THALABA.
And have you always had your dwelling here
Amid this solitude of snow?
LAILA.
I think so.
I can remember with unsteady feet
Tottering from room to room, and finding pleasure
In flowers and toys and sweetmeats, things that long
Have lost their power to please; that when I see them
Raise only now a melancholy wish
I were the little trifler once again
That could be pleased so lightly!
THALABA.
Then you know not
Your Father’s art?
LAILA.
No. I besought him once
To give me power like his, that where he went
I might go with him: but he shook his head,
And said it was a power too dearly bought,
And kist me with the tenderness of tears.
THALABA.
And wherefore has he hidden you thus far
From all the ways of humankind?