 | Young Arthur |  |
119
THE SAGE'S HISTORY.
Beauclerc, of reputable race,
In youth rich culture knew;
He'd Heaven to thank for many a grace,
And many a virtue too.
In youth rich culture knew;
He'd Heaven to thank for many a grace,
And many a virtue too.
His parents e're his manhood died;
Youth's sorrows are but brief;
A decent wealth, which want defied,
Allay'd the pangs of grief.
Youth's sorrows are but brief;
A decent wealth, which want defied,
Allay'd the pangs of grief.
He lov'd a maid, he wedded too,
For she was good as fair;
Like oziers twin'd together grew
Their comfort and their care.
For she was good as fair;
Like oziers twin'd together grew
Their comfort and their care.
And long they liv'd, and long they lov'd,
Yet childless; till, at last,
A daughter born their dotage prov'd,
Who, growing, all surpass'd.
Yet childless; till, at last,
A daughter born their dotage prov'd,
Who, growing, all surpass'd.
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And fifteen years of grace she grew;
When death her mother's lot;
Her father's wealth expended too
They tenanted a cot.
When death her mother's lot;
Her father's wealth expended too
They tenanted a cot.
And cheerful labour pass'd the day,
At eve his harp he strung;
His youth's delight, and many a lay
In concert Alice sung.
At eve his harp he strung;
His youth's delight, and many a lay
In concert Alice sung.
For Alice was the hapless fair,
Whose sorrows have been told—
Her father left his cot of care,
And took the witch-left gold.
Whose sorrows have been told—
Her father left his cot of care,
And took the witch-left gold.
Yet kept the secret in his breast,
Dreading the threat'ning given;
And, tho' his bosom heav'd for rest,
His hope was fix'd on heaven.
Dreading the threat'ning given;
And, tho' his bosom heav'd for rest,
His hope was fix'd on heaven.
His dear-lov'd harp slung o'er his back,
A minstrel's life he led;
The joy of others smooth'd his track,
And rais'd his drooping head.
A minstrel's life he led;
The joy of others smooth'd his track,
And rais'd his drooping head.
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At length, of way-worn wand'ring tir'd,
An hamlet fix'd the Sage;
The little wealth his skill acquir'd
Was competence for age.
An hamlet fix'd the Sage;
The little wealth his skill acquir'd
Was competence for age.
And there he found the orphan boy
Who half his heart engross'd;
The other, and his hope of joy,
Were fix'd on him he lost.
Who half his heart engross'd;
The other, and his hope of joy,
Were fix'd on him he lost.
One night, when sitting pensively,
(That orphan boy no more)
A deep groan broke his reverie,
And rous'd him to the door.
(That orphan boy no more)
A deep groan broke his reverie,
And rous'd him to the door.
Low at the threshold lay a man
Whose wounds bled fresh and fast;
The needful care the Sage began,
But soon he breath'd his last.
Whose wounds bled fresh and fast;
The needful care the Sage began,
But soon he breath'd his last.
But e'er he died a tale he told,
For well the Sage he knew;
He was the witch who left the gold,
And stole the infant too.
For well the Sage he knew;
He was the witch who left the gold,
And stole the infant too.
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He told who was the infant's sire,
And told the infant's name;
And where he had convey'd for hire
The heir to love and shame.
And told the infant's name;
And where he had convey'd for hire
The heir to love and shame.
Night-robbers him of life bereav'd,
E'er harden'd guilt was shriv'n;
He look'd repentance, Hope believ'd,
And augur'd him forgiven.
E'er harden'd guilt was shriv'n;
He look'd repentance, Hope believ'd,
And augur'd him forgiven.
The sage, instructed by his tale,
To seek his grandson rov'd;
And found a village in a vale,
And in it all he lov'd.
To seek his grandson rov'd;
And found a village in a vale,
And in it all he lov'd.
A boy, had not his name when known,
His mother's looks of grace
Had told him Arthur was his own,
Now lock'd in his embrace.
His mother's looks of grace
Had told him Arthur was his own,
Now lock'd in his embrace.
But he the secret ne'er betray'd;
Resolv'd no more to roam;
And Arthur's grace and fondness made
A heaven of his home.
Resolv'd no more to roam;
And Arthur's grace and fondness made
A heaven of his home.
| Young Arthur | |