Am I already mad?
And does delirium utter such sweet words
Into a dreamer's ear? (_aloud_.) You love him thus
And yet desert him?
_Pauline_. Say, that, if his eye
Could read this heart,--its struggles, its temptations--
His love itself would pardon that desertion!
Look on that poor old man--he is my father;
He stands upon the verge of an abyss;
He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink
From him who gave me birth? Withhold my hand
And see a parent perish? Tell him this,
And say--that we shall meet again in Heaven!
SLOW--LOW OROTUND.
The stars--shall fade away,--the sun--himself--
Grow dim--with age,--and Nature--sink--in years;
But thou--shalt flourish--in immortal youth,--
Unhurt--amidst the war of elements,--
The wreck of matter,--and the crash of worlds.
MODERATE--PURE.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran;
E'en children followed, with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile:
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
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