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The Band in a most learned plea,
Of vigorous youth,
Old solemn truth,
How happy she would be.
When these two blades had done, d'ye see,
It proved such sunshine weather
And off they went together,
BORN 1669.-DIED 1729.
FROM THE MOURNING BRIDE. Almeria meeting her husband Alphonso, whom she had imagined
to be dead, now disguised as the captive Osmyn, at the tomb of his father Anselmo.
Enter. ALMERIA and LEONORA., Alm. It was a fancied noise, for all is hushed. Leon. It bore the accent of a human voice.
Alm. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind Whistling through hollows of this vaulted aisle. We'll listen
And monumental caves of death look cold,
Leon. Let us return; the horror of this place,
Alm. It may my fears, but cannot add to that. No, I will on; shew me Anselmo's tomb, Lead me o'er bones and skulls, and mouldering
earth, Of human bodies; for I'll mix with them, Or wind me in the shroud of some pale corpse, Yet green in earth, rather than be the bride Of Garcia's more detested bed: that thought Exerts my spirits, and my present fears Are lost in dread of greater ill. Then shew me, Lead me, for I am bolder grown: lead on Where I may kneel, and pay my vows again, To him, to Heaven, and my Alphonso's soul, Leon. I go; but Heaven can tell with what regret.
[Exeunt. Enter HELI. Heli. I wander through this maze of monuments, Yet cannot find him-Hark! sure 'tis the voice Of one complaining—There it sounds l_I'll follow it.
SCENE II. - Opening, discovers a place of Tombs :
one Monument, fronting the view, greater than the rest.
Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA. Leon. Behold the sacred vault, within whose
poor remains of good Anselmo rest, Yet fresh and unconsumed by time or worms. What do I see? Oh, Heaven! either my eyes Are false, or still the marble door remains Unclosed; the iron gates, that lead to death Beneath, are still wide stretched upon their hinge, And staring on us with unfolded leaves !
Alm. Sure 'tis the friendly yawn of death for me; And that dumb mouth, significant in show, Invites me to the bed, where I alone Shall rest; shews me the grave, where nature,
weary And long oppressed with woes and bending cares, May lay the burthen down, and sink in slumbers Of peace eternal. Death, grim death, will fold Me in his leaden arms, and press me close To his cold clayey breast: My father, then, Will cease his tyranny; and Garcia, too, Will fly my pale deformity with loathing. My soul, enlarged from its vile bonds, will mount, And range the starry orbs, and milky-ways, Of that refulgent world, where I shall swim In liquid light, and Aoat, on seas of bliss, To my Alphonso's soul. Oh, joy too great!
Oh, ecstacy of thought! Help me, Anselmo;
Osmyn ascending from the tomb. Osm. Who calls that wretched thing that was
Alphonso? Alm. Angels, and all the host of heaven, support
me! Osm. Whence is that voice, whose shrillness,
from the grave, . And growing to his father's shroud, roots up Alphonso?
Alm. Mercy! Providence ! Oh, speak,
me, Leonora, in thy bosom, from the light, And from my eyes!
Osm. Amazement and illusion !
her shade! 'Tis life ! 'tis warm! 'tis she, 'tis she herself! Nor dead, nor shade, but breathing and alive! It is Almeria, it is my wife!