Licence: Public Domain Mark
Credit: The poetical works of Alfred Tennyson. Source: Wellcome Collection.
Provider: This material is part of the Elmer Belt Florence Nightingale collection. The original may be consulted at University of California Libraries.
817/870 page 781
![Enter Milly. Millif. Miss Dora! Miss Dora! Dora [returniny and leaving the bed- room door ajar). Quiet! quiet! What is it? MiUi/. Mr. 'Arokl, Miss. Dora. Below ? Milly. Yeiis, Miss. He be saiiyiii' a word to the owd luau, but he 'II coom up if ye lets Mm. Dora. Tell him, theu, that 1 'm wait- ing for him. Milly. Yeiis, Miss. [Exit. DOKA sits pensively and waits. Enter Hakold. Harold. You are pale, my Dora ! but the ruddiest cheek That ever charm'd the plowman of your wolds Might wish its rose a lily, could it look But half as lo\ely. I was speaking with Your father, asking his cousent — you wish'd nie — That we should marry: he would answer nothing, 1 could make uolhiug of him ; but my flower. You look so weary and so worn ! What is it Has ])ut you out of heart! Dura. It puts me in heart A^ain to see 3 ou ; but indeed the state Of my poor father puts me out of heart. Is vours vet living ? iJaroUl. No — I told vou. Dora. When 1 Harold. Confusion!—Ah well, well! the state we all Must come to in our spring-aud-winter world If we live long enough! and poor Steer looks The very type of Age in a picture, bow'd To the earth he came from, to the grave he goes to, Beneath the burden of years. Dora. More like the picture Of Christian in my Pilgrim's Progress here, Bow'd to the dust beneath the burden of sin. Harold. Sin ! What sin 7 Dora. Not his own. Harold. That iiursery-tale Still read, then ? Dora. Yes; our carters and our shep- herds Still find a comfort there. Harold. Carters and shepherds 1 Dora. Scorn ! I hate scorn. A soul with no religion — My mother used to say that such a one Was without rudder, anchor, compass — might be Blown everyway with every gust and wreck Ou any rock ; and the' you are good and gentle. Yet if thro' any want — Harold. Of this religiou? Child, read a little history, you will And The common brotherhood of man has been Wrong'd by the cruelties of his religions More than could ever have happen'd thro' the want Of any or all of them. Dora. —But, O dear friend If thro' the want of any—I mean the true one — And pardon me for saying it — you should ever Be tempted into doing what might seem Not altogether worthy of you, I think That I should break my heart, for you have taught me To love you. Harold. What is this 1 some one been stirring Against me ? he, your rustic amourist. The polish'd Damon of your pastoral here. This Dobsou of your idyll 7 Dora. No, Sir, no! Did you not tell me he was crazed with jealousy, Had threaten'd ev'n your life, and would say anything 7 Did I not promise not to listen to him, Not ev'n to see the man ? Harold. Good ; then what is it That makes you talk so dolefully ? Dora. I told you — My father. Well, indeed, a frieud just now. One that has been much wrong'd, whose griefs are mine. Was warning me tliat if a gentleman Should wed a farmer's daughter he would be Sooner or later shamed of her among The ladies, born his equals.](https://iiif.wellcomecollection.org/image/b20452597_0817.jp2/full/800%2C/0/default.jpg)
