LAILA.
And wherefore?
Is it not not delicate food? what mean thy words?
I have heard many spells and many names
That rule the Genii and the Elements,
But never these.
THALABA.
How! never heard the names
Of God and of the Prophet?
LAILA.
Never ... nay now
Again that troubled eye? thou art a strange man
And wonderous fearful ... but I must not twice
Be charged with fraud! if thou suspectest still,
Depart and leave me!
THALABA.
And you do not know
The God that made you?
LAILA.
Made me, man! my Father
Made me. He made this dwelling, and the grove,
And yonder fountain-fire, and every morn
He visits me, and takes the snow, and moulds
Women and men, like thee; and breathes into them
Motion, and life, and sense,... but to the touch
They are chilling cold, and ever when night closes
They melt away again, and leave me here
Alone and sad. Oh then how I rejoice
When it is day and my dear Father comes,
And chears me with kind words and kinder looks!
My dear, dear, Father! were it not for him,
I am so weary of this loneliness,
That I should wish I also were of snow
That I might melt away, and cease to be.