 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
XXV.
“It is! it is my child!” —The Robber heard,
Yea felt, the Father's bursting word,
And rolled around his anxious eye,
That met no object to reply:
That friendly shade conceals them still
From the astonished Robber's ken,
And on the Lady Arabel
He wildly gazed — and gazed again —
122
Had risen above its stern control!
Like the waters, confined
In a barrier of mountains,
Burst at length from behind
Their strong cataract fountains;
Like the stream from her cave
Breaks the ice that late bound her,
Rolls her bright-gushing wave
To the spring-banks around her;
Like the sun from wintry solstice freed,
Rejoicing o'er the wonted mead;
Like exile brought to native shore,
All — all his years of sorrow o'er! —
Thus sprung old Almar's heart on high,
And flowed and beat in extacy;
And with quick-mingling joys confessed
The feelings pride had long repressed —
| The Legend of St. Loy | |