- morse, to the glory, the ecstacy of being
thine! Low as I am fallen; despised, perhaps, by all who hear my fate, I have lived one hour of joy, worth every calamity I may be called upon to endure. Return Glenarvon, adored, beloved. Thy words are like the joys of Heaven: Thy presence is the light of life: existence without thee would not be worth the purchase.—Come all the woes that may, upon me, never will I forsake Glenarvon."
The nurse entered Calantha's room, bearing her boy in her arms. She would not look on him:—"take him away," she said; "take him to my aunt." The child wished to stay:—for the first time he hung about her with affection; for he was not of that character, and seldom shewed his love by infantine fondness and caresses. She started from his gentle grasp, as if from something terrible: "take him away," she shrieked to the affrighted woman, "and never let him come near me more."
