In that majestic purpose, and press on
To its fulfilment—as a mountain-born
And mighty stream, with all its vassal rills,
Sweeps proudly to the ocean, pausing not
To dally with the flowers. Hark! what quick step
Comes hurrying through the gloom, at this dead hour?
Elmina enters.
Elm. Are not all hours as one to misery? Why
Should she take note of time, for whom the day
And night have lost their blessed attributes