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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
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Nurse.
Down in the town.
Julian.
But where?
Nurse.
If you turn left,
When you go through the gate, 'tis the last house
Upon this side the way. An honest couple,
Who once were almost pensioners of hers,
Have given her shelter: still she hopes a home
With distant friends. Alas, poor lady! 'tis
A wretched change for her.
Julian.
Hm! ah! I see.
What kind of man is this Nembroni, nurse?
Nurse.
Here he is little known. His title comes
From an estate, they say, beyond the hills.
He looks ungracious: I have seen the children
Run to the doors when he came up the street.
Julian.
Thank you, nurse; you may go. Stay—one thing more:
Have any of my people seen me?
Nurse. None
But me, my lord.
Julian.
And can you keep it secret?—
know you will for my sake. I will trust you.
Bring me some supper; I am tired and faint. [Nurse goes.]
Poor and alone! Such a man has not laid
His plans for nothing further! I will watch him.
Heaven may have brought me hither for her sake.
Poor child! I would protect thee as thy father,
Who cannot help thee. Thou wast not to blame;
My love had no claim on like love from thee.—How
the old tide comes rushing to my heart!
I know not what I can do yet but watch.
I have no hold on him. I cannot go,
Say, I suspect; and, Is it so or not?
I should but injure them by doing so.
True, I might pay her father's debts; and will,
If Joseph, my old friend, has managed well
During my absence. I have not spent much.
But still she'd be in danger from this man,
If not permitted to betray himself;
And I, discovered, could no more protect.
Or if, unseen by her, I yet could haunt
Her footsteps like an angel, not for long
Should I remain unseen of other eyes,
That peer from under cowls—not angel-eyes—
Hunting me out, over the stormy earth.
No; I must watch. I can do nothing better.
SCENE II.—A poor cottage. An old Man and Woman sitting together
Man.
How's the poor lady now?
Woman.
She's poorly still.
I fancy every day she's growing thinner.
I am sure she's wasting steadily.
Man.
Has the count
Been here again to-day?
Woman.
No. And I think
He will not come again. She was so proud
The last time he was here, you would have thought
She was a queen at least.
Man.
Remember, wife,
What she has been. Trouble like that throws down
The common folk like us all of a heap:
With folks like her, that are high bred and blood,
It sets the mettle up.
Woman.
All very right;
But take her as she was, she might do worse
Than wed the Count Nembroni.
Man.
Possible.
But are you sure there is no other man
Stands in his way?
Woman.
How can I tell? So be,
Down in the town.
Julian.
But where?
Nurse.
If you turn left,
When you go through the gate, 'tis the last house
Upon this side the way. An honest couple,
Who once were almost pensioners of hers,
Have given her shelter: still she hopes a home
With distant friends. Alas, poor lady! 'tis
A wretched change for her.
Julian.
Hm! ah! I see.
What kind of man is this Nembroni, nurse?
Nurse.
Here he is little known. His title comes
From an estate, they say, beyond the hills.
He looks ungracious: I have seen the children
Run to the doors when he came up the street.
Julian.
Thank you, nurse; you may go. Stay—one thing more:
Have any of my people seen me?
Nurse. None
But me, my lord.
Julian.
And can you keep it secret?—
know you will for my sake. I will trust you.
Bring me some supper; I am tired and faint. [Nurse goes.]
Poor and alone! Such a man has not laid
His plans for nothing further! I will watch him.
Heaven may have brought me hither for her sake.
Poor child! I would protect thee as thy father,
Who cannot help thee. Thou wast not to blame;
My love had no claim on like love from thee.—How
the old tide comes rushing to my heart!
I know not what I can do yet but watch.
I have no hold on him. I cannot go,
Say, I suspect; and, Is it so or not?
I should but injure them by doing so.
True, I might pay her father's debts; and will,
If Joseph, my old friend, has managed well
During my absence. I have not spent much.
But still she'd be in danger from this man,
If not permitted to betray himself;
And I, discovered, could no more protect.
Or if, unseen by her, I yet could haunt
Her footsteps like an angel, not for long
Should I remain unseen of other eyes,
That peer from under cowls—not angel-eyes—
Hunting me out, over the stormy earth.
No; I must watch. I can do nothing better.
SCENE II.—A poor cottage. An old Man and Woman sitting together
Man.
How's the poor lady now?
Woman.
She's poorly still.
I fancy every day she's growing thinner.
I am sure she's wasting steadily.
Man.
Has the count
Been here again to-day?
Woman.
No. And I think
He will not come again. She was so proud
The last time he was here, you would have thought
She was a queen at least.
Man.
Remember, wife,
What she has been. Trouble like that throws down
The common folk like us all of a heap:
With folks like her, that are high bred and blood,
It sets the mettle up.
Woman.
All very right;
But take her as she was, she might do worse
Than wed the Count Nembroni.
Man.
Possible.
But are you sure there is no other man
Stands in his way?
Woman.
How can I tell? So be,
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
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