_ And I had not
outlived
thee; but pray take
Comfort!
Comfort!
Byron
--but
For this I had been happy--_thou_ been happy--
The splendour of my rank sustained--my name--
My father's name--been still upheld; and, more
Than those----
_Jos. _ (_abruptly_). My son--our son--our Ulric,
Been clasped again in these long-empty arms,
And all a mother's hunger satisfied.
Twelve years! he was but eight then:--beautiful
He was, and beautiful he must be now, 60
My Ulric! my adored!
_Wer. _ I have been full oft
The chase of Fortune; now she hath o'ertaken
My spirit where it cannot turn at bay,--
Sick, poor, and lonely.
_Jos. _ Lonely! my dear husband?
_Wer. _ Or worse--involving all I love, in this
Far worse than solitude. _Alone_, I had died,
And all been over in a nameless grave.
_Jos.
_ And I had not outlived thee; but pray take
Comfort! We have struggled long; and they who strive
With Fortune win or weary her at last, 70
So that they find the goal or cease to feel
Further. Take comfort,--we shall find our boy.
_Wer. _ We were in sight of him, of every thing
Which could bring compensation for past sorrow--
And to be baffled thus!
_Jos. _ We are not baffled.
_Wer. _ Are we not penniless?
_Jos. _ We ne'er were wealthy.
_Wer. _ But I was born to wealth, and rank, and power;
Enjoyed them, loved them, and, alas! abused them,
And forfeited them by my father's wrath,
In my o'er-fervent youth: but for the abuse 80
Long-sufferings have atoned. My father's death
Left the path open, yet not without snares.
This cold and creeping kinsman, who so long
Kept his eye on me, as the snake upon
The fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me,
Become the master of my rights, and lord
Of that which lifts him up to princes in
Dominion and domain.
For this I had been happy--_thou_ been happy--
The splendour of my rank sustained--my name--
My father's name--been still upheld; and, more
Than those----
_Jos. _ (_abruptly_). My son--our son--our Ulric,
Been clasped again in these long-empty arms,
And all a mother's hunger satisfied.
Twelve years! he was but eight then:--beautiful
He was, and beautiful he must be now, 60
My Ulric! my adored!
_Wer. _ I have been full oft
The chase of Fortune; now she hath o'ertaken
My spirit where it cannot turn at bay,--
Sick, poor, and lonely.
_Jos. _ Lonely! my dear husband?
_Wer. _ Or worse--involving all I love, in this
Far worse than solitude. _Alone_, I had died,
And all been over in a nameless grave.
_Jos.
_ And I had not outlived thee; but pray take
Comfort! We have struggled long; and they who strive
With Fortune win or weary her at last, 70
So that they find the goal or cease to feel
Further. Take comfort,--we shall find our boy.
_Wer. _ We were in sight of him, of every thing
Which could bring compensation for past sorrow--
And to be baffled thus!
_Jos. _ We are not baffled.
_Wer. _ Are we not penniless?
_Jos. _ We ne'er were wealthy.
_Wer. _ But I was born to wealth, and rank, and power;
Enjoyed them, loved them, and, alas! abused them,
And forfeited them by my father's wrath,
In my o'er-fervent youth: but for the abuse 80
Long-sufferings have atoned. My father's death
Left the path open, yet not without snares.
This cold and creeping kinsman, who so long
Kept his eye on me, as the snake upon
The fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me,
Become the master of my rights, and lord
Of that which lifts him up to princes in
Dominion and domain.
