Hatred, kind father, unto aught that breathes;
Raimond doth know it well.—Raimond!—High heaven,
It bursts upon me now!—and he must die!
For my sake—e'en for mine!
Ans. Her words were strange,
And her proud mind seem'd half to frenzy wrought—
—Perchance this may not be.
Con. It must not be.
Why do I linger here?(She rises to depart.
Ans. Where wouldst thou go?
Con. To give their stern and unrelenting hearts
A victim in his stead.
Ans. Stay! wouldst thou rush
On certain death?
Con. I may not falter now.
—Is not the life of woman all bound up
In her affections?—What hath she to do
In this bleak world alone?—It maybe well
For man on his triumphal course to move,
Uncumber'd by soft bonds; but we were born
For love and grief.
Ans. Thou fair and gentle thing,
Unused to meet a glance which doth not speak
Of tenderness or homage! how shouldst thou
Bear the hard aspect of unpitying men,
Or face the king of terrors?
Con. There is strength
Deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck
But little, till the shafts of heaven have pierced
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