His cheek is delicate, and yet
repose hath brought a flush; and on his lip there seems some word of
love, that will not quit it. It is the same Alroy that blessed our
vision when, like the fresh and glittering star of morn, he rose up in
the desert, and bringing joy to others, brought to me only----
'Oh! hush my heart, and let thy secret lie hid in the charnel-house of
crushed affections. Hard is the lot of woman: to love and to conceal is
our sharp doom! O bitter life! O most unnatural lot! Man made society,
and made us slaves. And so we droop and die, or else take refuge in idle
fantasies, to which we bring the fervour that is meant for nobler ends.
'Beauteous hero! whether I bear thee most hatred or most love I cannot
tell. Die thou must; yet I feel I should die with thee. Oh! that
to-night could lead at the same time unto our marriage bed and funeral
pyre. Must that white bosom bleed? and must those delicate limbs be
hacked and handled by these bloody butchers? Is that justice? They lie,
the traitors, when they call thee false to our God. Thou art thyself a
god, and I could worship thee! See those beauteous lips; they move. Hark
to the music!'
'Schirene, Schirene!'
'There wanted but that word to summon back my senses.
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