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I seem as I had look'd on them before; There is a weight upon my struggling soul— 'Tis blood—my father's blood— It is my father murder'd by his child! (Sinks in 's arms.)

Give way, the lady faints!

I tell you it is death—look up, my love! Silence those trumpets; ah! she doth not hear. Claricha—my Claricha—so long lost, So lately found—youth—joy and hope are gone! Gone, my pale beauty—we shall love no more!

Oh, come, my lord, all Lucca sees your tears!

Lucca should be their witness; for her sake— For my fair country's sake—I have kept down Natural emotions, young and cheerful thoughts, Yet were they warm and eager at my heart. With her they perish! Fate has claim'd the last, Cruel and terrible the sacrifice! All but my country shares Claricha's grave— (Raising her in his arms.) This, Lucca, is my latest offering!