Act II.—Scene I.—Interior of a Fortress. Don Cæsar asleep on a settle, Lazarillo near him.

Aria—Lazarillo.

Alas ! those chimes, so sweetly pealing,
Gently dulcet to the ear,
Sound like Pity's voice revealing
To the dying, "Death is near."
Still he slumbers-how serenely,
Not a sigh disturbs his rest,
Oh, that angels now might waft him
To the mansions of the blest.

Yes, yes, those chimes, so softly dwelling,
As from some holy sphere,
Sounds like hymns of spirits telling
To the dying, " Peace is here."
Come abide with us in heaven,
Here no grief can reach thy breast,
Come, approaching angels wait thee
In the mansions of the blest.

(Lazarillo troubled, points to clock.)

Still two hours to live. Deuce, what made me wake so early ? Dreaming too, my creditors were all transported to the moon. Ha, ha, still two hours ! Boy, how shall I pass the time ?

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Two hours might serve thee boy, but for me two years would scarce suffice. Well thought, I'll make my will—no, that would scarce occupy two minutes.

Aria—Don Cæsar.

Hither as I came, one poor old man,
With silver hairs, and tear drops in his eyes,
Wept that my life was wasted to a span
And mercy importun'd with bitter cries.

Laz

Thy father?

Don C

Frantic were his looks, that poor old man !
Lost in despair before the guard he ran,
And held a document, at least, so long—

Laz

His sad petition, thee to guard from ill?

Don C

It was, alas! an unpaid tailor's bill,
Ha, ha, ha, this one eternal dun,
Torments of earth, I shall at least out-run.

Trio.

Turn on, old Time, thine hour-glass,
The sand of life why stay ?
Quick let the gold-grain'd moments pass
'Tis they all debts must pay.
Of what avail are grief and tears,
Since life which came must go ?
And brief the longest tide of years,
As waves that ebb and flow.

Laz

Nor let the golden moments pass
Like worthless sand away,
For him, oh, be there many years,
Apart from ev'ry woe.

Don J

Despite old Time, thine hour-glass
Turn quickly as it may,
His sand of life shall not yet pass,
If he my wish obey.

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Cavatina.

Yes, let me like a soldier fall
Upon some open plain,
This breast expanded for the ball,
To blot out every stain,
Brave, manly hearts, confer my doom,
That gentler ones may tell :
Howe'er forgot, unknown my tomb—
I, like a soldier, fell.

I only ask of that proud race,
Which ends its blaze in me;
To die, the last, and not disgrace
Its ancient chivalry.
Tho' o'er my clay no banner wave,
Or trumpet requiem swell;
Enough—they murmur at my grave—
He, like a soldier, fell.