Unto this infidel!—Rise, rise, my mother!
This sight doth shame our house!
ABDALLAH.
They that in arms have taught thy father's land
How chains are worn, shall school that haughty mien
Unto another language.
ELMINA.
Have pity on my heart!—Oh, pardon, Chief!
He is of noble blood!—Hear, hear me yet!
Are there no lives through which the shafts of Heaven
May reach your soul?—He that loves aught on earth,
Dares far too much, if he be merciless!
Is it for those, whose frail mortality
Must one day strive alone with God and death,
To shut their souls against th' appealing voice
Of nature, in her anguish?—Warrior! Man!
To you too, aye, and haply with your hosts,
By thousands and ten thousands marshall'd round,
And your strong armour on, shall come that stroke
Which the lance wards not!—Where shall your high heart
Find refuge then, if in the day of might
Woe hath lain prostrate, bleeding at your feet,
And you have pitied not?
