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you not hear me?-Oh! that they who need Hourly forgiveness, they who do but live, While Mercy's voice, beyond th’ eternal stars, Wins the great Judge to listen, should be thus, In their vain exercise of pageant power, Hard and relentless !-Gentle brother, yet, 'Tis in your choice to imitate that Heaven Whose noblest joy is pardon.
'Tis too late. You have a soft and moving voice, which pleads With eloquent melody—but they must die.
What, die !--for words ?-for breath, which leaves no
To sully the pure air, wherewith it blends,
I am not one
Of those weak spirits, that timorously keep watch
No!-but that earth Should arm in madness.—Brother! I have seen Dark eyes bent on you, e'en ʼmidst festal throngs, With such deep hatred settled in their glance, My heart hath died within me.
Am I then
Oh ! looks are no illusions, when the soul,
Yes! whose name
But not forgotten !--Ah! beware, beware!
Nay, I but smiled to think What a fond fool is hope !-She may be taught To deem that the great sun will change his course To work her pleasure; or the tomb give back Its inmates to her arms.-In sooth, 'tis strange! Yet, with your pitying heart, you should not thus Have mock'd the boy's sad mother-I have said, You should not thus have mock'd her !-Now, farewell.
Oh, brother ! hard of heart !—for deeds like these
Justice doth hold her state.-And I must tell
SCENE II.-A ruined Tower, surrounded by Woods.
Keep the flame bright,