Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/177

Rh

My mother! peace Is heaven's benignant answer to the cry Of wounded spirits. Wilt thou kneel with me?

Away! 'tis but for souls unstain'd to wear Heaven's tranquil image on their depths.—The stream Of my dark thoughts, all broken by the storm, Reflects but clouds and lightnings!—Didst thou speak Of peace?—'tis fled from earth!—but there is joy! Wild, troubled joy!—And who shall know, my child! It is not happiness?—Why, our own hearts Will keep the secret close!—Joy, joy! if but To leave this desolate city, with its dull Slow knells and dirges, and to breathe again Th' untainted mountain-air!—But hush! the trees, The flowers, the waters, must hear nought of this! They are full of voices, and will whisper things——— —We 'll speak of it no more.

Oh! pitying heaven! This grief doth shake her reason!

Hark! a step! 'Tis—'tis thy father's!—come away—not now— He must not see us now!