MARY.
Scene—A Farm in the Clearings of a Canadian Forest.
Mary. You must not leave us yet awhile; the kindred
That you are seeking know not of your coming;
And so delay of yours can little grieve them,
Were it a year, far less a single day—
Traveller. Nay! I have far outstay' d my time already.
Mary. But not your welcome, wait nut till to-morrow,
Then I will bid you speed upon your journey.
Trav. So it was yesterday with you, good mistress,
And when to-morrow comes 'twill be the same,
Still you will frame some kind excuse to keep me,—
And if I stay much longer it will be
But all the harder then to leave behind me
A house like this, where all is rest and comfort:
For on the waves I have been tossed so long
Like sea-weed, drifting, shifting, hither, thither
Among the rocks and reefs, with nought to hold by,
That you are seeking know not of your coming;
And so delay of yours can little grieve them,
Were it a year, far less a single day—
Traveller. Nay! I have far outstay' d my time already.
Mary. But not your welcome, wait nut till to-morrow,
Then I will bid you speed upon your journey.
Trav. So it was yesterday with you, good mistress,
And when to-morrow comes 'twill be the same,
Still you will frame some kind excuse to keep me,—
And if I stay much longer it will be
But all the harder then to leave behind me
A house like this, where all is rest and comfort:
For on the waves I have been tossed so long
Like sea-weed, drifting, shifting, hither, thither
Among the rocks and reefs, with nought to hold by,
