OPAS. Kindred? and is there any in our world
So near us, as those sources of all joy,
Those on whose bosom every gale of life
Blows softly, who reflect our images
In loveliness through sorrows and through age,
And bear them onward far beyond the grave.

ROD. Methinks, most reverend Opus, not inapt
Are these fair views; arise they from Seville?

OPAS. He, who can scoff at them, may scoff at me.
Such are we, that the giver of all good
Shall, in the heart he purifies, possess
The latest love--the earliest--no, not there!
I've known the firm and faithful--even from these
Life's eddying spring shed the first bloom on earth.
I pity them, but ask their pity too.
I love the happiness of men, and praise
And sanctify the blessings I renounce.

ROD. Yet would thy baleful influence undermine
The heaven-appointed throne.

OPAS.--the throne of guilt
Obdurate, without plea, without remorse.

ROD. What power hast thou? perhaps thou soon wilt want
A place of refuge.