ngs charm Him, who hears
Seraphs and cherubs wake their harps divine,
While the blest planets, hymning in their orbits,
Pour fourth such tones as reached their mortal ears,
Man would go mad for very extasy.
Well, well! Such forms are good to force example
On purblind eyes: but prayer from earth abstracted,
Breathed in no ear but Heaven's; when lips are silent,
But the heart speaks full loudly; thanks the music,
Man's soul the censer, and pure thoughts the incense
Kindling with grace celestial: that's the worship
Which suits Him best who, past all prayer and praise,
Esteems one grateful tear, one heart-drawn blessing,
Which, thanking God, declares that man is happy.
--Ha! Gleams of torches gild yon distant aisle!

_Enter Father_ Bazil.

_Bazil._ Stranger, What dost thou here, where now to offer
Gifts at yon shrine, for wondrous favour shown her,
The princess hastens? See, she comes: retire?

_Orsi._ Your pardon, reverend father, I obey.

[_Exit_ Orsino.

_A procession enters of nuns and friars with lighted tapers, then
follow_ Amelrosa, Estella, Inis, _and ladies, carrying offerings_.

_Amel._ I thank ye, holy friends. Now leave me here,
Where I must watch the live-long night and feed
Yon sacred lamps, telling each hour my beads,
And pouring thanks to heaven and good St. Juan.
Till morn farewell.

_Bazil._ May angels guard thee, daughter,
Pure as thy thoughts, and join thee in thy prayers.

[_Exeunt._

_Amel._ (_alone_) He is not here. Oh how my bosom throbs
To know this fearful secret! Sure he cannot
Have missed the place.

_Orsi._ (_entering_) All's dark again and silent.
Perhaps her courage failed her, and she's gone.
If so, what must be done? No, no, a shadow
Moves on the chapel porch. 'Tis surely she.

_Amel._ Hark! steps! Orsino!

_Orsi._ He.

_Amel._ Oh, good Orsino!
What brings thee here? Those words, _my father's life_,
Like spells by witches breathed to raise the dead,
Filled my heart's circle with a crowd of phantoms,
Doleful and strange, which groan to be released.
Thy news! thy news! Oh! speak them in one word,
And let me know the worst.

_Orsi._ Thy fears though great,
Are justified by what I have to tell.
Princess, a plot is formed and ripe for action,
To spoil thy father of his throne and life.

_Amel._ My father! my good father!

_Orsi_ What can goodness
And moral duties 'gainst the assaults of passion!
Those chains, e'en when they seem than diamond harder,
Soften, calci