HERBERT I comprehend thee—­I should be as cheerful
              As if we two were twins; two songsters bred
              In the same nest, my spring-time one with thine. 
              My fancies, fancies if they be, are such
              As come, dear Child! from a far deeper source
              Than bodily weariness.  While here we sit
              I feel my strength returning.—­The bequest
              Of thy kind Patroness, which to receive
              We have thus far adventured, will suffice
              To save thee from the extreme of penury;
              But when thy Father must lie down and die,
              How wilt thou stand alone?

IDONEA Is he not strong? 
              Is he not valiant?

HERBERT Am I then so soon
              Forgotten? have my warnings passed so quickly
              Out of thy mind?  My dear, my only, Child;
              Thou wouldst be leaning on a broken reed—­
              This Marmaduke—­

IDONEA O could you hear his voice: 
              Alas! you do not know him.  He is one
              (I wot not what ill tongue has wronged him with you)
              All gentleness and love.  His face bespeaks
              A deep and simple meekness:  and that Soul,
              Which with the motion of a virtuous act
              Flashes a look of terror upon guilt,
              Is, after conflict, quiet as the ocean,
              By a miraculous finger, stilled at once.

HERBERT Unhappy Woman!

IDONEA Nay, it was my duty
              Thus much to speak; but think not I forget—­
              Dear Father! how could I forget and live—­
              You and the story of that doleful night
              When, Antioch blazing to her topmost towers,
              You rushed into the murderous flames, returned
              Blind as the grave, but, as you oft have told me,
              Clasping your infant Daughter to your heart.

HERBERT Thy Mother too!—­scarce had I gained the door,
              I caught her voice; she threw herself upon me,
              I felt thy infant brother in her arms;
              She saw my blasted face—­a tide of soldiers
              That instant rushed between us, and I heard
              Her last death-shriek, distinct among a thousand.

IDONEA Nay, Father, stop not; let me hear it all.

HERBERT Dear Daughter! precious relic of that time—­
              For my old age, it doth remain with thee
              To make it what thou wilt.  Thou hast been told,
              That when, on our return from Palestine,
              I found how my domains had been usurped,
              I