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 | ||
XXIV.
The boteler, (such we grant to age)Had us'd an old man's privilege,
And, acting still a faithful part,
Tried to speak comfort to her heart;
But that he saw her musing mood,
As solitary yet she stood,
And less and less (it seem'd) forlorn,
A balsam from the portrait drew
Refreshing to her spirits, as dew
To hyacinth that scents the morn!
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She found a friend—the old man thought—
In pity to a starting tear,
Where'eer she look'd, each look'd on her!
It was a sort of pensive gaze
From the pale forms of other days,
That sooth'd the anguish of her soul,
And from herself her sorrow stole.
On a gray dame the fire-blaze stream'd:
And, kindling as her features beam'd,
Defiance they appear'd to dart
On malice and insidious art,
Then, soften'd to expression mild,
To bless her unprotected child.
The fair Isabel of Cotehele | ||