On thy fair head, my gentle child, for this!
Thou kind and merciful! My soul is faint—
Worn with long strife! Is there aught else to do,
Or suffer, ere we die?—Oh God! my sons!
—I have betray’d them! All their innocent blood
Is on my soul!
Xim. How shall I comfort thee?
—Oh! hark! what sounds come deepening on the wind,
So full of solemn hope!
A procession of Nuns passes across the Scene, bearing relics, and chanting.