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Hath nought to ask, unworthy of the name
Which is a nation's heritage.—Dost thou shrink?

ELMINA.

Have pity on me, father!—I must speak

That, from the thought of which, but yesterday,
I had recoil'd in scorn!—But this is past.
Oh! we grow humble in our agonies,
And to the dust—their birth-place—bow the heads
That wore the crown of glory!—I am weak—
My chastening is far more than I can bear.

HERNANDEZ.

These are no times for weakness. On our hills

The ancient cedars, in their gather'd might;
Are battling with the tempest; and the flower
Which cannot meet its driving blast must die.
—But thou hast drawn thy nurture from a stem
Unwont to bend or break.—Lift thy proud head,
Daughter of Spain!—What wouldst thou with thy lord?

ELMINA.

Look not upon me thus!—I have no power

To tell thee. Take thy keen disdainful eye
Off from my soul!—What! am I sunk to this?
I, whose blood sprung from heroes!—How my sons
Will scorn the mother that would bring disgrace