JETAN, BERENGAR).

Break forth once more
Ye wounds! Flow, flow, in swarthy flood,
Thou streaming gore!

ISABELLA.
Shuddering with earnest gaze, and motionless,
Thou stand'st.--yes! there my hopes repose, and all
That earth has of thy brother; in the bud
Nipped is your concord's tender flower, nor ever
With beauteous fruit shall glad a mother's eyes,

DON CAESAR.
Be comforted; thy sons, with honest heart,
To peace aspired, but heaven's decree was blood!

ISABELLA.
I know thou lovedst him well; I saw between ye,
With joy, the bands old Nature sweetly twined;
Thou wouldst have borne him in thy heart of hearts
With rich atonement of long wasted years!
But see--fell murder thwarts thy dear design,
And naught remains but vengeance!

DON CAESAR.
Come, my mother,
This is no place for thee. Oh, haste and leave
This sight of woe.

[He endeavors to drag her away.

ISABELLA (throwing herself into his arms).
Thou livest! I have a son!

BEATRICE.
Alas! my mother!

DON CAESAR.
On this faithful bosom
Weep out thy pains; nor lost thy son,--his love
Shall dwell immortal in thy Caesar's breast.

First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR, MANFRED).

Break forth, ye wounds!
Dumb witness! the truth proclaim;
Flow fast, thou gory stream!

ISABELLA (clasping the hands of DON CAESAR and BEATRICE).
My children!

DON CAESAR.
Oh, 'tis ecstasy! my mother,
To see her in thy arms! henceforth in love
A daughter--sister----

ISABELLA (interrupting him).
Thou hast kept thy word.
My son; to thee I owe the rescued one;
Yes, thou hast sent her----

DON CAESAR (in astonishment).
Whom, my mother, sayst thou,
That I have sent?

ISABELLA.
She stands before thine eyes--
Thy sister.

DON CAESAR.
She! My sister?

ISABELLA.
Ay, What other?

DON CAESAR.
My sister!

ISABELLA.
Thou hast sent her to me!

DON CAESAR.
Horror!
His sister, too!

CHORUS.
Woe! woe!

BEATRICE.
Alas! my mother!

ISABELLA.
Speak! I am all amaze!

DON CASAR.
Be cursed the day
When I was born!

ISABELLA.
Eternal powers!

DON CAESAR.
Accursed
The womb that bore me; cursed the secret arts,
The spring of all this woe; instant to crush thee,
Though the dread thunder swept--ne'er should this arm
Refrain the bolts of death: I s