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The gentle orphan, whose sweet sight more soothes
My troubled soul, than aught in this wide world.
I love her, for I know she needs my love,
And something in her sadness suits with mine.

Enter CLARICHA.

Welcome, my child! but how is this—the tears

Are in thine eyes Sweet one, why hast thou wept?

CLARICHA.

My spirits are not good, my lord.

ARREZI.

Thou art full young for sadness.

CLARICHA.

Ah, my lord,

'Tis not the old alone who know that life
Has but a weary way.

ARREZI.

My gentle child—

For ev'n as a child art thou to me—
Our life has many sorrows: and I think
Most bitterly is sorrow felt in youth.
Age comes and brings indifference: I grieve
Not as I used to grieve—I know the worst
Is but a painful dream that soon must pass.

CLARICHA.

Would I could think so!

ARREZI.

Believe me, maiden, could we read the past

In every heart, we should recoil to find
What weight of misery has been endured.