Sarolta. Hid in a brake hard by,
Scarce by both palms supported from the earth,
A wounded lady lay, whose life fast waning 355
Seemed to survive itself in her fixt eyes,
That strained towards the babe. At length one arm
Painfully from her own weight disengaging,
She pointed first to heaven, then from her bosom
Drew forth a golden casket. Thus entreated 360
Thy foster-father took thee in his arms,
And kneeling spake: 'If aught of this world's comfort
Can reach thy heart, receive a poor man's troth,
That at my life's risk I will save thy child!'
Her countenance worked, as one that seemed preparing 365
A loud voice, but it died upon her lips
In a faint whisper, 'Fly! Save him! Hide—hide all!'

Bethlen. And did he leave her? What! had I a mother?
And left her bleeding, dying? Bought I vile life
With the desertion of a dying mother? 370
Oh agony!

Glycine. Alas! thou art bewildered,
And dost forget thou wert a helpless infant!

Bethlen. What else can I remember, but a mother
Mangled and left to perish?

Sarolta. Hush, Glycine!
It is the ground-swell of a teeming instinct: 375
Let it but lift itself to air and sunshine,
And it will find a mirror in the waters
It now makes boil above it. Check him not!

Bethlen. O that I were diffused among the waters
That pierce into the secret depths of earth, [380]
And find their way in darkness! Would that I
Could spread myself upon the homeless winds!
And I would seek her! for she is not dead!
She can not die! O pardon, gracious lady!
You were about to say, that he returned— 385

Sarolta. Deep Love, the godlike in us, still believes
Its objects as immortal as itself!

Bethlen. And found her still—

Sarolta. Alas! he did return,
[[914]] He left no spot unsearched in all the forest,
But she (I trust me by some friendly hand) [390]
Had been borne off.

Bethlen. O whither?