I, Zeolide, whom once you thought so cold—
I, Zeolide, who am not wont to kneel!
Oh, give me till to-night, and pass the hours
That intervene in marshaling the past,
And let that plead my cause! You loved me once,
You asked me for my love—I gave my life,
For I must die if you abandon me!
Have mercy on me! Give me till to-night!
There’s some enchantment in this fearful place.
This is not Philamir—it is his shape,