle of that day

May wrap the fate of Spain!

ELMINA.

What led me here?

Why did I turn to thee in my despair?

Love hath no ties upon thee; what had I

To hope from thee, thou lone and childless man!

Go to thy silent home!—there no young voice
Shall bid thee welcome, no light footstep spring

Forth at the sound of thine !-What knows thy heart?

HERNANDEZ.

Woman! how dar'st thou taunt me with my woes?
Thy children too shall perish, and I say

It shall be well!-Why tak'st thou thought for them?
Wearing thy heart, and wasting down thy life

Unto its dregs, and making night thy time

Of care yet more intense, and casting health,
Unpriz'd, to melt away, i' th' bitter cup

Thou minglest for thyself?-Why, what hath earth
To pay thee back for this?Shall they not live
(If the sword spare them now) to prove how soon
All love may be forgotten?-Years of thought,
Long faithful watchings, looks of tenderness,

That changed not, though to change be this world's law?
Shall they not flush thy cheek with shame, whose blood
Marks, e'en like branding iron?-to thy sick heart
Make death a want, as sleep to weariness?
Doth not all hope end thus ?-or e'en at best,

Will they not leave thee?-far from thee seek room
For th' overflowings of their fiery souls,

On life's wide ocean?-Give the bounding steed,

Or the wing'd bark to youth, that his free course
May be o'er hills and seas; and weep thou not

In thy forsaken home, for the bright world

Lies all before him, and be sure he wastes
No thought on thee!

ELMINA.

Not so it is not so!

Thou dost but torture me! My sons are kind,

And brave, and gentle.

HERNANDEZ.

Others too have worn

The semblance of all good. Nay, stay thee yet;
I will be calm, and thou shalt learn how earth,
The fruitful in all agonies, hath woes

Which far outweigh thine own.

ELMINA.

It may not be !

Whose grief is like a mother's for her sons?

HERNANDEZ.

My son lay stretch'd upon his battle-bier,

And there were hands wrung o'er him, which had caught

Their hue from his young blood!

ELMINA.

What tale is this!

HERNANDEZ.

Read you no records in this mien, of things
Whose traces on man's aspect are not such
As the breeze leaves on water?-Lofty birth,
War, peril, power?-Affliction's hand is strong,
If it erase the haughty characters

They grave so deep !—I have not always been
That which I am. The name I bore is not
Of those which perish!-I was once a chief-
A warrior!-nor as now, a lonely man!
I was a father!

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Their blood! my children's blood!-Thou speak'st as

'twere

Of casting down a wine-cup, in the mirth

And wantonness of feasting!—My fair boys!

-Man! hast thou been a father?

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