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And all unblemish'd, earth should offer up Her treasures unto Heaven!

My chief, the Moor Hath led your child forth.

Are my sons there? I knew they could not perish; for yon Heaven Would ne'er behold it!—Where is he that said I was no more a father?—They look changed— Pallid and worn, as from a prison-house! Or is 't mine eye sees dimly?—But their steps Seem heavy, as with pain.—I hear the clank— Oh God! their limbs are fetter'd!

Christian! look Once more upon thy children. There is yet One moment for the trembling of the sword; Their doom is still with thee.

Why should this man So mock us with the semblance of our kind? —Moor! Moor! thou dost too daringly provoke, In thy bold cruelty, th' all-judging One,