Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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 | Alfred |  |
As the king
Came from the door, clad in the well-known dress,
Bearing the harp, ‘My son! my son!’ she cried.
‘My long-lost son!’ and eager clasp'd him round.
No kindred greet—no answering grasp was there!
Her recollection came! Her hand relaxed!—
She look'd upon the king, and pale exclaim'd,
‘That face is not my son's! God prosper thee
‘For this delusion!’—Thro' her cottage door,
Feebly she pass'd.
Came from the door, clad in the well-known dress,
Bearing the harp, ‘My son! my son!’ she cried.
‘My long-lost son!’ and eager clasp'd him round.
No kindred greet—no answering grasp was there!
Her recollection came! Her hand relaxed!—
She look'd upon the king, and pale exclaim'd,
‘That face is not my son's! God prosper thee
‘For this delusion!’—Thro' her cottage door,
Feebly she pass'd.
| Alfred | |