Britain ... - Blue-Lite

138 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II,
For none may know its deep and secret cause.
Speed on the dreadful hour that gives me peace !
ELGITHA.
Thou art, I fear, possessed : some evil spell
Of wizard-craft is on thee. Let me, then,
The blessed Cross upon thy forehead sign,
And drive the foul fiend from thee.
WALDIMAR.
Not for worlds !
I should be torn in fragments, and my limbs
Hurled on the struggling winds ! The mystic name,
Dreadful ! ineffable ! the name that makes
Heaven's everlasting pillars trembling bow ;
His name whose attributes I know not, yea,
Nor where He dwells, but whom I yet shall meet,
Is on my forehead, and it must not be
Effaced till Death's pale hand shall wash it thence,
In Ister's sacred wave. 4
( )
ELGITHA.
Mysterious man,
Wouldst thou become a Christian, and receive
The font's baptismal rites, the peace of Heaven
Would through the storm upon thy soul descend,
And with its sunny glimpses make thee glad.
Turn not away in moody wildness thus :
In sooth, my friendship merits thy good-will.
WALDIMAR.
O, thou art kind and gentle, and thy voice
Comes o'er my spirit, like sweet music heard
Amid a lonely desert; but for me
Thy pity flows in vain, like a pure stream
Lost in that sun-smote desert's burning sands.