And wouldst thou live forever without love,
Fearing thou shouldst do wrong in being trustful?
Nay, Azlea, for once thou hast been wrong.
Azlea. 'Tis true I may be wrong in fostering doubt;
But I will tell you how the feeling came.
Ere yet I saw thee, there was in my heart
A native shrinking from the world's approach,
Which vague reports of glittering misery,
And hollow-heartedness, and dark deceit,
Reaching me in my solitude, increased;
But I as yet had never talked with any,
Who, knowing of the world, would tell a child
Whether to love or shun it; until one,
A father of the holy Church of Rome,
Met me, and by his converse of the world,
Taught me to fear its hollowness of heart.
'Tis strange how much I yield to his dark counsel—
Dark it does seem to me, though I obey;
But I have thought that I have been ungrateful
From that my real nature hates suspicion,
And so I listen.
Alver. And his were evil lessons, Azlea.
If the world is void of truth and honor,
It is because they all are taught to doubt
Each other's love and faith; and doubting thus,
Grow proud and self-dependent; and the cloak
Of love and virtue is too often worn
To hide the soul's corruption. Were there more
Of love and gentleness, there would be less
Of all the evil passions. Azlea,
Reject such evil counsel; let thy soul,
Pure as it is, and beautiful, shine forth,
Unhidden by distrust; for purity
Is mightier to banish evil thoughts,
From hearts howe'er degraded, than stern coldness.
