 | Redwald |  |
And Ivan thou, when wandering that night,
Thy only guide, the pale moon's silver light,
Alas! too well—too deeply did'st thou feel
'Tis pain to love—but tortune to conceal!
Now, on a neighbouring hill's wild summit plac'd,
He, 'midst the shades, his Edith's cottage trac'd—
Long'd to behold her, tho' of hope forlorn,
And distant gaz'd despairing till the dawn!
Thy only guide, the pale moon's silver light,
Alas! too well—too deeply did'st thou feel
'Tis pain to love—but tortune to conceal!
31
He, 'midst the shades, his Edith's cottage trac'd—
Long'd to behold her, tho' of hope forlorn,
And distant gaz'd despairing till the dawn!
| Redwald | |