Page:Forget Me Not (1826).djvu/36

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16 ALICE.

16 ALICE.

Alice. Hatred! what, to him? The kindest, noblest, best! Hatred to him ! And from my mother! And’tis thou, his friend, That talk’st so! Chide him, mother. But thou

know’st not,

Thou canst not know, how exquisitely one Claremont and goodness are. We were so poor, Till Claremont succoured us; a stripling then, And under a stern guardian’s tutelage, He gave up every costly gaud of youth For us. Nay, that were little: he sought out Poor William in his distant school; he wrote To me with such a graciousness; he sent Gifts, such as brothers to their sisters send — Books, music, flowers: this pretty basket-— see How like a bee-hive the bright straw is wrought— This basket came from him—And thou canst talk Of hatred!

Henry. Happiest! happiest!

Mrs. Neville. She is right. The passing pang is o’er: I cannot grieve To see the noblest of a noble race Even in my husband’s seat.

Alice. Would he were here! Mother, shall we not know him? J remember, Do I not, mother, his dark curling hair, And his mild serious eyes and rosy cheeks; And how I used to love him?

Mrs. Neville. Wilt thou tell him All this?

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