s it not Don Manuel?

MESSENGER.
'Twas he!
Thy elder born.

ISABELLA.
Be blessings on his head
Which e'er it be; to him I owe a daughter,
Alas! that in this blissful hour, so long
Expected, long implored, some envious fiend
Should mar my joy! Oh, I must stem the tide
Of nature's transport! In her childhood's home
I see my daughter; me she knows not--heeds not--
Nor answers to a mother's voice of love
Ope, ye dear eyelids--hands be warm--and heave
Thou lifeless bosom with responsive throbs
To mine! 'Tis she! Diego, look! 'tis Beatrice!
The long-concealed--the lost--the rescued one!
Before the world I claim her for my own!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
New signs of terror to my boding soul
Are pictured;--in amazement lost I stand!
What light shall pierce this gloom of mystery?

ISABELLA (to the Chorus, who exhibit marks of confusion and
embarrassment).
Oh, ye hard hearts! Ye rude unpitying men!
A mother's transport from your breast of steel
Rebounds, as from the rocks the heaving surge!
I look around your train, nor mark one glance
Of soft regard. Where are my sons? Oh, tell me
Why come they not, and from their beaming eyes
Speak comfort to my soul? For here environed
I stand amid the desert's raging brood,
Or monsters of the deep!

DIEGO.
She opes her eyes!
She moves! She lives!

ISABELLA.
She lives! On me be thrown
Her earliest glance!

DIEGO.
See! They are closed again--
She shudders!

ISABELLA (to the Chorus).
Quick! Retire--your aspect frights her.

[Chorus steps back.

RORER.
Well pleased I shun her sight.

DIEGO.
With outstretched eyes,
And wonderstruck, she seems to measure thee.

BEATRICE.
Not strange those lineaments--where am I?

ISABELLA.
Slowly
Her sense returns.

DIEGO.
Behold! upon her knees
She sinks.

BEATRICE.
Oh, angel visage of my mother!

ISABELLA.
Child of my heart!

BEATRICE.
See! kneeling at thy feet
The guilty one!

ISABELLA.
I hold thee in my arms!
Enough--forgotten all!

DIEGO.
Look in my face,
Canst thou remember me?

BEATRICE.
The reverend brows
Of honest old Diego!

ISABELLA.
Faithful guardian
Of thy young years.

BEATRICE.
And am I once again
With kindred?

ISABELLA.
Naught but death shall part us more!

BEATRICE.
Will thou ne'er s