OLD MOOR. Forever, did you say.
CHARLES. Ask no more! I said forever!
OLD MOOR. Stranger, stranger! why didst thou drag me forth from the dungeon to remind me of my sorrows?
CHARLES. And what if I were now to snatch his blessing?—snatch it like a thief, and steal away with the precious prize? A father's blessing, they say, is never lost.
OLD MOOR. And is my Francis too lost?
CHARLES (falling on his knees before him). 'Twas I who burst the bars of your dungeon. I crave thy blessing!
OLD MOOR (sorrowfully). Oh that thou shouldst destroy the son!—thou, the father's deliverer! Behold! Heaven's mercy is untiring, and we pitiful worms let the sun go down upon our wrath. (Lays his hand upon the head of CHARLES.) Be thou happy, even as thou shalt be merciful!
CHARLES (rising much affected). Oh!—where is my manhood? My sinews are unstrung—the sword drops from my hand.
OLD MOOR. How lovely a thing it is when brethren dwell together in unity; as the dewdrops of heaven that fall upon the mountains of Zion. Learn to deserve that happiness, young man, and the angels of heaven will sun themselves in thy glory. Let thy wisdom be the wisdom of gray hairs, but let thy heart be the heart of innocent childhood.
CHARLES. Oh, for a foretaste of that happiness! Kiss me, divine old man!