Ter. Was it not then a busy joy? to see him,
After those three years' travels! we had no fears—
The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter,
Almost endeared his absence! yet the gladness,
The tumult of our joy! What then, if now—
Marginal correction in MS. III, Remorse.
[[60]]
dreams] fancies Remorse.
[[61]]
Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[[62-8]]
Erased MS. III.
[[62-73]]
Vald. The sober truth is all too much for me!
I see no sail which brings not to my mind
The home-bound bark, in which my son was captured
By the Algerine—to perish with his captors!