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 And you have given it power—such deep sad power, I see naught else on earth!

Rai. (aside.) I dare not say she lives. You see not this! Once by our father's grave I ask'd, and here, I' the silence of the waste, I ask once more— Have you abjured your faith?

Aym. Why are you come To torture me? No, no! I have not. No! But you have sent the torrent through my soul, And by their deep strong roots torn fiercely up Things that were part of it—inborn feelings, thoughts— I know not what I cling to!

Rai. Aymer! yet Heaven hath not closed its gates! Return, return, Before the shadow of the palm-tree fades I' the waning moonlight. Heaven gives time. Return, My brother! By our early days—the love That nurtured us!—the holy dust of those That sleep i' the tomb!—sleep! no, they cannot sleep! Doth the night bring no voices from the dead Back on your soul?

Aym. (turning from him.) Yes—here!

Rai. (indignantly turning off.) Why should I strive? Why doth it cost me these deep throes to fling A weed off? [Checking himself. Brother, hath the stranger come Between our hearts for ever? Yet return— Win back your fame, my brother!

Aym. Fame again! Leave me the desert!—leave it me! I hate Your false world's glittering draperies, that press down Th' o'erlabour'd heart! They have crush'd mine. Your vain And hollow-sounding words are wasted now: You should adjure me by the name of him That slew his son's young bride!—our ancestor— That were a spell! Fame! fame!—your hand hath rent The veil from off your world! To speak of fame, When the soul is parch'd like mine! Away! I have join'd these men because they war with man, And all his hollow pomp! Will you go hence? (Fiercely.) Why do I talk thus with a murderer? Ay, This is the desert, where true words may rise Up unto heaven i' the stillness! Leave it me!— The free wild desert!

Arab. Stranger, we have shared The spoil, forgetting not——A Christian here!