O holy Heaven, how many ways for fear
Can grief find out!—But hark! What do I hear?
Is it his footstep? Can it be? O, no!
I am not worthy such a happiness!
’T is but the echo of my grief I hear.—
But hark again! Methinks there comes a gallop
On the flinty stones. He springs from off his steed!
Is there such happiness vouchsafed to me?
Is it my son?
The Cid.