TALE VIII - OPHELIA; THE ROSE OF ELSINORE

Summary

“O Rose of May!

Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!”

Hamlet.

The babe lay on the nurse's knee. Could any impression have been received through those wide-stretched eyes, that stared as wonderingly as if they were in fact beholding amazed the new existence upon which they had so lately opened, the child would have seen that it lay in a spacious apartment, furnished with all the tokens of wealth and magnificence, which those ruder ages could command. There were thick hangings of costly stuff to exclude the keen outer air and chill mists of that north climate. The furniture of the room was constructed of the rarer kind of woods, and fashioned with the utmost skill and taste in design then attained. The dogs that sustained the fir clumps blazing on the hearth, were of classical form and device; and the andirons on either side, were of a no less precious material than silver. The sconces round the apartment were of the same metal; while the spoon, cup, and other utensils appropriated to the infant's use were of gold. Could any dawning sense of external objects yet have made its way to the brain through those wide-stretched violet eyes, they might have noted that a tall figure, of graceful mien, of gracious aspect, frequently came to bend over, and utter murmured words of joy and tenderness, and breathe mother's blessings upon the little baby head.