Our city’s strength laid low—one mighty heart
Broken! Let none forget it!
[Exeunt.
Scene II.—Garden of a Palace.
Moraima.
Mor. Yes! his last look—my brother’s dying look
Reproach’d me as it faded from his face.
And I deserved it! Had I not given way
To the wild guilty pleadings of my heart,
I might have won his freedom! Now, ’tis past.