Maz. Thou hast indeed heard what I never meant
Should reach thy youthful ears. But being so,
I must forgive thee for thy natural wish
To know thy mother's history. And now
Sit by my side—and thou must talk to me;
'Twill soothe the feverish throbbing of my veins,
And calm the thoughts the resurrected past
Hath stirred within my breast.
Azlea. What I have heard
Is what hath held thee here in solitude,
Shunning the world, and hiding it from me:
Is it not, father?
Maz. Yes, my Azlea;
I would not have thee hear its voice of guile—
I would not have thy spirit bear the taint
Of its impurities; or have thy heart
Crushed by its withering sorrows. I would keep
Thy soul as fresh and pure—as free from care—
As the free bird of heaven; never have thee
Know aught of any sorrow; never have thee
Know aught of any passion, save thy love
For thy infirm old father. Azlea,
I know this must seem selfish, cold, and strange;
But now thou knowest how my heart was broken,
Thou wilt not marvel at it.
Azlea. My father!
I fain would tell thee what must give thee pain,
But can not bear to hear thy sorrowing.
Thy child hath been forgetful of her promise—
Hath told a stranger that her foolish heart
Cherished his image in it; that she deemed
She loved him with the love he wished of her.
Maz. Alas, alas! that this should come so early!
But my heart whispered that it must be so;
And now I find its prophecy not idle.
