(Roger.)

Ne'er from this queenly, bright array The crown of beauty fades, Departing to the realms of day, Each to the next, as good and fair, Extends the zone of feminine grace, And veil of purity:-- Oh, happy race! What vision glads my raptured eye! Equal in nature's blooming pride, I see the mother and the virgin bride.

BEATRICE (awaking from her reverie).

Oh, luckless hour! Alas! ill-fated maid! Where shall I fly From these rude warlike men? Lost and betrayed! A shudder o'er me came, When of this race accursed--the brothers twain-- Their hands embrued with kindred gore, I heard the dreaded name; Oft told, their strife and serpent hate With terror thrilled lay bosom's core:-- And now--oh, hapless fate! I tremble, 'mid the rage of discord thrown, Deserted and alone!

[She runs into the alcove.

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

Son of the immortal deities, And blest is he, the lord of power; His every joy the world can give; Of all that mortals prize He culls the flower.

(ROGER).

For him from ocean's azure caves The diver bears each pearl of purest ray; Whate'er from nature's boundless field Or toil or art has won, Obsequious at his feet we lay; His choice is ever free; We bow to chance, and fortune's blind decree.