Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/167



So like a seraph's, stricken to the dust, Could I receive my punishment alone And leave thee happy, I could bear my fate With decent fortitude—but thus, oh thus,— My spirit sinks subdued. Sforza, he comes!—Thou horrid minister Of cruel laws, for once be merciful, And kill me in these arms. Nay, nay, in vain You strive to separate us, he is mine— I will not leave him, will not quit my grasp Till my hewed limbs are severed from their trunk. In death's convulsive agonies I'll fold ⠀ My loved Geraldi in my strong embrace. Dead! is my Veronica dead? Oh, no, That blessing is denied her. Must I leave Upon the cold earth that pale lifeless form? She'll wake and find me gone. Beseech ye, sirs,