But sever'd thus from thee, so true, so noble,
By vows that all the soul's devotion claim,
It makes me feel—may God forgive the crime!
A very hatred of all saintly things.
Fool—rash and credulous fool! to lose thee thus!
Aur. Nay, say not so: thou still art mine. Short while
I would have given my whole of life besides
To've seen but once again thy passing form—
Thy face—thine eyes turn'd on me for a moment;
Or only to have heard thro' the still air
Thy voice distinctly call me, or the sound
Of thy known steps upon my lonely floor:
And shall I then, holding thy living hand
In love and honour, say, thou art not mine?
Erm. (shaking his head.) This state—this sacred badge!
Aur. O no! that holy cross upon thy breast
Throws such a charm of valorous sanctity
O'er thy lov'd form: my thoughts do forward glance
To deeds of such high fame by thee achiev'd,
That ev'n methinks the bliss of wedded love
Less dear, less noble is, than such strong bonds
As may, without reproach, unite us still.
Erm. O creature of a gen'rous constancy!
Thou but the more distractest me! Fool, fool!
(Starting from his seat, and pacing to and fro distractedly.)
