To common methods; in their inner world
They move by broader laws, at whose expression
We must adore, not cavil: here she comes--
The ministering Saint, fresh from the poor of Christ.

[Elizabeth enters without cloak or shoes, carrying an empty basket.]

Isen. What's here, my Princess? Guta, fetch her robes!
Rest, rest, my child!

Eliz [throwing herself on a seat] Oh! I have seen such things!
I shudder still; your gay looks dazzle me;
As those who long in hideous darkness pent
Blink at the daily light; this room's too bright!
We sit in a cloud, and sing, like pictured angels,
And say, the world runs smooth--while right below
Welters the black fermenting heap of life
On which our state is built: I saw this day
What we might be, and still be Christian women:
And mothers too--I saw one, laid in childbed
These three cold weeks upon the black damp straw;
No nurses, cordials, or that nice parade
With which we try to balk the curse of Eve--
And yet she laughed, and showed her buxom boy,
And said, Another week, so please the Saints,
She'd be at work a-field. Look here--and here--

[Pointing round the room.]

I saw no such things there; and yet they lived.