RODRIGO.
That, in midway, are from their course declin'd
By the poor orphan's little lisped prayer;
And there be arrows that are turn'd aside,
In their swift flight, by the soft sighs of love,
Unheard of earthly ears. This is a creed,
In the good faith of which poor seamen climb
Their rocking masts, in the full roar of battle,
And we'll believe it.
ELLA.
RODRIGO.
Thou'lt think of me in thy lone distant tower,
And be to me a gallant armed mate,
With prayers and wishes striving powerfully.
Give me thy hand: we will not weep and wail:
We will part cheerfully.—God bless thee, Ella!
Nay, hang not on me thus!
Thou lov'st a brave man: be thou valiant then,
As suits a brave man's love.
ELLA.
Most worthless and unsuited to thy worth.
Like a poor weed on some proud turret's brow,
I wave, and nod, and kiss the air around thee,
But cannot be like thee.
