Strange he has left his work, against his wont,
Revealed before completed. I will draw
The curtain.
- [She stands irresolute before the picture, with her hand on the curtain.
Beautiful, oh, beautiful!
The far, bright, opened heavens—the dark earth,
Where the tranced pilgrim lies, with eyelids sealed,
His calm face flushed with comfortable sleep,
His weary limbs relaxed, his heavy head
Pillowed upon the stone. Oh, blessed dream
That visits his rapt sense, of airy forms,
Mounting, descending on the shining ladder,
With messages of peace. I will be true
Unto my lineage divine, and breathe
The passion of just pride that overfills
His soul inspired.
- While she stands before the canvas, reenter, unperceived by her, Lorenzo.
LORENZO.
Oh, celestial vision!
What brush may reproduce those magic tints,
Those lines ethereal?—
MARIA (turns suddenly).
Is it not marvellous,
Signer Lorenzo ? I would draw the curtain,
But, gazing, I forgot.
