But speak, Iola, speak, I pray!
Her tears gushed forth like tropic rain,
That widely floods the blooming plain;
And thus began, "Gonzalo! thou
Deceived'st me—but I know thee now.
Ask me not how I know it sooth;
Enough, I know the bitter truth.
I felt forebodings of this hour;
It did my happiest thoughts o'er power,
With a dark weight; but then I thought,