 | Redwald |  |
16
Directs its course to seek the shore,
Glides softly onwards, and conceal'd
By rocks the darkness half reveal'd,
Gives up its freight—a chief, whose feet
Are quickly led that step to meet,
That form, replete with ev'ry grace,
Which flies to hail his lov'd embrace!
But frowning was the chieftain's brow,
Where ne'er a scowl she mark'd till now;
And coldly did his piercing eye
Meet her's, who gaz'd in ecstacy,
And whose firm love forbade to know
The truth, which else had caus'd her woe.
| Redwald | |