FIORDELISA.
Dear father!
Would he were here that I might rest my head
Upon his breast, and have his arms about me;
For then I feel there's something I may love
And not be chidden for it. [Lute sounds.] Hark! again.
If I durst answer!
How sad he must be out there in the dark,
Not knowing if I mark his music.
[Takes her lute, then puts it away.
No!
My father would be angry; sad enough,
To have one joy I may not share with him;
Yet there can be no harm in listening.
I thought to-night he would have spoken to me,
But then Brigitta came, and he fell back!
I'm glad he did not speak, and yet I'm sorry,
I should so like to hear his voice, just once.
He comes in my dreams, now, but he never speaks.
I'm sure 't is soft and sweet! [Listening.] His lute is hushed.
What if I touch mine, now that he is gone?
I must not look out of the casement! Yes,
I'm sure he's gone?
MANFREDI (aside, lifting the arras).
She is worth ten Ginevras!
TORELLI (holding him back).
Not yet!
MANFREDI.
Unhand me, I will speak to her!
