star-bright twins! fair glasses to fair thoughts,
Where, as by truest oracles confest,
The godlike soul reveals itself in glory.
Your glances thrill me! amber-twinkling threads!
Half bound by grace, half loos'd by winds, how strays
This shining ringlet o'er this clear white breast!
Like the pale sunshine streaking wintry snows!
These lips have life--yea! very breath; a sweet
Warm spirit stirs thru' the cleft ruby now!
They move--they smile--they speak. Soft! soft! sweet heavens!
I'll gaze no more; there's witchcraft in this skill,
And my abus'd weak brain may madden soon!

(conceals the picture in his bosom)

The spell is hidden, still th' illusion works:
O! in my heart Eugenia art thou trac'd--
There--there--thou livest--speakest--yet art mortal.
Strong memory triumphs over death and time,
In all my circling blood--each vein--each pulse
Wherever life is, ever there art thou.

(Gaspard speaks without.)

_Gasp._ Go, go; his lordship may not be disturb'd.

_Mon._ (_without_) Away! I have a cause that must be heard.

_De Val._ How now! voices in the anti-room! Ho!

Enter _Gaspard_.

_Gasp._ Alack! that folk will be so troublesome: my good lord! here's a
strange woman; truly a most obstinate spirit, who craves vehemently to
be heard, on matters (so she reports) of much importance to your
lordship.

_De Val._ Nay, in the morning be it; not at this hour.

_Gasp._ I told her so; my very words; but truly, her grief seems to have
craz'd her reason.

_De Val._ How! is she unhappy then? her sorrows be her passport here;
admit her instantly: where should the afflicted heart prefer a prayer,
if kindred wretchedness deny its sympathy?

(_Gaspard_ introduces _Monica_.)

_Mon._ So! you are seen at last, my lord! men say your heart is good;
grant Heaven! I find it so; but ah! perhaps it is too late. Yes, yes;
I fear it: the dove is in the vulture's grip already.

_De Val._ Woman! what strange distraction's this? Give me a knowledge of
your griefs with method.

_Mon._ I will, I will, but anguish stifles me; O! my lord, my lord, this
is your castle, and here she fled for shelter, yet cruel hearts refused
her prayer. I have been told by your people that the baron's pavilion on
the river-bank is made her prison; she will be murdered there: oh! my
lord, gracious lord, save her, save her!

(She throws herself passionately at his feet.)

_De Val._ Rise; attempt com