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Eth. Hereulf, the spirit of him thou call'st thy master, Who died for guilty men, breathes not in thee. Dost thou rejoice that aught of human kind Shall be accursed?

''Her. (starting up.)'' If not within the fiery gulph of woe His doom be cast, there is no power above!

Eth. For shame, young man! this ill beseems thy state: Sit down and I will tell thee of this Ethwald.

''Sel. (rising up greatly agitated.)'' O no! I pray thee do not talk of him! The blood of Mollo has been Mercia's curse.

Eth. Sit down; I crave it of you both; sit down, And wear within your breasts a manlier spirit. (pointing to Her. to sit close by him.) Nay here, my son, and let me take thy hand. Thus by my side, in his fair op'ning youth, Full oft has Ethwald sat and heard me talk, With, as I well believe, a heart inclin'd, Tho' somewhat dash'd with shades of darker hue, To truth and kindly deeds. But from this mixed seed of good and ill One baleful plant in dark strength rais'd its head, O'ertopping all the rest; which fav'ring circumstance Did nourish to a growth so monstrous, That underneath its wide and noxious shade Died all the native plants of feebler stem. O I have wept for him, as I have lain