Find shelter from the tempest. Tell me rather
Of your serene life.
LIEBHAID.
Happiness is mute.
What record speaks of placid, golden days.
Matched each with each as twins? Till yester eve
My life was simple as a song. At whiles
Dark tales have reached us of our people's wrongs,
Strange, far-off anguish, furrowing with fresh care
My father's hrow, draping our home with gloom.
We were still hlessed ; the Landgrave is his friend —
The Prince -my Prince -dear Claire, ask me no more !
My adored enemy, my angel-fiend.
Splitting my heart against my heart ! O God,
How shall I pray for strength to love him less
Than mine own soul ?
CLAIRE.
What mean these contrary words?
These passionate tears ?
LIEBHAID.
Brave girl, who art inured
To difficult privation and rude pain.
