SCENE I.—_A wild and woody Country, where the Bushes and Underwood are so closely entwined as to be almost impenetrable. In the Back-ground, a Wall, in which a large Breach has been made, is just discernible through the Trees; and farther back, rises the Cupola of the Temple of the Sun. Nearer the Front, on the right Hand, appears a Cave; on the left, a Hill, the Top of which is seen above the Trees._ _ROLLA comes down a winding Path among the Bushes, followed by the HIGH-PRIEST._ HIGH-PRIEST. And this is the way to Rolla’s dwelling?—Ah, equally wild and inaccessible as the way to Rolla’s heart! _Rolla._ Spare me, uncle, I entreat you?—spare me, and leave me!—If you could understand me—— _High-Priest._ Ought I to attempt it?—To understand thee, means to pay homage to thy idol,—to flatter thy passion. _Rolla._ Unhappy wretch that I am!—I am a miserable solitary being!—a drop, which can find no kindred drop wherewith to associate!—a lonely voice, which cannot find its echo throughout all animated nature. The worm that crawls upon this leaf soon meets its help-mate, with whom it is united—but I—I alone!—Oh ye gods! if it be your harsh will that, amid the throne of living creatures which animate creation, I only should be left alone!—(_casting an impatient glance upon the High-Priest_) Then—man!—man!—leave me alone! _High-Priest._ Rolla! Rolla! I am indeed old, yet if affection only be wanting to bring repose to thy heart, thou wilt find it here in this faithful bosom.—Young man, I love thee as a father. _Rolla._ Well then, if the happiness of thy son be dear to thee, suffer him to live according to his own pleasure!—In this cave I am far happier than thousands who inhabit pompous palaces. Be this my grave!—only make me this promise, uncle; it is my sole request: When I shall be no more, then, on some dark melancholy day, lead Cora to the entrance of my rugged habitation, and shew her the remains of Rolla, as they lie upon the cold damp earth on which he breathed out a life that love had rendered miserable. Let her see those lips on which the name of his beloved murderer quivered even to the last gasp; and by the smile still resting on them, let her know that they closed blessing the name of Cora. Then perhaps, affected by this picture, she may strew flowers over my corpse; or—oh transporting thought!—even embalm it with a tear!—A tear!—ah! a tear from Cora would recall it again to life. _High-Priest._ Oh enthusiast!