Page:The robbers - a tragedy (IA robberstragedy00schiiala).pdf/90
touches fell feebly on the canvas—languid as those faint traces which the memory bears of music that is past[1]
O. Moor.
Say on! continue thus! these images bring back past time.—O my child, I was so happy in your loves!
Amelia.
(Keeping her eyes still on the picture.) No, no—it is not he!—no, no, by heaven! 'Tis not my Charles!—Here! (Striking her heart and her forehead,) Here he is quite himself—so like—but there so different.—The pencil can give no idea of that soul that spoke in his countenance!—Away with it—'tis a poor image—an ordinary man!—Oh! I was a mere novice in the art!
Enter Daniel.
Daniel.
There is a man without who wishes to see you, Sir. He says he brings tidings of importance.
O. Moor.
To me, Amelia, there is but one subject of
such
- ↑ Germ. Gestriche adagio. Soft music of yesterday.