JUSTINA.
JUSTINA. 'Gainst the clouds that round me lower
I appeal to heaven's high power;
Let this spectre of my fame--
As before the wind the flame--
As before the frost the flower,
Vanish, die.... But woe is me!
Who is here to heed my moan?
Was there not a man with me?
Yes. But no: I am alone:
No. But yes: for I could see.
Where so quickly could he fly?
Was he born of my unrest?
Oh! my danger's manifest...
Father! friend! Lysander! I
Call....
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