DAYA.
What then?
Why then I hope the warmest of my wishes
Will have its turn, and happen.
RECHA.
’Stead of this,
What wish shall take possession of my bosom,
Which now without some ruling wish of wishes
Knows not to heave? Shall nothing? ah, I shudder.
DAYA.
Yes: mine shall then supplant the one fulfilled—
My wish to see thee placed one day in Europe
In hands well worthy of thee.
RECHA.
No, thou errest—
The very thing that makes thee form this wish
Prevents its being mine. The country draws thee,
And shall not mine retain me? Shall an image,
A fond remembrance of thy home, thy kindred,
Which years and distance have not yet effaced,
Be mightier o’er thy soul, than what I hear,
See, feel, and hold, of mine.
DAYA.
’Tis vain to struggle—
The ways of heaven are the ways of heaven.
Is he the destined saviour, by whose arm
His God, for whom he fights, intends to lead thee
Into the land, which thou wast born for—