Does not thy mother, Nature, breathe of love
In every smiling feature? Is not her voice
Ever most eloquent of tenderness?
And wilt thou, her sweet child, reject her teaching,
And find in scorn a refuge from her power?
Azlea. I am yet but a child, but if to know
That Azlea, in her simple ignorance,
Hath let a stranger occupy her thoughts
More than was coy and maidenly; and hath
Even had dreams of strange, delicious sweetness,
In which she deemed she loved and was beloved—
If to know this would give thee happy thoughts,
Though blushing at her own temerity,
Azlea would still acknowledge it.
Alver. God bless thee, lovely one, for those sweet words!
When in the world, of which you have such dread,
It will be the sweet solace of my toils,
To think of thee, and dream of coming years,
In which my Azlea and myself shall share
The dearest joys of earth! and until then
Thou wilt remember me with love—wilt thou?
Azlea. Azlea can not forget thee.
Alver.Now I go
To try my fortunes in the capital;
To catch the inspiration lingering round
The works of the great masters; and to feast
My soul with beauty and with power. But
I'll carry in my memory a scene,
And a presiding spirit, far more bright
