The trumpet of Castile! Praise, praise to heaven!

—Now may the weary rest!—Be still!—Who calls

The night so fearful?——

[She dies.

Elm. No! she is not dead!

Ximena!—speak to me! Oh yet a tone

From that sweet voice, that I may gather in

One more remembrance of its lovely sound,

Ere the deep silence fall! What, is all hush’d?—

No, no!—it cannot be! How should we bear