My mother! peace
Is heaven's benignant answer to the cry
Of wounded spirits. Wilt thou kneel with me?
ELMINA.
Heaven's tranquil image on their depths.—The stream
Of my dark thoughts, all broken by the storm,
Reflects but clouds and lightnings!—Didst thou speak
Of peace?—'tis fled from earth!—but there is joy!
Wild, troubled joy!—And who shall know, my child!
It is not happiness?—Why, our own hearts
Will keep the secret close!—Joy, joy! if but
To leave this desolate city, with its dull
Slow knells and dirges, and to breathe again
Th' untainted mountain-air!—But hush! the trees,
The flowers, the waters, must hear nought of this!
They are full of voices, and will whisper things———
—We 'll speak of it no more.
XIMENA.
This grief doth shake her reason!
ELMINA (starting).
'Tis—'tis thy father's!—come away—not now—
He must not see us now!
