His name hath spread so pure and deep a charm,
’Tis hallow’d as a sanctuary wherein
Thou shalt securely bide, till this wild storm
Have spent its fury. Haste!
Con. I will not fly!
While in his heart there is one throb of life,
One spark in his dim eyes, I will not leave
The brother of my youth to perish thus,
Without one kindly bosom to sustain
His dying head.