ISABELLA (comes forward with her SONS). Look down! benignant Queen of Heaven, and still, This proud tumultuous heart, that in my breast Swells with a mother's tide of ecstasy, As blazoned in these noble youths, my image More perfect shows;--Oh, blissful hour! the first That comprehends the fulness of my joy, When long-constrained affection dares to pour In unison of transport from my heart, Unchecked, a parent's undivided love: Oh! it was ever one--my sons were twain. Say--shall I revel in the dreams of bliss, And give my soul to Nature's dear emotions? Is this warm pressure of thy brother's hand A dagger in thy breast? [To DON MANUEL. Or when my eyes Feed on that brow with love's enraptured gaze, Is it a wrong to thee? [To DON CAESAR. Trembling, I pause, Lest e'en affection's breath should wake the fires Of slumbering hate. [After regarding both with inquiring looks Speak! In your secret hearts What purpose dwells? Is it the ancient feud Unreconciled, that in your father's halls A moment stilled; beyond the castle gates, Where sits infuriate war, and champs the bit-- Shall rage anew in mortal, bloody conflict? Chorus (BOHEMUND). Concord or strife--the fate's decree Is bosomed yet in dark futurity! What comes, we little heed to know, Prepared for aught the hour may show! ISABELLA (looking round). What mean these arms? this warlike, dread array, That in the palace of your sires portends Some fearful issue? needs a mother's heart Outpoured, this rugged witness of her joys? Say, in these folding arms shall treason hide The deadly snare? Oh, these rude, pitiless men, The ministers of your wrath!--trust not the show Of seeming friendship; treachery in their breasts Lurks to betray, and long-dissembled hate. Ye are a race of other lands; your sires Profaned their soil; and ne'er the invader's yoke Was easy--never in the vassal's heart Languished the hope of sweet revenge;--our sway Not rooted in a people's love, but owns Allegiance from their fears; with secret joy-- For conquest's ruthless sword, and thraldom's chains From age to age, they wait the atoning hour Of princes' downfall;--thus their bards awake The patriot strain, and thus from sire to son Rehearsed, the old traditionary tale Beguiles the winter's night. False is the world, My sons, and light are all the specious ties By fancy twined: friendship--deceitful name! Its gaudy flowers but deck our summer fortune, To wither at the first rude breath of autumn! So happy to whom heaven has given a brother; The friend by nature signed--the true and steadfast! Nature alone is honest--nature only-- When all we trusted strews the wintry shore-- On her eternal anchor lies at rest, Nor heeds the tempest's rage. DON MANUEL. My mother! DON CAESAR. Hear me