Con. But not forgotten!—Ah! beware, beware!
—Nay, look not sternly on me.—There is one
Of that devoted band, who yet will need
Years to be ripe for death.—He is a youth,
A very boy, on whose unshaded cheek
The spring-time glow is lingering. 'T was but now
His mother left me, with a timid hope
Just dawning in her breast;—and I—I dared
To foster its faint spark.—You smile!—Oh! then
He will be saved!
Eri.Nay, I but smiled to think
What a fond fool is hope!—She may be taught
To deem that the great sun will change his course
To work her pleasure; or the tomb give back
Its inmates to her arms.—In sooth, 't is strange!
Yet, with your pitying heart, you should not thus
Have mock'd the boy's sad mother—I have said,
You should not thus have mock'd her!—Now, farewell.
[Exit Eribert.
Con. Oh, brother! hard of heart!—for deeds like these
There must be fearful chastening, if on high
Justice doth hold her state.—And I must tell
Yon desolate mother that her fair young son
Is thus to perish!—Haply the dread tale
May slay her too;—for heaven is merciful.
—'Twill be a bitter task!
[Exit Constance.
