SCENES FROM CALDERON^S NINA DE GOMEZ ARIAS. 529 



Was a young Castilian knight, 

 And with him you hither came. 

 Know then, if 'tis so, thy lover 

 Comes no more, for him this day 

 My companions have surrounded, 

 And upon this mountain slain. 



DOROTHEA. Then vanish from mine eyes the light of day! 

 Since I to such calamity was born! 

 Yet is it real ? say ! 

 He dead, and living 1 1 

 Impossible ! O no ! 

 Without my leave to die 



He could not, who, within my heart is living 1 

 Whose life, and love, and being only grow 

 And in my love are found. 

 But if (ah me !) thou hast been more forgiving, 

 And hold him captive bound, 

 Him from your wild will save ! 

 Give him his freedom, and, for ransom, cherish 

 Me in his place as slave. 



Fear not his word ! for he would sooner perish, 

 Than would return no more 

 For her whom to adore 

 Alone he lives ; whose heart 

 Would feel more pangs from me than life to part. 

 And should my gold not prove sufficient dower 

 To free us from thy power, 

 Let him depart for one, 

 I shall remain alone ! 

 But is't as you declared ? 



Have you (O God !) to murder him then dared? 

 And I myself die noti 



But I already spoke mine inmost thought 

 No, there shall not upon love's tenderness 

 Such base indignities be cast, 

 As that in life I staid behind the last ; 

 Nor that he loved the more and I the less ; 

 But from my fate all shall example see, 

 That death in love will follow constancy. 



CANJERI. Hapless one ! thy spouse no other 

 Seems than he who on these mountains 

 Found his death. I tell thee then, 

 Though thy plaint might move this mountain 

 Though thy tears could melt these rocks 

 Yet my hard determined breast 

 Never, never will they move. 

 From my power and adoration 

 Could not all Arabia's treasures 

 Nor the Orient's diamond store, 

 Ransom of thy beauty be ! 

 Mine thou art, and crowned shall be 

 Queen of all the Alpujarras 

 Not alone, but of the world. 

 Follow now to yonder heights. 



DOROTHEA. No ! a thousand deaths thy dagger 

 Sooner shall on me bestow ! 

 Cease thy hold, thou Moor ! 

 M.M. No. 89. 3 O 



