As a pale gleaming shroud, seem kindled up
With a young spirit of ethereal hope
Caught from thy mien!—Oh no! this is not death!
XIMENA.
Put on his robes of beauty when he comes
As a deliverer?—He hath many forms,
They should not all be fearful!—If his call
Be but our gathering to that distant land
For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst,
Why should not its prophetic sense be borne
Into the heart's deep stillness, with a breath
Of summer-winds, a voice of melody,
Solemn, yet lovely?—Mother! I depart!
—Be it thy comfort, in the after-days,
That thou hast seen me thus!
ELMINA.
With such wild fears! Can I bear on with life
When thou art gone?—Thy voice, thy step, thy smile,
Pass'd from my path?—Alas! even now thine eye
Is changed—thy cheek is fading!
XIMENA.
