Ulr.‍If they were near him,

He could not die neglected or alone.

Ida. Alas! what is a menial to a death-bed,190

When the dim eye rolls vainly round for what

It loves?—They say he died of a fever.

Ulr.‍Say!

It was so.

Ida.‍I sometimes dream otherwise.

Ulr. All dreams are false.

Ida.‍And yet I see him as