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Tancred und Sigismunda

Tancred and Sigismunda.

A Tragedy.

Act I.

Scene I.

Sigismunda. Laura.

Sigis.

Ah fatal day to Sicily! The king Approaches his last moments?

Laur.

So 'tis fear'd.

Sigis.

The death of those distinguish'd by their station, But by their virtue more, awakes the mind To solemn dread, and strikes a fadd'ning awe: Not that we grieve for them, but for ourselves, Left to the toil of life - And yet the best
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Are, by the playful children of this world, At once forgot, as they had never been. Laura, 'tis said - the heart is sometimes charg'd With a prophetic sadness: such, methinks, Now hangs on mine. The king's approaching death Suggests a thousand fears. What troubles thence May throw the state once more into confusion, What sudden changes in my father's house May rise, and part me from my dearest Tancred, Alarms my thought.

Laur.

The fears of love-sick fancy! Perversely busy to torment itself. But be assur'd your father's steady friendship, Join'd to a certain genius, that commands, Not kneels to fortune, will support and cherish, Here in the public eye of Sicily, This - I may call him - his adopted son, The noble Tancred, form'd to all his virtues.

Sigis.

Ah form'd to charm his daughter! - This fair morn Has tempted far the chace. Is he not yet Return'd?

Laur.

No. - When your father to the king, Who now expiring lies, was call'd in haste, He sent each was his messengers to find him; With such a look of ardour and impatience, As if this near event was to Count Tancred, Of more importance than I comprehend.

Sigis.

There lies, my Laure, o'er my Tancred's birth,
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A cloud I cannot pierce. With princely accost, Nay, with respect, which oft I have observ'd, Stealing at times submissive o'er his features. In Belmont's woods my father rear'd this youth - Ah woods! where first my artless bosom learn'd The sighs of love. - He gives him out the son Of an old friend, a baron of Apulia, Who in the late crusado bravely fell. But then 'tis strange; is all his family, As well as father, dead? and all their friends, Except my fire, the gen'rous good Siffredi? [...]



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