IDONEA That dismal Moor-- In spite of all the larks that cheered our path, I never can forgive it: but how steadily _You_ paced along, when the bewildering moonlight Mocked me with many a strange fantastic shape!-- I thought the Convent never would appear; It seemed to move away from us: and yet, That you are thus the fault is mine; for the air Was soft and warm, no dew lay on the grass, And midway on the waste ere night had fallen I spied a Covert walled and roofed with sods-- A miniature; belike some Shepherd-boy, Who might have found a nothing-doing hour Heavier than work, raised it: within that hut We might have made a kindly bed of heath, And thankfully there rested side by side Wrapped in our cloaks, and, with recruited strength, Have hailed the morning sun. But cheerily, Father,-- That staff of yours, I could almost have heart To fling't away from you: you make no use Of me, or of my strength;--come, let me feel That you do press upon me. There--indeed You are quite exhausted. Let us rest awhile On this green bank. [He sits down.] HERBERT (after some time) Idonea, you are silent, And I divine the cause. IDONEA Do not reproach me: I pondered patiently your wish and will When I gave way to your request; and now, When I behold the ruins of that face, Those eyeballs dark--dark beyond hope of light, And think that they were blasted for my sake, The name of Marmaduke is blown away: Father, I would not change that sacred feeling For all this world can give. HERBERT Nay, be composed: Few minutes gone a faintness overspread My frame, and I bethought me of two things I ne'er had heart to separate--my grave, And thee, my Child! IDONEA Believe me, honoured Sire! 'Tis weariness that breeds these gloomy fancies, And you mistake the cause: you hear the woods Resound with music, could you see the sun, And look upon the pleasant face of Nature--