Page:Sebastian of Portugal.pdf/8

 Is not thy name—Sylveira?

Syl.—Aye.

Seb.—Why then Be glad!—I tell thee that Sebastian lives! Think thou on this, he lives!—Should he return, —For he may yet return—and find the friend In whom he trusted with such perfect trust As should be Heaven's alone—mark'st thou my words? Should he then find this man, not girt and arm'd, And watching o'er the heritage of his lord, But, reckless of high fame and loyal faith, Holding luxurious revels with his foes; —How would'st thou meet his glance?

Syl.—As I do thine, Keen though it be, and proud.

Seb.—Why, thou dost quail Before it, e'en as if the burning eye Of the broad sun pursued thy shrinking soul Through all its depths.

Syl.—Away!—He died not there? He should have died, then, with the chivalry, And strength, and honour of his kingdom, lost By his impetuous rashness.

Seb.—This from thee! —Who hath giv'n power to falsehood, that one gaze, At its unmask'd and withering mien, should blight High souls at once?—I wake.—And this from thee! —There are, whose eyes discern the secret springs Which lie i' th' desart's bosom, and the gold And gems of earth's dim caverns, far below The everlasting hills:—but who hath dar'd To dream that Heaven's most awful attribute Invested his mortality, and to boast That through its inmost folds his glance could read One heart, one human heart?—Why, then, to love And trust is but to lend a traitor arms Of keenest temper, and unerring aim. Wherewith to pierce our souls!—But thou, beware! —Sebastian lives!

Syl.—If it be so, and thou Art of his followers still, then bid him seek Far in the wilds, which gave one sepulchre To his proud hosts, a kingdom and a home, For none is left him here.