And if a home is left me still, brave Zamor,
There will I bid thee welcome.
[Exeunt.
Scene.—A Hall in the Palace.
Sebastian—Sylveira.
Syl.—Whence art thou, stranger, and what wouldst thou with me?
There is a fiery wildness in thine eye,
Startling, and almost fearful!
Seb.—From the stern,
And vast, and desolate wilderness, whose lord
Is the fierce lion, and whose gentlest wind
Breathes of the tomb, and whose dark children make
The bow and spear their law; men bear not back
That smilingness of aspect, wont to mask
The secrets of their spirit, 'midst the stir
Of courts and cities!—I have look'd on scenes
Boundless, and strange, and terrible; I have known
Sufferings, which are not in the shadowy scope
Of wild imagination; and those things
Have stamp'd me with their impress. Man of Peace!
Thou look'st on one familiar with th' extremes
Of grandeur and of misery.
Syl.—Stranger, speak
Thy name and purpose briefly, for the time
Ill suits these mysteries. I must hence; to-night
I feast the Lords of Spain.
Seb.—Is that a task
For King Sebastian's friend?
Syl.—Sebastian's friend!
That name hath lost its meaning. Will the dead
Rise from their silent dwellings, to upbraid
The living for their mirth?—The grave sets bounds
Unto all human friendship.
Seb.—On the plain
Of Alcazar, full many a stately flower,
The pride and crown of some high house, was laid
Low in the dust of Afric; but of these
Sebastian was not one.
Syl.—I am not skill'd
To deal with men of mystery. Take thou off
The strange dark scrutiny of thine eyes from mine.
What mean'st thou? Speak!
Seb.—Sebastian died not there.
—I read no joy in that cold doubting mien.
