_Mosada._ It is no sin That you shall see on yonder glowing cloud Pictured, where wander the beloved feet Whose footfall I have longed for, three sad summers-- Why these new fears? _Cola._ The servant of the Lord, The dark still man, has come, and says 'tis sin. _Mosada._ They say the wish itself is half the sin. Then has this one been sinned full many times, Yet 'tis no sin--my father taught it me. He was a man most learned and most mild, Who, dreaming to a wondrous age, lived on Tending the roses round his lattice door. For years his days had dawned and faded thus Among the plants; the flowery silence fell Deep in his soul, like rain upon a soil Worn by the solstice fierce, and made it pure. Would he teach any sin? _Cola._ Gaze in the cloud Yourself. _Mosada._ None but the innocent can see. _Cola._ They say I am all ugliness; lame-footed I am; one shoulder turned awry--why then Should I be good? But you are beautiful. _Mosada._ I cannot see. _Cola._ The beetles, and the bats, And spiders, are my friends, I'm theirs, and they are Not good; but you are like the butterflies. _Mosada._ I cannot see! I cannot see! but you Shall see a thing to talk on when you're old, Under a lemon tree beside your door; And all the elders sitting in the sun, Will wondering listen, and this tale shall ease For long, the burthen of their talking griefs. _Cola._ Upon my knees I pray you, let it sleep, The vision. _Mosada._ You're pale and weeping, child. Be not afraid, you'll see no fearful thing. Thus, thus I beckon from her viewless fields-- Thus beckon to our aid a Phantom fair And calm, robed all in raiment moony white. She was a great enchantress once of yore, Whose dwelling was a tree-wrapt island, lulled Far out upon the water world and ringed With wonderful white sand, where never yet Were furled the wings of ships. There in a dell A lily blanchèd place, she sat and sang, And in her singing wove around her head White lilies, and her song flew forth afar Along the sea; and many a man grew hushed In his own house or 'mong the merchants grey, Hearing the far off singing guile and groaned, And manned an argosy and sailing died. In the far isle she sang herself asleep At last. But now I wave her to my side. _Cola._ Stay, stay, or I will hold your white arms down. Ah me, I cannot reach them--here and there Darting you wave them, darting in the vapour. Heard you? Your lute upon the wall has sounded! I feel a finger drawn across my cheek! _Mosada._ The phantoms come; ha ha! they come, they come! I wave them hither, my breast heaves with joy. Ah! now I'm eastern-hearted once again, And while they gather round my beckoning arms, I'll sing the songs the dusky lovers sing, Wandering in sultry palaces of Ind, A lotus in their hands-- [_The door is flung open. Enter the Officers of the Inquisition._]