EDWARD (after a pause).
The garrulous sea is talking to the shore,
Let us go down and hear the greybeard's speech.
[They walk along the sands.
I shall go down to Bedfordshire to-morrow.
Will you go with me?
WALTER.
Whom shall we see there?
EDWARD.
Why, various specimens of that biped, Man.
I'll show you one who might have been an abbot
In the old time; a large and portly man,
With merry eyes, and crown that shines like glass.
No thin-smiled April he, bedript with tears,
But appled-Autumn, golden-cheeked and tan;
A jest in his mouth feels sweet as crusted wine.
As if all eager for a merry thought,
The pits of laughter dimple in his cheeks.
His speech is flavorous, evermore he talks
In a warm, brown, autumnal sort of style.
A worthy man, Sir! who shall stand at compt
With conscience white, save some few stains of wine.
WALTER.
Commend me to him! He is half right. The Past
Is but an emptied flask, and the rich Future
A bottle yet uncorked. Who is the next?
EDWARD.
Old Mr. Wilmott; nothing in himself,
But rich as ocean. He has in his hand
Sea-marge and moor, and miles of stream and grove,
Dull flats, scream-startled, as the exulting train
Streams like a meteor through the frighted night,
Wind-billowed plains of wheat, and marshy fens,
Unto whose reeds on midnights blue and cold,
Long strings of geese come clanging from the stars.
Yet wealthier in one child than in all these!
Oh! she is fair as Heaven! and she wears
The sweetest name that woman ever wore.
And eyes to match her name—'Tis Violet.