That hour in silence. Oh! be calm awhile,
Thine is not come. My king—
Sebastian. I am no King,
While in the very palace of my sires,
Aye, where mine eyes first drank the glorious light,
Where my soul's thrilling echoes first awoke
To the high sound of earth's immortal names,
Th' usurper lives and reigns. I am no king,
Until I cast him thence.
Zamor. Shall not thy voice
Be as a trumpet to th' awakening land?
Will not the bright swords flash like sunbursts forth,
When the brave hear their Chief?
Gonzalez. Peace, Zamor, peace:
Child of the desert, what hast thou to do
With the calm hour of counsel?
Monarch, pause!
A kingdom's destiny should not be the sport
Of passion's reckless winds. There is a time,
When men, in very weariness of heart
And careless desolation, tamed to yield
By misery, strong as death, will lay their souls
E'en at the conqueror's feet, as nature sinks
After long torture, into cold, and dull,
And heavy sleep. But comes there not an hour
Of fierce atonement? Aye, the slumberer wakes
With gathered strength and vengeance. And the sense,
And the remembrance of his agonies
Are in themselves as power, whose fearful path
Is like the path of Ocean, when the Heavens
