Chorus (BOHEMUND).

New signs of terror to my boding soul Are pictured;--in amazement lost I stand!

What light shall pierce this gloom of mystery?

ISABELLA (to the Chorus, who exhibit marks of confusion and embarra.s.sment).

Oh, ye hard hearts! Ye rude unpitying men!

A mother's transport from your breast of steel Rebounds, as from the rocks the heaving surge!

I look around your train, nor mark one glance Of soft regard. Where are my sons? Oh, tell me Why come they not, and from their beaming eyes Speak comfort to my soul? For here environed I stand amid the desert's raging brood, Or monsters of the deep!

DIEGO.

She opes her eyes!

She moves! She lives!

ISABELLA.

She lives! On me be thrown Her earliest glance!

DIEGO.

See! They are closed again-- She shudders!

ISABELLA (to the Chorus).

Quick! Retire--your aspect frights her.

[Chorus steps back.

RORER.

Well pleased I shun her sight.

DIEGO.

With outstretched eyes, And wonderstruck, she seems to measure thee.

BEATRICE.

Not strange those lineaments--where am I?

ISABELLA.

Slowly Her sense returns.

DIEGO.

Behold! upon her knees She sinks.

BEATRICE.

Oh, angel visage of my mother!

ISABELLA.

Child of my heart!

BEATRICE.

See! kneeling at thy feet The guilty one!

ISABELLA.

I hold thee in my arms!

Enough--forgotten all!

DIEGO.

Look in my face, Canst thou remember me?

BEATRICE.

The reverend brows Of honest old Diego!

ISABELLA.

Faithful guardian Of thy young years.

BEATRICE.

And am I once again With kindred?

ISABELLA.

Naught but death shall part us more!

BEATRICE.

Will thou ne'er send me to the stranger?

ISABELLA.

Never!

Fate is appeased.

BEATRICE.

And am I next thy heart?

And was it all a dream--a hideous dream?

My mother! at my feet he fell! I know not What brought me hither--yet 'tis well. Oh, bliss!

That I am safe in thy protecting arms; They would have ta'en me to the princess, mother-- Sooner to death!

ISABELLA.

My daughter, calm thy fears; Messina's princess----

BEATRICE.

Name her not again!

At that ill-omened sound the chill of death Creeps through my trembling frame.

ISABELLA.

My child! but hear me----

BEATRICE.

She has two sons by mortal hate dissevered, Don Manuel and Don Caesar----

ISABELLA.

'Tis myself!

Behold thy mother!

BEATRICE.

Have I heard thee? Speak!