_ An exile's
daughter
with an outcast son,
Were a fit marriage: but I still had hopes
To lift thee to the state we both were born for.
Were a fit marriage: but I still had hopes
To lift thee to the state we both were born for.
Byron
save what we _are_--sick beggars,
Even to our very hopes. --Ha! ha!
_Jos. _ Alas!
That bitter laugh!
_Wer. _ _Who_ would read in this form
The high soul of the son of a long line?
_Who_, in this garb, the heir of princely lands?
_Who_, in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride
Of rank and ancestry? In this worn cheek
And famine-hollowed brow, the Lord of halls
Which daily feast a thousand vassals?
_Jos. _ You 120
Pondered not thus upon these worldly things,
My Werner! when you deigned to choose for bride
The foreign daughter of a wandering exile.
_Wer.
_ An exile's daughter with an outcast son,
Were a fit marriage: but I still had hopes
To lift thee to the state we both were born for.
Your father's house was noble, though decayed;
And worthy by its birth to match with ours.
_Jos. _ Your father did not think so, though 'twas noble;
But had my birth been all my claim to match 130
With thee, I should have deemed it what it is.
_Wer. _ And what is that in thine eyes?
_Jos. _ All which it
Has done in our behalf,--nothing.
_Wer. _ How,--nothing?
_Jos. _ Or worse; for it has been a canker in
Thy heart from the beginning: but for this,
We had not felt our poverty but as
Millions of myriads feel it--cheerfully;
But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers,
Thou mightst have earned thy bread, as thousands earn it;
Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce, 140
Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes.
_Wer. _ (_ironically_). And been an Hanseatic burgher? Excellent!
Even to our very hopes. --Ha! ha!
_Jos. _ Alas!
That bitter laugh!
_Wer. _ _Who_ would read in this form
The high soul of the son of a long line?
_Who_, in this garb, the heir of princely lands?
_Who_, in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride
Of rank and ancestry? In this worn cheek
And famine-hollowed brow, the Lord of halls
Which daily feast a thousand vassals?
_Jos. _ You 120
Pondered not thus upon these worldly things,
My Werner! when you deigned to choose for bride
The foreign daughter of a wandering exile.
_Wer.
_ An exile's daughter with an outcast son,
Were a fit marriage: but I still had hopes
To lift thee to the state we both were born for.
Your father's house was noble, though decayed;
And worthy by its birth to match with ours.
_Jos. _ Your father did not think so, though 'twas noble;
But had my birth been all my claim to match 130
With thee, I should have deemed it what it is.
_Wer. _ And what is that in thine eyes?
_Jos. _ All which it
Has done in our behalf,--nothing.
_Wer. _ How,--nothing?
_Jos. _ Or worse; for it has been a canker in
Thy heart from the beginning: but for this,
We had not felt our poverty but as
Millions of myriads feel it--cheerfully;
But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers,
Thou mightst have earned thy bread, as thousands earn it;
Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce, 140
Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes.
_Wer. _ (_ironically_). And been an Hanseatic burgher? Excellent!
