_ I wish to merit his forgiveness, and
Thine own, although I have not injured thee.
Thine own, although I have not injured thee.
Byron
_ (_aside_).
In my father's 100
House!
_Arn. _ (_to the Soldiers_). Leave your arms; ye have no further need
Of such: the city's rendered. And mark well
You keep your hands clean, or I'll find out a stream
As red as Tiber now runs, for your baptism.
_Soldiers_ (_deposing their arms and departing_). We obey!
_Arn. _ (_to_ OLIMPIA). Lady, you are safe.
_Olimp. _ I should be so,
Had I a knife even; but it matters not--
Death hath a thousand gates; and on the marble,
Even at the altar foot, whence I look down
Upon destruction, shall my head be dashed,
Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man! 110
_Arn.
_ I wish to merit his forgiveness, and
Thine own, although I have not injured thee.
_Olimp. _ No! Thou hast only sacked my native land,--
No injury! --and made my father's house
A den of thieves! No injury! --this temple--
Slippery with Roman and with holy gore!
No injury! And now thou wouldst preserve me,
To be----but that shall never be!
[_She raises her eyes to Heaven, folds her robe round her,
and prepares to dash herself down on the side of
the Altar opposite to that where_ ARNOLD _stands_.
_Arn. _ Hold! hold!
I swear.
_Olimp. _ Spare thine already forfeit soul
A perjury for which even Hell would loathe thee.
House!
_Arn. _ (_to the Soldiers_). Leave your arms; ye have no further need
Of such: the city's rendered. And mark well
You keep your hands clean, or I'll find out a stream
As red as Tiber now runs, for your baptism.
_Soldiers_ (_deposing their arms and departing_). We obey!
_Arn. _ (_to_ OLIMPIA). Lady, you are safe.
_Olimp. _ I should be so,
Had I a knife even; but it matters not--
Death hath a thousand gates; and on the marble,
Even at the altar foot, whence I look down
Upon destruction, shall my head be dashed,
Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man! 110
_Arn.
_ I wish to merit his forgiveness, and
Thine own, although I have not injured thee.
_Olimp. _ No! Thou hast only sacked my native land,--
No injury! --and made my father's house
A den of thieves! No injury! --this temple--
Slippery with Roman and with holy gore!
No injury! And now thou wouldst preserve me,
To be----but that shall never be!
[_She raises her eyes to Heaven, folds her robe round her,
and prepares to dash herself down on the side of
the Altar opposite to that where_ ARNOLD _stands_.
_Arn. _ Hold! hold!
I swear.
_Olimp. _ Spare thine already forfeit soul
A perjury for which even Hell would loathe thee.
