AMELIA (with enthusiasm). Yes, sweet it is, heavenly sweet, to be lulled into the sleep of death by the song of the beloved. Perhaps our dreams continue in the grave--a long, eternal, never-ending dream of Charles--till the trumpet of resurrection sounds--(rising in ecstasy) --and thenceforth and forever in his arms! (A pause; she goes to the piano and plays.) ANDROMACHE. Oh, Hector, wilt thou go for evermore, When fierce Achilles, on the blood-stained shore, Heaps countless victims o'er Patroclus' grave? When then thy hapless orphan boy will rear, Teach him to praise the gods and hurl the spear, When thou art swallow'd up in Xanthus' wave? OLD M. A beautiful song, my daughter. You must play that to me before I die. AMELIA. It is the parting of Hector and Andromache. Charles and I used often to sing it together to the guitar. (She continues.) HECTOR. Beloved wife! stern duty calls to arms-- Go, fetch my lance! and cease those vain alarms! On me is cast the destiny of Troy! Astyanax, my child, the Gods will shield, Should Hector fall upon the battle-field; And in Elysium we shall meet with joy! Enter DANIEL. DANIEL. There is a man without, who craves to be admitted to your presence, and says he brings tidings of importance. OLD M. To me there is but one thing in this world of importance; thou knowest it, Amelia. Perhaps it is some unfortunate creature who seeks assistance? He shall not go hence in sorrow. AMELIA.--If it is a beggar, let him come up quickly. OLD M. Amelia, Amelia! spare me! AMELIA (continues to play and sing.) ANDROMACHE. Thy martial tread no more will grace my hall-- Thine arms shall hang sad relics on the wall-- And Priam's race of godlike heroes fade! Oh, thou wilt go where Phoebus sheds no light-- Where black Cocytus wails in endless night Thy love will die in Lethe's gloomy shade. HECTOR. Though I in Lethe's darksome wave should sink, And cease on other mortal ties to think, Yet thy true love shall never be forgot! Hark! on the walls I hear the battle roar-- Gird on my armor--and, oh, weep no more. Thy Hector's love in Lethe dieth not! (Enter FRANCIS, HERMANN in disguise, DANIEL.) FRANCIS. Here is the man. He says that he brings terrible news. Can you bear the recital! OLD M. I know but one thing terrible to hear. Come hither, friend, and spare me not! Hand him a cup of wine! HERMANN (in a feigned voice). Most gracious Sir? Let not a poor man be visited with your displeasure, if against his will he lacerates your heart. I am a stranger in these parts, but I know you well; you are the father of Charles von Moor. OLD M. How know you that? HERMANN. I knew your son