her to his bosom) At length I have thee in my arms again.

Cora. (Returning his embrace) And I have thee again in mine.

Alonzo. Ah! it is now three long weeks——

Cora. Only three weeks?

Alonzo. Months to love.

Cora. Years to my heart.

Alonzo. Every evening at twilight has poor Alonzo wandered hither, and listened in anxious expectation of the signal which might summon him to a night of transport.

Cora. And every evening has Cora wept because she dared not meet Alonzo.

Alonzo. You have not been ill, I hope.

Cora. Ah! I am always ill when I am not with you.

Alonzo. Say, dearest Cora, what has prevented our meeting?—You promised that I should sooner——

Cora. Did I promise?—That was not right, as I could only hope that it might be sooner; but love always adds hopes to its wishes, and too soon begins to consider those hopes as certainties. It does not often fall to my lot to take the nightly service in the temple, but I relied upon[23] having the turn of one of my companions who was ill, and whose place I had offered to supply. She, however, recovered; and, instead of the promised happiness, I had only her thanks for my intentions. Poor Cora was heartily vexed at this disappointment, and her sleepless nights appeared so tedious.

[23]

Alonzo. Alas! I have also been a stranger to rest. The dews of morning found me under these trees, while my cloaths were still damp with the dews of the past evening, and my limbs still shivered with the cold of midnight. Beneath yon palm-tree have I stood, night after night, with my eyes fixed upon your temple; and often, as I have seen a form wander backwards and forwards, where glimmers the eternal lamp, I have pleased myself with thinking that it might be Cora’s.

Cora. It was not that in my solitude I could be 

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