I talked as fearlessly as I do now;
But 'twas with one who seemed to shun the world,
As we do, father; and so I but thought
And spoke with him as if it had been you.
He was a friar, and he blessed your child.
But this young stranger must be of the world,
And I shall learn to fear him.
Maz. My child—my Azlea! would no wayward fate
Had thrown him in your path. Nay, look not thus—
I have a pitying heart, and would rejoice
To do a gentle service for a friend,
Or even for an enemy; but now
I fear what I can not explain; nor can
Your guileless nature understand my thoughts.
Oh, must this be? Azlea, let not
Thy heart be stolen from thy father now,
In his hoar, desolate age; but no!
'Tis blest, and fresh, and happy with thy love;
But let it not be withered suddenly,
By finding its last solace taken away—
My child's sweet love divided!
Azlea. (Throwing herself into his arms.) My father!
My dear father! hath thy child e'er known
A thought save thoughts of thee—and dost thou now
Wrong her, by dreaming that she can forget
Her soul's one holy passion, save the love
She gives to nature, and which has become
An element of her being! No—oh, no!
Maz. Blest Spirit, do thy will! It can not be
Evil could reach thee; follow what way
Thy purity shall teach thee; and forget
An old man's selfish jealousies. Sweet one,
Thy patient needs thy care; I must go forth
To catch some wild sea-melody, the breeze
May whisper to my ear.[Exit Mazarini.
