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Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 131
WULFNOTH.
Dear-loved boy,
Whatever betide, let virtue still be thine.
Scorn all dishonest means to make thee great ;
Be modest, but not servile, and should fortune
Crown thy deserts, thine honours wear with meekness,
'Twill lend them tenfold lustre. Now,
Perchance, my Godwin,
'tis a last farewell !
farewell !
I, who may never more that face behold,
Can not restrain these parting tears, which fall
In sorrow on thy bosom. When far hence,
Forget not thou my counsel ;
nor forget,
In joy or woe, thy sad and lonely sire.
Whatever befall, here shalt thou find a home,
And, till I in the cold grave lay me down,
A father's arms to welcome thy return.
Never shall I at night my pillow press
Without a prayer for thee. Farewell, my son !
God and good angels bless thee !
GODWIN.
Do not weep.
I shall return to thine embrace again
With glory on my brow, and joy shall crown
Our happy meeting. Fare thee well, my father.
WULFNOTH.
Gone ! gone art thou to me for ever, Godwin !
The sun is set that gave me light and ! joy
Life's feeble twilight now is nothing worth,
And night with double-darkness hastens on.
Yet gentle Edith stays. Alas ! she too
Must quickly bid a long, a last farewell
To me and my poor dwelling. Then shall I
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