Now the storm breaks upon me, and I sink.
Must he too die?
Vit. Is it e’en so? Why then,
Live on—thou hast the arrow at thy heart!
“Fix not on me thy sad reproachful eyes—”
I mean not to betray thee. Thou may’st live!
Why should Death bring thee his oblivious balms!
He visits but the happy. Didst thou ask
If Raimond too must die? It is as sure
As that his blood is on thy head, for thou