Whose dark-red waves look'd e'en as tho' their source
Lay not in rocky caverns, but the veins
Of noble hearts; while many a knightly crest
Roll'd with them to the deep. And in the years
Of my long exile and captivity,
With the fierce Arab, I have watch'd beneath
The still, pale shadow of some lonely palm,
At midnight, in the desert; while the wind
Swell'd with the lion's roar, and heavily
The fearfulness and might of solitude
Press'd on my weary heart.
HERNANDEZ (thoughtfully).
Of what is solitude!—I tell thee, those
For whom—in earth's remotest nook—howe'er
Divided from their path by chain on chain
Of mighty mountains, and the amplitude
Of rolling seas—there beats one human heart,
There breathes one being unto whom their name
Comes with a thrilling and a gladdening sound
Heard o'er the din of life! are not alone!
Not on the deep, nor in the wild, alone;
For there is that on earth with which they hold
A brotherhood of soul!—Call him alone,
