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There's trouble in thine eye.—A with'ring curse Light on his heartless heart, if this be true!

Brave Samarkoon! thou art not wise, so fiercely To question me of that which well may be Without my knowledge;—that which, if it be, Nor thou nor I have any power to alter.

Which if it be! that if betrays an answer; A shameful answer, shunning open words. Dear, dear Artina! thou hast climb'd already The sunny side of Doombra's mountain ridge, And now with one short step must pass the bounds Dividing ardent heat from chilling clouds With drenching mist surcharged. So suddenly To bring this change upon her! Cruel craft! He knows that it will break her tender heart, And serve his fatal purpose.

Frantic man! Thou art unjust, ungenerous, unwise; For should Rasinga—no uncommon act, Take to his princely bower a second bride, Would not Artina still be held in honour, Her children cherish'd and their rank secured?

Such honour as unfeeling worldlings give