They are of massive weight, and have withstood
In ancient service past, more briny floods
Than would have drowned this cell, save that the earth
Drank the hot tide of anguish as it gushed,—
More thirsty now than ever! Let me pass
Nearer that side—methinks a freer air
Is entering thence. Your hand, Beltramo—
Teresa.
Hold!
What hand should serve him but mine own?—What’s this?