And Inde, from me thy pure nnd lovely form That thy pale countenance dismay me not ? Hide not thyself from sight of thy belov'd Spirit of my Agnes ! Thou nffright'st mo not !— Hark ! Is not someone rustling even now ?— Father, is't you ? PlIILIP (irho romet in wildly and hurriedly). Yes, Adnlbert. Put time Is precious ! Como with me, my only son ! ADALBERT. What would you, Father, now, in such an hour ? PHILIP. If not this hour, my son, then nevermore ! (Leading ADALBERT to the altar.) Approach ! Thou knowcst this youth, and who he ADALBERT. 'Tis St. Sebastian ! PHILIP. As he would not yield, And disavow his faith, a tyrant's will Transpierced him with these arrows. Tyranny Has likewise bleached this head (pointing to his despot's rage Has also ploughed with many deep-cut lines These furrows on thy father's countenance ! My son ! my firstborn, and my only child ! In this supreme, in this most awful hour, I here adjure thee—do as I command ! ADALBERT. What you command is right, and I concur ! PHILIP. Then swear to me in this tremendous hour— By this thy father's head made early grey, Thy mother's terror-stricken death of pain, 1C-2 THE TEMPLARS IX CYPRUS.