hy cups thy streaming gore,
And pledge with horrid rites for vengeance evermore.

Second (BERENGAR).

Though swift of deed the traces fade
From earth, before the enlivening ray;
As o'er the brow the transient shade
Of thought, the hues of fancy flit away:--
Yet in the mystic womb unseen,
Of the dark ruling hours that sway
Our mortal lot, whate'er has been,
With new creative germ defies decay.
The blooming field is time
For nature's ever-teeming shoot,
And all is seed, and all is fruit.

[The Chorus goes away, bearing the corpse of DON MANUEL on a bier.

SCENE--The hall of pillars. It is night.

The stage is lighted from above by a single large lamp.
DONNA ISABELLA and DIEGO advance to the front.

ISABELLA.
As yet no joyful tidings, not a trace
Found of the lost one!

DIEGO.
Nothing have we heard,
My mistress; yet o'er every track, unwearied,
Thy sons pursue. Ere long the rescued maid
Shall smile at dangers past.

ISABELLA.
Alas! Diego,
My heart is sad; 'twas I that caused this woe!

DIEGO.
Vex not thy anxious bosom; naught escaped
Thy thoughtful care.

ISABELLA.
Oh! had I earlier shown
The hidden treasure!

DIEGO.
Prudent were thy counsels,
Wisely thou left'st her in retirement's shade;
So, trust in heaven.

ISABELLA.
Alas! no joy is perfect
Without this chance of ill my bliss were pure.

DIEGO.
Thy happiness is but delayed; enjoy
The concord of thy sons.

ISABELLA.
The sight was rapture
Supreme, when, locked in one another's arms,
They glowed with brothers' love.

DIEGO.
And in the heart
It burns; for ne'er their princely souls have stooped
To mean disguise.

ISABELLA.
Now, too, their bosoms wake
To gentler thoughts, and own their softening sway
Of love. No more their hot, impetuous youth
Revels in liberty untamed, and spurns
Restraint of law, attempered passion's self,
With modest, chaste reserve.
To thee, Diego,
I will unfold my secret heart; this hour
Of feeling's opening bloom, expected long,
Wakes boding fears: thou know'st to sudden rage
Love stirs tumultuous breasts; and if this flame
With jealousy should rouse the slumbering fires
Of ancient hate--I shudder at the thought!
If these discordant souls perchance have thrilled
In fatal unison! Enough; the clouds
That black with thundering menace o'e