Cort. All things are hushed, as nature's self lay dead;
The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head;
The little birds, in dreams, their songs repeat,
And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat.
Even lust and envy sleep; yet love denies
Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes.—
Three days I promised to attend my doom,
And two long days and nights are yet to come:—
'Tis sure the noise of some tumultuous fight,
[Noise within.
They break the truce, and sally out by night.
Enter ORBELLAN, flying in the dark, his sword drawn.
Orb. Betrayed! pursued! O, whither shall I fly?
See, see! the just reward of treachery!—
I'm sure among the tents, but know not where;
Even night wants darkness to secure my fear.
[Comes near CORTEZ, who hears him.
Cort. Stand! who goes there?
Orb. Alas, what shall I say?—
[Aside.
A poor Taxallan that mistook his way,
And wanders in the terrors of the night.
Cort. Soldier, thou seem'st afraid; whence comes thy fright?
Orb. The insolence of Spaniards caused my fear, Who in the dark pursued me entering here.
Cort. Their crimes shall meet immediate punishment, But stay thou safe within the general's tent.
Orb. Still worse and worse.