Ber. I obey thee. Ah, why should this be so?
Alas! the heart is e'er a wayward thing,
Loving too oft that most which loves it not.
[Exit.
Joan. For the last time I see you, beauteous scenes!
The last! oh, word of heaviest sense,
Where all that's lovely finds one common grave.
Light footsteps soon shall tread these gay parterres,
And sighs, but not like these, shall mingle bliss
With bliss. None will regret me here; the proud
Who envied, or the brave who shared my fame,
Alone will recollect that I have lived.
And he!—he'll never give one thought on me
When I am gone:—the great, the beautiful
Will share his smiles, or soothe his cares, while tears
Shall stagnate in these eyes; and lovely forms
Shall charm his gaze, when the pale eye of night
Alone shall view the spot where I am laid,
And weep for me.
Enter Widow.
Wid. Where dost thou speed so fast?
Shall not the net be spread in vain before
The simple bird, and wilt thou rush to peril?
Seest thou yon star? Observe how dim it shines,
How its wan disk is overspread with spots.
Those spots are blood!—that fading star thine own!
Fainter and fainter still it quivers.—Now
'Tis gone! I've cast thy horoscope, and read
Thy fate is linked with mine! Beware thee, maiden!
If e'er on earth we meet again, 'twill be—
To meet the spectre king.
[Exit.
Joan. What may this mean?
Awe steals upon my mind, and my faint heart
Beats heavily!
Enter Attendant.
Att. Haste! the king calls thee!
The council is assembling—danger presses.
Joan. Hath then the unchanging voice of destiny
Indeed been heard, and I and death in league?
He hath bade farewell—shall I refuse?—no!—
Protect me, Heaven!—Lead on!