Alb. What you would have me like, I'll be like, As far as will to labour join'd, can make me. Emma. Well said, my boy! Knelt you when you To-day? got up Alb. I did; and do so every day! Emma. I know you do! kneel, To whom you kneel? And think you, when you Alb. To Him who made me, mother. Emma. And in whose name? Alb. The name of Him who died For me and all men, that all men and I, Emma. Remember that! Forget all things but that-remember that! To live when these are gone, where they are nought, Alb. I will! . Emma. You have been early up, when I, that play'd The sluggard, in comparison, am up Full early; for the highest peaks alone, As yet, behold the sun. Now tell me what Alb. That as the peak Feels not the pleasant sun, or feels it least, So they, who highest stand in fortune's smile, Emma. The lesson, that remember'd, pays the teacher ! And what's the profit you should turn this to? Alb. Rather to place my good in what I have, Than think it worthless, wishing to have more; For more is not happiness, so oft As less. Emma. I'm glad you husband what you learn. That is the lesson of content, my son ; He who finds which, has all-who misses-nothing! Alb. Content is a good thing. Emma. A thing, the good Alone can profit by. Alb. My father's good. Emma. What say'st thou, boy? Alb. I say my father's good. Emma. Yes; he is good! what then? He is content-I'm sure he's not content; A man may lack content, and yet be good. The time will come you will not ask your mother Emma. Not when you're a man? Alb. I would not be a man to see that time: I'd rather die now that I am a child, Than live to be a man and not love you! Emma. Live-live to be a man and love mother! your [They embrace—ALBERT runs off into the cottage. Why should my heart sink? 'tis for this we rear them! Cherish their tiny limbs; pine if a thorn But mar their tender skin; gather them to us Closer than miser hugs his bag of gold; Bear more for them than slave, who makes his flesh To send them forth into wintry world To brave its flaws and tempests !-They must go ; He is, he is the making of a bird Will own no cowering wing. 'Twas fine-'twas fine Re-enter ALBERT from the Cottage, with a bow and arrows, and a rude target, which he sets up during the first lines, laying his bow and quiver on the ground. What have you there? Alb. My bow and arrows, mother. Emma. When will you use them like your father, boy? Alb. Some time I hope. Emma. You brag! There's not an archer In all Helvetia can compare with him! I Alb. But I'm his son; and when I am a man, may be like him. Mother do I brag To think I some time may be like my father? For ever as I wonder at his skill, He calls me boy, and says I must do more Emma. May you be such A man as he!-If Heaven wills, better!-I'll Alb. I'll show you How I can shoot. [Shoots.] Look, mother! there's within An inch! Emma. O fy! it wants a hand. cottage. Alb. A hand's An inch for me. again. [Going into the [Shoots I'll hit it yet. Now for it! [While ALBERT continues to shoot, the light gradually approaches the base of the mountains in the distance, and spreads itself over the lake and valley. Enter TELL, watching ALBERT some time in silence. Tell. That's scarce a miss that comes so near the mark! Well aim'd, young archer! With what ease he draws Such vigour lodged in them? Well aim'd again! Living to see that day!-What, Albert! Alb. Ah! My father! [Running to TELL, who embraces him. Emma. [Running from the cottage.] William !— I did not look for you till noon, and thought come How soon 'twill now be here and gone! O William ! |