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To fearful strength unfolded, they should live, Barr'd from the lists of crested chivalry, And pining, in the silence of a woe, Which from the heart shuts daylight;—o'er the shame Of those who gave them birth!—But thou couldst ne'er Forget their lofty claims!

'Twas but for them! 'Twas for them only!—Who shall dare arraign Madness of crime?—And he who made us, knows There are dark moments of all hearts and lives, Which bear down reason!

Thou, whom I have loved With such high trust, as o'er our nature threw A glory, scarce allow’d;—what hast thou done? ——Ximena, go thou hence!

No, no! my child! There's pity in thy look!—All other eyes Are full of wrath and scorn!—Oh! leave me not!

That I should live to see thee thus abased! —Yet speak?—What hast thou done?