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Some faint resemblance of the good he lost,
That thou may'st hear of him with less regret,
As one by holy bands link'd to his kind.
He bids me say, should ever child of his
And child of thine—but here his quivering lip
And starting tears spoke what he could not speak.

HELEN.

O noble, gen'rous heart; and does he offer

Such cheering manly comfort? Heaven protect,
And guide, and bless him! On his noble head
Such prosp'rous bliss be pour'd, that hearing of it,
Shall through the gloom of my untoward state,
Like gleams of sunshine break, that from afar
Look o'er the dull dun heath.

LORNE.

But one request——

HELEN.

Ha! makes he one?

LORNE.

It is to see thy child.

HELEN.

To see my child! Will he indeed regard it?

Shall it be bless'd by him?