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Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm,
Close he had come, and worshipped for a space
Those downcast features :-she her lovely face
Uplift on one whose lineaments and frame
Were youth and manhood's intermingled grace:
Iberian seemed his boot-his robe the same,
And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks became.
For Albert's home he sought—her finger fair
Has pointed where the father's mansion stood.
Returning from the copse he soon was there ;
And soon has Gertrude hied from dark green 'wood;
Nor joyless, by the converse understood,
Between the man of age and pilgrim young,
That gay congeniality of mood,
And early liking from acquaintance sprung:
Full fluently conversed their guest in England's tongue.
And well could he bis pilgrimage of taste
Unfold,—and much they loved his fervid strain,
While he each fair variety retrac'd
Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main:
Now happy Switzer's hills, romantic Spain,-
Gay lilied fields of France, or, more refined,
The soft Ausonia's monumental reign;
Nor less each rural image he designed,
Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind.
Anon some wilder portraiture he draws;
Of Nature's savage glories he would speak,-
The loneliness of earth that overawes,-
Where, resting by some tomb of old cacique,
The lama driver on Peruvia's peak,
Nor living voice nor motion marks around;
But storks that to the boundless forest shriek,
Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulf profound, *
That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado sound.
XVII. Pleased with his guest, the good man still would ply Each earnest question, and his converse court; But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short.
In England thou hast been,—and, by report, An orphan's name (quoth Albert) may'st have known: Sad tale !_when latest sell our frontier fort, One innocent-one soldier's child-alone [own. Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him as my
XVIII. Young Henry Waldegrave! three delightful years These very walls his infant sports did see ; But most I loved him when his parting tears Alternately bedewed my child and me: His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee; Nor half its grief his little heart could hold : By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea, They tore him from us when but twelve years old, And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consoled."
A burst of joy the father's lips declare;
But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell :
At once his open arms embraced the pair,
Was never group more blest, in this wide world of care.
" And will ye pardon then (replied the youth)
Your Waldegrave's feigned name, and false attire?
I durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth,
The very fortunes of your house inquire;
Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire
Impart, and I my weakness all betray;
For had I lost my Gertrude, and my sire,
I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day,
Unknown I meant to weep, unknown to pass away.
.“ But here ye live,-ye. bloom,-in each dear face
The changing hand of time I may not blame ;
For there, it hath but shed more reverend
And here, of beauty perfected the frame;
And well I know your hearts are still the same,
They could not change-ye look the very way,
As when an orphan first to you
And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray?
Nay, wherefore weep we, friends, on such a joyous day?”
" And art thou here? or is it but a dream? And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou leave us more?"“ No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem Than aught on earth-than ev’n thyself of yoreI will not part thee from thy father's shore; But we shall cherish him with mutual arms, And hand in hand again the path explore,
Which every ray of young remembrance warms,
While thou shalt be my own with all thy truth and
At morn, as if beneath a galaxy
Of over-arching groves in blossoms white,
Where all was od'rous scent and harmony,
And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight:
There if, oh gentle love! I read aright,
The utterance that sealed thy sacred bond,
'Twas list’ning to these accents of delight,
She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond
Expression's power to paint, all languishingly fond.
“ Flower of my life, so lovely, and so lone !
Whom I would rather in this desert meet,
Scorning, and scorned by fortune's power, than own
and splendours lavished at my
Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite
Than odours cast on heaven's own shrine-to please-
Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet,
And more than all the wealth that loads the breeze,
When Coromandel's ships return from Indian seas.
Then would that home admit them-happier far
Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon,
While here and there, a solitary star
Flushed in the dark’ning firmament of June ;
And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon,
Ineffable, which I
For never did the Hymenean moon
A paradise of hearts more sacred sway,
In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray.
O Love! in such a wilderness as this,
Where transport and security entwine,
Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss,
And here thou art a god indeed divine.
Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine
The views, the walks, that boundless joy inspire !
Roll on, ye days of raptured influence, shine!
Nor blind with ecstasy's celestial fire,
Shall love behold the spark of earth-born time expire.
II. Three little moons, how short, amidst the grove, And pastoral savannas they consume ! While she, beside her buskined youth to rove, Delights, in fancifully wild costume, Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume; And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare; But not to chase the deer in forest gloom ; 'Tis but the breath of heaven-the blessed airAnd interchange of hearts unknown, unseen to share.
III. What though the sportive dog oft round them note, Or fawn or wild bird bursting on the wing ; Yet who, in love's own presence, would devote To death those gentle throats that wake the spring ;