Ione. She was my mistress, and bestowed me as a gift upon the queen. This scroll is from her hand. May it please thee, read it [_kneels and presents letter_]. Con. Rise, fair maiden! I would rather listen to thy voice. May I ask thee to touch yon harp? I am weary, and a gentle strain will sooth my troubled spirit. Stay! let me place it for thee. [_Prince moves the harp and gazes upon_ Ione _as she sings and plays._ The wild birds sing in the orange groves, And brightly bloom the flowers; The fair earth smiles 'neath a summer sky Through the joyous fleeting hours. But oh! in the slave girl's lonely heart, Sad thoughts and memories dwell, And tears fall fast as she mournfully sings, Home, dear home, farewell! Though the chains they bind be all of flowers, Where no hidden thorn may be, Still the free heart sighs 'neath its fragrant bonds, And pines for its liberty. And sweet, sad thoughts of the joy now gone, In the slave girl's heart shall dwell, As she mournfully sings to her sighing harp, Native land, native land, farewell! Con. 'Tis a plaintive song. Is it thine own lot thou art mourning? If so, thou art a slave no longer. Ione. Nay, my lord. It was one my Lady Irene loved, and thus I thought would please thee. Con. Then never sing it more,--speak not her name! Nay, forgive me if I pain thee. She was thy mistress, and thou didst love her. Was she kind to thee? By what name shall I call thee? Ione. Ione, your Highness. Ah, yes; she was too kind. She never spake a cruel word, nor chid me for my many faults. Never can I love another as I loved my gentle mistress. Con. And is she very fair? Has she no pride, no passion or disdain to mar her loveliness? She is a princess; is she a true and tender woman too? Ione. Though a princess, 'neath her royal robes there beats a warm, true heart, faithful and fond, longing to be beloved and seeking to be worthy such great joy when it shall come. Thou ask'st me of her beauty. Painters place her face among their fairest works, and sculptors carve her form in marble. Yes, she is beautiful; but 'tis not that thou wouldst most care for. Couldst thou only know her!--pardon, but I think thou couldst not bear so cold a heart within thy breast as now. Con. Ah, do not cease! say on! There is that in the music of thy voice that soothes and comforts me. Come, sit beside me, fair Ione, and I will tell thee why I do not love thy princess. Ione. You do forget, my lord, I am a slave; I will kneel here. [_Prince reclines upon a couch._ Ione _kneels beside him._ Con. Listen! From a boy I have been alone; no loving sister had I, no gentle friend,--only cold councillors or humble slaves. My mother was a queen, and 'mid the cares of State, tho' fondly loving me, her only son, could find no time to win me from my lonely life.