‘I would we were alone, my own Schirene,’ said Alroy to his bride.
‘I would so too; and yet I love to see all Asia prostrate at the feet of Alroy.’
‘Will the sun never set? Give me thy hand to play with.’
‘Hush! See, Miriam smiles.’
‘Lovest thou my sister, my own Schirene?’
‘None dearer but thyself.’
‘Talk not of my sister, but ourselves. Thinkest thou the sun is nearer setting, love?’
‘I cannot see; thine eyes they dazzle me, they are so brilliant, sweet!’
‘Oh, my soul! I could pour out my passion on thy breast.’
‘Thou art very serious.’