 | Eudora |  |
SCENE IV.
RAYMOND, EUDORA.RAYMOND.
Alas! Eudora, 'twas not thus I wish'd
To meet thy kind embraces; 'twas not thus
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Of tedious absence.
EUDORA.
Thou art still the same,
Still rich in virtue, and unrivall'd honor.
Dear to my soul, far dearer than when first
I fondly listen'd to thy tender vows,
And holy marriage made me thine for ever.
RAYMOND.
Will not thy heart, will not thy spotless soul,
So nobly great, and shrined in such a form,
Kings might be proud to share their empire with thee,
Will it not mourn its melancholy lot
Joined to a wretch, and wedded to dishonor?
EUDORA.
Canst thou; my Raymond, so unkindly question?
O had thy nature, (which it ne'er could be)
Had it been led from virtue's sacred paths,
Had some wild start of frenzy, or ambition
Plung'd thee, unthinking, in a crime so great,
Could I in misery, in guilt, forsake thee?
No! Raymond, no! when thy repentant soul,
As soon it must, had seen its fatal error,
I should have echoed sigh to thee for sigh;
I should have watched thee weeping, till our tears
With mingled streams had wash'd out the offence,
'Till Heaven with mercy had beheld our sorrows,
And healed thy wounded spirit with forgiveness.
RAYMOND.
O thou most perfect! best beloved of women!
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Yet, my dear Lord, I see thy troubled mind:
O let me soothe it! let me pour the balm
Of love into the wound, teach thee secure
In conscious virtue, to deride the malice
Of rancorous envy, to despise its arts,
Nor feel oppressed by phantoms of dishonor!
RAYMOND.
No! I am blest in thee, thou purest joy!
Thou richest treasure; thou divinest good,
That gracious Heaven, in fulness of its bounty,
E'er deigned to shed upon the sons of men!
Yet must our hearts lament the royal youth,
Whose hovering spirit calls aloud on me
To avenge his murder.
EUDORA.
Has thy friendly zeal
Unmasked the close assassin?
RAYMOND.
Heaven forgive me,
If my surmises wrong a troubled mind
As guiltless as my own—but I have seen
Those signs of hurry, fear, and purterbation
In the o'erbusy Priest, that—
VERINO.
(within.)
Where is my Soldier, whose ungrateful country
Pays him for its security and fame
With all the indignities of vile suspicion?
RAYMOND.
Hark! my father!
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Leave me, my life, but for a few short minutes,
To calm his trouble; and I then will fly
To the soft bosom of my dear Eudora,
Whose love is honor, and whose words are peace!
(Exit Eudora.
| Eudora | |