Gon. (bending over Ximena’s body.) Thou art gone
A little while before me, O my child!
Why should the traveller weep to part with those,
That scarce an hour will reach their promised land,
Ere he too cast his pilgrim staff away,
And spread his couch beside them?
Elm. Must it be
Henceforth enough that once a thing so fair
Had its bright place amongst us! Is this all
Left for the years to come? We will not stay!