Agnes. Oh, very, very dear! I know no more ,
Of the wide world than what we now can see,
Bounded by the blue sky; my heart has yet
Some things to cling to here: I do not feel
Quite desolate amid the many ties
Affection here has sanctified. Look where
The silent city of the dead arises,
Its sole inhabitants the cypresses,
Bending their weeping leaves to the black yews,
And one huge cedar rearing gloomily
His giant height, the monarch of the shades;
The venerable church stands in the midst—
The solemn temple, where the dead and living
Together meet; you cannot see the tombs,
So close the trees spread their green canopy;
But there my mother by my father's side
Sleeps sweetly—oh, most sweetly—for they died
Each in the other's arms! They never knew
That agony of soul which prays for death
But yet lives on. Oh, that my Julian’s grave
Had been by theirs, our ashes would have mixed!
But now
Julian. I will not let thee dwell upon thy grief.
Look to yon vine-clad hill: the setting sun
Streams in full glory on the radiant leaves
And topaz clusters,—the rill, that at noon-day
Is bright and colourless like crystal, now
Flows red with crimson light; just by that group
Of those old chesnuts will I build a bower—
A magic bower, my fairy, for thy home.
Agnes. Oh, no—oh, no—not there! My Julian said
If ever he returned to claim his bride,
Our nest of love and happiness should be
Beneath that shade.
Julian (aside.) Ah why suspect her truth
But one proof more, and I will lay aside
Disguise and pray forgiveness for my doubts,—
How sweet will be my pardon!—(To her.) I am come
From India, and I doubt if 'tis the grave
That holds your Julian from your arms.
