MARIA.
Talk you of parting?
For God's sake, what is this? You love no more?
DON JOHN.
Rather I love so truly that I shrink
From asking thee to share a soldier's fate.
I tremble to uproot so fine a flower
From its dear native earth. I—
MARIA (putting her hand on his lips).
Hush, no more!
I need no preparation more than this,
Your mere request.
DON JOHN.
There spake my heroine.
The King, my father, bids me to repair
Unto Palermo.
MARIA.
Shall we sail to-night?
DON JOHN.
My Princess! Thou recoilest not from all
Thou must endure, ere I can openly
Claim thee my wife!
MARIA.
The pangs of purgatory
Were lightly borne with such a heaven in view.
I were content with one brief hour a day,
Snatched from the toils of war and thy high duties,
To gaze on thy dear face—to feel thy hand,
Even as now a stay and a caress.
DON JOHN.
Angel, I have no thanks. May God forget me
When I forget this hour! So, thou art firm—
Ready this night to leave thy home, thy kin,
Thy father?
MARIA (solemnly).
I am ready and resolved.
Yet judge me not so lightly as to deem
I say this with no pang. My love were naught,
Could I withdraw it painlessly at once
From him round whose colossal strength the tendrils
Of mine own baby heart were taught to twine.
I speak not now as one who swerves or shrinks,
But merely, dear, to show thee what sharp tortures
I, nowise blind, but with deliberate soul,
Embrace for thee.
DON JOHN.
How can I doubt the anguish
So rude a snapping of all ties must smite
Thy tender heart withal? Yet, dwell we not
On the brief pain, but on the enduring joys.
If Ribera's love be all thou deemest,
He will forgive thy secret flight, thy—