form To haunt my bosom's sacred cell? And there, where heavenly radiance shone, Doth earthly love presume to dwell? The savior of my country, I, The warrior of God most high, Burn for my country's foeman? Dare I name Heaven's holy light, nor feel o'erwhelmed with shame?     [The music behind the scene passes into a soft and moving melody. Woe is me! Those melting tones! They distract my 'wildered brain! Every note, his voice recalling, Conjures up his form again Would that spears were whizzing round! Would that battle's thunder roared!       'Midst the wild tumultuous sound My former strength were then restored. These sweet tones, these melting voices, With seductive power are fraught! They dissolve, in gentle longing, Every feeling, every thought, Waking tears of plaintive sadness.          [After a pause, with more energy. Should I have killed him? Could I, when I gazed Upon his face? Killed him? Oh, rather far Would I have turned my weapon 'gainst myself! And am I culpable because humane? Is pity sinful? Pity! Didst then hear The voice of pity and humanity When others fell the victims of thy sword? Why was she silent when the gentle youth From Wales entreated thee to spare his life? Oh, cunning heart! Thou liest before high heaven! It is not pity's voice impels thee now! Why was I doomed to look into his eyes! To mark his noble features! With that glance, Thy crime, thy woe commenced. Unhappy one! A sightless instrument thy God demands, Blindly thou must accomplish his behest! When thou didst see, God's shield abandoned thee, And the dire snares of hell around thee pressed!     [Flutes are again heard, and she subsides into a quiet melancholy. Harmless staff! Oh, that I ne'er Had for the sword abandoned thee! Had voices never reached mine ear, From thy branches, sacred tree! High queen of heaven! Oh, would that thou Hadst ne'er revealed thyself to me! Take back—I dare not claim it now—        Take back thy crown, 'tis not for me! I saw the heavens open wide, I gazed upon that face of love! Yet here on earth my hopes abide, They do not dwell in heaven above! Why, Holy One, on me impose This dread vocation? Could I steel, And to each soft emotion close This heart, by nature formed to feel? Wouldst thou proclaim thy high command, Make choice of those who, free from sin, In thy eternal mansions stand; Send forth thy flaming cherubim! Immortal ones, thy law they keep, They do not feel, they do not weep! Choose not a tender woman's aid, Not the frail soul 

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