Herbert, Edith.
Ed. Herbert! my Herbert! is it thus we meet?
Her. The voice of my own Edith! Can such joy
Light up this place of death! And do I feel
Thy breath of love once more upon my cheek,
And the soft floating of thy gleamy hair,
My blessed Edith? Oh, so pale! so changed!
My flower, my blighted flower! thou that wert made
For the kind fostering of sweet, summer airs,
How hath the storm been with thee? Lay thy head