Part 26 (2/2)

_Flor._ What means her pa.s.sion? He comes not!

My heart grows chill-- Would I might follow her.

I promis'd not. Did I not see the pardon.

O, this is dreadful!

_Re-enter BASIL, U.E.R._

_Distant shouting is heard._

_Basil._ Hear you there? He lives!

_Flor._ [_Falls on her knees._] O Heaven! I thank thy gracious mercy.

_Basil._ Now!

Remember thou art pledged to be my bride.

_Flor._ Have I then sav'd his life, to torture him With base destruction of the thing he loves?

_Basil._ Give me thine hand.

_Flor._ No! no! There is a portal By which the trembling victim may escape From thy fierce tiger gripe--There is a way Unto the weak, and though a giant grasp, He shall but seize with eager cruel hand The white reflection other fluttering robe, Leaving her pure and undefil'd to Heaven-- Angels have whisper'd it to me--

_Basil._ Forsworn?--

_Flor._ Nay! traitor to thy G.o.d and king! My hand I've pledg'd thee ere a short month have elaps'd, And thou shalt claim it then, if then thou wilt.

_Basil._ What mean'st thou, maiden? There is a strange light In the sweet l.u.s.tre of thy thrilling eye, There is a bright spot on thy velvet cheek; Thy throat of arched fall is now thrown back, As one had check'd a white Arabian steed; Thy nostril wide dilates, Sibylline, grand; Thy moist and crimson lip tempts wildly--come!

For thou art beautiful, and thy light step Shall on the hills be glorious, when thou'rt given A help-mate unto Israel--

_Flor._ Never!

_Basil._ How?-- Hast thou not sworn?

_Flor._ There is a point where all That binds the struggling wretch to aught on earth, Be it a bond of hate and grief like mine, Or sweet communion of young hearts that love, Be it a sacrifice to infamy, or pride Of mothers in their offspring, or the work Of master-spirits' high philosophy, Doth rank with things that were--

_Basil._ Thou speakest riddles.

_Flor._ A colder hand than thine is on my heart, I am another's bride! A month must pa.s.s Ere thou can'st claim me. Was not that the bond?

_Basil._ In these brisk times, a month goes quickly by.

_Flor._ Within a week I'll wed, but not with thee.

Pray, sir, go hence, you do distract my thoughts From my lov'd bridegroom.

_Basil._ Speak, whom mean'st thou?

_Flor._ Death.

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