_
I'm so o'erwhelmed with pleasure, that I feel
A latter spring within my withering limbs,
That shoots me out again.
_Seb._ Thou good old man, [_Raising him._
Thou hast deceived me into more, more joys,
Who stood brim-full before.
_Alv._ O my dear child,--
I love thee so, I cannot call thee king,--
Whom I so oft have dandled in these arms!
What, when I gave thee lost, to find thee living!
'Tis like a father, who himself had 'scaped
A falling house, and, after anxious search,
Hears from afar his only son within;
And digs through rubbish, till he drags him out,
To see the friendly light.
Such is my haste, so trembling is my joy,
To draw thee forth from underneath thy fate.
_Seb._ The tempest is o'erblown, the skies are clear,
And the sea charmed into a calm so still,
That not a wrinkle ruffles her smooth face.
_Alv._ Just such she shows before a rising storm;
And therefore am I come with timely speed,
To warn you into port.
_Alm._ My soul forebodes
Some dire event involved in those dark words,
And just disclosing in a birth of fate. [_Aside._
_Alv._ Is there not yet an heir of this vast empire,
Who still survives, of Muley-Moluch's branch?
_Dor._ Yes, such a one there is a captive here,
And brother to the dead.
_Alv._ The powers above
Be praised for that! My prayers for my good master,
I hope, are heard.
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