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12 ALICE.


Mrs. Neville. It came! It came! Poor Mary Mortimer! almost a child, Lord Claremont saw and loved her; she loved him; And they were wedded. After a brief year Of perfect bliss he died, and she returned To the paternal home, with one fair boy, To see her father die.

Henry. Alas! alas!

Mrs. Neville. Sigh not for them that died—

sigh not for them —

They were the happy. Years had passed away, And grief was gone. Another Edward ruled Within the old hereditary hall — Another kinder, dearer — all built up Of dignity and honour. He had wooed And wedded a young maiden, only rich In love. ‘The gentle countess and her boy Dwelt with them, and his mother, with her looks Of beauty, her glad voice, her step of youth. Oh, how the days flew then, when I —for I Am that most wretched wife that was most blest! Oh, how the days flew by, whilst Alice clung Around my knee, half jealous when she saw My William at my breast; or tottered round Those giant trees; or on the velvet lawn Rolled in her joy, lisping her half-learnt words To the dear cousin, whose sweet serious eyes Pursued her every motion! Kind, and frank, And noble boy! I seem to see him now, With his bright face peeping among the boughs

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