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A Narration in Dramatic Blank Verse.
But that entrance, Mother!
Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale!
My husband's father told it me,
Poor old Leoni!-Angels rest his soul !
He was a woodman, and could fell and saw
Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree
He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined
With thistle beards, and such small locks of wool
And reared him at the then Lord Velez' cost.
A pretty boy, but most unteachable
And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead,
But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes,
And whistled, as he were a bird himself :
And all the autumn 'twas his only play
To gather seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them
The boy loved him—and, when the Friar taught him,
So he became a very learned youth.
But Oh! poor wretch-he read, and read, and read,
"Till his brain turned-and ere his twentieth year,
He had unlawful thoughts of many things:
But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,
Of all the heretical and lawless talk
Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized
And once as he was working near the cell
He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's a doleful song about green fields,
How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah,
To hunt for food, and be a naked man,
And wander up and down at liberty.
Leoni doted on the youth, and now
His love grew desperate; and defying death,
"Tis a sweet tale.
And what became of him?
He went on ship-board
With those bold voyagers, who made discovery
Soon after they arrived in that new world,
And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis supposed,