And richer beauty blushes on her cheek.
Enough. Now must I strive to fix that form
That haunts my brain—the blind, old Count Camillo,
The Prince s oracle. Midst the thick throng
My fancy singled him ; white beard, white hair,
Sealed eyes, and brow lit by an inward light.
So will I paint mine Isaac blessing Esau,
While Jacob kneels before him blind, betrayed
By his own flesh !
As Robera stands aside, lost in thought, enter Don John and Maria.
MARIA.
See, the impatient day
Wakes in the east.
DON JOHN.
One moment here, signora,
Breathe we the charm of this enchanted night.
Look where behind yon vines the slow moon sets,
Hidden from us, while every leaf hangs black,
Each tender stalk distinct, each curling edge
Against the silver sky.
MARIA (perceiving Ribera).
What, father! here?
