But tempestuous is the weather,
And lovely Ella's wish is crost,
Vain her watching nights together,
Successive moons in clouds are lost.
Stormy winds the forests sweep,
Whilst her sailor braves the deep.
III.
Swift to the shore she flies, complaining;
The tempest to her pray'r is deaf;
When lo! that orb she's so arraigning,
Shines forth, and shows her lover safe.
Now no more shall Ella weep,
For her sailor's brav'd the deep.
Enter all the Falconers.
Count. Now for my friend Alberti's, and there learn more of this same countess Roland.
Enter Christopher.
Chris. My lord, I have announced your coming, and the marquis is all impatience. But what do you think? When I sent up your lordship's message, who should be of the party but my aunt, the countess? And one of the marquis's retinue wanted me to take courage, and go up to her—"for," says he, "if she has'n't seen you since you were a boy, and she took up your cousin, Ulrica, on account of her uncommon beauty, who knows, if she once saw you——" You understand, my lord—I'm certainly improved.
(Pulling up his collar.)
Count. Improv'd! So much, that at first sight, my life on't, you'll charm the countess.
Chris. His words! his very words! and I certainly charmed Ulrica! But then—psha! ridiculous!—you all flatter!—and aunt's there!—(pointing to the chateau)—and Ulrica's there!—and tonight makes her wife to that old pedigreed—(here the countess appears at the door of the chateau unobserved, looks out, and listens.) So go all of ye—go to the marquis Alberti's, and leave me to sob and sigh—Oh, sweet Ulrica!—Oh! h! ha!