t. Trust me, then, love,
As I would thee. There's not a thought I own,
No, not a fond emotion of my soul,--
Not e'en the slightest ripple o'er the mind,
When calm and pensive as it used to be,
But I would tell it thee.
O couldst thou view my heart, and see thyself
So firmly master of its deep recesses,
Thou wouldst be confident.
If thou shouldst be ignoble, fear not me,
Love shall draw out thy patent of descent,
And trace thy ancestry to more than mortal.
If thou hast hated, and hast found revenge,
Yet fear not me, dear Gaspar.
Whate'er priests say, it is a noble passion,
And holds an empire in the heart of man,
Equal in strength and dignity with love.
Be it a tale of sorrow or of crime,
(O say 'tis not the last!) still let me share it,
That I may comfort thee whene'er we meet,
And mourn it only when I grieve thine absence.

_Gasp._ My Isidora, oft thou'st press'd me thus;
Since thou wilt hear it, then, it shall be told;
But one sad chance, most fatal to us both,
Is fetter'd to it.

_Isid._ And what is that, my Gaspar?

_Gasp._ That once reveal'd, we ne'er may meet again.

_Isid._ Then I'll not hear't. Away with prying thoughts
So fraught with mischief! Not to see thee more!
Then might the angel pour the vial out,
That vial of fierce wrath which is to quench
The sun, the moon, the host of stars, in blood!
Not see thee more! then may they work my shroud,
And cull the flowers to strew my maiden corpse.
Without thee, Gaspar, I should surely die!
Wert thou the ruler of the universe,
Commanding all, I could not love thee more!
Wert thou a branded slave from bondage 'scap'd,--
'Tis now too late,--I could not love thee less!

_Gasp._ (_aside_). One soul so pure redeems a world of sin!
Thou Heav'n that I have mock'd, O hear me now,
And spare! let her not feel the bitter pangs
Of disappointed love! Draw the barb gently,
That she may sigh her soul away, and sleep
Throughout her passage to a better world!

_Isid._ What say'st thou, Gaspar!

_Gasp._ I call'd down blessings, loveliest, on thy head.
Heav'n grant my prayers!

_Isid._ I, too, have pray'd for thee, and will again!
But speak to me. Why didst thou come so late?
How short, methinks, are nights. There's hardly time
For those who've toil'd, to gain their needful rest,--
For those who wake, to whisper half their love.

_Gasp._ Night is our day, and day becomes our night;
Love changes all, o'er nature rules supreme;
Alters her seasons, mocks her wise