The fair Isabel of Cotehele a Cornish romance, in six cantos. By the author of Local attachment, and translator of Theocritus [i.e. Richard Polwhele] |
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The fair Isabel of Cotehele | ||
XXX.
“My uncle to his prison consign'd,“For some sew hours I bade farewell;
“And fleet as on the wings of wind
“Rode eastward to my Isabel!
“But, as I retrac'd my way,
“In vain my bosom sought repose—
“Ah! Isabel! that Palmer's lay!
“How sharp a thorn had Sharon's rose!
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“Trevanion to the scaffold led,
“All Jordan danc'd before my sight,
“And all the balms of Gilead bled.
“Yet the sweet image of a heart,
“A heart that ne'er deceiv'd,
“Bade from my soul its bodings part,
“And every grief reliev'd!
“I wish'd no more!”—(Half Edward said
In whispers to his listening maid.)
“But, as I saw advance
“The axe to deal the deadly blow,
“Recover'd from my trance,
“I recoil'd from fear and woe!
The fair Isabel of Cotehele | ||