_Ebremar._ Oh! hush the wandering music of thy mind.
Look on me once. Why sink your eyelids so?
Why do you hang so heavy in my arms?
Love, will you die when we have met? One look
Give to thy Vallence.
_Mosada._ Vallence--he has gone
From here, along the shadowy way that winds
Companioning the river's pilgrim torch.
I'll see him longer if I stand out here
Upon the mountain's brow.
[_She tries to stand and totters. Ebremar supports her, and she stands pointing down as if into a visionary valley._]
Yonder he treads
The path o'er-muffled with the leaves--dead leaves,
Like happy thoughts grown sad in evil days.
He fades among the mists; how fast they come,
And pour upon the world! Ah! well a day!
Poor love and sorrow with their arms thrown round
Each other's necks, and whispering as they go,
Still wander through the world. He's gone, he's gone.
I'm weary--weary, and 'tis very cold.
I'll draw my cloak around me;