Ethw. Ah, thou hast touch'd where my life's life is cell'd !
Is there a voice of prophecy within thee?
(catching hold of his arm eagerly.)
I will believe there is! my stirring soul
Leapt at thy words. Such things ere now have been:
Men oft have spoke, unweeting of themselves;
Yea, the wild winds of night have utter'd words,
That have unto the list'ning ear of hope
His future greatness told, ere yet his thoughts
On any certain point had fix'd their hold.
Alwy. Thou' may'st believe it: I myself, methinks,
Feel secret earnest of thy future fortune;
And please myself to think my friendly hand
May humbly serve, perhaps, to build thy greatness.
Ethw. Come to my heart, my friend! tho' new in friendship,
Thou, and thou only, bear'st true sympathy
With mine aspiring soul. I can with thee
Unbar my mind—Methinks thou shiv'rest, Alwy,
Alwy. 'Tis very cold.
Ethw. Is it? I feel it not:
But in my chamber burns the crackling oak,
There let us go.
Alwy. If you are so inclin'd,
(As they are going Ethw. stops short, and catches hold of Alwy eagerly.)
