Page:Miscellaneous Plays 1.pdf/349

Rh

The champions meet: the fight is fierce and terrible: The fateful stroke is given; and Constantine—

Merciful heaven!

And Constantine lays the proud crescent low.

It is! it is! O words of bliss!—Thou see'st it! My Constantine lays the proud crescent low! Thou look'd upon it truly; and their forms Before thee move, ev'n as the very forms Of living men?

Even so.

O blessed sight! It is not witch'ry's spell, but holy spirits Sent from a gracious heav'n that shapes such forms; And be it lawless or unhallow'd deem'd, Here will I kneel in humble gratitude.

No, no, this must not be: attend again: There's more behind.