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14 ALICE.

Did his dead father wed her--- he had been An innocent usurper. At one word, We lost our name, our wealth, our very home. Delay kad maddened him: before the sun Was set, we and our children had passed forth From this fair heritage, poor wanderers Upon the earth. The gentle heiress staid, Death-struck with the disgrace that seemed to stain Even her white purity. In one short month Her passing-bell had knolled. Henry. Poor — poor — But she, The wretchedest, the mother? Mrs. Neville. Ere she rose From off the ground where she had plunged her shame, Her brown hair turned to white. She died not: youth, And joy, and beauty died; but she lives on In penitence. Henry. And he? Mrs. Neville. Oh, what a slow And weary death is grief, when it contends With manhood’s healthful prime! we wander’d on Through many lands. He could not bear the sight Or sound of aught familiar — his own name Was as a dagger to him ; every smile Of his unconscious son a deeper stab : Only my gentle Alice — her he loved — Her only! till at last his heart grew strong