The storm of the night, Perhaps, affects me; I'm a thing of feelings, And have of late been sickly, as, alas! Thou know'st by sufferings more than mine, my love! In watching me. Jos. To see thee happy Wer. To see thee well is much Where hast thou seen such? But think Let me be wretched with the rest! Jos. How many in this hour of tempest shiver Whose every drop bows them down nearer earth, Her surface. Wer. And that 's not the worst: who cares For chambers? rest is all. The wretches whom A beggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of. Jos. Wer. True—to a peasant. And that is something. Should the nobly born Be thankless for that refuge which their habits Needful than to the peasant, when the ebb Of fortune leaves them on the shoals of life? Wer. It is not that, thou know'st it is not; we Have borne all this, I'll not say patiently, Except in thee but we have borne it. Jos. Well? Wer. Something beyond our outward sufferings (though These were enough to gnaw into our souls) Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now. When, but for this untoward sickness, which Seized me upon this desolate frontier, and Hath wasted, not alone my strength, but means, And leaves us—1 no! this is beyond me! - but For this I had been happy thou been happy The splendour of my rank sustain'd - my name My father's name - been still upheld; and, more Than those Jos. (abruptly). My son- our son our Ulric, Twelve years! he was but eight then: beautiful Wer. I have been full oft The chase of Fortune; now she hath o'ertaken Sick, poor, and lonely. Jos. Lonely! my dear husband? 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, 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. We ne'er were wealthy. Wer. But I was born to wealth, and rank, and power; In my o'er-fervent youth; but for the abuse The fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me, Of that which lifts him up to princes in Dominion and domain. Jos. Who knows? our son May have return'd back to his grandsire, and 'T is hopeless. Wer. Himself, no tidings have reveal'd his course. Of the third generation; but Heaven seems Jos. I must hope better still, at least we have yet Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. Wer. We should have done, but for this fatal sickness; More fatal than a mortal malady, Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace : Even now I feel my spirit girt about By the snares of this avaricious fiend ; How do I know he hath not track'd us here? Jos. He does not know thy person; and his spies, Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Hamburgh. Our unexpected journey, and this change Of name, leaves all discovery far behind: None hold us here for aught save what we seem. That bitter laugh! Alas! Wer. You Jos. Wer. An exile's daughter with an outcast son To lift thee to the state we both were born for. And worthy by its birth to match with ours. sick beg Jos. Your father did not think so, though 't was noble; But had my birth been all my claim to match With thee, I should have deem'd it what it is. Wer. And what is that in thine eyes? Jos. Has done in our behalf, — nothing. Wer. All which it 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 But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers, Thou mightst have earn'd thy bread, as thousands earn it; Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce, Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes. Wer. (ironically). And been an Hanseatic burgher? Excellent! Jos. Whate'er thou mightst have been, to me thou art What no state high or low can ever change, [ther My heart's first choice; which chose thee, knowing neiThy birth, thy hopes, thy pride; nought, save thy sorrows: While they last, let me comfort or divide them; When they end, let mine end with them, or thee! Wer. My better angel! such I have ever found thee; My faults deserved — exclusion; although then Jos. Wer. [A loud knocking is heard. Hark! A knocking! Jos. Who can it be at this lone hour? We have Few visiters. Wer. And poverty hath none, Save those who come to make it poorer still. Well, I am prepared. Jos. [WERNER puts his hand into his bosom, as if to search for some weapon. Will to the door. Oh! do not look so. I It cannot be of import In this lone spot of wintry desolation: The very desert saves man from mankind. [She goes to the door. Enter IDENSTEIN. Iden. A fair good evening to my fairer hostess And worthy Egad! I am afraid. You look as if I ask'd for something better than your name, Wer. Better, sir! Are you Iden. Better or worse, like matrimony: what His highness had resign'd it to the ghosts And rats these twelve years but 't is still a palace) — Wer. I have a cousin in the lazaretto Of Hamburgh, who has got a wife who bore Wer. To yours? I thought so all along, such natural yearnings Play'd round my heart: - blood is not water, cousin ; And so let's have some wine, and drink unto Our better acquaintance: relatives should be Friends. Wer. You appear to have drank enough already; And if you had not, I 've no wine to offer, Else it were yours: but this you know, or should know : That I would be alone; but to your business! Iden. Why, what should bring me here? Wer. I know not, though I think that I could guess That which will send you hence. |