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I wedded with a lady cold and proud, Who left her likeness to her child—Bianca Ne'er sought, ne'er won affection like Claricha; Would I might bless her ere I die.

Alas! my son, think not on human ties.

And hast thou sought me out, my own sweet child? Come to your father's heart! 'twas Heaven and nature That made me love thee, ere I knew thy right To claim a parent's love. How hard it is To only know thee in this last sad hour! Shrink not away, my child—I am thy father!

My father!

She wears the very chain around her neck Placed by her dying mother. Start not thus, But kneel and ask a father's latest blessing.

Mercy—mercy.

In evil times we meet; but still, my child, Come to my heart—Claricha, let me bless thee!

Curse me—your blessing sinks me to the earth: Curse me—and in me curse your murderer!

Cease these wild words, you know not what you say.