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ELMINA (covering her face with her hands). My boy's proud eye is on me, and the things Which rush, in stormy darkness, through my soul, Shrink from his glance. I cannot answer here.
Come forth. We'll commune elsewhere.
Wilt thou go? Oh ! let me follow thee!
Mine own fair child ! -Now that thine eyes have pour'd once more on mine The light of their young smile, and thy sweet voice Hath sent its gentle music through my soul, And I have felt the twining of thine arms-How shall I leave thee?
Leave him, as 'twere but For a brief slumber, to behold bis face At morning, with the sun's.
Thou hast no look
For me, my mother!
Oh! that I should live
Yet, yet beware!
Away! we trifle here. The night wanes fast.
One more embrace ! My sons, farewell !
Hear me yet once, my mother !
Art thou gone? But one word more!
[He rushes out, followed by Carlos.
Scene— The Garden of a Palace in Valencia.
Stay yet awhile. A purer air doth rove
There are those
In their last need, and on their bed of death,
You have been wont to love the music made
To me the voice Of summer, whispering through young flowers and leaves,
Now speaks too deep a language ! and of all
—These are awful hours !
Sweet lady, talk not thus ! Your
eye this morn doth wear a calmer light, There's more of life in its clear tremulous ray Than I have mark'd of late. Nay, go not yet ; Rest by this fountain, where the laurels dip
Their glossy leaves. A fresher gale doth spring
cheek. Rest here, ere you go forth, and I will sing The melody you love.
Why is the Spanish maiden's grave
So far from her own bright land?
Were sown by no kindred hand.
'Tis not the orange-bough that sends
Its breath on the sultry air,
To the breeze of evening there !
But the Rose of Sharon's eastern bloom
By the silent dwelling fades,
Which the Palm of Judah shades.