_Isid._ Why hast thou staid so late? Did but the moon Turn on my anxious features her soft rays, Thou wouldst perceive how fretfulness and tears Have doubled every minute of thine absence. _Gasp._ And would 'twere day, that thou, sweet love, mightst see The fervid passion stamp'd upon my brow. I dared not disobey thy late command; Yet, did I fret, and champ the bit of duty, Like some proud battle steed arching his neck, Spurning the earth, impatient for the fray. So my young heart throbs with its new delight, That it e'en now would burst its cords asunder, And make one joyous bound into thy bosom. _Isid._ Say, Gaspar, dost thou fondly, truly, love me? _Gasp._ Do I love thee, Isidora? If it were not for thee, sweet love, The world would be a blank, and this existence A dreary void, I would not stumble through; But having thee, a paradise it is, So full of perfumed airs and flow'rets sweet, I would resist the angel's flaming sword, If it were raised between our plighted loves, Ere I would be from thy loved presence thrust. Thou art the heav'n of my idolatry! For thee I live and move,--for thee I breathe; For thee and for thy love, if thou knew'st all---- _Isid._ I would know all--there's mystery about thee! Gaspar, thine image here's so deeply graven, That nought can e'er efface it. Trust me, then, love, As I would thee. There's not a thought I own, No, not a fond emotion of my soul,-- Not e'en the slightest ripple o'er the mind, When calm and pensive as it used to be, But I would tell it thee. O couldst thou view my heart, and see thyself So firmly master of its deep recesses, Thou wouldst be confident. If thou shouldst be ignoble, fear not me, Love shall draw out thy patent of descent, And trace thy ancestry to more than mortal. If thou hast hated, and hast found revenge, Yet fear not me, dear Gaspar. Whate'er priests say, it is a noble passion, And holds an empire in the heart of man, Equal in strength and dignity with love. Be it a tale of sorrow or of crime, (O say 'tis not the last!) still let me share it, That I may comfort thee whene'er we meet, And mourn it only when I grieve thine absence. _Gasp._ My Isidora, oft thou'st press'd me thus; Since thou wilt hear it, then, it shall be told; But one sad chance, most fatal to us both, Is fetter'd to it. _Isid._ And what is that, my Gaspar? _Gasp._ That once reveal'd, we ne'er may meet again. _Isid._ Then I'll not hear't. Away with prying thoughts So fraught with mischief! Not to see thee more! Then might the angel pour the vial out, That vial of fierce wrath which is to quench The sun, the moon, the host of stars, in blood! Not see thee more! then may they work my shroud, And cull the flowers to strew my maiden corpse. Without thee, Gaspar, I should surely die! Wert thou the ruler of the universe, Commanding all, I could not love thee more! Wert thou a branded slave from bondage 'scap'd,-- 'Tis now too late,--I could not love thee less!