Helena.
Nay, now you mock me—
Giovanni.
I dare not, Helen, pretty, pouting girl—
What must I say, what do to be forgiven?
Thou know'st I love to kiss away thy tears,
Yet would not cause them for the wealth of worlds.
Thine eye is moist, thy cheek is deadly pale,
Thou art not well, and I have grieved thee, sweet.
Come, come and rest thee in my arms; thy young
And innocent heart hath felt no deeper ills
Than those that love's soft, soothing, melting voice,
Can charm away.
Helena.
I've had a frightful dream.—
Methought we stood upon a mountain's brow,
And watched the sinking sun-beams; all below
Was calm and sweet, a smooth unruffled sea;
The golden orb sunk down; from out the sky
Flashed forth effulgent planets: we were near,
