Page:De Chatillon.pdf/5

 Hopeless of aid or counsel—till we saw—

Rai. (hastily.) You have my brother here?

Urb. (with embarrassment.) We have; but he—

Rai. But he—but he!—Aymer de Chatillon! The fiery knight—the very soul o' the field— Rushing on danger with the joyous step Of a hunter o'er the hills!—is that a tone Wherewith to speak of him? I heard a tale— If it be true—nay, tell me!

Urb. He is here: Ask him to tell thee.

Rai. If that tale be true— —Follow me, give the noble dead his rites, And we will have our day of vengeance yet, Soldiers and friends![Exeunt omnes.

He sleeps so calmly now; the soft wind here Brings in such lulling sounds! Nay, think you not This slumber will restore him? See you not His cheek's faint glow?

Aym. (turning away) It was my sword which gave The wound he dies from!

Mor. Dies from! say not so! The brother of my childhood and my youth, My heart's first friend!—Oh! I have been too weak, I have delay'd too long! He could not sue, He bade me urge the prayer he would not speak, And I withheld it! Christian, set us free! You have been gentle with us! 'tis the weight, The bitter feeling, of captivity Which preys upon his life!

Aym. You would go hence?

Mor. For his sake!

Aym. You would leave me! 'Tis too late! You see it not—you know not, that your voice Hath power in its low mournfulness to shake Mine inmost soul?—that you but look on me, With the soft darkness of your earnest eyes, And bid the world fade from me, and call up A thousand passionate dreams, which wrap my life As with a troubled cloud? The very sound Of your light step hath made my heart o'erflow, Even unto aching, with the sudden gush Of its deep tenderness! You know it not? —Moraima!—speak to me!

Mor. (covering herself with her veil.) I can but weep!