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DON MANUEL.

Almighty Love! thou godlike power–for well
We call thee sovereign of the breast! Thy sway
Controls each warring element, and tunes
To soft accord; naught lives but owns thy greatness.
Lo! the rude soul that long defied thee melts
At thy command!

[He embraces DON CAESAR.]

Now I can trust thy heart,
And joyful strain thee to a brother’s arms!
I doubt thy faith no more, for thou canst love!

ISABELLA.

Thrice blest the day, when every gloomy care
From my o’erlabored breast has flown. I see
On steadfast columns reared our kingly race,
And with contented spirit track the stream
Of measureless time. In these deserted halls,
Sad in my widow’s veil, but yesterday
Childless I roamed; and soon, in youthful charms
Arrayed, three blooming daughters at my side
Shall stand! Oh, happiest mother! Chief of women,
In bliss supreme; can aught of earthly joy
O’erbalance thine?
But say, of royal stem,
What maidens grace our isle? For ne’er my sons
Would stoop to meaner brides.

DON MANUEL.

Seek not to raise
The veil that hides my bliss; another day
Shall tell thee all. Enough–Don Manuel’s bride
Is worthy of thy son and thee.

ISABELLA.

Thy sire
Speaks in thy words; thus to himself retired
Forever would he brood o’er counsels dark,
And cloak his secret purpose;–your delay
Be short, my son.

[Turning to DON CAESAR.]

But thou–some royal maid,
Daughter of kings, hath stirred thy soul to love;
So speak–her name—-

DON CAESAR.

I have no art to veil
My thoughts with mystery’s garb–my spirit free
And open as my brows; which thou wouldst know
Concerned me never. What illumes above
Heaven’s flaming orb? Himself! On all the world
He shines, and with his beaming glory tells
From light he sprung:–in her pure eyes I gazed,
I looked into her heart of hearts:–the brightness
Revealed the pearl. Her race–her name–my mother,
Ask not of me!

ISABELLA.

My son, explain thy words,
For, like some voice divine, the sudden charm
Has thralled thy soul: to deeds of rash emprise
Thy nature prompted, not to fantasies
Of boyish love:–tell me, what swayed thy choice?

DON CAESAR.

My choice? my mother! Is it choice when man
Obeys the might of destiny, that brings
The awful hour? I sought no beauteous bride,
No fond delusion stirred my tranquil breast,
Still as the house of death; for there, unsought,
I found the treasure of my soul. Thou know’st
That, heedless ever of the giddy race,
I looked on beauty’s charms with cold disdain,
Nor deemed of womankind there lived another
Like thee–whom my idolatrous fancy decked
With heavenly graces:–

‘Twas the solemn rite
Of my dead father’s obsequies; we stood
Amid the countless throng, with strange attire
Hid from each other’s glance; for thus ordained
Thy thoughtful care lest with outbursting rage,
E’ en by the holy place unawed, our strife
Should mar the funeral pomp.

With sable gauze
The nave was all o’erhung; the altar round
Stood twenty giant saints, uplifting each
A torch; and in the midst reposed on high
The coffin, with o’erspreading pall, that showed,
In white, redemption’s sign;–thereon were laid
The staff of sovereignty, the princely crown,
The golden spurs of knighthood, and the sword,
With diamond-studded belt:–

And all was hushed
In silent prayer, when from the lofty choir,
Unseen, the pealing organ spoke, and loud
From hundred voices burst the choral strain!
Then, ‘mid the tide of song, the coffin sank
With the descending floor beneath, forever
Down to the world below:–but, wide outspread
Above the yawning grave, the pall upheld
The gauds of earthly state, nor with the corpse
To darkness fell; yet on the seraph wings
Of harmony, the enfranchised spirit soared
To heaven and mercy’s throne: