trice. Not the poor knight
Am I, the stranger and unknown, that loving
Taught thee to love; but what I am--my race--
My power----

BEATRICE.
And art thou not Don Manuel? Speak--
Who art thou?

DON MANUEL.
Chief of all that bear the name,
I am Don Manuel, Prince of Messina!

BEATRICE.
Art thou Don Manuel, Don Caesar's brother?

DON MANUEL.
Don Caesar is my brother.

BEATRICE.
Is thy brother!

DON MANUEL.
What means this terror? Know'st thou, then, Don Caesar?
None other of my race?

BEATRICE.
Art thou Don Manuel,
That with thy brother liv'st in bitter strife
Of long inveterate hate?

DON MANUEL.
This very sun
Smiled on our glad accord! Yes, we are brothers!
Brothers in heart!

BEATRICE.
And reconciled? This day?

DON MANUEL.
What stirs this wild disorder? Hast thou known
Aught but our name? Say, hast thou told me all?
Is there no secret? Hast thou naught concealed?
Nothing disguised?

BEATRICE.
Thy words are dark; explain,
What shall I tell thee?

DON MANUEL.
Of thy mother naught
Hast thou e'er told; who is she? If in words
I paint her, bring her to thy sight----

BEATRICE.
Thou know'st her!
And thou wert silent!

DON MANUEL.
If I know thy mother,
Horrors betide us both!

BEATRICE.
Oh, she is gracious
As the sun's orient beam! Yes! I behold her;
Fond memory wakes;--and from my bosom's depths
Her godlike presence rises to my view!
I see around her snowy neck descend
The tresses of her raven hair, that shade
The form of sculptured loveliness; I see
The pale, high-thoughted brow; the darkening glance
Of her large lustrous orbs; I hear the tones
Of soul-fraught sweetness!

DON MANUEL.
'Tis herself!

BEATRICE.
This day,
Perchance had give me to her arms, and knit
Our souls in everlasting love;--such bliss
I have renounced, yes! I have lost a mother
For thee!

DON MANUEL.
Console thyself, Messina's princess
Henceforth shall call thee daughter; to her feet
I lead thee; come--she waits. What hast thou said?

BEATRICE.
Thy mother and Don Caesar's? Never! never!

DON MANUEL.
Thou shudderest! Whence this horror? Hast thou known
My mother? Speak----

BEATRICE.
O grief! O dire misfortune!
Alas! that e'er I live to see this day!

DON MANUEL.
What troubles thee? Thou know'st me, thou hast fou