 | Alfred |  |
In his rustic dress,
Now duly clad, like the young forester,
Alfred appears; when, gazing at the sire,
(Who pensive look'd, thinking, depress'd at heart,
How like his son, the wearer of that garb!)
‘Tell me,’ cried Alfred in his kindliest tone,
‘What is the care that shadows most thy brow;—
‘For sorrow in some form will show itself,
‘The unvarying lot of frail humanity.’
Now duly clad, like the young forester,
212
(Who pensive look'd, thinking, depress'd at heart,
How like his son, the wearer of that garb!)
‘Tell me,’ cried Alfred in his kindliest tone,
‘What is the care that shadows most thy brow;—
‘For sorrow in some form will show itself,
‘The unvarying lot of frail humanity.’
| Alfred | |