FOSTER-MOTHER.

I never saw the man whom you describe.

MARIA.

Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly

As mine and Alberts common Foster-mother.

FOSTER-MOTHER.

Now blessings on the man, whoeer he be,

That joined your names with mine! O my sweet lady,

As often as I think of those dear times

When you two little ones would stand at eve

On each side of my chair, and make me learn

All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk

In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you--

Tis more like heaven to come than what _has_ been.

MARIA.

O my dear Mother! this strange man has left me

Troubled with wilder fancies, than the moon

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