Starting

Mosada—thou— Oh God!—awake, thou shalt not die. She sleeps. Her head cast backward in her unloosed hair. Look up, look up, thy Vallence is by thee. A fearful paleness creeps across her breast And out-spread arms.

[Casting himself down by her.]

Be not so pale, dear love. Oh! can my kisses bring a flush no more Upon thy face. How heavily thy head Hangs on my breast. Listen, we shall be safe. We'll fly from this before the morning star. Dear heart, there is a secret way that leads Its paven length towards the river's marge, Where lies a shallop in the yellow reeds. Awake, awake, and we will sail afar, Afar along the fleet white river's face— Alone with our own whispers and replies— Alone among the murmurs of the dawn. Among thy nation none shall know that I Was Ebremar, whose thoughts were fixed on God, And heaven, and holiness.

Mosada. Let's talk and grieve, For that's the sweetest music for sad souls. Day's dead, all flame-bewildered, and the hills In list'ning silence gazing on our grief. I never knew an eve so marvellous still.

Ebremar. Her dreams are talking with old years. Awake, Grieve not, for Vallence kneels beside thee—

Mosada. Vallence, 'Tis late, wait one more day; below the hills The foot-worn way is long, and it grows dark. It is the darkest eve I ever knew.

Ebremar. I kneel by thee—no parting now—look up. She smiles—is happy with her wandering griefs.

Mosada. So you must go; kiss me before you go. Oh! would the busy minutes might fold up Their thieving wings that we might never part. I never knew a night so honey sweet.

Ebremar. There is no leave taking. I go no more. Safe on the breast of Vallence is thy head Unhappy one.

Mosada. Go not. Go not. Go not. For night comes fast; look down on me, my love, And see how thick the dew lies on my face. I never knew a night so dew-bedrowned.

Ebremar. Oh! hush the wandering music of thy mind. Look on me once. Why sink your eyelids so? Why do you hang so heavy in my arms? Love, will you die when we have met? One look Give to thy Vallence.

Mosada. Vallence—he has gone From here, along the shadowy way that winds Companioning the river's pilgrim torch. I'll see him longer if I stand out here Upon the mountain's brow.

[She tries to stand and totters. Ebremar supports her, and she stands pointing down as if into a visionary valley.]

Yonder he treads The path o'er-muffled with the leaves—dead leaves, Like happy thoughts grown sad in evil days. He fades among the mists; how fast they come, And pour upon the world! Ah! well a day! Poor love and sorrow with their arms thrown round Each other's necks, and whispering as they go, Still wander through the world. He's gone, he's gone. I'm weary—weary, and 'tis very cold. I'll draw my cloak around me; it is cold. I never knew a night so bitter cold.