Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/151

Rh

Like the imperishable sun, my love Burns with a constant, inexhaustible And ardent fire. Oh, sooner shall the orb Forsake its pillow on the western wave, And seek another breast, than I exchange That snowy bosom——— Traitor! false foul fiend! Amid accursed spirits thy base soul Shall howl through dread eternity——Despair! For 'tis Geraldi Sforza strikes! Oh heaven! What dark assassin has usurped that name! Help, help, he dies. It is impossible, Julian, awake; thou art not dead, my life! My soul! my husband, speak to me!