Men in whose bosoms Nature's voice hath made
Its accents as the solitary sound
Of an o'erpowering torrent, silencing
Th' austere and yet divine remonstrances
Whisper'd by faith and honour, lift thy hands,
And, to that Heaven, which arms the brave with strength,
Pray, that the father of thy sons may ne'er
Be thus found wanting!
ELMINA.
Thou wilt not save thy children?
GONZALEZ.
Wife of my youth! to deem it lies within
The bounds of possible things, that I should link
My name to that word—traitor?—They that sleep
On their proud battle-fields, thy sires and mine,
Died not for this!
ELMINA.
Thou shouldst be born for empire, since thy soul
Thus lightly from all human bonds can free
Its haughty flight!—Men! men! too much is yours
Of vantage; ye, that with a sound, a breath,
