Charles is not here—I am borne to my tomb, and he weeps not over my grave. How sweet it is to be lulled into the sleep of death by a son's prayer—that is the true requiem.
AMELIA (with enthusiasm). Yes, sweet it is, heavenly sweet, to be lulled into the sleep of death by the song of the beloved. Perhaps our dreams continue in the grave—a long, eternal, never-ending dream of Charles—till the trumpet of resurrection sounds—(rising in ecstasy) —and thenceforth and forever in his arms! (A pause; she goes to the piano and plays.)
ANDROMACHE. Oh, Hector, wilt thou go for evermore, When fierce Achilles, on the blood-stained shore, Heaps countless victims o'er Patroclus' grave? When then thy hapless orphan boy will rear, Teach him to praise the gods and hurl the spear, When thou art swallow'd up in Xanthus' wave?
OLD M. A beautiful song, my daughter. You must play that to me before I die.
AMELIA. It is the parting of Hector and Andromache. Charles and I used often to sing it together to the guitar. (She continues.)
HECTOR. Beloved wife! stern duty calls to arms— Go, fetch my lance! and cease those vain alarms! On me is cast the destiny of Troy! Astyanax, my child, the Gods will shield, Should Hector fall upon the battle-field; And in Elysium we shall meet with joy!
Enter DANIEL.
DANIEL. There is a man without, who craves to be admitted to your presence, and says he brings tidings of importance.
OLD M. To me there is but one thing in this world of importance; thou knowest it, Amelia. Perhaps it is some unfortunate creature who seeks assistance? He shall not go hence in sorrow.
AMELIA.—If it is a beggar, let him come up quickly.
OLD M. Amelia, Amelia! spare me!
AMELIA (continues to play and sing.)
ANDROMACHE. Thy martial tread no more will grace my hall— Thine arms shall hang sad relics on the wall— And Priam's race of godlike heroes fade! Oh,
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