Who can tell
What golden hours, with what full hands, may be
Waiting you in the distance? Might I call
Upon your father--I have seen the world--
And cheer his blindness with a traveller's tales?
DORA.
Call if you will, and when you will. I cannot
Well answer for my father; but if you
Can tell me anything of our sweet Eva
When in her brighter girlhood, I at least
Will bid you welcome, and will listen to you.
Now I must go.
HAROLD.
But give me first your hand:
I do not dare, like an old friend, to shake it.
I kiss it as a prelude to that privilege
When you shall know me better.
DORA.
(_Aside_.) How beautiful
His manners are, and how unlike the farmer's!
You are staying here?
HAROLD.
Yes, at the wayside inn
Close by that alder-island in your brook,
'The Angler's Home.'
DORA.
Are _you_ one?
HAROLD.
No, but I
Take some delight in sketching, and the country
Has many charms, altho' the inhabitants
Seem semi-barbarous.
DORA.
I am glad it pleases you;
Yet I, born here, not only love the country,
But its inhabitants too; and you, I doubt not,
Would take to them as kindly, if you cared
To live some time among them.
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