Hold! hold! young man, talk not of vengeance here;
This sleep shall pass and shame your blood-hot words--
If it pass'd not the vengeance were forestall'd.

[_A silence--continuing the passes_.

O Mabel! Mabel! hear me where thou art!
Come to the lonely heart that yearns for thee,--
Come to the eyes that seek thee through salt tears!
Patience, Sirs, now methinks the sense returns;
A smile steals o'er her lips, and roseate hues
Make morning on her downy cheek again:
Back ... back--my anguish shall unwind the charm!

[_A silence_.

FATHER.

Sir, I acquit you--pity you--perceive
You loved her, and have err'd against yourself;
But cease these struggles that but mock us now,
They nought avail--my child is dead!...

ORAN.

Mabel! Mabel!