To fall upon his neck, to call him father!
But his stern eye o'erpower'd the swelling passion—
It dar'd not but be silent. And those brilliants,
That like a crown of stars enwreath'd your brows,
They scar'd me too! O wherefore, wherefore should he
At the first meeting spread as 'twere the bann
Of excommunication round you, wherefore
Dress up the angel as for sacrifice,
And cast upon the light and joyous heart
The mournful burden of his station? Fitly
May love dare woo for love; but such a splendour
Might none but monarchs venture to approach.
THEKLA.
You see how soon the burden is thrown off.
(To the Countess.)
He is not in spirits. Wherefore is he not?
'Tis you, aunt, that have made him all so gloomy!
He had quite another nature on the journey—
So calm, so bright, so joyous eloquent.
(To Max.)
It was my wish to see you always so,
And never otherwise!
MAX.
In your great father's arms, beloved lady!
All in a new world, which does homage to you,
And which, were't only by its novelty,
Delights your eye.
THEKLA.
