Rodolph de Brevern wrong'd his mother!" My sister sunk-and died-without a sign or word! I shed no tear for her. She died With her last sunshine in her eyes. The hope just shatter'd and she lies Peace to the broken-hearted dead! LORD IVON AND HIS DAUGHTER. "Dost thou despise A love like this! A lady should not scorn BARRY CORNWALL. LORD IVON. How beautiful it is! Come here, my daughter! Is't not a face of most bewildering brightness? ISIDORE. The features are all fair, sir, but so cold— I could not love such beauty! LORD IVON. Yet, ev'n so Look'd thy lost mother, Isidore! Her brow Yet icy cold in their slight vermeil threads- round ear" To the o'er-polished shoulder. Never swan Dost thou prate already Of books, my little one? Nay, then, 'tis time That a sad tale were told thee. Is thy bird Fed for the day? Canst thou forget the rein Of thy beloved Arabian for an hour, And, the first time in all thy sunny life, Take sadness to thy heart? Wilt listen, sweet? ISIDORE. Hang I not ever on thy lips, dear father? LORD IVON. As thou didst enter, I was musing here To love this look in woman. Not the flower Yet both (as are the high-born and the low) Wrought of the same fine Hand-so, daringly, You are here In a brave palace, Isidore! The gem Flew my boy-hopes beyond me. That sparkles in your hair imprisons light Yet was I-lowly born! ISIDORE. Lord Ivon! LORD IVON. Ay, You wonder; but I tell you that the Lord With which he daily crept into the sun, To cheat sharp pains with the bewildering dream Of beauty he had only read' of there. |