Clinging affections, and undying hopes,
All, all in that memorial!
Teresa. Oh, what dream
Is this, mine own Eugene? Waste thou not thus
Thy scarce-returning strength; keep thy rich thoughts
For happier days—they will not melt away
Like passing music from the lute. Dear friend!
Dearest of friends! thou canst win back at will
The glorious visions.
Eugene. Yes! the unseen land