She is a heavenly vision,
A dream most rare and tender,
Which, floating through earth's darkness,
Radiates celestial splendor.
Born in the public streets—
Oh, blind caprice of fate,
To trail through muddy streams
A flower so immaculate!
ESMERALDA (fixing her eyes on Phœbus in the crowd).
It is my Phœbus, I was sure,
Just as that night I found him;
Whether in satin or in steel,
How grace and strength surround him!
Phœbus—my head is all on fire,
All burns within me, joy and pain;
My soul's consumed for lack of tears,
Just as earth yearns for rain.
FLEUR-DE-LYS.
How fair she is—yes, I was sure!
Jealous, indeed, I ought to be;
But yet to match that loveliness
How great must be my jealousy!
Alas! perhaps we both, foredoomed
To waste 'neath sorrow's harsh caress,
Full soon shall die—she in her flower,
I in my loneliness!
MADAME ALOISE.
A radiant creature, truly,
But, faith, 'tis a disgrace
That such a wretched gypsy
Should have so sweet a face.
Alas! the curious laws of fate
'Tis not for mortal mind to know:
The serpent hides his treacherous head
Beneath the fairest flowers that grow.
ALL (together).
She has the calmness, the delight
Of radiant skies on a warm night.
MADAME ALOISE (to Esmeralda).