Page:Enoch Arden, etc - Tennyson - 1864.djvu/86

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AYLMER’S FIELD.
The very whitest lamb in all my foldLoves you: I know her: the worst thought she hasIs whiter even than her pretty hand:She must prove true: for, brother, where two fightThe strongest wins, and truth and love are strength,And you are happy: let her parents be.'
 But Leolin cried out the more upon them—Insolent, brainless, heartless! heiress, wealth,Their wealth, their heiress! wealth enough was theirsFor twenty matches. Were he lord of this,Why, twenty boys and girls should marry on it,And forty blest ones bless him, and himselfBe wealthy still, ay wealthier. He believedThis filthy marriage-hindering Mammon madeThe harlot of the cities: nature crostWas mother of the foul adulteriesThat saturate soul with body. Name, too! name,Their ancient name! they might be proud; its worthWas being Edith's. Ah, how pale she had look'd
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