Phil. [After a pause.] She is but so in name; thou wilt retain The empire of my heart. Marie. Ha! how the light The cruel light I could not see before Bursts on my sight! No; 't is some hideous dream. Although I see, I shall not touch thy hand. [Takes his hand as if to assure herself. It is reality! And yet forgive me! A subtle tempter through my o'erwrought brain Would stab my trust in thee. He shall not, love! Pray, repeat the Lower'd on thine arms and scourged thee from the field, A fugitive; if on thy forehead Rome Had grav'd her curse, and all thy kind recoil'd In horror from thy side,-I yet had cried, There is no brand upon thy heart; let that, In the vast loneliness, still beat to mine! Phil. [Falling at her feet.] You had; you had! the dust is on my head! Sweet saint! thou 'rt of a higher brood than we, Hast right to spurn me from thee. Rise! The feet, By thorns on life's rough path so often pierced, Are little like to spurn a stumbling brother. Phil. [Rising.] Forgive, forgive me, Marie ! |