The lowly Cross, with flowers o'ergrown, But who hath graved, on its mossy stone, A sword, a helm, a crest? These are the trophies of a chief, -Some blossom pluck'd, some faded leaf, Should Scorn not her tomb-deny not her The honours of the brave! O'er that forsaken sepulchre, Banner and plume might wave. She bound the steel, in battle tried, Her fearless heart above, And stood with brave men, side by side, In the strength and faith of love! That strength prevail'd-that faith was bless'd! True was the javelin thrown, Yet pierced it not her warrior's breast, She met it with her own! And nobly won, where heroes fell In arms for the holy shrine, A death which saved what she loved so well, Then let the Rose of Sharon spread And the Palm of Judah lift its head, And let yon grey stone, undefaced, Telling the pilgrim of the waste, Where Love and Death have been. XIMENA. Those notes were wont to make my heart beat quick, As at a voice of victory; but to-day The spirit of the song is changed, and seems Come on our tasks await us. They who know ELMINA enters hurriedly. ELMINA. This air will calm my spirit, ere yet I meet His eye, which must be met.-Thou here, Ximena ! [She starts back on seeing XIMENA. XIMENA. Alas! my mother! In that hurrying step And troubled glance I read ELMINA (wildly). Thou read'st it not! Why, who would live, if unto mortal eye The things lay glaring, which within our hearts We treasure up I say, for God's?-Thou read'st it not! thou canst not!-There 's not one on earth Shall know the thoughts, which for themselves have made And kept dark places in the very breast Whereon he hath laid his slumber, till the hour When the graves open! XIMENA. Mother! what is this? Alas! your eye is wandering, and your cheek Flush'd, as with fever! To your woes the night Hath brought no rest. ELMINA. Rest!-who should rest?-not he That holds one earthly blessing to his heart Nearer than life!-No! if this world have aught Of bright or precious, let not him who calls Such things his own, take rest!-Dark spirits keep watch, Wherein they breathed, may wake, and find their souls Made marks for human scorn!-Will they bear on With life struck down, and thus disrobed of all XIMENA. Mother! let us kneel, And blend our hearts in prayer!—What else is left us, Theresa.-Grief like this doth find Its balm in solitude. [Exit THERESA. My mother! peace Is Heaven's benignant answer to the cry Of wounded spirits. Wilt thou kneel with me? ELMINA. Away! 'tis but for souls unstain'd to wear XIMENA. Oh! pitying Heaven! This grief doth shake her reason! ELMINA (starting). Hark! a step! "Tis-'tis thy father's!-come away—not now— He must not see us now! |