Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm, came. XIV. For Albert's home he sought-her finger fair Nor joyless, by the converse, understood And early liking from acquaintance sprung; XV. And well could he his pilgrimage of taste Unfold, and much they loved his fervid strain, While he each fair variety retraced Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main. The soft Ausonia's monumental reign; Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind. XVI. Anon some wilder portraiture he draws; Nor living voice nor motion marks around; 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 fell our frontier fort, One innocent-one soldier's child-alone Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him as my own. XVIII. Young Herry Waldegrave! three delightful years His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee; They tore him from us when but twelve years old, And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consoled!" XIX. His face the wanderer hid-but could not hide A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell; "And speak! mysterious stranger! (Gertrude cried) It is!-it is!-I knew-I knew him well! A burst of joy the father's lips declare! XX. "And will ye pardon then (replied the youth) away. XXI. But here ye live, ye bloom,-in each dear face, XXII. "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 yore I will not part thee from thy father's shore; XXIII. At morn, as if beneath a galaxy Of over-arching groves in blossoms white, And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight: The utterance that seal'd thy sacred bond, fond XXIV. "Flower of my life, so lovely and so lone! Whom I would rather in this desert meet, Scorning, and scorn'd by fortune's power, than Her own pomp and splendours lavish'd at my feet! 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, XXV. Then would that home admit them-happier far Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon, While, here and there, a solitary star Flush'd in the darkening firmament of June; And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon, Ineffable, which I may not portray; For never did the hymenean moon A paradise of hearts more sacred sway, In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray. |