 | The Wonder-Working Magician |  |
Scene XXIII.
Justina; Cyprian, insensible on the ground.Justina.
What! without a word you leave me?
When I come here, calm, contented,
Even to die. Ah! wishing death,
Am I then of death prevented?—
[She perceives Cyprian.
But my punishment is, doubtless,
Thus locked up to face the terrors
Of a slow and lingering death,
With the body of this wretch here
Left alone, my sole companion
Being a corse. O thou, re-entered
Into thy original earth,
Happy wert thou, if thy sentence
Was passed on thee for the faith
I adore!
Cyprian
(recovering consciousness).
O proud avenger
Of your gods, why wait, the thread
Of my life to cut? ...
[He perceives Justina, and rises.
Heaven bless me!—
Can I trust my eyes? Justina!
[Aside.
Justina
(aside).
Cyprian, do I see? O Heaven!
Cyprian
(aside).
No, it is not she, my thought
Fills the void air with her presence.
Justina
(aside).
No, it is not he, the wind
Forms this phantom to divert me.
Cyprian.
Shadow of my fantasy ...
228
Of my wish, delusive spectre ...
Cyprian.
Terror of my startled senses ...
Justina.
Horror of my heart's dejection ...
Cyprian.
What, then, wouldst thou?
Justina.
What, then, wouldst thou?
Cyprian.
I invoked thee not. What errand
Hast thou come on?
Justina.
Why thus seek me?
I to thee no thought directed.
Cyprian.
Ah! I sought thee not, Justina.
Justina.
Nor here at thy call I entered.
Cyprian.
Then, why here?
Justina.
I am a prisoner.—
Thou?
Cyprian.
I, too, have been arrested.
But, Justina, say what crime
Could thy virtue have effected?
Justina.
It is not for any crime,
It is from their deep resentment,
Their abhorrence of Christ's faith,
Whom I as my God confess here.
Cyprian.
Thou dost owe Him that, Justina,
For thy God was thy defender,
He watched o'er thee in His goodness.
Get my prayers to Him accepted.
Justina.
Pray with faith, and He will listen.
Cyprian.
Then with that I will address Him.
Though a fear, that's not despair,
Makes me for my great sins tremble.
Justina.
Oh! have confidence.
Cyprian.
My crimes are
So immense.
Justina.
But more immense are
His great mercies.
Cyprian.
Then, will He
Pardon have on me?
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'Tis certain.
Cyprian.
How, if I my soul surrendered
To the Demon's self, as purchase
Of thy beauty?
Justina.
Oh, there are not
Stars as many in the heavens,
Sands as many on the shore,
Sparks within the fire as many,
Motes as many in the beam,
On the winds so many feathers,
As the sins He can forgive.
Cyprian.
I believe it, and am ready
Now a thousand lives to give Him.—
But I hear some people enter.
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