Oran

Hold! hold! young man, talk not of vengeance here; This sleep shall pass and shame your blood-hot words— If it pass'd not the vengeance were forestall'd.

[A silence—continuing the passes.

O Mabel! Mabel! hear me where thou art! Come to the lonely heart that yearns for thee,— Come to the eyes that seek thee through salt tears! Patience, Sirs, now methinks the sense returns; A smile steals o'er her lips, and roseate hues Make morning on her downy cheek again: Back ... back—my anguish shall unwind the charm!

[A silence.