_Jul._ Urge me not to protect a guest, a herald— The blasts of war roar over him unfelt. _Egil._ Ah fly, unhappy! _Rod._ Fly! no, Egilona— Dost thou forgive me? dost thou love me? still? _Egil._ I hate, abominate, abhor thee—go, Or my own vengeance— [_Roderigo points with his own to the drawn swords of Muza and Abdalazis_, _who look with malice towards Julian_, _takes his hand_, _and seems inviting to attack them_. _Julian casts his hand away_. _Rod._ Julian!— _Jul._ Hence, or die. ACT II. SCENE 1. _Camp of_ JULIAN. JULIAN _and_ COVILLA. _Jul._ Obdurate! I am not as I appear. Weep, my beloved child, Covilla weep Into my bosom; every drop be mine Of this most bitter soul-empoisoning cup: Into no other bosom than thy father’s Canst thou, or wouldst thou, pour it. _Cov._ Cease, my lord, My father, angel of my youth, when all Was innocence and peace— _Jul._ Arise, my love, Look up to heaven—where else are souls like thine! Mingle in sweet communion with its children, Trust in its providence, its retribution, And I will cease to mourn; for, O my child, These tears corrode, but thine assuage the heart. _Cov._ And never shall I see my mother too, My own, my blessed mother! _Jul._ Thou shalt see Her and thy brothers. _Cov._ No! I cannot look On them, I cannot meet their lovely eyes, I cannot lift mine up from under theirs. We all were children when they went away, They now have fought hard battles, and are men, And camps and kings they know, and woes and crimes. Sir, will they never venture from the walls Into the plain? Remember, they are young, Hardy and emulous and hazardous, And who is left to guard them in the town? _Jul._ Peace is throughout the land: the various tribes Of that vast region, sink at once to rest, Like one wide wood when every wind lies hush’d. _Cov._ And war, in all its fury, roams o’er Spain! _Jul._ Alas! and will for ages: crimes are loose At which ensanguined War stands shuddering; And calls for vengeance from the powers above, Impatient of inflicting it himself. Nature, in these new horrors, is aghast At her own progeny, and knows them not. I am the minister of wrath; the hands That tremble at me, shall applaud me too, And seal their condemnation. _Cov._ O kind father, Pursue the guilty, but remember Spain.