Page:Sebastian of Portugal.pdf/8

Is not thy name—Sylveira?

Syl.—Aye.

Seb.—Why then
Be glad!—I tell thee that Sebastian lives!
Think thou on this, he lives!—Should he return,
—For he may yet return—and find the friend
In whom he trusted with such perfect trust
As should be Heaven's alone—mark'st thou my words?
Should he then find this man, not girt and arm'd,
And watching o'er the heritage of his lord,
But, reckless of high fame and loyal faith,
Holding luxurious revels with his foes;
—How would'st thou meet his glance?

Syl.—As I do thine,
Keen though it be, and proud.

Seb.—Why, thou dost quail
Before it, e'en as if the burning eye
Of the broad sun pursued thy shrinking soul
Through all its depths.

Syl.—Away!—He died not there?
He should have died, then, with the chivalry,
And strength, and honour of his kingdom, lost
By his impetuous rashness.

Seb.—This from thee!
—Who hath giv'n power to falsehood, that one gaze,
At its unmask'd and withering mien, should blight
High souls at once?—I wake.—And this from thee!
—There are, whose eyes discern the secret springs
Which lie i' th' desart's bosom, and the gold
And gems of earth's dim caverns, far below
The everlasting hills:—but who hath dar'd
To dream that Heaven's most awful attribute
Invested his mortality, and to boast
That through its inmost folds his glance could read
One heart, one human heart?—Why, then, to love
And trust is but to lend a traitor arms
Of keenest temper, and unerring aim.
Wherewith to pierce our souls!—But thou, beware!
—Sebastian lives!

Syl.—If it be so, and thou
Art of his followers still, then bid him seek
Far in the wilds, which gave one sepulchre
To his proud hosts, a kingdom and a home,
For none is left him here.