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and this, to an understanding so clear, so strong, so just as Helena's, is not felt as an unpardonable insult. The mere pride of rank and birth is a prejudice of which she cannot comprehend the force, because her mind towers so immeasurably above it; and, compared to the infinite love which swells within her own bosom, it sinks into nothing. She cannot conceive that he, to whom she has devoted her heart and truth, her soul, her life, her service, must not one day love her in return; and once her own beyond the reach of fate, that her cares, her caresses, her unwearied patient tenderness, will not at last "win her lord to look upon her"-- ... For time will bring on summer, When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. It is this fond faith which, hoping all things, enables her to endure all things:--which hallows and dignifies the surrender of her woman's pride, making it a sacrifice on which virtue and love throw a mingled incense. The scene in which the Countess extorts from Helen the confession of her love, must, as an illustration, be given here. It is perhaps, the finest in the whole play, and brings out all the striking points of Helen's character, to which I have already alluded. We must not fail to remark, that though the acknowledgment is wrung from her with an agony which seems to convulse her whole being, yet when once she has given it solemn utterance, she recovers her presence of mind, and asserts her native dignity. In her justification of her feelings and her conduct, there is neither sophistry, nor self-deception, nor presumption, but a noble simplicity, combined with the most impassioned earnestness; while the language naturally rises in its eloquent beauty, as the tide of feeling, now first let loose from the bursting heart, comes pouring forth in words. The whole scene is wonderfully beautiful. HELENA. What is your pleasure, madam? COUNTESS. You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. HELENA. Mine honorable mistress. COUNTESS Nay, a mother; Why not a mother? When I said a mother, Methought you saw a serpent: what's in mother, That you start at it? I say, I am your mother: And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen, Adoption strives with nature; and ch
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